by Lela Markham
“You may place it on the table, Talidd. We’ll serve ourselves,” Joran instructed.
“Of course, my lord,” the young servant said. He was quite dark with brown eyes and hair of a close color. “Do you wish me to wait on the landing if you need somewhat?”
“Aye, that would be useful,” Joran said. Talidd arranged the table smartly and then withdrew, closing the door behind him.
“Where did you get such a well-trained servant?” Burcan asked with a smile. “I’ve not seen him before.”
“Oh, he came with Cadda from Dun Celdrya,” Joran said, eyes focused on the door.
“Truly? I seriously cannot remember him.” Burcan poured out the mead and handed Joran one of the goblets.
“He’s waited on you many times,” Joran said. He set aside his goblet after just a small sip and gathered bread, meat and cheese to nibble. “We have demesne business to discuss. Lord Rhemry is acting as if I do not have authority as vyngretrix.”
“I’ll speak with him. It’s not unheard of, what we’ve done, but it’s never been done in Mulyn before, far as I know. We’ll have to find a way to direct our underlords with fairness and equality. What is the specific issue?”
“He’s got rivalry with Donyn and asked for malover, but he didn’t like my ruling.”
“What did you rule?” Burcan now set aside his own goblet to partake of the food.
“It’s an issue over grazing rights. Donyn has traditionally grazed their sheep in the high meadow every summer. Rhemry’s demesne has no history of using it, but when he expanded his flocks, he moved into the high meadow. I ruled that Donyn has first use of the grass. Rhemry then said I am not the legitimate rule.”
Burcan nodded thoughtfully.
“I’ll speak with him before I travel to Celdrya. If he gives you more grief, I’ll make it clear, he’ll suffer penalty.”
“Well and good then. And, the penalty?”
“What do you consider to be the acceptable penalty?”
This was the secret to their partnership. They traded decisions. It worked well. Eastern Mulyn’s population had been sparse until their father’s generation, but now that farmers were settling the land, it behooved to give them protection and splitting their effort when there were two of them made sense.
“We need to make an example so others will not be tempted. Half his demesne goes to Donyn if he fails to comply with my rule.”
Burcan blinked. There were times, as with Maddyn, that they disagreed, but it was rare that Joran was more overreaching than Burcan. He was the brake to Burcan’s charger.
“I’ll make that clear to him as well. A penalty like that should lay aside any lingering doubts as to your fitness to rule. We should go on the morrow. We can do the trip in the day and then I can prepare for Celdrya. I’ll send Mam from Manahan to wait with you.”
“Aye, I’m sure Cadda would appreciate that. If we’re done discussing our business, I should go see to the cooks. With Cadda in her confinement, I need to keep her eyes on things.”
“That’s what your chamberlain is for.”
“Man’s gone soft in the head,” Joran announced. Burcan raised an eyebrow in question. “He’s old, Burcan. I’d like to believe otherwise, but he forgets somewhat.”
“Mayhap it is time to retire him, then. Do you want me to send someone to you or can you make the selection on your own?”
“I will handle this myself, thank you, brother. I need to be competent to rule.”
“I’ll see to Ygrevnyn’s retirement. He served our father for many a year.”
“Aye. And he deserves honor for his service. I’m off to check on the cooks. Would you let the grooms know that we’ll be traveling at first light?”
“Aye.”
Joran left the room, leaving the door ajar. Burcan finished his mead in a gulp. As he lowered the goblet, Talidd came in the door. Their eyes met and Burcan felt the room dissolve around them. When he came to himself, he was sitting at the board in the great hall, being introduced to Talidd, the man who would replace Ygrevnyn as chamberlain.
“I am so pleased that my brother has found a man with such impeccable letters of reference,” he said.
Talidd raised his goblet and toasted.
“I simply want to serve this family to the best of my ability. I shall strive to accomplish all that my liege asks of me.”
Founding Year 1028
High Celdrya
Entering at mid-afternoon, they probably saw the city at its most productive time of the day. Dun Celdrya sat on the west bank of the Avercelt which flowed from the iron-rich region of Mulyn, now in enemy hands, and the great Stormmor to the south, its mouth guarded by Dun Llyr. Directly to the west of the city was the massive monolithic stone mountain, the Founding Stone. The Stone was so unscalable that it protected the city from the west while the great river protected the city from the east. The many bridges that crossed the river and the harbor that supplied the city were actually within the walls of the city. Giant metal gates hung above the water course to be lowered in case of attack, but they had been damaged in the wars and could no longer be lowered. Beyond the river were rolling hills and what had once been prosperous farms that supported a thriving city. All mostly gone now.
There was a faire of sorts set up at the market square just inside the walls, but overall the area near the walls stood desolate, a place of burned-out round houses and rotten thatch clogging dirty streets. The city huddled behind breached walls and the massive iron-bound gates that allowed entrance into the walls hung askew. A squad of workers labored rebuilding a section of the wall, but even Tamys could see the material was inferior to the original workmanship. As they walked through the streets, Tamys stared around at what had been wrought by his countrymen, and himself, since he had been among those who had besieged the city the summer before.
“It seems almost empty,” he whispered, as if speaking in a burial ground.
“This city could hold 100,000. If there’s half now, I’d be surprised.”
“Where’d they all go?”
“Have you ever entered a city after you sieged it?”
“Nay. I’ve sat under the walls, but I’ve never been permitted to enter.”
“Hmm, well, most cities fall to disease and famine before they open their gates. Sometimes they fight before the army enters. I’d guess Mulyn used siege engines – catapults to throw fire over the walls, that sort of thing.”
“Aye, they do at that.”
“Houses aflame with families within. Disease and famine. People die in a siege long before the gates and walls are breached. The rest probably left for the country.”
“Why?”
“Would you remain in a city you knew would be sieged again this summer or the next, a city with no king to defend it and no end in sight to the destruction. Nay, but folks probably thought the end would come sooner – a defender would come – but now they have begun to doubt, may well be far past that doubt. So, they load what they can count and carry into their carts and on their backs and they move to the countryside to become farmers, leaving behind the trades that supported them in the city. Their children will grow up to be farmers and not know how to wrought silver and weave fine cloth. They’ll not return to the city because they’ll not be fit for the city. And there will be fewer and fewer. When the true king does come, there may not be a high city worth defending.”
“He’ll have to fight for it first anyway, won’t he?”
“Will he? Maybe nobody will want it by then.”
“Will there truly be a kingdom if there’s no king’s city?”
Padraig shrugged, since he didn’t feel qualified to discuss such a matter of philosophy. He was not a priest of Lugh – or would it be a priest of Bel – to discuss such esoteric matters.
Accepting that the area by the walls stood abandoned except for brothels and the lowest sorts of taverns, Padraig led the way up one of the hills that had been a middling neighborhood of merchants and craftsme
n. By stashing their swords with their gear they were able to convince a suspicious innkeeper that they wouldn’t burn down his inn if he rented them a smallish chamber up under the eaves. With so much destruction in the city, the inn was nearly full, but there were a few chambers on the fourth floor and Padraig paid a pretty amount of coin for one of them, though it smelled of old grease and urine. The ceiling was so low that neither man could stand straight, the plaster of the inside wall wanted white-washing and the mattresses roiled with bedbugs, but it wasn’t a hayloft and Padraig wanted some privacy now.
“I think I’ll go enjoy the city’s sights,” Tamys announced after kicking his mattress to life. “You sure you want to sleep there?” he asked, indicating the other mattress.
Padraig turned from digging in one of his packs and dusted both mattresses with a yellow powder that did not improve the smell of the room any.
“The bugs ought to be dead by the second evening watch,” he announced.
“And the smell? When does that die?” Tamys asked, looking like he might retch.
“Sooner. Sorry. I might have warned you, I suppose.”
“No doubt. If I find what I want, I may not be back until late.”
“That’s your choice,” Padraig explained. There was a polite rap on the flimsy door of the chamber. Padraig opened it and accepted a bucket of warm water from the lad who stood there, handing over a copper for the lad’s trouble. Tamys watched as Padraig spread a blanket on the floor in the corner and then began to disrobe.
“Would you prefer if I retired to the hayloft?” Tamys asked.
“Nay, but the chamber is yours as well as mine. I’ll pray for you.”
Tamys didn’t reject Padraig’s offer, but he fairly fled the chamber at that point. Padraig stripped to his small clothes, then bathed with a scrap of soap and a towel, even washing his hair, then disposing of the water out the window, careful not to splash any passersby. Thus physically clean, Padraig lit a candle lantern and closed the shutters to screen out the street sounds. Softly, he began to sing in the elven tongue, not because he knew the psalm better in that language, but because he knew anyone overhearing him would not understand the words and assume he was just humming meaningless songs as men often do when they don’t want to be alone with their own thoughts.
“Give ear to my words, O Lord. Consider my meditation. Listen to my cry for help, my King and my Od, for to You will I pray. My voice will You hear in the morning, O Lord. In the morning will I make my request to You and wait for Your answer.
“I will praise You, O Lord, with all my heart. I will tell of all Your wonders. I will be glad and rejoice in You. I will sing praise to Your name, O Most High.
“The Lord reigns forever. He has built His throne for judgment. He will judge the world in righteousness. He will govern the Kin with justice. The Lord is a refuge for the oppressed, a fortress in times of trouble. Those who know Your name will trust in You for You, Lord, have never turned away from those who seek You. Sing praises to the Lord, enthroned in Sion. Tell all the kingdoms what He has done, for He who avenges the bloodshed remembers, He does not ignore the cry of the afflicted.”
Padraig spent much time praising his God, lifting high – though in low tones – the One True God, the King of kings, who waited to give those who believed in Him the joy that only He possessed. When he’d finished with that, he moved onto asking for forgiveness for his disobedience to God.
“O Lord, do not rebuke me in Your anger or discipline me in Your wrath. Be merciful to me, Lord, for I am weak. As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God. Have mercy on me, according to Your great compassion, blot out my transgressions. Wash away my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin. For I know my disobedience and my sin is always before me. Against You and You alone have I sinned and done what is evil in Your sight.
“Surely I was disobedient from birth, sinful from the time my mother got me. Surely You desire truth in the inner parts. You teach me wisdom in the inmost place. Cleanse me and I will be clean, wash me and I will be whiter than snow. Hide Your face from my sins and blot out all my disobedience.
“Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me.”
Padraig named those sins he could remember – such as the desire to ride away from Cenydd in his difficulties and the haughtiness he’d felt when meeting the innkeeper who smelled of stale ale and dogs. He asked for forgiveness for those sins he did not remember and the Lord brought a few to his mind, like the superiority he’d felt toward Tamys when the lad had indicated he’d go out looking for harlots that night. For a moment he’d been proud of his ability to resist, but the Lord brought to his mind that he’d noticed the innkeeper’s daughter, though only glancing and he’d entertained a moment’s thought about her. Padraig prayed a long time for his forgiveness.
In time he began to pray for those folk he cared about – Lydya, his elven friends, Tamys. He found himself praying a good bit for Tamys. While he still didn’t know the lad’s tale, he knew enough to know that Tamys had some weighty decisions to make in the next few months and that the Lord had put Padraig in his path to help him with it. He didn’t know what was coming, but he knew Tamys somehow needed somewhat Padraig had to offer.
The night wore on and the chamber grew quite dark because Padraig allowed the candle to burn out. To keep from falling asleep, he knelt on the hard wooden floor and continued his prayers. At dawn Tamys stumbled in and collapsed on his mattress. Padraig paused in his prayers to cover the lad with a blanket and then returned to the dark corner and his entreaties to God. He fell asleep sometime after dawn, awaking to the sound of the door shutting softly and the recognition that a blanket had been drawn across his shoulders. The air was hot under the eaves, though the shutters had been opened. Padraig found a bottle of tepid water in his bags and drank it dry, then returned to his prayers. Having not eaten since midday of the day before, his stomach ached with hunger, but Padraig ignored it, acknowledging it only in the most perfunctory of ways.
“Lord, give me this day my daily bread,” he sang softly under his breath. He sank back onto his blanket and began to prayer for Tamys in earnest. The lad had gone out into the largest city in the kingdom, a city that had lost its hope and might be full of folk who had nothing to lose, certainly not honor. Padraig knew there were dangers out there, though he couldn’t have named the specific ones that might cross Tamys’ path. He prayed and prayed some more, weeping to God for this new-found friend.
Toward dusk, Padraig stood with his back against the outer wall, praying about things he didn’t even have words for, when suddenly there appeared in his mind a vision of a high road braced by higher cliffs in a dry and arid land. The setting sun shone at the end of the road. The vision faded into another -- this of a bit of Celdryan interlacement with elven symbols worked in and the smell of herbs. Peace flooded Padraig’s soul and he suddenly felt exhausted. It was acceptable to sleep now, for he had an answer. It was an answer he didn’t completely understand yet, but he knew that would come after sleep and a meal. He lay down on his mattress for the first time and pulled the blankets over himself.
True dark like the midnight smothered the room when the sound of the door opening awakened Padraig. He sat up, blinking at the pale light from the hall, to see Tamys creeping in. The lad closed the door and began to undress in the dark, apparently not wanting to disturb Padraig. Padraig’s Denygal sight could make out the candle lantern on the hook by the door. He rose silently and struck iron to flint to light it. Tamys startled, then stared at him, standing in his small clothes, blinking.
“I did not mean to wake you,” the lad assured him. “I came round earlier, but I could still hear you whispering to yourself, so I went away.”
“I’m finished praying and have been asleep for a bit. What have you been about, lad?”
“Naught. I talked with the town militia for a bit.”
“Aye? Hardly a carouse, I’d say.” Padraig wrapped his
top blanket around his waist to cover his near-nakedness.
“Truly, I sort of lost my appetite for it after last night.”
“Somewhat happen last night?”
“Nay, just that I found women selling themselves to me distasteful. I’m not sure why.”
Padraig suspected his prayers had somewhat to do with ruining Tamys’ carouse, but he didn’t offer that as an opinion.
“Sex with a stranger doesn’t sound alluring to me,” he replied. “Every man has to make his own choice, of course.”
Tamys nodded. He checked the mattress for bugs and then sat down on it. Padraig watched while he scratched.
“Did you get an answer from your gods?” Tamys asked.
“The One True God spoke to me, aye. Did you find any caravans hiring?”
“Nay. I did ask about, but apparently we’re a bit early for the big caravans and the small ones don’t trust the likes of me.” Tamys scratched again.
“Truly? Well, I’ll see what I can scare up on the morrow.” Padraig narrowed his eyes, looking at Tamys. “You itch, lad?”
“Aye and – well, somewhat burns tonight when I piss.” Tamys’ cheeks turned red with embarrassment.
“Aye, well, there’s a price to pay beyond coin for laying with harlots. I’ve somewhat for it, though.”
“Your elven lore is a marvel, truly.”
“Not elven lore. Elves think you deserve what you get when you lay with harlots. Lodiac, my old master, he’s the one that taught me this. I’ve just improved it with an elven herb or two. Put on your breecs and get me a small pot of lard from the kitchen and mayhap some bread for me while I prepare this.”
Tamys arose immediately and did what he was told. By the time he returned, Padraig had mixed some of the yellow powder with some herbs to gentle the stink. When Tamys offered bread, watered ale and a chunk of cheese, Padraig set it aside to mix the medicinal with the lard. When he had it well-mixed he handed the palm-sized pot to Tamys.
“Smear the salve from your white belly to mid-thigh and make sure you get the back. Leave it on tonight and then wash it off in the morning. If the burning persists, tell me and I’ll mix it stronger, but this usually works.”
