The executioner went to each prisoner in turn removing their hoods. Eburg saw with satisfaction that the young poacher was crying like a child – in all fairness he was little more than one anyway. Still, he was old enough to choose his friends and it was for this lack of judgement that he was being punished. The thug was smiling grimly; obviously he had known of this possible outcome of his life for years and was amply prepared for it. Only the Marsh Man was a disappointment. Eburg had hoped that, being a savage, he would struggle and scream, drawing opprobrium from the crowd – something that would culminate in a large cheer once the trapdoor was opened and he was jerking and kicking on the rope. Unfortunately, though, he seemed to be facing his end with the calm stoicism one usually only saw in priests. Eburg wished he was close enough to get one of the guards to jab him with his pole arm, anything to elicit the desired reaction. So this one was a noble savage, after all.
Cornelius went up to the blubbering lad.
‘Do you accept that you will be judged by the Gods, that your soul will be held in their hands and that you have to give a fair account of both the good and evil that you have committed in your life. Do you wish for your soul to be blessed by the holy church and for that blessing to be conveyed by Xhenafa to the very seat of Artorus himself?’
Through his choking sobs the boy managed to say the words, ‘I do, Father.’
‘Then, son, I bless you in the name of the holy church. May you pass into the divine realm in the sure and certain knowledge that you have been born and raised under the tenets of the Pantheon and that, but for a few wayward steps, you still adhere to the values as espoused in the Book of Artorus. The church therefore commends your soul to Xhenafa. May the Gods be merciful to you.’
Cornelius moved on. He asked the same questions of the thuggish man in the centre. This time the man gave a brutish snarl of a laugh.
‘There are no Gods, priest.’
Cornelius gave the man a resigned look, as though he had heard similar remarks from such strata of society many times before.
‘Nevertheless, as you were born under the Divine Pantheon I still commend your soul to Xhenafa and request that the Gods show you what mercy they can.’
The man was still smiling as Cornelius left him and moved towards Cygan. His expression changed from one of beatific generosity to frowning disapproval.
‘I cannot confer the blessing of the Gods upon your heathen soul, if soul you have. You are already condemned in their eyes. That is, unless you agree to undergo the rite of purification by earth and water that all our new-born go through.’
Cygan just glared back at the priest. Cornelius shook his head and walked quietly away without another word.
The executioner placed the rope around the boy’s neck, then the thugs and finally Cygan’s. Cornelius stood at the edge of the scaffold and prayed loudly enough for everyone to hear. Once this was done he stepped down from the scaffold, his job done. All that remained now was for the executioner to place the condemned men over the trapdoors and pull the lever to open them. Eburg and his mother edged forward in their seats.
Without any warning a blast from a cornet resounded over the square, causing Lady Eburg to clutch at her heart and her son to catch his breath. A gaudily liveried herald, clad in quartered red and blue and carrying a colossal similarly coloured banner, rode his horse past the scaffold and into the square where the crowd parted before him like a sea. He slowed to a trot and rode up to Baron Eburg’s platform.
‘Hail to Baron Eburg. I have come to announce the arrival of my Lords Baron Calvannen and Baron Josar Trevok here to commence their visits to all the southern baronetcies standing firm against invasion by the foul Arshumans. I have ridden on ahead but they will be here in a matter of minutes to discuss any matters of mutual concern to both your noble houses.’
Eburg stared blankly at the man as his horse fought against the reins, eager to start galloping full pelt again. His mother, however, found her voice rather more easily.
‘Esric is coming here? Without announcement? Does he not know any of the protocols?’
‘Indeed, he does, my Lady. However, he felt in these circumstances, given the close relationship he holds with both of you, that such pettifogging details need not apply here.’
‘Is that so?’ Eburg finally spoke. ‘Please return and tell him that he will be as welcome as ever and will be invited into my humble home as soon as the current business here is attended to.’
The herald frowned. ‘Oh, that is the other thing, my Lord – he requests that any on-going business you may be conducting at present be held in abeyance until his arrival. He has matters to discuss with you concerning them.’
‘I see.’ Eburg felt his mother squirming in her seat in annoyance.
‘Then that is what we shall do. I hope he arrives swiftly in order that the suffering of these men is not unduly prolonged.’
The herald bowed as low as his horse could let him and rode off, scattering the throng in the square hither and thither. Many started to leave, detecting a change in the weather, and soon the crowd in the square had reduced by over half. Lady Eburg could not conceal her agitation.
‘We should proceed with these executions anyway. Who does he think he is to so wantonly interfere in our affairs?’
The executioner was looking at the Baron, waiting for the signal to proceed. Eburg, however, shook his head and instead signalled with his hand that the man should stand down, at least for the present.
‘He is here for a reason, Mother. We should at least wait to find out what it is.’
He did not have to wait long. After less than ten minutes the trumpets started to sound again, matching the pounding of hooves on cobbles. The market-stall traders started to pack up and the few remnants of the crowd started to make their way home.
Esric on his black charger led the horsemen into the square. Josar, a man Eburg never felt comfortable around, was with him. Behind them were at least thirty horsemen and heralds, the men-at-arms bearing shield and spear, their silver helms burnished in the sun. Further behind, another hundred or so footmen armed with sword and shield, all clad in the blue and red of Calvannen’s house started to spill into the square. Against them Jeffen’s twenty or so men seemed anaemic in comparison. Esric called out to his fellow baron.
‘Well met, Baron Eburg, and you too, Lady Eburg; it is good to see you both in such rude health enjoying this bracing morning; and I see’ – he looked behind him at the scaffold – ‘dispensing some of the Grand Duke’s justice to your people.’
‘Thank you, Esric; you are always welcome in my humble home. Perhaps you would like to join me on the platform here to watch the proceedings unfold.’ Eburg stood to welcome the only man in the south that had authority over him.
‘And who exactly is on the receiving end of your judgements here?’
Eburg narrowed his eyes. Why would Esric want to know?
‘Well, there is a boy who was part of a gang making a business out of poaching my deer; a professional killer guilty of many major transgressions of the law, and finally a more exotic creature, a man from the Endless Marshes found guilty of killing a prominent merchant in Sketta.’
Esric smiled, a smile that usually had a devastating effect on any lady who should witness it. Lady Eburg, however, was immune to such things and sat there, lips pursed, nose held high, as though having to tolerate an unpleasant odour.
‘A Marsh Man? How interesting. What evidence condemned this man exactly?’
Eburg did not reply immediately; he seemed to be going over his judgement in his mind. Finally he seemed ready to speak but it was a response that never came.
There was a commotion in the square behind them. Several of Esric’s men-at-arms seemed to be struggling with another man. He was kicking and pushing at his erstwhile captors attempting to break free of them. Finally he managed to push his head above the arms and bodies encircling him and shouted at the top of his lungs.
‘Stop the executions!
The man is innocent. Death is coming to us, they are coming! They are coming!’ He disappeared under a sea of arms.
Esric watched the struggle a little longer then said quietly but firmly.
‘Bring him before us.’
Eburg sat back down, aware that he had lost all control of proceedings; his mother seethed quietly beside him.
Esric’s men half carried, half pushed the man towards him. The man ceased his struggling and allowed them to do what they wished. Finally, weapons pointed at him, the men fell back leaving the man standing alone before Esric. Esric and Eburg both choked back exclamations of surprise.
For the man was an albino.
He cringed slightly at the stern expression of the powerful baron on his horse. He was bathed in sweat; his clothes were of decent make but were stuck to him; his hair was also plastered to his forehead. His breath came in short ragged gasps.
‘Well, my man,’ said Esric. ‘You have caused quite a perturbation in the square. I hope the explanation you are about to give me is a plausible one, for your own sake.’
‘It is, my Lord.’ The man was breathing heavily, doubled over. Esric waited patiently, giving him time to compose himself. Finally he spoke again. ‘My Lord, I have run nearly all the way from the trading post in the south; my horse threw me almost as soon as I escaped.’
‘Trading post? You mean Tath Wernig?’ Eburg knew immediately this was the man mentioned in the magistrate’s letter.
‘Escaped? What do you mean escaped?’ Esric grew sterner.
‘Yes, my Lords, Tath Wernig was attacked late last night. All the horses were killed; I don’t know about the villagers ... I barely got out with my life; they were dragging people into the river.’ The man looked over at the selfsame river, just visible behind a row of wattle-and-daub buildings that huddled close to it and recoiled, almost as if it was about to come alive and strike him like a snake.
‘Who were dragging them into the river, man? Who?’ Esric’s tone was harsh.
The albino gasped, his voice barely a whisper. ‘Monsters, my Lord, just as the Marsh Man said. He is innocent, my Lord; my partner, Gorton, tried to rob him and fell in the river. It was not his fault. He tried to tell us, he did, but we wouldn’t listen – we just wanted his trade goods, Artorus forgive me.’
Eburg stood again, affecting all the outrage he could possibly muster.
‘You are the albino Onkean mentions in his deputation, are you not? You are saying that you lied to my own appointed official? That you perjured yourself before him in order to condemn an innocent man? Then it is you that shall replace him on the gallows! Take him to the scaffold, Jeffen!’
He forgot himself for a second. Jeffen and his men, heavily outnumbered, were standing some way from proceedings and did not move at his command. Esric raised an admonishing hand.
‘Patience, Eburg. This man could have fled into the country, never to be seen by us again. Instead, he came here and is plainly terrified. I am inclined to believe him. Do any of you men here know him?’
One of his men at arms, halberd pointed at the albino, spoke.
‘Yes, my Lord, he is well known in some parts of Sketta; we come from the same district. He is a slippery customer, always a step ahead of the law. He runs with the gangs by the river and among the warehouses. Whitey, we all call him.’
‘Whitey,’ Esric murmured quietly. ‘Tell me, Dennick,’ he said to the man-at-arms. ‘You were once with the gangs, were you not?’
‘Yes, my Lord, a lot of us were, but we are all your men now – those days are long in the past.’
‘Yes,’ said Esric, ‘I know. Tell me, Whitey, do you believe in redemption? That a man can undo all the wrong in his life by turning from the road he has journeyed since his birth and serving the cause of justice?’
Whitey looked at the ground, clasping his hands together.
‘Of course, my Lord.’
‘Then I give you a choice. You can submit to Baron Eburg’s justice and dance on the gallows for the entertainment of the mob or you can submit to my justice. Which would you prefer?’
‘I, I do not wish to hang, my Lord.’
‘Very well,’ Esric said briskly. ‘Dennick, induct this man into the guard, give him a uniform and his basic training, and before anyone says anything I do not wish to hear that superstitious claptrap about pink eyes being bad luck, understand?’
The men mumbled their assent, not necessarily wholeheartedly.
‘And as for you, Whitey, I will be watching you carefully. If one weapon vanishes from the armoury, one joint of pork disappears from the kitchens, one silver button goes from my sister’s jewellery box, then it is to you I shall turn. Understand?’
Whitey gulped. ‘Yes, my Lord.’
‘As to the matter you have reported to us, I will question you further presently. Expect to be assigned to the troops designated to defend us from this strange new threat. Captain Jeffen!’
Jeffen looked at Eburg, who opened his hands in supplication, then to Esric.
‘My Lord.’
‘There will be no hangings today. Return the two prisoners to their cells and bring the Marsh Man to the manor house. Baron Eburg and I have matters to discuss over dinner.’
He spurred his horse towards Eburg’s home, leaving its owner to catch up behind him. Josar, riding next to him, spoke as quietly as he could.
‘You rather usurped Eburg’s authority there; it was boldly done indeed.’
‘I am weary, Josar,’ Esric replied, not caring who heard him, ‘of having charge over barons who are bound and determined to ignore everything I command. It stops here. A man could have hanged today, a man who knows something of whatever unholy dangers threaten our southern borders, even as the Arshumans press us to the north. And I will do whatever it takes to have everyone here put their own petty ambitions to one side until this war is over.’
‘Whatever it takes?’ Josar said wryly.
‘Whatever it takes.’
Shortly afterwards, in the courtyard of Eburg’s walled estate, Esric and Josar had dismounted and were facing the Marsh Man and Captain Jeffen. Eburg and his mother had retired to the dining room to ensure that the kitchens were doing their duty and able to feed extra mouths that day.
Esric noticed Cygan’s injuries.
‘They worked you over pretty thoroughly, did they not?’
‘Indeed.’
‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Baron Esric Calvannen, Chief Prosecutor of the War in the South. I am the man in authority here and the one to whom you shall speak on the matter of these creatures and how best to combat the threat they present.’
‘And I am Cyganexatavan of the Black Lake, sent to tell you of the danger on the threshold of your home.’
‘Well met, Cyganexatavan. We shall speak at length shortly. First of all, though, do you think it wise to send some troops to this trading post to gauge the import of the events two nights ago?’
‘Yes, of course, though it is not for me to tell you what to do with your men.’
‘No, it is not. Captain Jeffen, take twenty of your horse to Tath Wernig, search for survivors and see how the village can be best defended in the future. Twenty of my horse will accompany you, report back to me.’
‘To you, my Lord?’
‘Yes to me. Now go – it is your people being threatened after all.’
Jeffen bowed and left them. The courtyard was empty bar the three men and a few troops milling around idly.
‘Now to speak to Eburg.’ Esric turned towards the manor house.
‘If it is all right by you,’ said Cygan, ‘I will join you later; I have some small business to attend to first.’
Esric nodded and he and Josar entered the manor house. Cygan watched them go, then turned in the opposite direction. In the high stone wall encircling the estate was a black space, an entrance that opened on to a flight of steep, dark, slippery steps, leading down into a darkness lit only by a couple of flickering torches, and it was to t
his entrance that he was now heading.
It was not the food, but the atmosphere, that could be carved with a knife in Eburg’s dining hall. Eburg himself was sitting ashen-faced, distractedly pulling the meat off a pigeon; his mother, who normally devoured everything within an arm’s radius, could barely force down a piece of dried bread, and their staff and retainers appeared similarly affected by their Lord’s parsimonious approach to his vittles. Esric, however, was ravenous, appearing to devour his own weight in food and sending to the kitchens for more once his plate was cleared. At last, the staff of the household returned to their duties elsewhere and it was not long before it was just the two Eburgs, Seneschal Carey, Josar, Calvannen and half a dozen guards, representing both Houses, left in the hall.
Esric took a draught of watered wine. ‘I heartily commend your kitchens, Eburg. If only my own had the same delicacy of touch; every pigeon I have been given lately is as black as a lump of Derannen coal.’
‘Thank you, Esric,’ Eburg smiled nervously. ‘Mother vets every member of the kitchen staff personally, from humblest scullion to grandest chef; it is an obsession of hers, to see that I am well provided for.’
‘That is good to hear,’ said Esric heartily. ‘Where would we all be without the care and attentiveness of our mothers?’
‘Mine died when I was but a child,’ said Josar. ‘Though my father remarried it was hardly the same. The Gods have smiled on you, Eburg.’
‘Yes, in some ways they have.’
‘And now, Eburg,’ – Esric wiped the last of the gravy off his chin with a white cloth – ‘I suppose you are wondering what brought me here unannounced, in breach of the usual protocols, which is certainly not something I would normally do.’
‘Yes, Esric, I did wonder.’
‘Good. What would a man be without his natural curiosity? Coincidentally, it was curiosity that has driven me here – curiosity as to how the lands closest to the Endless Marshes were being administered; curiosity as to the quality of the kitchens in houses other than my own, one I may add that has been sated most satisfactorily, and curiosity as to why the baronial House of Eburg keeps receiving seditious letters, ones that speak with the most earnest anticipation of my forthcoming demise.’
The Forgotten War Page 74
