My knuckles ached, along with my face and my ribs. I walked on, and went home to my bed, where my aches and pains kept me awake nearly till dawn.
* * *
My aches had not lessened when I awoke, but at least I had grown more accustomed to them. I changed to clothing less soiled by blood, mud, and the spoutings of drunkards, and did my best to clean my gown. My breakfast was a cup of the moscatto drawn from the rundlet in my apartment. I had been doing my best in the weeks since the cask had been delivered, but I think there were still at least a dozen gallons remaining.
The wine led me straight to melancholy without passing through elation. I viewed my room with its trophies: the silver cups, Sir Basil’s swords and armor in a disorderly pile beneath my table, the pollaxe from the Butchers’ Guild leaning by the door, the wardrobe with my two suits, and the rundlet of wine that seemed to take up half the room. The varied keepsakes of my erratic career in the life of the capital.
I had failed as a lawyer, a lover, and a courtier, and my success as a thief-taker had resulted only in my exile from the court. While the ship with my privateer commission had done well, on an actual voyage I was mere cargo, unable to contribute to the running of the ship or to victory in battle. And now I had been the victim of a feud with a nobleman that had brought a member of the royal family into personal danger. While I seemed to have avoided prison, I hardly thought my name was mentioned in the castle with any favor.
I had failed at everything. Perhaps I was destined to rise no higher than the imaginary office of Groom of the Pudding.
So thinking, I drank myself into misery, and with aching bones and aching heart returned to my bed.
* * *
For the next several days, I remained about my rooms, save when business called me to the stockyards outside of town, where some of my cattle were being fattened, or to the lawyers, or to make arrangements for cargo on Sea-Holly. I armed myself when I went out, with my knife, Sir Basil’s pocket pistol, and a cane with a metal tip and a heavy pewter head that I purchased in a market, and I took care as I walked, examining all about me, to make certain I was not followed, and not ambushed.
I wrote a very formal letter to Her Highness Floria, and thanked her for giving information on my behalf. I signed it “Your faithful servant,” and I made no jokes about puddings. There was no reply.
I went to the Butchers’ hall to withdraw a bit of money from my box, and to explain why I’d failed to attend their feast on the Day of the Mummers, only to find that they already knew. The affray had become public knowledge, and while I had been nursing my bruises in my lodgings, a series of trials before the Siege Royal had resulted in punishments for the malefactors.
For allowing their private vendetta to overflow into a public brawl that endangered a member of the royal family, all my attackers had been found guilty, including Lord Stayne, who had set them on. Stayne and Fork-Beard, being noble, were exiled at her majesty’s pleasure to their estates, from which they would stray only at penalty of death. Slope-Shoulder, a mere knight, was condemned to three days in the pillory—a ghastly fate, in truth, because unless he had friends to stand by him, he would be a helpless object of violence by the mob, who at the very least would pelt him with filth, and at most bash out his brains with paving stones.
The rest, the swashers and prizefighters, being neither noble nor knights, were condemned to death.
My own part had become known, and though the castle had not seen fit either to praise or condemn me, the guildsmen hailed me as a hero and the savior of Princess Floria. Rumor had enlarged my part, and those of my assailants also, for now it was claimed that I had rescued Floria from traitors sworn to kill both the princess and her royal sister. While I denied that this was the case, and maintained it was a private quarrel, this hardly restrained their enthusiasm for my heroism. The guildsmen drank me a number of healths, and seemed to think I would be ennobled, or knighted at the very least, within the week.
I asked if anyone knew anything of Amalie, if she, heavy with child, must share Stayne’s exile, but none could tell me. They seemed pleased by the thought of her bouncing down the road into exile at Allingham.
Still, I left the hall more cheered than when I arrived, and these brighter spirits lasted until I returned home, and found a messenger from Amalie awaiting me.
This latest reversal has my husband mad with rage, the letter read, and he is determined to have you murdered. I know he is offering money for your life.
I am safe. I was able to persuade him that I was the innocent object of a provincial flatterer, but I fear that by doing this I have put you into greater peril, for now he fancies he is protecting me from your unwanted affections, as well as avenging his own wounded vanity.
You must fly. I am in no danger, but you must leave at once, before his sure requital can reach you.
—Mrs. Freeman
The words struck me like a blow to the heart. I did not grudge Amalie her evasions; she was using the few resources allowed by her situation. But I was staggered by the knowledge that neither censure nor banishment, nor the execution of his accomplices, would keep Stayne from his murderous persecution.
Really, didn’t the man have any other occupation but the heedless pursuit of vengeance? First against Sir Basil, now against me?
I considered ways of protecting myself. I could shift my residence, but then any messages from Amalie would fail to find me. I could hire my own bravos, and walk around surrounded by a swaggering bodyguard; but any guards would be mercenaries, and Stayne’s silver might well persuade any of them to stab me in the back. I could take up residence in the Butchers’ hall, but I would be in danger if I ever went out.
Perhaps it was time to leave Selford for the present. While I did not like the thought of fleeing before an enemy, it had to be admitted that there was nothing keeping me in the city.
Accordingly, I again paid my landlady another few months’ rent, then shifted most of my belongings to the galleon Lady Tern, which was lying at anchor off Innismore. The ship’s valuable cargo was under guard in a warehouse belonging to Customs, and while we awaited a ruling from the new prize court, the ship’s crew had been reduced to an anchor watch intended only to prevent pillage. As I was one of the presumptive owners of the vessel, no one disputed my right to lodge on the ship.
I moved into the captain’s cabin, enjoyed his wine and some of his choice victuals, and wrote to my Lord of Roundsilver. I explained the situation, and solicited his advice. The reply came from his lady, and was filled with sympathy.
There is little that can be done, she wrote, not when a great lord acts against one without such a high position. No one can prevent an attack, and though prosecution may ensue against an attacker, and a trail found that will lead to the instigator, that will be scant comfort to the victim.
My lord will speak to the Chancellor, or to her majesty if he can, to point out that Stayne now takes advantage of the mercy granted him by her majesty. At the very least a warning might be sent that the Crown knows of his plans. But if Stayne chooses to continue in this mad course, I fear your life may remain in the hazard.
I can offer you the hospitality of our house, but I fear it would become a prison for you, for you could not leave without danger. Perhaps the best course of action is to absent yourself from the capital.
I wonder how it is that you can make so many enemies. Perhaps you should restrain your impulse to hurl yourself so wholeheartedly into situations fraught with ambiguity. . . .
There was more along these lines, as gentle a reproach as I could imagine. In my current situation, I could not help but take the remonstrance to heart.
I wrote to thank her grace for her advice, and wrote that while I would regret being unable to enjoy their hospitality once again, as I planned to take her advice and take an immediate voyage.
But though I had no occupation to keep me in Selford, neither had I business anywhere else. I thought of returning to Ethlebight, and set in motion t
he ornaments and inscriptions of my parents’ tomb; but I felt that if I were to return to my native city, it should be in something like triumph, and not flying from a threat like a miserable hound.
If Meteor were in harbor, I would join Captain Oakeshott, but Meteor was cruising against the enemy; and if it took a prize, it would go to Amberstone, because the special prize court in Selford was for the two large galleons only. Royal Stilwell was still being repaired in Longfirth, and when it returned would be caught up in the legal business of the court, and would afterward be leased into the navy, so unless I wished to serve under the Crown, I could not use either ship as a base for any further adventures.
Even Sea-Holly was away, which removed any temptation to plod the ocean in a slow merchantman.
I paced the deck for two days, relieving my boredom by watching the life on shore through a long glass. I saw ships busked and boun for the sea, and royal galleons flying Berlauda’s long pendant, with its red horse on a white field. I saw the puffs of gunsmoke, and heard the distant thump of gunfire, as the Companie of Cannoneers tested new artillery at their emplacement down the river. I saw young folk dancing to pipers in front of taverns, sailors reeling drunk through the streets, soldiers with their pikes and hackbuts drilling on the Field of Mavortis east of the capital, whores leaning from windows and beckoning to customers below. The whole world seemed in motion, marching on to some great destiny, while I walked in circles on the quarterdeck of a near-deserted ship that swung pointlessly with the tide.
On the third day, I could bear inaction no longer. A boat carried me and my belongings up the river to Mossthorpe, and from there I took a carriage north to Blacksykes, two days on the road and a night sleeping on bedstraw at a wretched inn. On the second evening, I found the encampment of cavalry outside the city, and there sought out Lord Utterback, who I found in the stables, discussing seedy toe with a learnèd farrier. Utterback looked at me in some surprise as, stiff with two days in a carriage, I came lumber-legged into his presence.
“Quillifer?” he said. “You bring news?”
“I bring your slinkskin gloves,” said I, and produced them. He took the gloves and looked at them with a bemused smile. “As for news,” I added, “I report only that I have decided to follow the Knight Marshal’s advice, and become a soldier.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Is it my troop, then, that will be blessed with your presence?”
“Only if the post of secretary is still open.”
“It is.” He frowned at me. “But tell me, have you run out of bandits to fight?”
I waved a hand. “It proved such an unequal contest I decided to give them a rest.”
He bowed gravely. “In that case,” said he, “I am happy to welcome you into my band of recreants, rudesbys, and runagates. And may the Pilgrim save you, for the tender-hearted Lance-pesade Stringway will not.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
* * *
wo weeks later, I wrote to Kevin.
Perhaps strangely for someone about to join the cavalry, I had not thought to provide myself with a horse, & so my lord Utterback arranged for the veteran Lance-pesade Stringway to take me into Blacksykes & view the latest of the horses that Count Wenlock had purchased for his son’s troop. One horse is not enough, it seems, & so now I have two bay chargers, with the charming names of Shark & Phrenzy. Their names provided an apt foretaste of their collective temperament, but Lance-pesade Stringway approves of their violent, belligerent behavior. “You ride these to war, not to a lawn party,” said he. To achieve mastery of these beasts, Stringway advised me to carry a full leather water bottle when I ride, & at the first sign of disobedience use it to smash my mount between the ears. He assured me that when the horse recovers its wits, which may take a few minutes, it will be more compliant, at least for a while.
My riding teacher in Selford never mentioned this method.
I acquired a third horse to ride when not fighting battles, a gentle-natured mare named Daffodil. She is far more tractable, & I expect I will not have to use the water bottle method when riding her.
Horses, as you may imagine, require a good deal of work to feed & maintain, & I had no wish to do this work myself. I have now acquired a groom, a local boy named Oscar, with bushy dark hair that looks like brushwood growing from his scalp. He is country-bred & claims to be good with horses, so we will see. But of course I had to buy a fourth horse to mount Oscar, so now I have a whole string of the beasts.
As for battles, it seems I am expected to fight along with the rest of the troop. I had thought that as secretary I would manage Lord Utterback’s correspondence, keep records of horses & men, & perhaps involve myself with matters of pay + supply—but it seems I am to do this, & fight as well. As the whole purpose of my enlistment was to avoid violence directed at my person, I must count myself as among the disillusioned of the world.
Daily we apply ourselves to our evolutionibus—those movements by which cavalry maneuver on the road & in the field. We practice advances, and retreats, and wheels, and changing to the flank. We form column, and from column form line. We practice inversions of the lines, and passages of the lines, and movements by twos and threes. All this under Captain Snype, a thorough soldier, who all but runs the troop himself, with Utterback as his amiable figurehead.
We have not dared to practice the charge, for there is much danger to horse & man in a mass of men galloping across country, even when there is no enemy to fight. I am hoping that there will be no occasion to charge at all, for my own position in any fight is v. sadly exposed.
Lord Utterback commands, of course, so in a battle he will be right in front, some ten or twenty paces before the main body. He must be so far in advance because, if he were in the line, he could not see anything but what is directly in front of him, & therefore could not maneuver his command.
But my lord will not be alone in advance of the troop, for he must have his little military family with him, just a horse’s length or so behind. His ensign who carries the standard, & the trumpeter to signal the troop, & Snype to correct him if he make a fatal error.
Among this group I find myself, the poor drudge-secretary. I am necessary, it seems, in the event Lord Utterback wishes to dictate a message, or to have his thoughts recorded for posterity.
As I must fight, it seems I must practice fighting. Utterback’s Troop are demilances, which is to say that we are not fully armored as the knights of old, but wear only half-armor, helmets & cuirasses & sometimes thigh-pieces, all worn over a buff coat of thick yellow suede. I do not know why we are not called “demiarmored.” We fight not with lances, but with broadswords + pistols. Perhaps we ought to be called “no-lances.”
I may thank the v. late Sir Basil of the Heugh for providing me with my equipment. The armor needed only a little adjustment, as you told me when I first tried it on in Longfirth. The horse-pistols I have learned to shoot as well as such weapons can be shot, for they are v. unreliable & misfire often.
I have shot at my own armor with my pistols, & the bullets failed to penetrate. So Sir Basil’s proof-marks were not feigned.
Sword practice I have daily from Lance-pesade Stringway. I have practiced till my arm is ripe to fall off my body, but my talent for swordplay is v. sadly limited. Both Stringway & I agree that I have not a genius for the sword, & he maintains that I will be cut to ribbons in my first encounter with the enemy who knows his ricasso from his knuckle-bow. My wish to carry a pollaxe a-horseback has not been granted, however, & I continue with the routine of slashing & hewing, much to Stringway’s vocal & obscene amusement.
“Lucky for you,” says he, “that fights on horseback are won more with the spur as with the sword.” Though it must be admitted that I have no genius for the spur, either.
Stringway, by the way, is a native of Selford, & learned his art in battles fought in the streets between gangs of youths, some of them fifty or sixty strong. He says that hardly anyone was injured, for they fought to “white wounds,” mea
ning they struck only with the flat of their swords. Many young men, he tells me, learned battle-craft in these brawls, & provided good service to the King in his wars.
“But the rapier ruined all,” says he. This long thrusting blade is too deadly a weapon in a street brawl, & there are no white wounds, but fatal ones instead. Yet the rapier is nigh useless on the battlefield against an armored man, & so in the opinion of Stringway it is a weapon suitable only for mincing fashionable gentlemen in ribbons + bows, not for real soldiers.
I retain a vivid memory of Sir Hector Burgoyne nearly skewering me with his blade, so the sooner rapiers are banned from the streets, the louder will sound my approval.
The troopers for the most part live in town, being billeted among the people who greatly resent their presence. Utterback’s Troop is not the only detachment in the city, for my lord’s father, the Count of Wenlock, is the Lord Lieutenant for the district, & has raised a number of regiments, both for the Queen’s expeditionary force to Bonille, & for defense of the district against the onslaught of rebels who might appear, by sorcery perhaps, here in the middle of Fornland. But the Crown pays for those troops, whereas Wenlock has raised the Utterback Troop entirely at his own expense.
Lord Utterback has rented a small house for his headquarters, & I am tucked up beneath the rafters, on a truckle bed. I sup almost every day with his lordship and with Captain Snype, who relates stories of the late King’s wars, & of foreign wars in which he played his part. Snype is a fierce old soul, completely bald, with a chin-beard like a goat, but he has traveled the world, & met many of the great men & ladies from the Empire to the Triple Kingdom. He also knows his evolutionibus like the back of his hand. We form a pleasant company, & discuss everything from philosophy to football, all with the inspiration of Utterback’s excellent wine. We also dine with officers of the other regiments, for we are all very civil together, except when the Count of Wenlock is present.
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