Castles 78

 

78. Between the Lakes

            The barrel maker Syg Alymar saw the knight first. 

            Syg had borrowed a two-wheeled handcart from Wyrtgeon Bistan to deliver barrels to Lord Martin.  The apple trees on the lord’s estate had suffered years of neglect, yielding merely three bushels of small, misshapen fruit.  Many farmers between the lakes had better apple crops.  So the lord had decided to squeeze his apples into juice, and he had asked Syg for a barrel to store it.  Syg decided to make two, since the lord might well find some other use for the second.  With a harness on his shoulders, Syg left the village for castle Inter Lucus in mid-morning, the cart bouncing behind him.  Two empty barrels made a light load and easy work.  Almost certainly, Syg knew, Lord Martin would invite him to eat mid-day at the castle, a welcome thought.  Syg liked eating, and the food at castle Inter Lucus was good.

            Syg saw the two horsemen a quarter mile away, coming toward village Inter Lucus.  A third horse trailed after the second, a pack animal.  Immediately he pegged the men as visitors, a minute later he knew they were armsmen, and not long after that he recognized one of them, the knight with the diagonal black stripe on his shield.  Syg pursed his lips, then remembered: Sir Kenelm Ash.  The last three autumns Ash had collected hidgield between the lakes for Hereward Mortane of Hyacintho Flumen.  Syg stepped out of his harness and lowered the cart handles to the ground.  He felt nervous, a flutter of fear in his stomach.  He wished one of Lord Martin’s sheriffs were present.  Syg didn’t for a moment think Leo, Elfric, Ealdwine, or Os could match Kenelm Ash in combat, but they at least should be able to speak for Lord Martin.

            Ash was a square-jawed man with a broad, flat nose.  Probably broken more than once, Syg thought.  Ash rode at ease, his sword and shield strapped over his great horse’s front shoulders.  A battle horse: tall, strong, fast, and fearless.  Of course, Syg had never seen a knight in battle, but this animal looked like the warhorses he imagined.

            “Fair morning.”  The knight reined to a stop a few paces from Syg.  The second soldier drew up beside his master.  Syg guessed his age at twenty or maybe less; squire to Ash.  Something about him struck Syg as odd, then he saw it; the young soldier had two wildly different eyes.  The right eye, black, peered steadily at Syg, but the left eye was blood red and wandered in many directions. 

            “Fair morning, Sir Ash.”  Syg inclined his head.

            “You remember me.  I’m honored.  My squire is Raymond Travers.”  Ash indicated his companion with a tilt of the head.  The squire nodded.  “But I don’t remember your name.”

            “Syg Alymar, Sir.  Barrel maker from village Inter Lucus.”

            “Ah!  Now I remember.  You have a widow mother.  Is she well?”

            “Aye, Sir.  That I do.  She is as well as a woman her age might hope; she complains of aches and pains, but she cooks and sews and generally makes my life better.”

            The knight gestured at the cart.  “What’s in your barrels?”

            “Nothing, Sir.  They are new made.  I’m taking ’em up to the castle.”  Syg realized the significance of his words even as he spoke, but there was no way to take them back.  “Lord Martin wants ’em.”

            Ash rubbed his flat nose with the back of his hand.  Then he drew his sword and pointed it at Syg.  “In Down’s End rumors say there is a new lord in Inter Lucus.”

            Syg suddenly felt cold, and his throat tensed.  His stomach hurt.  If he tried to run, he might live ten heartbeats before the knight ran him down.  “Aye, Sir.  Inter Lucus has been healing since last summer.”   Syg raised his eyes to meet the knight’s.  If this is my death, I might as well face it.

            “You say the lord is called Martin?”  Ash looked to his left, toward the castle hill.  “Does he have men of arms?”

            Syg couldn’t read the knight’s intentions.  Was he gathering information in order to attack Lord Martin?  Would he slaughter Syg as soon as his queries were answered?  “Aye, Sir.  His name is Lord Martin.  He has a few servants and four sheriffs.  I would not count them as real soldiers.  They could not fight a knight such as yourself.”

            Ash raised an eyebrow.  “You might be surprised.  They would be fools to fight us here, on open ground.  But if this lord Martin is a real lord, I cannot touch him or his men while they are in the castle.  They would not need to fight, but only wait until Raymond and I go away.”  Ash sheathed his sword and continued to gaze north.  Inter Lucus could be seen in the distance, but not its people.  Syg knew Lord Martin and several of the others would be building a barn on the north side of the castle property, invisible to people in the village. 

            Syg was surprised at Ash’s attitude.  Somehow he expected the knight from Hyacintho Flumen to react violently against the existence of a lord in Inter Lucus.  But Sir Ash sat thinking, chewing something in his cheek.  Meanwhile, the squire’s red eye moved constantly.  The squire’s good eye was closed; Syg thought Raymond might be napping. 

            Syg’s stomach unclenched and he breathed deeply.  “Sir Ash?  A word?”

            “Hm?”  The knight broke out of his reverie and looked at Syg.  “What it is, Master Alymar?”

            “Sir, since Lord Martin came to Inter Lucus, most of the folk in the village have pledged him hidgield.  And in Senerham too.  If the Lord Hereward takes hidgield between the lakes this year, it’ll be hard on folk.  Real hard.”

            Sir Ash frowned.  “I take your meaning, Master Alymar.  You worry that I’ve come to fight Lord Martin over hidgield, to make these people serve Hyacintho Flumen rather than Inter Lucus.”  He shook his head and smiled.  “You have nothing to fear on that score.  Go ahead and take your barrels to the castle.  Raymond and I are going that way, so you will see us there.  I need to talk with this new lord.”

            Ash snickered to his horse and prodded him into a trot.  Raymond Travers woke up instantly (if he had been truly asleep) and followed the knight.

            Syg harnessed himself, watching the soldiers ride toward Inter Lucus.  He hoped he hadn’t said anything harmful to Lord Martin.  Ash had admitted that he couldn’t attack a lord in his castle.  But what if Ash and Travers came on Lord Martin and the others outside the castle, working on the barn or Prayer House, for example?  Syg wished there were some way to warn Lord Martin of the knight’s approach, but he didn’t know how.

            Priest Eadmar saw the armsmen coming not long after they left Syg. 

            Lord Martin and his servants were finishing the roof of the barn, on the north side of the castle grounds where Eadmar couldn’t see them.  Since Eadmar had been forbidden to set foot on the lord’s land and they already had all the materials they needed to complete the barn, there was nothing left for him to contribute to that project.  Eadmar spent the morning digging shallow trenches on the site of Prayer House so that when winter rain and snow came, ground water would flow away from Prayer House rather than turning the place into a quagmire.  The sun had reached mid-day, and Eadmar anticipated Ora coming from Inter Lucus with a bit of sup.  After looking uphill toward the castle, Eadmar glanced in the other direction—a habit, perhaps.  He saw horsemen.

            Soldiers, clearly.  By the size of the horse, a knight.  A shield with a sigil: definitely a knight.

            Eadmar looked again toward Inter Lucus, hoping to see Ora, but not now for hunger’s sake.  Martin needs to be warned.  He should be in his castle.  Where is that girl?  The riders were trotting at an easy pace; they would reach Inter Lucus in minutes.

            It’s forbidden.  My bishop has commanded me.  I may not.  Eadmar walked to the very edge of castle property, where the road up the hill branched away from the forest road.  If I don’t go now, it will be too late.  He judged the distance to the horsemen.  Perhaps I could delay them.  If Ora saw horsemen on the road …she’s an intelligent girl.  She would raise the alarm.  Eadmar started walking toward the knight and his squire.  One last look over his shoulder—there she is!

            “Ora!”  Eadmar shouted and waved his arms like a crazed man.  “Ora!”

            Emerging from the shadow of the oaks, Ora stopped.  She dropped a basket and ran like a deer.  Intelligent girl, indeed.  Eadmar turned to face the intruders.

            “Lord Martin!  Lord Martin!”

            At that moment Rothulf, Marty and Os were passing the last roof plank up to Isen and Ealdwine, who were on top of the barn.  The planks were massive: thirty feet long, fifteen inches wide, and two inches thick.  Many times Marty had wondered what the brothers at Our Lady of Guadeloupe would have said about using old growth lumber for a rustic barn.  Ora’s shouting could hardly be less timely; hoisting planks was a five-man job, three below and two above.

              “I’ve got it, my lord,” said Os.  He lifted the plank above his head, out of Marty and Rothulf’s grasp.  “Ora needs you.” 

            Marty blinked at Oswald’s arms.  You really could play tackle for Notre Dame.  Marty and Rothulf stepped around the side of the barn.  Ora pelted down the hill toward them.

            “Lord Martin!  A knight!”

            “Are you sure?”  Marty’s advisors—Caelin, Eadmar, Isen, Elne Penrict, and others—had warned him this day would come.  A knight from Hyacintho Flumen, sent to collect hidgield for Lord Hereward Mortane.  Marty wondered if there had been trouble already.  O God, let him come here first.  It would be better to settle it here than have him hurt the people.

            “Aye.  Priest Eadmar thinks so too.  He shouted at me.”  Ora was panting.

            “Up to the castle then.  Tell Caelin and Mildgyd.  We’ll be there shortly.”

            Ora sprinted away.  Marty was about to call out, but Isen, Os, Ealdwine, and Rothulf were already at his side.  “We heard,” said Ealdwine.  “The board is up.  We can nail it later.”

            Except for Elfric Ash and Leo Dudd, who were visiting farms beyond Senerham on horse, all of Marty’s people were present.  Marty quickly reminded them of their tasks.  “Ora and Caelin will meet the soldiers and invite them to come forward on foot and without weapons.  Do not hinder them in any way.  If they proceed unarmed, accompany them.  If you are not with them, we will assume they are armed and mean to fight.

            “Os and Ealdwine will be under the oaks, Rothulf and Isen at the west door where they can tell me what transpires.  Mildgyd will sit with Alf and Agyfen here in the hall.  If the soldiers come close, Isen and Mildgyd will take the children to the west wing.  If they enter the castle, Isen, you are to escape with the children and run to Eadmar.  Alf, you must do as Isen commands; he’ll carry Agyfen.  I will stand at the lords’ knob.  May God protect us.  Now go!”

Copyright © 2013 by Philip D. Smith.

All rights reserved.  International copyright secured.

Castles 77

 

77. In Down’s End

            Milo and Derian found Eulard Barnet’s house in quickly fading light.  Storm clouds from the west darkened Down’s End as they walked along avenues of proud brick houses.  This was clearly the wealthy section of Down’s End.  But they could not tarry to admire the houses’ grand features, because rain began pelting down in dark sheets.  They leaned into the wind and hurried to the fifth house on Alderman’s Row.  Three stories tall and made of brick and wood, the banker’s house had a covered space on the right where horsemen might dismount and carriages could discharge their passengers out of the weather.  Milo and Derian scurried forward to this dry spot, where they stood dripping and shaking water off their hats.  Candles behind glassed windows threw pale yellow light into the disembarkation space.

            On their left, a door opened, flooding them with brighter light.  A woman’s voice said, “You must be Chapman and Mortane.  Please enter.”  An oil lamp immediately behind the woman’s head threw her face into shadow.  “You may hang your wet things here.”  There were pegs lining the inner wall of a narrow space inside the door; several of them already held coats and hats.

            “Fair evening.”  Derian pointed to the water dripping from his coat.  “Except that it isn’t.” 

            “Don’t worry about that.  Father had this corridor specially built to welcome guests.  You see?  A tiled floor tilted to drain the water away.”  The woman shut the door against the wind.  She had porcelain skin and striking blue eyes, features Milo could see now with light to the side rather than behind her.  She wore a blue kirtle that matched her eyes and reached to the floor.  “I am correct, am I not?  Chapman and Mortane?”

            Derian bowed.  “Derian Chapman, merchant of Stonebridge.”

            Milo held his fist across his chest.  “Milo Mortane, sheriff of Stonebridge.”

            The woman arched her eyebrow.  “Really?  Of Stonebridge?  Father said something about you being from Hyacintho Flumen, brother to Amicia Mortane.  It doesn’t matter; Hyacintho Flumen or Stonebridge, you are welcome.  Sup will commence soon, as you are the last to arrive.”

            “May we ask your name?”  Derian’s voice was playful. 

            “Ada Barnet.  You’ve heard that name before, I see.”  A smile played at the corners of the woman’s mouth.  “Please tell me Avery is safe and whole.”

            Derian’s face expressed mock surprise.  “It seemed to me at court this morning that your father would rather Avery be hanged or whipped.”

            “My father is an ass.”  Ada stopped before opening a door.  Her eyes searched Milo and Derian’s faces.  “Is he safe?”

            Derian paused, so Milo answered.  “Avery is as safe as a person can be in Ody Dans’s house.  As long as he is useful to Master Dans, no one can harm him.”

            The blue eyes were troubled by this answer.  “Is he useful to Master Dans?”

            Milo nodded.  Derian said, “Oh, aye.  Aethelred Doin has money, so Avery is quite useful.”

            “He’s a hostage.”  All humor had left Ada’s expression.

            Milo leaned over the woman and touched her cheek.  “You would prefer him free.”

            Ada took his hand; the vivid eyes held his.  “Aye, Sir Milo.  I would.  And whole.”  She opened the door and led them into the supper hall.

            Earlier, after Milo, Derian, Kenelm and Amicia had departed the Down’s End courtroom, they had eaten mid-day in the common room at Freeman’s House, the inn where Kenelm, Amicia and Raymond Travers, Kenelm’s squire, were staying.  Milo gave Raymond directions to Dog of the Downs, sending a message to Eádulf that he and Derian would not return to the Dog until late.  Milo listened and approved when Kenelm warned Amicia that she needed to pay close attention while at Barnet’s sup and dance.  “You cannot speak effectively for Aylwin until you know the players,” Kenelm had said.  “Not all aldermen are equally important.  Which of them are the leaders?  Which of their wives have influence?  At least five aldermen will not be there tonight; what do those present think of those who are absent?  Which of them have marriageable sons?  Explain Aylwin’s need, yes, but listen, listen, listen.”

            Privately, Kenelm told Milo what he would have guessed anyway.  Amicia herself was part of Aylwin’s strategy, to be offered in marriage at the right time to the right family, if it would help create an alliance between Down’s End and Hyacintho Flumen.  Milo suspected that if he were in Aylwin’s position he might have done the same thing; nevertheless, in his heart he held this auction of their sister against Aylwin.  To Kenelm he said, “Find her someone gentle if you can.  She has to live with your choice the rest of her life.”

            After lunch, Amicia had gone to her room in Freeman’s House to dress for the evening.  Without her mother, Diera, or even Boemia to advise her, Amicia feared dressing improperly more than anything.  Milo told her to think what her mother Lucia might wear and to err on the side of simplicity.  “You might not believe it, Toadface,” he said, using a nickname from their childhood, “but you’re not bad to look at.  Scrub your face an hour before you go.  They will see a healthy noble woman, and that’s what they want.”

            Amicia hugged him.  “I’m glad you’re here, Milo.”

            Milo and Derian spent the afternoon tracking down Eni Raegenhere.  After following directions to a corral, to a warehouse near River Betlicéa, and to a disreputable inn called The Running Stag, they finally found him at the wine warehouse in the western part of the city.  Raegenhere said he expected Derian to look for him, so he thought to make the job easy by waiting with Chapman’s goods.  Milo paid Raegenhere fifteen golds, recompensing him for damage to his wagon at Stonebridge, and made him place his mark on a document stating that fact.  Since Raegenhere couldn’t read or write, they had to find a literate man who could witness the statement.  Thus they were the final guests to arrive at Barnet’s house.

            Alderman Barnet’s sup was a large room, not as grand as the great hall at Hyacintho Flumen or Ody Dans’s dining room overlooking River Betlicéa, but still a single room bigger than many peasant cottages.  At one end, near a door leading to the kitchen, stood a serving table laden with several steaming dishes.  The sup table was narrow (servants brought each dish from the board), so that the guests on opposites sides of the table could easily converse back and forth.  Oil lamps in sconces on the long walls filled the room with light.  A fireplace at the end opposite the kitchen provided warmth.

            Eleven guests joined Eulard Barnet and his daughter for sup, making a party of thirteen.  Someone made a joke about an unlucky number, suggesting that Barnet should have invited one more.  Barnet said there was a young man that he wished he could invite, but mostly so Sheriff Egnenulf could arrest him.  Ada frowned down her father’s attempted humor and hastened to make introductions.

            Milo had already met Eulard Barnet, Ada Barnet, and Simun Baldwin, the mayor.  He knew Amicia, Kenelm, and Derian well.  For him, the new people were the mayor’s wife Adele Baldwin, Sheriff Wies Egnenulf, Alderman Kent Gausman of the glassblower’s guild and his wife Hamia, and Alderman Todwin Ansquetil of the weaver’s guild with his wife Esile.  Adele Baldwin was middle-aged, medium height, fat and round, with thinning gray hair.  She exuded cheerfulness and kindness; Milo quickly decided she counted for nothing.  Sheriff Egnenulf, dressed in a dark blue tunic, was young, handsome, very fit, and somewhat dim-witted.  Milo got the impression Egnenulf had been invited mostly to be a dancing partner for Ada.  Kent Gausman had very full lips in a clean-shaven face; Milo wondered if years of blowing glass affected a person’s lips.  Hamia, the glassblower’s wife, was short, round, and considerably younger than Adele Baldwin; her thick black hair could have been a girl’s.  Todwin Ansquetil was an energetic man of modest height, about forty-five years old.  He had the thickest, hairiest arms Milo had ever seen, the arms of a blacksmith.  Esile, his wife, had to be at least twenty years his junior, and she was several inches taller than her husband.  With a prominent nose in a skinny face, she might be compared to a horse, but never called beautiful.

            As the evening progressed through seven courses of food into dancing, Milo evaluated the aldermen, their wives, and the mayor.  Eulard Barnet had outlived his wife and son; the pain of that second loss cut deeply.  The banker had great wealth, and apparently he thought it improper that Ada would inherit it.  Milo came to understand that the glassblower’s guild had little weight in city politics, corresponding to the glassblowers’ numbers and possessions.  In any case, Kent Gausman paid almost no attention to Amicia or the situation in the south; he attended Barnet’s party to eat and drink and hobnob with other aldermen.  In contrast, Alderman Ansquetil’s weavers’ guild had more members and influence than any other in Down’s End.  And his horse-faced young wife clearly had consequence in his thinking.  Before and after sup Esile would stand behind her husband and bend over his shoulder to whisper to him, often drawing laughter from Ansquetil.  The morning in the Down’s End courtroom had already convinced Milo that Mayor Baldwin was a crucial figure.  The mayor could make Eulard Barnet do pretty much what he pleased.  Simun Baldwin, Todwin Ansquetil, and—of all people—Esile Ansquetil; those are the players.  I hope Amicia sees it.

Copyright © 2013 by Philip D. Smith.

All rights reserved.  International copyright secured.

           

           

                       

Castles 76

 

76. In Down’s End Court

            The bulldog-faced man with the gold medallion stood to greet the newcomers.  “Fair morning and welcome.  I am Simun Baldwin, mayor of Down’s End.  To my left is Alderman Barnet.  Please approach the bar, state your name, and explain why you have requested a hearing with the Council.”

            Kenelm Ash and Amicia were halfway to the railing before Amicia noticed the presence of others in the courtroom.  When she recognized Milo, Amicia’s jaw dropped in bewilderment and (Milo hoped) happiness.  She stopped and half turned toward him, at the same time seizing Kenelm’s arm with her left hand.  Kenelm’s face also registered surprise, but he kept his composure.  Kenelm tugged on Amicia’s arm, she shut her mouth, and they turned their attention to the mayor of Down’s End.  Baldwin took his seat, waving them closer to the bar.

            Kenelm stood ramrod straight a step behind Amicia, who bowed to the mayor, then placed both hands on the rail.  “Fair morning, my Lord Mayor.  My name is Amicia Mortane.  I represent my brother, Lord Aylwin Mortane of Hyacintho Flumen.  Sir Kenelm Ash, my guard, is a trusted knight sworn to my lord brother’s service.  We seek audience with the Down’s End Council to bring kind greetings from my lord brother.  More importantly, we bring great and evil tidings from the south.”  Amicia bowed again, indicating the close of her speech.

            “Great and evil tidings?  Hm.”  Mayor Baldwin leaned forward on his elbows.  The bushy white eyebrows seemed even more prominent.  “The Council’s next meeting is four days hence, but for great and evil tidings perhaps I should call an emergency session.  Alderman Barnet, give the young lady attention.  I will need your advice presently.  Lady Mortane, please tell us what transpires in the south.”

            Amicia stiffened her back.  “The army of Herminia, borne on sixty ships, ten thousand men of arms, has invaded Tarquint.  They have surrounded Hyacintho Flumen.  My lord brother acceded to his castle only last summer, so the Herminians may believe he cannot yet protect Hyacintho Flumen by magic.  It is more likely, however, that they intend to besiege us and force submission through starvation. 

            “Lord Aylwin sends me to Down’s End to ask for aid in breaking the siege and to warn of the coming of the invader.  Make no mistake: the Herminians will not be content to take Hyacintho Flumen.  The Ice Queen intends to make slaves of us all.  The time and place to defeat the invader is now, in the south, before her armies reach Down’s End.”           

            Milo felt a swirl of emotions: pride in Amicia’s performance as ambassador in a foreign city, consternation that the enemy should choose Hyacintho Flumen as the place to attack, and gratification that disaster had come upon Aylwin so quickly.  At the same time, he had a premonition that this turn of events presented him with a vast opportunity, though for the moment he couldn’t tell how he should use it.

            Mayor Baldwin tilted his head.  His gaze kept moving from Amicia to Milo and back.  Still leaning on his elbows, he turned toward Barnet.  “What do you think, Alderman?  Are these great and evil tidings sufficient reason to summon the Council?”

            Barnet made an open palm gesture.  “My Lord Mayor, I think not.  If the Herminians besiege Hyacintho Flumen, it will take months or a whole year or longer to subdue the castle.  Suppose the Council chose to intervene on behalf of Lord Mortane.  The best time to do so would be in the spring.  We would have all winter to consider our course and raise an army.  Personally, I am not convinced a threat to Aylwin Mortane is a threat to Down’s End.  Other aldermen will be equally skeptical, I’m sure.”

            “I agree.  Lady Mortane, I invite you to the regular Council meeting Monday morning in the Down’s End Council Chamber.  That’s the big room at the end of the corridor.”  Mayor Baldwin waved vaguely with his right hand.  “I warn you that you will find it hard to persuade councilors to fight for a castle lord.  It was only in my grandfather’s day that the lords of Hyacintho Flumen abandoned their attempts to collect hidgield on the South Downs.  Memories of lordly conceit still linger in Down’s End.”

            Amicia bowed her head, unsurprised.  “Thank you, Lord Mayor, for this invitation.  My lord brother warned me that our plea might fall on initially unreceptive ears.  The people of Down’s End will not be quickly convinced that my brother’s war is your war.  Nevertheless, it is true; when we fight, we defend you.  Therefore I am willing to speak to anyone, high or low, to explain how it is wise for Down’s End to resist the invader.  I gratefully accept your invitation to address the Council on Monday.” 

            Amicia took a half-step back, as if she expected to be dismissed.  Baldwin beckoned her back to the rail with a slight gesture.  “Lady Mortane, if I am not mistaken, you are acquainted with the men on your right.”  He tilted his head toward Milo and Derian.

            Amicia turned and made eye contact with Milo.  He answered her tremulous smile with a wide grin.  After a moment, grin begot grin.  “My Lord Mayor, I know one of these men quite well, but the other is a stranger to me.  The taller man, with the dark hair, is my brother, Milo Mortane.”

            “I thought as much.”  Baldwin shifted in his chair and summoned Milo with a wave.  “Sir Milo Mortane.  Earlier you introduced yourself as a sheriff of Stonebridge.  But Lady Mortane of Hyacintho Flumen claims you as her brother.  Can you explain this?”

            Milo approached the railing and inclined his head, acknowledging the mayor.  “Easily, Lord Mayor.  It is a story as old as inheritances and brothers.  My father, Hereward, chose Aylwin to succeed him as lord of Hyacintho Flumen rather than me, though I am older.  Sadly, it is true that some lords cannot feel secure whilst their siblings live.  Therefore I deemed it best to leave Hyacintho Flumen before my brother should fall prey to jealousy or suspicion.  This happened at the beginning of summer.

            “My squire and I happened to meet with a merchant of Stonebridge on the road, none other than Derian Chapman.  We became friends and, as Derian said, I helped to protect his wagons from attack.  Derian felt some gratitude toward me, I think, so in Stonebridge he introduced me to his uncle, Ody Dans.  Master Dans inducted me into the city guard.  I am, in fact, a sheriff of Stonebridge, sworn to protect her laws.”

            The mayor nodded.  “I take it, then, as you have been abroad from Hyacintho Flumen, that the invasion of the Herminians was unknown to you?”

            “Aye, my Lord Mayor.  Amicia’s words are the first I have heard of this matter.”

            “Nevertheless, you are familiar with the strength of Hyacintho Flumen and its defenses?”

            “My Lord Mayor, I was familiar with the castle until the day I left.  Since then, my brother has acceded to the lordship; his bond may be stronger or weaker than my father’s.  If he had warning of the invader, he may have enlarged the garrison.  Sir Kenelm would know about these things.”           

            “I see.”  Baldwin pursed his lips, then stood.  “Eulard, a word in private.”  The alderman rose and followed the mayor through the side door.

            Milo quickly stepped to Amicia and threw his arms around her.  Then he clasped hands with Kenelm.  “Fair morning, and well met, Sir,” Kenelm said.

            “Well met, indeed, Kenelm.”  Milo turned to the clerk, Godfried.  “Are we expected to stay?”

            The clerk’s Adam’s apple bobbed.  “I think Mayor Baldwin intends to return presently.  It would be best to stay.”

            Godfried was still speaking when the door opened again.  But it was Barnet, not the mayor.  “Sir Milo and Lady Amicia.  It happens that I am hosting a few friends, including Aldermen Gausman and Ansquetil and their wives, for sup and dancing at my house tonight.  I invite you to join us.  The mayor suggests, Lady Amicia, that informal talk around the table might give you opportunity to explain your brother’s case more persuasively.”

            Amicia looked at Milo, then Kenelm, seeking direction.  Barnet continued, “Naturally, Lady Amicia, your guard will also be welcome.  And we must not forget Sir Milo’s friend, Master Chapman.  You are all invited.  In fact, Master Chapman, in a friendlier setting we might have a more productive conversation about certain things.”

            Milo spoke for all four.  “Thank you, indeed, Alderman.  Please tell us how to find your house and we will endeavor to attend.”

Copyright © 2013 by Philip D. Smith.

All rights reserved.  International copyright secured.

Castles 75

 

75. In Down’s End Court

            In Down’s End governance centered in a pair of two-storey brick buildings not far from the shore of West Lake.  Given the size and prosperity of Down’s End, Milo would have expected city buildings to be bigger; Stonebridge’s Citadel of the Guard dwarfed these structures.  One building had rooms for sheriffs, cells for prisoners awaiting trial, and two courtrooms for criminal trials.  Between this building and the lake was a small greensward with a whipping post and gibbet.  The second building had a courtroom devoted to property disputes, the mayor’s office, rooms used by aldermen between sessions of the Council, and the actual Council Chamber.  It was to the courtroom in this building that Derian Chapman had been summoned.

            Derian, Milo and Eádulf ate breakfast (not excellent but far better than bacon and beer) early in the morning at the Dog of the Downs.  The Dog was an inexpensive inn with only five guest rooms separated by thin walls.  Its chief virtue was its location near the warehouse on the west side of Down’s End where city sheriffs guarded Derian’s wine at his expense.  Milo told Eádulf to tend to their horses and wait for them in the Dog, then he accompanied Derian to court.

            They entered the City Council building through double doors into a passage running left and right with doors to many other rooms.  After a brief inquiry, a sheriff directed them to the right door.  In the courtroom a low railing divided the court into two parts.  On the near side of the rail were plain wooden benches; on the other side were two long tables with cushioned chairs positioned so their occupants could watch and interrogate people on the benches.  Each table had a clay inkbottle with quills lying close by. The chairs were all empty when Milo and Derian arrived, but a man stood near one of the tables.

            “Fair morning,” said Derian.  “I’m supposed to appear in the city court today.  Am I in the right place?”

            The man turned from a document lying on the table.  He wore a blue tunic and a silver medallion, similar to Talbot Theobald’s; Milo assumed this marked him as another clerk of the court.

            “What is your name?”  The clerk had a prominent Adam’s apple, as noticeable as Eádulf’s.  He was skinny and the sides of his head were shaved, as was his chin, but tall curly hair covered the top of his head; if not for his arms he could have been a carrot pulled from the ground.

            “Derian Chapman.”  Derian had picked a gray tunic for his appearance at court.  With black hose and a plain leather belt, he was trying to project an image of sober-mindedness.  Beside him, Milo was dressed even more conservatively, in a brown tunic only a little finer than a priest’s.  Milo and Derian stopped at the rail and Derian extended his hand to the clerk.  “Fair morning.”

            “Fair morning, Master Chapman.”  The clerk clasped hands with Derian and inclined his head.  “I am Roalt Godfried, clerk for the court.  According to this”—Godfried indicated the paper he had been reading—“you are expected this morning.  But not by the full court or Council, apparently.  Alderman Barnet requires your attendance.  Interesting.”  Godfried’s Adam’s apple worked up and down as he contemplated the document.

            A door opened on the table side of the room.  Two men came in.  The first wore a black robe loosely over a dark green tunic; he was stocky, with a boxer’s arms.  He spotted Derian and Milo immediately; fixing his eyes on them, he quickly took a chair behind the table nearest them.  The second man also wore a black robe, which served as background for a magnificent gold medallion.  He was a jowly man, clean-shaven, with very short white hair.  He sat at the second table and propped his head in his hands.  Milo guessed: The Mayor of Down’s End, I suppose.  But it seems he’s here to watch rather than participate.  The clerk Godfried sat at the stocky man’s table and took up a quill.

            The stocky dark-haired man picked up the paper Roalt Godfried had been examining.  He glared at Milo and Derian.  “Which of you is Chapman?”

            The jowly man whom Milo pegged as mayor interrupted, his voice sounding like a rumble.  “Ah, Eulard, um.”

            The occupant of the near table looked at the mayor for a moment.  Then he said, “Very well.  Fair morning.  I am Alderman Eulard Barnet.  I have agreed to represent Down’s End this morning in a hearing regarding a certain matter.”  Barnet looked at the paper in his hands.  “A complaint registered by a citizen of Down’s End, a teamster named Eni Raegenhere.  Raegenhere’s complaint names a Stonebridge merchant by the name of Derian Chapman.  I presume that one of you is Chapman?”

            “Fair morning, Alderman Barnet.  I am Chapman.”  Derian inclined his head.

            “And your companion?”

            Milo saluted, placing his fist on his chest.  “Sheriff Mortane of the Stonebridge City Guard.  I came along as a friend and extra escort for Derian’s wagons.”

            Barnet pursed his lips.  “A worthy service, Sheriff Mortane.  Since this matter concerns a complaint against your friend, Master Chapman, I will not ask you for testimony, to spare you the difficulty of testifying against him.”

            “That’s too bad.  I might enjoy testifying against Derian.”  Milo grinned at the alderman.

            Barnet frowned.  “I have little appetite for humor this morning, Sheriff Mortane.  You may be seated while I interview Master Chapman.”

            Milo sat.  The man at the second table was rubbing the back of his neck with one hand while his forehead rested on the palm of the other.  He appeared to be massaging a headache, but Milo noticed his eyes.  From beneath bushy white eyebrows the mayor was watching him.

            “What is your business in Down’s End, Master Chapman?”  Barnet spoke quickly, efficiently.

            Derian put his hands on the rail.  “I have brought two wagons of Stonebridge wine.  Naturally, I hope to sell my wine at a profit.  It’s excellent wine; perhaps the alderman could be persuaded to sample some?”

            “I’m afraid not.  You are not permitted to sell any wares until this matter has been resolved.  Master Raegenhere says that his wagon was damaged on the journey.”

            “That’s true, but …”

            “Don’t interrupt, Master Chapman.  The wagon was overloaded, according to this complaint, and that caused the loss.  Raegenhere had to pay fifteen golds out of pocket to repair his wagon.  That hardly seems fair if the loss was caused by excessive weight.”

            The alderman looked up from the document at Derian.  Behind him, a door opened and the clerk Talbot Theobald poked his head into the courtroom.  Seeing the white haired man, Theobald paced silently to the mayor, handed him a note, and bowed out of the room.  Alderman Barnet ignored this interruption, glaring at Derian.

            Derian waited several more seconds.  “Am I to speak now?  I don’t want to interrupt.”

            Barnet’s face went red in anger.  “Don’t play at fool.  Did you overload Raegenhere’s wagon?”

            “I did not.  Raegenhere helped load the wagon, and he never suggested it was too heavy until it got away from him on the Stonebridge summit.”

            “So you say.  Raegenhere says otherwise.”

            “The difference is that I am telling the truth.”

            Barnet let the paper fall to the table.  He stared at Derian.  “You have done business in our city before.  Is that true, Master Chapman?”

            “Aye.  I’ve visited Down’s End many times.  Trade between our cities is a boon to people in both.  Most recently, I came to Down’s End little more than four weeks ago, with samples of Stonebridge wines.  They were well received, and that led to my current venture.”

            Barnet interlaced his fingers and rested his head on them.  He seemed to be considering his next question.  “I believe you were also in Down’s End at the beginning of summer.  Is that right?”

            “Aye.  That time I was moving goods from Down’s End to Stonebridge, two wagons of wool.”

            “No problems on the way?  Axles breaking on the Stonebridge summit, that sort of thing?”

            Derian stroked his hair.  “To tell the truth, we did have trouble, but not with the pass.  You might not believe it, but some brigand tried to set fire to the wool.  Or, at least that’s what I thought.”

            “Please explain.”

            “We were staying at River House, an inn.  The wagons were parked in the road, and the horses had been put in a corral.  Past midnight, someone started shooting fire arrows at the wagons.  Foolishly, I thought he was trying to destroy my cargo.  My friend Milo divined the true nature of the attack.  Everyone else, including me, was running to guard the wool wagons, but Milo ran to the corral, where he caught two youths trying to make off with the draft horses.  The attack on the wagon was a diversion.  The thieves were really after fine draft animals.  After stopping the thieves, Milo rode down the archer with the fire arrows—in the dark, mind you—and killed him.”

            “No damage came to your wool or your wagons?”

            “None.”  Derian smiled ruefully.  “But not through my doing.  Sir Milo deserves the credit.”

            Throughout the interrogation, Milo kept his face blank.  Internally he applauded Derian’s ability to play the innocent.  When Derian praised him he merely looked at the floor.  The man with the gold medallion continued to pay more attention to Milo than Derian. 

            Barnet rested his chin on his nested fingers again.  “Master Chapman, who finances your trade?”

            “Excuse me?”

            “I’m a banker, Master Chapman.  I know how business works in Down’s End, and I suspect it works similarly in Stonebridge.  Who lent you the money to buy wool last summer?”

            Derian smiled sheepishly.  “Actually, I have an advantage there.  I have a rich uncle, and he lends me money.  His name is Ody Dans.  Perhaps you have heard of him.  He’s quite well known.”

            “Indeed.  Many know of Ody Dans.  And he is your uncle?”

            “Aye.”            

            “This means you have visited his palace?”

            “The Spray.  Uncle Ody would prefer to call it a house.  But I agree it’s spectacular.”

            “Have you visited your uncle recently?”

            “Aye.  Shortly before we left Stonebridge with the wine I now hope to sell in Down’s End.”

            “While you were there, did you see Avery Doin?”

            “Excuse me?”

            Barnet rose up in his chair, leaning forward on his elbows.  “Don’t play at fool, Master Chapman.  Did you see Avery Doin at your uncle’s house?”

            “It happens that I know Avery Doin.  I met him some months ago while on business in Down’s End.  But the last time I visited my uncle I did so in the company of my friend, Milo Mortane.  We saw uncle Ody on official business as sheriffs of Stonebridge.  We had the unfortunate duty to ask Master Dans to identify the body of a young woman.  While we were there, we saw my uncle, the guard at the door, and one of the servant girls.  That’s all.  I think I would remember Avery if I saw him.  I didn’t.  May I ask a question?”

            Barnet stared at the tabletop.  Finally he waved a hand permissively.

            “Is Avery Doin missing?  Are you looking for him?”

            Contempt and rage contorted Barnet’s face.  Milo marveled at Derian’s ability to maintain glib innocence.  The merchant stood at ease before the bar of Down’s End justice, while the alderman ground his teeth.  Finally Barnet pushed his chair back and stood up.  “Your cargo will be protected by the city until teamster Raegenhere is made whole.”  He snatched up the piece of paper.

            “Fifteen golds?”

            “Not a copper less.”

            “It’s unjust, but I’ll pay Raegenhere today.  May I sell my wine beginning tomorrow?”

            Barnet trembled in anger and could not speak.  The man at the other table, who had not spoken since admonishing the alderman at the beginning, cleared his throat.  “Eulard, I think it would be wise if you sat down.  This matter is more complicated than we thought.”  His finger tapped the paper clerk Theobald had given him.

            Barnet turned on the jowly man.  “Simun, it’s not complicated at all.  They’re harboring the man who murdered my son.”

            The man called Simun waved his hand as if brushing that matter aside.  “Sit down, Eulard.  Roalt, please go out to the hall and bring in the next party.” 

            Alderman Barnet sat.  Clerk Godfried lifted a hidden latch in the rail, which allowed a small portion of it to swing out like a gate.  He passed through the outer court and opened the door through which Milo and Derian had entered the courtroom.

            Two people came in: Kenelm Ash and Milo’s sister, Amicia.

Copyright © 2013 by Philip D. Smith.

All rights reserved.  International copyright secured.