The Storm Lord

by M. K. Hume

  Lorcan scanned the long, grimy road that linked the decaying wharves with the town on the higher ground. The muddy verges were churned by the feet of men and livestock, while prostitutes plied their trade as openly and as briskly as at any seafaring port. Workers carried the ship’s cargo from the vessel to the warehouses on the shore with the same phlegmatic stoicism of dumb beasts, yet there was an expectant, anxious stillness about this mundane scene that made the priest’s nerves quiver.

  “It’s too quiet!”

  In retrospect, Gesoriacum seemed to be waiting for something unpleasant to happen. Lorcan narrowed his eyes at Gareth, and the younger man recognized that the usual jocularity in Lorcan’s manner had vanished like woodsmoke in a breeze.

  “What is this place?” Gareth looked out at a precariously balanced town that seemed to be trapped between the sullen sea on one side and a line of ill-defined tidal marshes on the other. The town itself was built on a set of low hills above flatter land where trade and industry fed the town with coin. That this port was ancient was beyond doubt, for the splintered wooden structures on the wharves and the much-damaged remains of Roman roads spoke mutely of centuries of occupation by foreign powers.

  Gesoriacum still bustled but she was tired, and she was deciding how to change her clothing from the Roman tunic to a fabric that was newer and more tawdry.

  “This shithole, as you call it, has been used as a port for many centuries. It’s been called Portus Itius and Bononia at various times, names that have been used as often as its Roman title of Gesoriacum. Whatever you choose to call it, the world comes to Britain through this port.” Germanus spoke with his customary calm, so the explanation helped to settle Gareth’s nerves.

  The young man had been vilely ill during the night with mal de mer, as the locals called seasickness. The vessel in which the party had traveled to Gesoriacum, the Golden Nymph, had a name that was far finer than its actuality, and the vessel had nothing to recommend it other than its cargo-carrying capacity and surprising speed.

  From the moment that Gareth had eaten a hearty breakfast in Dubris on the morning of departure, he had been harried and hurried to collect the horses, take them to the dock, drag them onto the deck, where they were to be secured, and help the older men to store their possessions.

  The ship had then set sail on its return journey to Gesoriacum.

  Their quarters belowdecks were verminous, stuffy, and dark, although Germanus seemed quite comfortable with their accommodation. Gareth had stayed on deck until the pitching of the vessel eventually nauseated him. From then on, belowdecks vomiting had convinced him to remain in the open air where he could curl up in a ball of misery and curse the sea and all who sailed in ships.

  Harassed and confused, Gareth’s excitement at finally setting forth on the quest to save Arthur was mitigated by his illness, his anger at his own weakness, and his confusion at the speed that two older men could muster when they were finally in a position to act.

  Unable to relax, and aware that every word that left his mouth was discourteous to his companions, the young man’s temper became badly frayed.

  Something of Gareth’s sense of confusion and frustration was evident in his troubled face. Both Germanus and Lorcan had left the boy to his own devices during the Channel crossing, for they understood how Gareth must have hated being seasick when every other man on the Golden Nymph had been untouched by the illness. With his usual sensitivity, Germanus reminded himself that Gareth was still well short of his twentieth birthday and was ignorant of many of the important things in life—except for the trade of killing.

  “We need to find somewhere clean to stay until we’re ready to continue the journey into the north. I’m already missing Dubris and the cooking that Eta did so well, but we won’t find an inn of that quality in Gesoriacum.”

  Lorcan’s proposal was practical, but Gareth remained sullen and argumentative.

  “I don’t see why we can’t start on our journey into the north immediately. God only knows what problems will beset Arthur and his friends while we dillydally and gorge ourselves on bacon and sweetmeats.”

  Germanus sighed. He could see that Gareth was in a mood for argument, and Lorcan was becoming restive at the boy’s aggressive attitude. Germanus was almost prepared to oblige the young man, for he knew that Gareth would be impossible to live with if Lorcan lost his temper and sat the boy on his arse.

  “Where will we go? And what route should we take, Gareth? It’s important that we know the terrain and the political situations before we move into new territory. Besides, our horses need rest! They don’t like sea travel any more than you do, so several days will elapse before they’re ready to continue our journey.”

  Gareth was forced to agree, but he was far from happy. The constant grumbling forced Germanus to wish that he could shut him up by boxing the young man’s ears. Understanding bad behavior and living with it were two very different propositions.

  Finally, the boy agreed to assist Lorcan by settling the horses, while Germanus commenced a search for accommodation at a suitable inn.

  The establishment chosen by the Frank mercenary was situated on a side street at the edge of the port district, and it appeared to be unusually clean. The hostelry was a little way from the main thoroughfares, so it should have been less popular than other public houses situated close to the wharf area. Yet its prices were slightly higher than those of its competition, an inconsistency that surprised Germanus.

  The owner of the inn, Priscus, was a rail-thin man who obviously had a good eye for the main chance. When asked why he had chosen to set his tariff so high, the glibly tongued innkeeper explained that patrons were unlikely to walk in off the street in a location as remote as this, so he concluded that a reputation for good beer and wine, clean rooms and excellent food could win him a good share of the traveling custom in an area of Gesoriacum that wasn’t famed for quality inns. Wealthier passengers had to wait somewhere for ships to set sail, or to find a place to rest after a long voyage.

  What better place to stay than Priscus’s inn?

  Once he had inspected the kitchens, Germanus decided that several days’ rest at the Green Man would benefit all three travelers—and their horses.

  The name of the inn worried Lorcan a little because, despite his best efforts, a streak of Hibernian superstition ran through his thinking, and he wondered whether the use of a hostelry with such an evocative name could bring bad luck to the party. Even ardent Christians were wary of the legendary Green Man of the Woods. But Germanus and Gareth, more pragmatic, banded together to override Lorcan’s formless reservations.

  Although Gareth’s bad temper led him to doubt the wisdom of Germanus’s choice, his first sight of the well-maintained stables with the sweet, clean smell of fresh straw and rows of well-treated beasts convinced him that he was being uncharitable. The innkeeper talked incessantly, but the rabbit pie made by his silent woman was rich with gravy, and Gareth almost wept at the memory of plain country food. With mugs of fresh ale in front of them, the trine ate voraciously before settling down to discuss their plans for the next stage of their journey.

  Lorcan asked the innkeeper to join them. With a conspiratorial wink, the priest produced a silver coin from his purse to purchase a jug of Frisian beer. Priscus bit on the coin to check its purity, and then grinned at the profile of Valentinian, which indicated that this small piece of Roman workmanship was nearly a century old.

  “You’ve not seen our master’s new gold coins then?” Priscus asked with a greasy, knowing expression on his thin face. He returned a handful of silver coins to Lorcan in change, and then placed brimming jugs of warm beer on the table.

  “What master would that be, good Priscus? I seem to recall that it’s against the law for any person, other than the Emperor Justinian, to have his likeness on coins of the empire.” Lorcan’s voice was cool and unthreatening.

 
“The king of Austrasia is Theudebert, who’s the hero of a hundred battles, if we believe half of the stories that we’ve been told of his fighting prowess.” Priscus smirked with a most unpleasant expression that made Gareth long to kick the innkeeper savagely in the backside. Something about Priscus raised the hair on Gareth’s arms.

  “Theudebert was victorious in the Dene Wars twenty years ago, when his father ordered him to kill Hygelac of the Geats. I know that Theudebert was little more than a boy when he defeated the Dene and Geat forces, so I can assure you that our king is a man to be reckoned with.”

  Priscus tapped the side of his nose and then winked broadly.

  “Was Hygelac the king of the Geats—or the Dene? I always seem to get those tribes mixed up. Their warriors are all so large, and they grow too much hair on their bodies. It seems to be all over them,” Lorcan added guilelessly, before grinning at the innkeeper as if he was sharing confidences with an old friend.

  “Aye, sir! It’s all too true!” I’ve heard that the Dene carved out the coastal areas to the west of Gothland as their own by claiming Geat lands as their own, but heaven knows where their people came from originally. The Geats and the Dene are allies of a kind now, but they’re a hardy and a prickly people who are known to take offense at trifles. Wars between the peoples of Skania, Halland, and the other states are a regular fact, and not just a possibility.”

  “For a cynical man, friend Priscus, you’re quite aware,” Germanus replied dryly.

  “I try to give my customers the best service I can, but after many years at my trade, I don’t have much faith in the nature of the great ones that I serve. I know them too well!”

  As Germanus and Priscus conversed and laughed together, Gareth felt his impatience rise again, even though he was basking in a mellow glow after drinking two mugs of strong beer.

  “Will your presumptuous King Theudebert allow us to pass through his lands if we want to travel into the north?” Gareth’s voice was sharp, leaving Priscus to stiffen with affront.

  “What this rude young cub is trying to ask is whether we’re likely to encounter any obstacles if we decide to pass through Reims on our way into the north,” Lorcan interrupted. “Reims is a major city ruled by Theudebert, isn’t it? And it’s also on the most direct route leading into the north. We can travel through Tournai, Cologne, and then up the River Rhin to either Friesia or Saxony, but I’m a little nervous about making an incursion into Saxony. They’ll never forgive the Dene for their humbling of the Jutes and the Angles, or for the flood of refugees who weakened Saxony. There are too many possible problems if we choose to follow that route.”

  “Is that so?” Priscus said conversationally. He shot a jaundiced glance towards Gareth. “Your problems in the north will be more easily solved if you can convince your young friend to explain himself in a civilized manner. If he should speak to Saxons with such a lordly and condescending tone as he used with me . . . Well, he’ll not have a tongue in his head for long.”

  Gareth opened his mouth to argue, but Lorcan kicked hard at the young man’s ankle under the table.

  “Gareth has spent his whole life in a provincial Roman villa outside Aquae Sulis in Britain, a place where he was denied a suitable education,” Lorcan added politely. “He’s ignorant of the ways of your civilized world, but he’ll soon be schooled. I apologize for any lack in our young friend’s manners.”

  “Then your apology is accepted, my friend!” Priscus rubbed his long palms together to show his lack of offense.

  Affronted and sullen because his companions had apologized to a common innkeeper on his account, Gareth believed that the apology placed the three travelers at a disadvantage, in spirit if not in fact, despite Germanus’s later explanation that they had little choice other than to ask Priscus’s advice.

  “To answer your question, young man, our king is famed as a warrior and as a leader of other fighting men. He’s been playing ducks and drakes with the emperor of Constantinople for years. He’s taken the emperor’s coin to keep the peace, but . . .” The innkeeper’s voice trailed off and he laughed sardonically. “But you’d have to be naïve, or another emperor, to consider that Theudebert would rise up and strike a treasonous blow against his kin who rule in Neustria. It won’t happen, because Theudebert is far too astute to be pinned down by an unworkable alliance. Yes, he’d happily take Justinian’s coin. Who wouldn’t? But when the time came to strike a blow against his fellow Franks? Well, I’m sure that Theudebert would simply ignore Justinian.”

  “Then what route would you suggest we follow?” Germanus asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “I’d travel through Reims and Metz, although you’ll be heading south for a short distance during your journey into the east. Our king is distracted and has turned his eyes to Thuringia in the north to settle an old and bitter debt for wrongs done to his kin in times past. If I stood in your boots, I would use the military advances of our king to safely clear your way. Given that the armies involved in the conflicts are trying to destroy each other and aren’t overinterested in the movement of small groups of outlanders, you should be able to reach the towns of southern Jutland with relative ease, if you’re fortunate enough to pass through the Saxon and Thuringian borders without too much difficulty.”

  “So we’ll be riding through several armies who are actually at war with each other?” Lorcan asked. “Shite, I suppose it’s better to know the worst straightaway.”

  His last comment was directed at Gareth.

  “But most of the threats posed by the lesser kings will be removed by the presence of Theudebert’s army, so you won’t have to worry too much about ambush. Being impressed into Theudebert’s army might be your biggest problem, because his officers are always on the lookout for trained fighting men.” Priscus laughed with an edge of malice.

  Gareth might be an innocent in many ways, but life in the villa had been a microcosm of the world. He recognized Priscus’s salacious cynicism because he had seen it often enough in his youth. Men like Priscus were always for sale, and they always thought they were more intelligent than anyone else around them.

  “Thank you for your advice, Priscus. Your local knowledge will keep us safe during our journey into the north.” Germanus was always the soul of tact and his skills hadn’t deserted him, although the man was far too oily and self-satisfied for the Frank’s taste.

  For his part, Priscus glowed with approval at Germanus’s generous compliments. He never doubted that he was more worldly than most of his customers.

  “And what news has arrived from the east?” Lorcan asked. “Is Italy still in Justinian’s hands? And does he still plan to advance into Gaul? We’ve heard rumors that he has big dreams and wishes to rebuild the collapsed Roman Empire in the west under his own rule. Another madman with huge plans!”

  “Justinian will be the lord of all he surveys, another Alexander if he lives so long. The last ship from Ravenna brought news that our esteemed emperor has had a narrow escape from death. We also heard that Theudebert cursed God for permitting Justinian to live.”

  “Was it an attempt at murder? An accident? Or an illness?” Germanus asked bluntly. His face expressed his concern, because Justinian was perfectly capable of gobbling up the west, and Germanus remained a good and loyal Frank.

  “As a matter of fact, it was a rather nasty disease. Several other persons are rumored to have contracted the same illness and died from it, so Justinian was lucky and we were unlucky.”

  The three travelers absorbed the astonishing news.

  The disease, which had since killed a number of citizens in Constantinople, was now being referred to as Justinian’s disease. Sadly, the physicians had no idea how the illness was transmitted from person to person, nor why some people lived when so many more died.

  “So a new disease has appeared in the Eastern Empire,” Germanus mused. “With luck, Justinian will stay put un
til he’s fully recovered, while we’ll have passed into the north by the time he organizes his armies. We should be in Jutland by winter, or else we’ll freeze to death on the road. Thank you, Priscus, for you’ve been an enormous help. We’ll show our appreciation before we leave!”

  Gareth was pleased to receive the innkeeper’s information, but Priscus sensed the young man’s antagonism from across the table. At the same time, Gareth realized that Lorcan’s nostrils were flaring as if Priscus reeked of a sickening smell. It’s not just me, the young man thought, for Lorcan dislikes the innkeeper as much as I do! He knows the bastard would sell us out for a few copper coins—so why is he so pleasant towards him?

  The conversation continued in desultory fashion while Priscus slaked his thirst at the travelers’ expense. Deft in his questioning, he learned a great deal about the three mismatched men who had come to his establishment from across the Channel, but less than he thought he had, because Germanus and Lorcan were men of vast experience, while any loose words from Gareth had been silenced by his dislike for the innkeeper.

  Once Priscus had left them to finish the remaining beer, Gareth attacked Lorcan. “You can’t stand that stringbean turd, so why were you so respectful to him?”

  “You’re such a child sometimes, Gareth, and you’re in need of a loincloth. Of course I can’t stand the shite! He’d rob us blind in a moment, if we were worth any coin to him.”

  Lorcan examined Gareth carefully and incredulously, as did Germanus.

  “Did you really think that Priscus fooled us, laddie?” Germanus asked. “He’s a crooked snake, but his beer’s good and the information we gleaned from him is excellent.”

  “And just because Germanus and Priscus are both Franks doesn’t mean that Germanus would sell us out, boyo. You’re not a particularly wise young man, and you must learn to think before you open your mouth.”