His grief and despair had broken him completely. The man he had been was gone. The betrayal, the meaningless and horrific murder of his family, and even his fall from grace had completely shattered him. As he lay just inside the tunnel entrance by the river, trying to draw air into his smoke filled lungs, a realisation struck him and he cried out in horror. He had made a terrible mistake. He started to turn himself around, determined to go back inside the inferno to die beside his family, when the world rose up, spun around, and he lost consciousness.
Fifteen
Munsten, 900 A.C.
BRENT FINISHED THE tale and leaned back in his seat, drained. For years he had wanted to tell this tale to his brother, but as always, his oath to Redgrave stopped him. Nothing good could have come from it, he knew. But now, with Redgrave dead and perhaps now finally at peace with his family, he could expose the truth. First he had to determine how his brother would react and what he would do with the information. He would doubt him; he already knew the arguments he would hear. He had used them himself on Redgrave all those years ago.
His own investigation had revealed the truth of the tale and exposed Redgrave for what he truly was in the end: a victim. So many people had died to protect the actions of Lord Protector John Healy. So many. Brent had done what he could for the families that remained but the Protector was thorough back then. He had wiped out everyone who could have remotely had knowledge, even the two House representatives. He had replaced the Accountant with another well paid lackey and access to the books was now completely forbidden by all except for specific members of the House. Members who were already part of the grand conspiracy. All in the name of protecting the Realm from future traitors such as Bill Redgrave.
The Protector had laid all those deaths at the feet of Redgrave: Traitor to the Realm. The man who had helped secure his own authority and position had been tossed aside like so much discarded garbage. And the horrors he had inflicted upon his wife and his children; all so innocent and trusting. The injustice of it all rose up again within and threatened to choke him.
Not a day went by when Brent didn't try to rationalise why a man with the power of the Lord Protector would covet something as simple as coin. But yet he did. He coveted gold from the Treasury with a dark and fierce desire and then hid it away like a magpie. All that Brent understood was that the Protector was a truly evil man. So evil that Brent had turned to the Church for answers. And it was here that he found peace. He carried a small bible on his person and consulted it daily. He hid this from everyone fearing the Archbishop as much as the Protector. The Church was tainted in the Realm. No one could trust it since the Great Debate and the fall of the King.
His investigation into Redgrave and the Protector took many months, but Brent had been persistent. He took each small step with the fear of a rabbit in an open field with hawks circling high above. The results had been revealing. The reach of the Lord Protector was an amazing thing to behold. His influence was everywhere; tendrils reached out into every major household in the Realm. The House of Representatives was completely under his control and with the Realm under martial law, they were living in a country ruled by a dictator. Some of those under his yoke knew not that their neighbour suffered similar pressures. But people weren't complete fools. Most knew but were loathe to admit it.
When the Great Debate ended and the King reduced to madness, John Healy had been prepared and he had positioned himself with a speed and an accuracy that boggled the mind. Healy had snapped up all the power in the Realm and left Redgrave to dispose of the King. When people thought of the Revolution they remembered the King's insanity and the military coup that had seized power and handed it over to the newly formed House of Representatives. No one looked to Healy for blame. Redgrave was the symbol of the Revolution.
The coup attempt against Healy, years later, had merely solidified his position and insured that martial law would remain in place for years. The security of the Realm trumped all reason. The executive powers of Healy equalled those of the King that came before him. Nothing could change that.
Brent sighed and forced his mind back to the present. It was time his brother knew all the truth. He already mistrusted the Protector, but he didn't know why he should hate him. The truth was painful and ate at him. Perhaps now sharing the tale with his brother would ease the load.
"What say you, brother?" he asked and looked closely at Bairstow. Brent saw that he was visibly struggling with the information. He knew by the expression on his face that he looked for flaws, some evidence that he lied. And sure enough, his brother's first words reinforced that.
"What proof have you, Brent?" he asked bluntly with a challenge in his eyes.
"Plenty, brother. It's all there. Before you say more, I recognise that you will need proof; I've been there myself. All I had at first was the word of Redgrave. I chose to trust him then and arranged for him to recover and make his way clear of the Northern Province down south. It was only after I returned here that I was able to slowly uncover the truth. It took me months and the patience of a saint, but Redgrave's fate proved to me that I needed to be careful. I trusted no one. No one at all. The role of Ran Pawley reinforced that."
Bairstow nodded slowly and Brent was relieved. He knew Bairstow trusted him like no one other but he also knew he would have to see the proof for himself if he was to believe. That had to come first, then he could let him decide what to do with it. It seemed his brother was trusting him now.
"Show me then, brother. Show me, damn your hide! I thought this day couldn't possibly get worse! Show me before you tramp off to the south."
Brent nodded. He knew what the Protector wanted. He would send him with his own selected men and recover the gold Redgrave stole all those years ago. He doubted he would be expected to return alive.
"The Protector is sending me to my death," he said simply. He watched emotions play across his brother's face and then settle into grim acceptance.
"Yes," he said. "Though I cannot understand his logic. The head of the Protector's Guard does not tramp off across the country and get killed. People will gossip. Questions will be asked."
"Hmmph," snorted Brent. "Truth is, I'm being sent there to find out what happened to the gold Redgrave stole from right under Healy's nose years ago. Either it's sitting right in Redgrave's house in Jaipers, or failing that, there'll be clues to where he hid it."
His brother merely gaped at him. Brent smirked at the look. No one knew that the secret treasury of the Protector had been stolen by Redgrave after he had recovered from his wounds. Healy must be beside himself wanting it returned. Healy had always suspected me of being involved but could never prove it. And proving it would be admitting that it had existed. Brent smiled around his growing smirk.
"Bairstow, follow me," he said. "I've something to show you."
Hours later, Bairstow looked up from the documents strewn across the desk in a secured office deep in the bowels of the castle to gaze into his brother's blue eyes. "Fuck."
"Yes, 'fuck' indeed," Brent replied with a grim smile. "All this while we knew something was, well, not right in the Realm, yes? And it was all there for someone who knew what to look for, brother. Most of those statements you read there were painstakingly and patiently gathered by me over a long period of time. Bill told me where to start and what to look for. After that, it was a simple matter of taking it slow and cautious. I hasten to add that there are many who know about this, or parts of it at least, and the people involved demanded to remain nameless and I promised them that. They live under fear of discovery."
"Hmmm," was his brother's reply as he read over one such statement, noting the lack of a signature on it. "Can't say I blame them, really. By the Word, this is all enough to bring the Protector down! But without witness, these writings are without worth. We can't to do anything with this!"
"Patience, brother. Patience." Brent and laid a hand on Bairstow's arm. Bairstow dropped the parchment he was reading on the pile and looked d
own at the large amount of testimony his brother had gathered. Of those he had confirmed he had placed a small mark and now almost all the documents bore this mark. His brother had been thorough and somehow had kept all this hidden from the Protector and his men. The Protector had hundreds of men and women under his thumb and held them silent either through bribery or extortion. Too many to silence. Brent had compiled lists of people under two simple headings: those under the control of the Protector and those who still managed to keep their honour and integrity.
"You name these people," he indicated a small journal where Brent listed names. "as worthy of our trust. But can you be sure? Our lives and their lives are dependent on that."
Brent nodded, picked up his journal and opened it to peer at the neat rows of names he had inked in it. He had coded the names and he shared the cipher with his brother. He had picked the name they had given the small dog their family owned when they were still children living at home. It was their mother's dog and one of those breeds picked by wealthy women to carry around with them during the day. Both of them had hated that small yappy dog. Officially it was called Ruby, secretly they had called it Ratface, for it had had the appearance of a rat. Now it hid the true names of the people who hated the Protector almost as much as the two brothers.
In the same journal he had compiled the list of those people who sided strongly with the Protector. They were to be avoided at all costs. Brent was certain that his investigation had been secretive but these latest orders gave him some concern and he had expressed this concern with his brother who had, of course, agreed. It made no sense that Brent, the General of the Protector's Guard, would leave the city to gather up the belongings of a man, even someone as infamous as Bill Redgrave. No, the Protector suspected something and was removing Brent from the city. The men assigned to the task were suspect as well. It did not bode well but Brent was forewarned and the best trap to walk into was the one you knew about.
"Yes, I trust them. But only so far as I can throw them. Once I'm gone you will need to continue this. There is still so much that is unknown. The Archbishop, for example – I have no idea of what his role was in all this. He was extremely close to the King, all agreed to that. I find it curious that he remains in the castle, close to the Protector, yet seems to do nothing than preach the Faith to an empty church. He's laughed at by the people who know him. An old fool, they call him. It saddens me, somewhat. I've only ever known him as the ousted religious icon. I wonder how he feels about it, eh?"
Bairstow thought about it only for a moment. "He's nothing. Holed up in that privy of an office of his all day long. He has nothing to do with anything political. The Protector keeps him alive only as a pawn of the Realm. There's still enough religious folk out there that he needs to use the Archbishop to his own ends."
Brent winced slightly at the comment. He was one of the religious folk. He often wished he could meet with the Archbishop to discuss his faith but, truth be told, he despised the man. And yet he was the voice of the Church. It still surprised him how low the Church had fallen. Some of his men followed the Church and the faith usually carried through families. The Word was fine with him. It had a cold logic to it, but the Church gave him the peace he sought. He prayed when he could, always in private. Believing in the Church was now a very private thing. People were often shunned for being of the Faith.
Bairstow was still speaking and Brent dropped his thoughts.
"He buggered all the young men in the castle despite his vow of chastity. But other than that, you can see how much it pains him to even walk about these days, despite that emotionless expression he carries on him all the time. I'm surprised he hasn't keeled over at his age. No, the Archbishop is not involved. He's too sallow."
Brent nodded with a small motion, agreeing with the Archbishop being useless but not that he was sallow. Brent had seen something behind the eyes of the Archbishop. It made him a little afraid at times if he admitted it to himself.
"I suppose you are right. The Advisor had not much to say about his Holiness when I inquired once – what, two years ago?" He shook his head to disregard the thought. "He is never granted an audience with the Protector, not anymore at least. It is rumoured that after the coup attempt the Archbishop spent a considerable amount of time going in and out of the Protector's suites. It was a strange rumour, but when I looked into it I couldn't find anything of interest in it. No one knew anything about it. Just rumours. The castle's full of them."
Bairstow nodded and picked up another statement from the pile and scanned it. "I'd heard the same rumours, brother. In this case it's true. In the first days after the coup, the Archbishop spent a considerable amount of time with the Protector. Then nothing. But the end result was the Archbishop was pretty much left to his own devices. Allowed to continue preaching and all that other nonsense. Word knows that the Church has hardly any influence in the city. There are what? Three bishops and a few deans in the city?"
Brent nodded. They were all that remained to represent the Provinces. Except it was one bishop and one dean per Province. It was all the Barons were allowed. Now that all the cities and towns in the Realm were converted over to the Word, only a smattering of churches remained. He supposed if he gathered up those people in Munsten that staunchly retained their Faith he could fill one church. Maybe. First they would need to admit to it. The outlying Provinces were a different matter. Many of the merchants remained with the Church. Their caravans filled with grain and goods were what filled the granaries and fed the cities. It was their business that kept the Archbishop living in the castle. Mouths had to be fed and the easiest way to do that was to keep the merchants happy. And the Archbishop was instrumental in that. The Protector would not throw away a useful tool.
"He's seen everything, though, hasn't he?" mused Bairstow. "He started the Great Debate thirty years ago and was there to stop the coup ten years after that!"
Brent laughed. "Maybe he had something to do with it!" And Bairstow joined him in laughing at the thought, which seemed to bring an end to their talk. They stood in silence and shuffled papers on the table.
"So what is the gold you mention? Was it true, then? Did Redgrave really steal from the Treasury?"
Brent grinned at the questions. And he nodded.
"Yes, it's true, but that was after. After he healed from the fire. I brought him back to Munsten. He insisted. He wanted revenge on the Protector. He stayed in my loft in my house. He was not recognisable from the man who had been carted down to the gaol. Far from it. He wore beggar's robes and snuck about the city looking for any way to get into the castle and assassinate the Protector." Brent paused for a moment and gathered his thoughts.
"You need to understand, Bairstow. I kept my distance from Redgrave even then. I had just started investigating his claims. I only cared that he not get caught with me or in my home. I was young and reckless back then. Immortal. Stupid and naive, yes. Lots of that, I suppose.
Anyway, Redgrave had found a way into the Treasury. He never explained it to me. Over many nights he snuck in repeatedly and stole gold from right under the Protector's nose. He left a clue that it was him, he said. Something the Protector would recognise. He filled a large chest with the gold. He showed what he had to me once. He cracked the lid and all I saw was more wealth than anyone can imagine. I came home the next day and he was gone, chest and all. Later, much later, he contacted me and I knew where he had ran: Jaipers."
Bairstow just stared at his brother, doubt clearly etched on his face. "Right. He broke into the treasury not once but many times and stole an entire chest of gold. Then left the city with it."
Brent nodded and smiled a crooked smile. "Yes, and the Protector knows and he is sending me to fetch it back. Just wait and see. I'll see the Protector before I go and he will mention it to me. Mark my words."
Bairstow rubbed his face to force the tiredness away. Brent glanced over at the nearby candle to see the mark and was surprised to see how low it had burned. He jutted his
chin at it. Bairstow glanced at it and his eyes opened in surprise.
"Brent, you'd best be about your preparations for the road."
Brent grunted. "Dammit," he said. "No rest for the wicked, eh? I have to see that major of yours first, then I have to run."
"Brother," said Bairstow, his voice thick with emotion.
Brent turned toward him at the tone and raised his eyebrows when his brother gripped him in a quick embrace. "What's this, Bairstow? An emotional farewell?"
Bairstow pounded Brent on the back once and hard. "Take care of yourself, Brent," he whispered into his ear. He let him go and strode quickly out of the room before his brother could reply.
Not for the first time Brent wondered what his life would be like if the Revolution hadn't occurred. The Revolution had caused such anguish, death and turmoil. It was hard to believe that the realm had once flourished under a monarchy led by a King who owed his rule to the Church. Brent had spent many hours reading what he could of the times. Of the King, the Archbishop, Marshall Bill Redgrave, Bishop Bengold and Advisor Benjamin Erwin. The hero and villains of the Revolution. It was distant enough now to solidly be a matter of history and yet still recent enough to still feel the vibration of fear of further chaos. The new recruits had only known the new world order from after the Revolution. They knew naught of the times when they were ruled by a King.
He licked his thumb and forefinger, snuffed out the candle and strode out into the corridor to find the Army major. Brent secured the room behind him and quietly made his way through the castle. The sun would be rising in a couple of hours and he had much to do before he would be on the road. He was exhausted and his eyes felt gritty but he knew he could sleep in the saddle. He had done that often enough and his horse seemed to know when he did and helped keep him upright. He laughed to himself and then found his thoughts turning back to the Archbishop and times past.
Duilleog (A New Druids Series Book 1) Page 25
