Cattra's Legacy

by Anna Mackenzie

  28

  Allegiances tested

  Over the weeks that followed Cantrel and Risha slipped into an easy partnership, the old man deferring to her as he might have to Donnel, while directing her decisions as he thought they should go. Risha was amused by his tactics, and he by the fact that she saw through them.

  As often as they could they rode out to visit farms, listen to complaints and assess the crops ripening across the coastal plains. The season had been fair but the labour shortage was a looming problem. Cantrel had approved Risha’s plan to enlist hill people in the north, despatching six guardsmen to supervise her scheme. In the south they marshalled what help they could from towns and fishing villages. When the harvest began, Emett proved adept at getting the most from the mixed work force.

  ‘Emett’s worth his weight in grain,’ Cantrel commented, as he and Risha watched him work alongside a crew of grooms, soldiers, kitchen maids and children.

  ‘He’s a farm boy,’ Risha said, remembering her argument with Muir.

  ‘With potential beyond that. I thought I might teach him figures once the harvest is in.’ He sighed. ‘I do better at a desk these days.’

  She eyed him with concern. ‘Your leg pains you?’

  ‘I’m too old. I was before, and this,’ he slapped his thigh, ‘has only made it worse. It’s time I was thinking about retirement.’

  ‘You can’t! Donnel needs you.’

  ‘Less than he once did. You managed perfectly well in my absence.’ He eyed her shrewdly. ‘You’ll be sixteen in a few weeks. Donnel had planned to see you invested as heir of Havre on your birthday. This war delays that, as it delays my retirement.’

  Risha’s mouth was dry. ‘I’m not sure that I—’ She stopped. ‘Cantrel, it’s barely a year since I was Risha of the village of Torfell, whose sole responsibility was tending two goats and keeping house for her father. If Pelon hadn’t died, I’d be that still.’

  ‘That, I doubt. It was my hope, Arishara, that Pelonius would bring you to LeMarc himself but, failing that, Donnel would have found a way. He never gave up searching for you. Barc’s story was the first solid lead we’d had in years.’

  ‘What story?’

  ‘He approached us claiming he’d heard rumour of a girl bearing a strong resemblance to Cattra hidden away in Westlaw’s lands. I assumed he knew more of your whereabouts than he was willing to let on and that this Sulba character was a fiction, but—’

  ‘Sulba wasn’t a fiction. He saved my life in Caledon. And died for it.’

  Cantrel met her gaze squarely. ‘I thought you glossed over your stay in Caledon when you told your tale to Donnel.’

  She flushed. ‘I — it seemed private. And,’ she hesitated, ‘and it was my fault Sulba died. I hadn’t trusted him, but the person I did trust turned out not to be the friend I’d thought.’ The admission shamed her now. ‘If I’d only listened to Barc or—’

  ‘Arishara, wisdom isn’t given to any of us easily, and we learn it mostly through our mistakes. Do you think Donnel doesn’t blame himself for your mother’s death, even though there was nothing he could have done to prevent it?’

  The sun drove needles of heat into Risha’s bare arms. ‘When did he learn of it?’

  Cantrel’s mare skipped sideways as a hare darted out of the wheat left standing at the curved corner of the field, jinking twice across the stubble before disappearing into a neighbouring crop. ‘Pelon confirmed the details two years ago in a letter carried by Barc, but we’d long suspected. Had Cattra been alive and free, she would have found her way back.’

  Something whispered in Risha’s head, an image of a young auburn-haired woman, head tilted in laughter. It flickered and was gone, and with it the sense she had of Nonno’s fleeting presence.

  The seneschal’s mouth twisted. ‘I do not think I break any oath in telling you that Cattra’s marriage was not made with the blessings of her family. I don’t mean they disapproved of Donnel: if he’d been prepared to move to Havre, to rule at Cattra’s side, they would have rejoiced. But …’

  ‘But he would not?’

  ‘He wasn’t prepared to leave LeMarc. It created a rift that nearly broke Cattra’s heart. After your birth she made contact with her mother and set a reconciliation in motion. I suspect that is what spurred Goltoy into launching his attack. A united south would have put his plan to seize control of the Sitting under threat.’

  In the field the harvesters had begun stooking the grain. Risha turned Cantrel’s information over in her mind.

  ‘Understand, Risha, that Donnel had no idea you were at risk when your mother set out for Havre. When LeMarc was attacked he was initially relieved, believing you safe with your grandparents. By the time word of the true situation arrived the whole of Elgard was in uproar, all the houses under attack, your grandparents — and Margetta’s — already dead. There was no trace of Cattra.’ His eyes were dark with the memory. ‘Donnel was like a man possessed. He searched for your mother — he never gave up searching. The loss came close to breaking him.’

  Guilt rose in Risha’s throat. ‘When I went missing in the autumn, he must have —’ she broke off. Dragonfly stamped uneasily. ‘Why is he so eager for me to go to Havre?’

  Cantrel studied her keenly. ‘It is your birthright, Arishara, but not an obligation. Donnel’s intent is to ensure you have the choice to make. And in that, this delay does no harm.’

  She said nothing. Across the field Emett swung onto the bench of the wagon and flipped the reins across the rump of the heavy carthorse. Margetta, sitting beneath a parasol, moved across to give him room.

  ‘Emett and Margetta have grown close,’ Cantrel observed, following her gaze. ‘You don’t mind?’

  ‘Why should I? We should send a message to Ganny, though, to let her know Emett’s well. And—’ And not only Emett. She had promised to send word with Marit’s traders, but they would have been and gone by now. Risha sighed, her thoughts lingering on Torfell. The anniversary of Pelon’s death was long past. She wondered whether, to mark it, Ganny would have visited Pelon’s grave. Risha had not forgotten her promise to set a stone on his grave.

  Two weeks later the summer came to an abrupt end as storms battered the town and citadel, flattening crops and stripping the orchards bare of fruit. When the weather finally eased, Cantrel and Risha rode out to discover how the farms on the coastal plains had fared. Many holdings had been caught with little more than half their harvest gathered, but the mood remained positive: half was better than none and, with the men away, there would be fewer mouths to feed. They returned to the citadel assured that none in LeMarc would starve through the winter and confident that Donnel, on his return, would be pleased with what he found.

  A courier from Caledon awaited them. Westlaw’s army had crossed the border into Fratton.

  ‘If Goltoy planned an alliance with Somoran he’d have moved sooner.’ Cantrel paced the study. ‘To march now, with winter closing its grip on the north — there has to be some other game he’s playing.’

  ‘Whatever the game, he’ll be playing to win,’ Harl muttered. ‘Probably he’s hoping for a share of the spoils when Fratton crumbles.’

  ‘Or looking to bar Donnel from gaining a power base in the north,’ Galyn suggested.

  ‘Donnel will not welcome him as an ally.’

  ‘That aside,’ Risha said, ‘if Goltoy stands with Donnel, might Somoran surrender rather than let his people starve?’

  Cantrel shook his head. ‘Somoran cares nothing for the people of Fratton. His paranoia ensures that even his supporters live in terror.’

  ‘At least Margetta is safe.’ Risha studied the letter the courier had brought them. ‘Where does Caledon stand?’

  ‘As a bone that Westlaw and Fratton chew between them. Under Quilec the power has lain in the west.’ Cantrel pursed his lips. ‘It’s possible Caledon could muster an army.’

  Harl gave a bark of laughter. ‘Not with Quilec at its head — more likely we’ll find him
hiding beneath his bed.’

  Risha stood, suddenly weary of politics. ‘There’s nothing we can do from here. I’m going riding.’

  The winds that had swept across the plains had littered the mountain trails with felled branches and left the iron taste of autumn hanging in the air. Risha let Dragonfly pick their path up the mountain then left him with Palt while she climbed the rocky outcrop. She had come here often through the summer, always wishing she could see further, beyond LeMarc, all the way to Fratton. Today was no different — either in her wishing or its hopelessness.

  Raising a hand against the westering sun she scanned the familiar scape of sea that separated her from Havre. A line of dots sat along the horizon. Risha squinted. It was unusual to see so many ships together. They were merchants, maybe, but … still, it was odd.

  A flicker, a memory, a shard of fear. She reached out, but it was gone.

  Risha took the homeward trail faster than she’d come up it and hurried to Cantrel’s study. ‘There are ships on the horizon.’

  The old man looked up in surprise. ‘The watch hasn’t signalled.’

  ‘The watch won’t have seen them yet. They were barely visible from the bluff.’

  The seneschal set aside his pen. ‘How many?’

  ‘Six or seven — it was hard to judge.’

  Cantrel reached for his spyglass.

  He lagged as they climbed the steep rock, his stiff leg betraying him. When Risha reached the crest, the sun’s lower edge was bleeding into the ocean, the cloud above washed with red. Lifting a hand against the glare, she counted the sails that stood distant but unmistakable on the horizon. There were three — no, four.

  ‘There are fewer than before: they must be heading away. I shouldn’t have troubled you.’

  Cantrel’s glass found the fleet and he spat a curse. ‘This gives us our answer. They’re northern ships, loitering below the horizon where our watch won’t see them. The manoeuvring of Westlaw’s army is a ploy to distract Donnel. Goltoy’s game lies further south.’

  29

  Trial by water

  The courtyard was a milling mass of men and provisions. ‘Has word been sent to all the outlying farms?’ Risha asked. Harl nodded. ‘Aye, and couriers have gone north.’

  He watched as a guardsman directed the unloading of stores and another group of women and children straggled in through the gate. ‘We can’t cater for many more.’

  ‘We’ll have to,’ Cantrel answered.

  ‘Goltoy can’t mean to take LeMarc,’ Risha said. ‘Even with our soldiers away, surely—’

  ‘Too ambitious, even for him,’ Cantrel agreed. ‘A smaller prize, I would guess.’

  ‘You think it’s Margetta he’s after?’

  ‘And you, my Lady LeMarc.’

  ‘Not while there’s breath in my body,’ Harl muttered.

  ‘How many ships do we have?’ Risha asked.

  ‘It’s not ships but men that we’re lacking — as Goltoy will know, having assessed the strength of our army in Fratton.’

  ‘Can the citadel stand a siege?’

  Cantrel’s tone was brisk. ‘It will have to.’

  ‘We could send to Havre for aid,’ she suggested.

  ‘Goltoy’s fleet will be standing ready to intercept any ship that leaves our harbour.’

  ‘By road then: have we a ship that could reach Saithe overnight? How long would it take to ride from there to Havre?’

  Harl answered. ‘Two days, give or take. It’d be faster to land west of the estuary rather than in Saithe itself.’

  ‘Even so, it would be the better part of a week before we could hope for Havre’s support. Westlaw’s ships will be on us tomorrow.’

  Risha studied Cantrel’s face. He was being pragmatic rather than defeatist. ‘Then we should send a decoy as well. Once our courier has landed, the captain could ensure he catches Westlaw’s attention — say, by carrying two girls who make a point of being seen. If they think Margetta and I are trying to escape, they’ll give chase.’

  Cantrel considered. ‘Girls, or those who might from a distance be mistaken for girls. Once Westlaw’s ships are in pursuit they could set down and flee overland — it would give Havre additional cause for grievance. The good burghers won’t appreciate Westlaw’s warships landing troops on their shore.’

  Cantrel and Risha stood on the wharf as darkness gathered. The horses, Dragonfly among them, had baulked as they were led up the gangway and now stood quivering in a pen hastily padded with sacks of wool. The ship was a coastal trader, chosen for its speed; her crew of eight included two slight young men already dressed in their sisters’ skirts — it had caused welcome relief as their friends bid them luck. They would need it: sailing the coast at night was a fool’s game, and that was the least of the risks they’d be taking.

  Harl scowled as Risha kissed his scarred cheek. ‘I don’t like leaving you to face a siege,’ he said. ‘I still say you’d be safer coming with me.’

  They had been over this ground. ‘If we managed to land safely, perhaps. But Havre would then have less reason to come to LeMarc’s aid. And besides: I made Donnel a promise.’ She handed him her mother’s ring. ‘Tell the Council my life depends on them acting quickly. If that doesn’t work’ — it occurred to her, suddenly, that her disappearance might suit the burghers quite well — ‘tell them Donnel’s friendship hangs upon it. Timon might know the best way to convince them.’

  Harl sucked at his teeth.

  ‘Time we were under way,’ the ship’s captain called.

  ‘Go safely, Harl. And take care of Dragonfly.’ If the horse was safe, so would Harl be.

  ‘My lady. Seneschal.’

  Anxiety jittered through her as the ship crept cautiously from the harbour. For all she knew, she’d just sent the crew to their deaths, if not at Westlaw’s hands then on the shoals that bounded the coast.

  ‘Come,’ Cantrel said, picking up a lantern. ‘We’ll raise the barrier chain. If it sinks only one of their ships, it will at least slow their landing.’

  Salt air pricked on Risha’s tongue as she stared at the shadows in the harbour — fishing boats and traders nestled amidst the larger vessels. ‘How manoeuvrable are Westlaw’s ships?’

  Cantrel glanced back at her. ‘The larger the ship, the slower it turns.’

  ‘So our fishing boats might outmanoeuvre them?’

  ‘Outmanoeuvre perhaps, but not outrun.’

  ‘What does it take to sink a ship?’

  ‘Bad weather, a capsize, a breach in the hull.’ He raised a questioning brow.

  ‘We could breach them,’ Risha said, fumbling through the outline of a plan. ‘As Westlaw’s fleet nears the harbour, our fishing boats can meet them and fire pitch arrows on board, into the rigging and decks.’

  ‘It would distract but not sink them.’

  ‘Distraction is all we need. They’ll think that’s the reason for our boats engaging. But with spikes fixed to their prows, and if our boats all attack at once so that Westlaw has no time to work out what we’re doing, then …’

  ‘They’d need speed,’ Cantrel said, taking up her idea. ‘The wind behind them — which would mean coming at them from the south.’

  ‘Far enough from the harbour that Westlaw’s men will drown.’

  ‘And our men with them.’

  Risha shook her head. ‘We need the men on shore.’ She hesitated, knowing he wouldn’t like it. ‘Have you never watched the children who spend the summer diving from the breakwater and playing in the waves? Those from fishing families will know how to sail.’ She took in the set of his mouth and hurried on. ‘Just before they hit, they dive from the boats and swim for a vessel we have waiting out of bow-shot.’

  ‘We can’t send children against an army.’

  ‘Better they wait on land to be slaughtered? It might even the odds. At least let me ask them.’

  The townspeople reacted as Cantrel had, mothers clutching their children, mouths rounded in horror. When
the babble of objections settled, a boy of thirteen stepped forward. ‘I can sail. My father won’t thank me for losing his boat, but if the town’s taken, it won’t count for much anyway.’

  ‘Fishing boats can be replaced. Lives can’t. It’s a risk I don’t ask lightly.’ Risha paused. ‘They outnumber us five to one.’ There was a moan from the crowd and several of the women began to weep. ‘If we’ve a chance of reducing their numbers, I say we take it.’

  Two more boys came forward, then a girl. A mother held her son back, but a woman stepped from the crowd. ‘I can sail. My husband and sons have gone with Lord Donnel. I’ll fight, that they might have something worth coming home to.’

  There were fourteen volunteers, enough for seven fishing boats: five to ram ships and two in support. One of the women who volunteered couldn’t swim and Risha assigned her to a rescue boat. Two men, one crippled, the other old and bent, both proficient with a bow, offered their services. ‘Can you swim?’ Risha asked.

  Both shook their heads. ‘Dying here or in the ocean, it makes little odds.’

  Two blacksmiths and the castle armourer fixed iron spikes to the boats’ prows. Cantrel swallowed his disapproval and set about preparing the citadel’s defences while Risha went over the plan with her ragged group of volunteers. The old man’s words echoed in her head: was she sending even the children to their deaths? Though they at least had a chance. And, irrespective of the odds, she couldn’t see a better choice.

  With the first light of dawn, Westlaw’s ships were clearly visible from the citadel walls. In the spyglass they loomed large, square-sailed and filled with menace. There were twelve.

  ‘How many men will each hold?’ Risha asked.

  ‘Eighty,’ Cantrel said. ‘Perhaps more.’

  ‘He has a thousand men to our hundred.’ She’d underestimated by half.

  ‘Less the number he sends after your decoy. And our townspeople and farm folk improve the odds a little.’