whispered in my ear, straightening up to smile at Atela.
Since that day I have borne arms and faced enemies across the battlefield. More importantly I have survived, so I suppose I have been blessed with a lot of luck and some skill. I have never, however, seen a display such as I saw that day, when the Count of Trall fought the Earl of March. You could not envisage it unless you were there, and I do not think I have the words to describe it. I can only tell you how the sound of clashing steel rang in my ears until I thought I would go deaf; how the crash of swords against iron-bound shields shook my very bones until I thought they would shatter; how the grimaces on the men’s faces as they withstood the shock of those blows made my own teeth grind and gnash as I willed Kieldrou to strike down his enemy. All around me men and women gasped with wonder at the display, some of them cheering for Sturgar but, to be honest, most of them supporting the Count as I did. This, of course, served to infuriate the Earl yet more and, even had he not harboured a deadly grudge against Kieldrou before, he certainly did now. He leaped to the attack even more wildly than before, raining blow after blow upon his opponent so that Kieldrou was hard put to parry or block them all. I could feel Derian tensing at my side, his grip on my shoulder tightening as he watched, and on my other side I could sense that the lady Atela too was concerned, holding her breath as she watched yet another splinter fly from Kieldrou’s shield.
“Stop!” came a strong voice, carrying above the shouts and cheers of the crowd. “Stop this now!”
It was the King, but hardly anyone appeared to be listening, least of all the two men in the fighting square. Gradually, however, the strident voice, so well known to the lords and ladies, began to get through to them and the noise slowly abated, while the two men continued to fight, probably half deafened by the clashing noise they were making and with helmets covering their ears. In fact, it took an invasion of the square by a handful of young lords, to pull them apart, before they finally stopped swinging at each other, although we could see how they strained against the arms that held them, Kieldrou as much as Sturgar, I’m ashamed to say.
When order was restored and the two men stood before the King, their breasts heaving with the exertion of their fight, Theofric stepped forward, looking slightly askance at Sturgar, I fancied.
“That was a fight to behold,” said wise old Theofric, holding out his hands to clap the two lords on the shoulders. “But it was getting out of hand. By Hogra, Sturgar, it looked as if you wanted to kill him!”
Everyone laughed at that, except for Derian and me. Kieldrou looked over at us at that point and I saw the corner of his mouth twitching in a faint smile. He knew the truth, too – well, I suppose he knew better than we, considering Sturgar had been bashing away at him with a sharp sword for the past while.
“But I am glad,” the King continued, turning to face the crowd, “that Hograth, and Trall, breeds such hardy warriors. I know that we need never fear Hussania again with such as these to lead our armies.”
Later on, after I had returned to the stables, my heart still pounding with excitement at the display of fighting I had seen, I heard a voice calling me. I turned from my work and looked in surprise to see Derian standing at the stable door, with the Count himself. Both were smiling at me.
“Come here, Derian,” called the Count and I hurried over, bowing low before him, my heart in my mouth.
“My foster-brother tells me that once again you have been listening where you should not listen.”
I did not know what to say, but Kieldrou merely laughed. “And by the Goddess I am glad you did, lad. Derian tells me how you sought him out to tell him of Sturgar’s desire to kill me.”
“I could do no less, my lord,” I mumbled, staring at the floor.
“Nonsense. It was a noble thing to do and I thank you for it. You can be assured, however, that Sturgar would never seriously have tried to kill me while we duelled before the King and his whole court. No, when he does it, it will be in some dark alley, where no-one can see it. Whatever he might say to the contrary, Sturgar is not man enough to face me in a true fight to the death. But I appreciate your concern.
“Now listen,” he continued, his voice low as he bent his head closer to mine. “By rights I should remove your tongue for what you have heard these past few days. But you have shown me good friendship and loyalty and I will do the same for you. Sturgar must never know what you discovered, for he will show no mercy. But if you keep faith with me, then you can consider yourself a friend of Trall for the rest of your days.”
“Nothing would honour me more, my lord,” I stammered, from relief rather than from any real sense of the honour he was bestowing upon me.
“Then, Derian, take this knife as a gift of friendship from me. It is yours to keep, and your master will be told, so that he does not think you stole it. Work hard and keep your wits about you, and we will see you next time we come to Gerroch.”
With that the Count and his foster-brother strode away, leaving me alone, holding in my hands a short knife, the badge of Trall carved into its hilt.
I still have that knife, kept safe in my chest with my otherwise poor collection of memories. I have decreed that it will go to my grandson here, when I am gone, and that he should pass it to his eldest son when the time comes. A gift from the likes of Kieldrou is not a trifle.
I have kept faith with Kieldrou all these years. He is dead and gone, as is Derian his brother. Sturgar died five or six years after the events I have related, a proven traitor to Hograth, so I suppose he got what he deserved. But while people know the root of their feud, I have never broken my silence over the sorry details, and I will not do so now, even though it would hardly matter. I owe it to the Count, who was a fair man and who treated me with honour, although I was low-born. If all men were like Kieldrou, then there would be much less evil in the world, I am sure.
Now, you young folk have listened most attentively, but it is time for an old man to take himself off to bed. No doubt you will stay up for hours, and still rise with the dawn, and that is the benefit of your tender years.
Another tale tomorrow? Perhaps you might persuade me – oh, how could I resist my lovely grand-daughters? Perhaps tomorrow we shall turn to a story of love, eh? I would have thought that you would want to hear how I rose from a life in the stables to hold a manor here in Pardria. After all, that is the natural tale to follow. No, you prefer a tale of love? Well, the other story can perhaps wait.
Off with you all, now, and drink more of my wine. I will just ask my girls here to walk me along to my room.
THE END
Author’s Note
First of all, thank you for purchasing Conspiracy of Silence. I hope you enjoyed the story.
Conspiracy of Silence was originally conceived as the first of a series of short stories to introduce readers to the world of Gilderaen. My existing novels feature Kieldrou, the Count of Trall, as the main character, and I wished to begin to examine the world through other characters’ eyes. Kieldrou appears, and will continue to appear in the tales narrated by Derian, but to a greater or lesser extent as time goes on. In fact, in the upcoming novella (tentatively titled Questions of Allegiance), Kieldrou will spend most of the time off-stage.
I hope that reading this story will encourage you, if you have not already done so, to try out my full-length novels, and to keep an eye out for future releases.
At this moment in time I do not have an author website, but I do maintain a Gilderaen page on Facebook; so please come and visit, ‘like’ it, and by all means drop me a line there, either with feedback, or to ask any questions about the world of Gilderaen. I also have a presence on Goodreads, so by all means drop by to leave a review, ‘follow’ me, or contact me there.
About the author
Marcus Pailing took a degree in Ancient History and Archaeology, where he specialised in the history of Alexander the Great and the Successor kingdoms. Later he took a Masters degree in Medieval History, specialising this time in 12th century
historical writing and the Icelandic Sagas.
He worked for a number of years in the business training industry, including a stint as a writer of e-learning courses, before training to be a teacher. He now teaches History in Leicestershire, England.
He is a keen traveller, especially in the Middle East and Central Asia, where he busies himself visiting as many ancient and medieval sites as he can. In England, he thrives on visiting medieval castles and cathedrals!
Other novels by Marcus Pailing, available as eBooks:
The Fields of Battle trilogy
Part 1: The Death of Kings
Part 2: The Demon’s Consort
Part 3: Fields of Battle
The Withered Rose
(The events described in The Withered Rose take place some years before those covered in the Fields of Battle trilogy.)
Questions of Allegiance
(Two short stories and a novella – including this story, Conspiracy of Silence)
Kingdoms in Crisis
Conspiracy of Silence Page 5
