by Jason Malone
“I refuse your offer,” I said and stood up to leave.
“Wait,” he growled. He pulled back his cloak to reveal a long blade at his belt and gestured for me to sit. I noticed then that under the sleeves of his woollen shirt were steel chain links. Hakon was wearing mail under his clothes and was prepared for a fight. I had left my weapons up in the room with Matilda, so I sat back down.
“I want us to be friends,” Hakon said, smiling again. “I know I cannot force you to help me, but know this: me and my people only want what is best for this kingdom.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You and I both know that the ‘good King Stephan’ is far from deserving of the throne. His father was a usurper, and he is nothing more than a puppet.”
He almost spat that name out, and there was disgust in his voice that had not been there before. Hakon’s motivations were political, it seemed, and I began to understand. Hakon wanted to support Emrys in overthrowing King Stephan, probably hoping to be rewarded for it. Hakon had no claim to the throne himself, but with Emrys, his cause might have some merit. Hakon would not be the only man to prefer a strong warlord from legend on the throne to a half-foreign bastard like Stephan.
“I am well-liked by the guards in this town,” I said. “I could have you arrested for treason with talk like that.”
“We both know you would not do that.”
I shrugged. “I do have the sword, though it is locked away in a safe place at home. But even if I had it here, it is not for sale and never will be.” I lied, of course. Godwin’s sword was up in the room with Matilda — I took it with me wherever I went.
“Never? It could make you very wealthy,” Hakon said.
“How wealthy?”
“I can offer you twice its weight in gold, and some more. Plus, you will have your name inscribed in the Hall of Legends once Emrys reclaims his kingdom.”
“If he even exists…”
“He exists, Edward. Sell me your sword, and I shall prove it.”
I shook my head. “I am sorry, Hakon. That sword is worth more to me than all the gold in the world.”
“A sentimental man, I see.” Hakon stood up. “Very well. Thank you for your time, Edward Godspeaker, but now I must return home for Winterlow. I bid you farewell.” Hakon quickly bowed and headed off into the streets.
I pushed my plate away. I had lost my appetite, and my mind was now racing with all kinds of thoughts. The Gods had sent that man to me for a reason, but what that reason was I did not yet know. Selling Godwin’s sword to Hakon and his people, whoever they were, would border on treason, but it was true that Stephan’s claim to his throne was weak.
These days, my trade was becoming less and less lucrative, and I was beginning to run low on the wealth I had saved from a well-paying job several years back. On top of that, the new dynasty was not exactly kind to people like me. My trade was tolerated, but how long before we were outlawed entirely? I might have had a lot to gain from helping Hakon.
On the other hand, freeing Emrys would mean unleashing devastation on the kingdom. Would I want that on my conscience?
At any rate, King Stephan’s army was probably strong enough to defeat Emrys, but it was more likely that he did not even exist. He was only a legend, after all. I sat at that table and stared out the window at the snowflakes falling lightly against the glass, and then I had that feeling in my gut — like my stomach was tied into a knot. Outside, I saw Hakon approach a group of about two dozen men, all dressed in black. He spoke to one of them, a large man, and pointed down the street.
The big man mounted his horse and, wasting no time, galloped south with about half of the darkly dressed men. I could not make out what Hakon had said, but I felt a sense of impending doom. Something was wrong.
Gods damn that blizzard.
I sat downstairs for some time, thinking, before bringing a small tray of food upstairs for Matilda. I found her asleep. I wanted to head home that morning before Harold’s men arrived in town, but because of Matilda I would now have to wait till the next. She was in no state to travel. Besides, it seemed that our pursuers were already here.
I left the tray with her, collected my things, and headed out into the streets hoping to pass the time by wandering Oldford. I wanted to see if I could find any information about the men who hunted us.
I liked Oldford. It was indeed a pretty town. It had grown naturally over time as more and more trade headed north from the south, or from the sea in the west upriver towards the east. As such, it had a long and interesting history, and it had been built sporadically. It was a cramped, chaotic mess of buildings, both old and new, and I thought that made it beautiful.
Apart from the Lord of Oldford’s castle, which sat atop the hill outside the city, Oldford had two prominent buildings. On the north side of the river, which ran east-to-west through Oldford, was an old temple. The temple had existed longer than anyone could remember, and it was dedicated to the god of freshwater and commerce, Brim.
Brim was said to be Oldford’s patron, and according to legend he founded the town himself when he sailed down the River Aed on his voyage from Lakeland in the northeast to the ocean. It is said that Brim came across a caravan of traders who wished to sell their goods in the kingdoms to the south, but they could not cross the deep, wide river.
They saw Brim sailing downstream, called out to him, and asked him to ferry them across. He did, and once they had reached the river’s south side, they gave Brim a wagon-load of rich gifts. He rewarded them by raising the riverbed in the spot they had crossed so that they would never have trouble crossing the river again.
Thus, Oldford earned its name from the ford that Brim had created. Nowadays there is a large stone bridge in the place where the ford used to be. Unfortunately, the temple is used by few these days, and its priests are unable to afford the maintenance they need to fix the growing number of chips and cracks in the building’s masonry, or replace the fading paint on its walls. Even the great statue of Brim now only has eight fingers and no nose.
On the south side of the river is Oldford’s town hall. Unlike the temple, this building is new, and whenever I have been in Oldford I have seen scaffold attached to some part of it, as if it is in a constant state of maintenance and renovation.
The town hall, as well as being the centre of Oldford’s administration, is also the residence of the town’s mayor, chosen from among Oldford’s wealthy merchant families every year and who is advised by a body of elected officials. Lord Adalbert is the ruler of Oldford only in name. In reality, all military, economic, and political power rests in the hands of the mayor and his council.
Because of the location of the town hall, the wealthiest part of Oldford is that on the south side of the river — the north side is a much poorer district, though still richer than the districts outside the walls.
I spoke to some of the townsfolk, and a few told me they had seen a group of five warriors poking around the city. One man, a fishmonger I knew who sold his catch in the marketplace each day told me the men, led by one called Merewald, had asked about me earlier that morning.
He told them nothing, fortunately.
I returned to the Black Rose late in the afternoon as the sun was setting. Matilda was feeling better, but it was too late to travel, for we would be riding through the cold night. Matilda and I supped together, but this time she had not a drop of ale. She could sense my anxiety and frustration and did not talk much.
We ate in silence, listening only to the sounds of the tavern’s chatter and laughter and the cheery songs played by the bard. Matilda wanted her own room that night, and I admit I was relieved. Instead of lying awkwardly beside Matilda, unable to sleep, I kept my bed warm with the girl who served me that morning. She was much better company than Matilda, especially on that cold winter night.
The skies had cleared overnight, and so without wasting any time, we bid Mildred farewell and left the Rose before sunup the next morning. She was sorry to see us go and gave Mat
ilda a parting gift: a batch of small cakes she had baked the night before. We packed our things, saddled Lilly, and rode south through Oldford. I took care that we were not being followed, but I reckoned I knew those streets better than Harold’s men.
Matilda did not speak except to say “yes” or “no,” and I figured she was angry at me for some reason. I did not bother to ask why. As we rode through the busy streets of Oldford, Matilda and I shared only one conversation.
“Was that girl better or worse than my sister?” There was a touch of bitterness in her voice.
“Sorry?” I was taken aback.
“You heard me.”
“Is there a problem?”
“Never mind.”
I did not reply and wondered what made Matilda so upset. As far as I was concerned, I had done nothing wrong. It was she who had delayed my journey home.
We approached the south gates of Oldford, and as we passed under the arch Matilda stared up at the grates the town’s defenders would use to pour boiling liquids on top of any attackers.
“For oil,” I told her.
She said nothing.
We passed through the dilapidated villages clinging to the town’s southern walls and out into a flat, swampy country. There was little chance Harold’s men could find us now; their hounds would have lost our scent in Oldford, and the tracks leading in and out of the south gate could have been anyone’s. They would need to discover where I lived, but by the time they could do that, we would be safe in my hall with my oathmen ready to deter them.
Dirt tracks led us through parts of the swamp while in the wetter parts we had to cross boardwalks. Around us we could see small settlements dotting the marsh, each several miles apart. There were barely more than a few houses in each village. I explained to Matilda that the larger settlements were home mostly to eelers and that the smaller ones were merely stations that were not permanently occupied but acted as temporary homes for workers to gather peat.
She ignored me.
“Matilda,” I said as we rode. “Whatever I have done to upset you, I am sorry.”
She did not respond for a few moments but eventually gave up on ignoring me.
“I forgive you,” she mumbled.
“We will be past this swamp soon,” I assured her. “You see those hills in the distance? That’s all farmland. My house sits in a valley among those hills, backed by a forest. It is much more beautiful than this place.”
Matilda shuffled in the saddle, pressing her back against me. She had been sitting far forward in the saddle, evidently trying to forget I was there. “I do not understand why anyone would want to live out here,” Matilda said.
“Well, I suppose you would get used to the smell. You can make good money selling peat, and in times of war an army is not likely to march through a swamp, so these people are safe,” I explained. I may have lied about the smell. I rode through here frequently and never got used to it. It was an awful stench.
As we rode on through the swamp, Matilda did not seem as upset anymore, but she still spoke little. Perhaps it was the swamp smell? Or maybe my apology did not work after all. I tried to spark a conversation.
“Have you ever met the lord?”
“Lord Adalbert?” Matilda said. “I have not.”
“I am not surprised. He rarely leaves his castle,” I said. “I’ve only met him twice. He’s a good man but not a very likeable one, if you get my meaning.”
“How can a man govern such an important part of the kingdom if he stays in his castle?” Matilda asked.
“The mayor runs the town and the surrounding settlements, but anyone living outside of a day’s ride from Oldford governs themselves, more or less. Your father would have his own laws and administer his own justice, correct?”
“Yes, he does. I never really felt like we were ruled by anyone else.”
“I thought as much.”
“Why does Adalbert not rule instead of the mayors?”
“The mayor would not let him even if he wanted to. King Stephan’s father, the Usurper, issued a law allowing cities to have their own armies. Oldford’s army is loyal to the mayor because the mayor pays their wages. Adalbert still has his own retinue, of course, but the mayor pays his soldiers more, so free men are more willing to serve him than the lord. Relations between the two are tense, to say the least,” I told Matilda.
“Your tone suggests you dislike the mayors,” Matilda said.
I said nothing.
At around noon, we reached the edge of the swamp and were finally on hard ground again. Lilly was a much happier horse now, and we could ride much faster. We passed a country of gentle hills coated with a thick layer of snow, but the peasants here had already made efforts to clear the road.
We came across the occasional wooded area, but the trees were always thin, and we were never in the shade for too long. That was a blessing. The sun gave us enough warmth to ride in relative comfort, and after a small stop for lunch, Matilda was happy once again.
After a few more hours of riding, she insisted on taking another break, despite the fact my home was not far. I helped her down from Lilly’s saddle, and she went off to do her business behind a tree.
I looked away. The sky was thick with clouds, so I did not notice it at first, but as I stared off eastward I noticed what appeared to be a dark plume of smoke rising into the sky from behind the hills in the distance. I squinted, wondering if my eyes were deceiving me.
“Matilda,” I called without taking my eyes off the cloud.
“Yes?” Matilda said as she came over to me.
“Is that smoke?” I asked.
Matilda put her hand above her eyes and then nodded slowly. “It looks like it. Is something burning?”
“Well, that is usually the case when smoke appears,” I turned and went back to Lilly. “We should keep going. I have a bad feeling about this.”
Matilda hurried back to the horse, and I helped her up into the saddle. “Could it be rebels?”
“This far south?” I said. I kicked Lilly into a canter. “That’s unlikely. It would be difficult for a force to cross the Aed without controlling Oldford first.”
“Are there no crossings?”
“There are. There is a small ford not far upriver, actually, but Carol’s men would be blocked at every attempt to cross.”
“Unless he could beat the river’s defenders.”
“True,” I said.
We continued riding, and the smoke grew ever closer. By late afternoon we entered a valley and came to a low stone wall that stretched from either side of the road to the forests on the hilltops. It was not a steep valley, but a valley nonetheless, and I told Matilda that we were home at last.
“My master’s great-grandfather had these walls built,” I explained. “Apparently his neighbours kept moving the boundary markers, so he built a wall of stone to ensure his lands could never change.”
We rode on, and eventually the road twisted. In the distance I could see my home. I owned miles upon miles of land, but most of it was for grazing livestock, which I did not have, and so I only used the hundred or so acres around my house.
Still, it was a rich and beautiful patch of country. My house was flanked by two hills and was backed to the south by a large evergreen forest that stretched for miles to the River Aed. In the warmer months, the north side of my house would be surrounded by a golden forest of wheat, and on the hills around those fields one could see my sheep, specks of white dotting the lush green pastures.
But at this time of year, the wheat was harvested, the animals were brought indoors, and the hills were completely white with snow. A very small village sat atop the hill to the west of the house, and another in the middle of the wheat fields. These villages were occupied by my tenants, who called me Earl, though I did not officially have that title, and by my small retinue of oathmen.
Except now it was all a ruin. The fields were scorched bare, and the houses, including my hall, were burned to the foundati
ons. Thick black smoke rose from the embers, and the snow was grey with ash. The corpses of livestock lay strewn across the fields, black and bloodied, and the burned, unrecognisable bodies of men and women were propped up by stakes outside my home — or what was left of it, at least. There was nothing living in sight.
“Is this…?” Matilda began.
“Yes,” I said. I galloped as hard as I could towards my hall, where I threw myself from the horse. I looked around in horror and disbelief.
It was all gone. Everything I owned, except that which I had taken with me on my recent travels, was now ash. My home, which had belonged to my master and his ancestors for three centuries, was now a ruin. I had no money, no animals, and all my people were dead. People I had sworn to protect.
I drew my sword and climbed over the remnants of my hall’s doorway into what was left of the building. The scorched, shrivelled remains of my two hounds lay by the door, and I shook my head.
But what horrified me most was the display in the centre of my hall. A pile of cremated bodies stood in front of me, which would have touched my hall’s roof were it still there. Smoke still billowed from it, and the embers were still hot. This destruction had happened recently.
“By all the Gods,” Matilda said. She stood in the doorway, her hands over her mouth. “My father’s men would never do something like this.”
“No, this was not their work. Stay outside,” I demanded. “Go tie Lilly to a tree, but not too far away.”
Matilda did not hesitate to do as I asked.
I approached the pile, pulling my cloak over my face to block out the awful stench of burned flesh. I poked one of the bodies with my sword.
“Mail,” I mumbled. This body, and many others on the pile, wore mail and steel helmets. There were blackened swords and axes and the remnants of wooden shields. “I am so sorry,” I said.
I fell to my knees. The bodies in this pile were not only those of my servants and tenants, but also my oathmen — loyal housecarls who had sworn to fight for me and defend me and my own to the death, but who were also my closest friends and companions. These men were like brothers to me, and I had failed them. They had given their lives defending my home, but I was not even there to die with them.
