The difference in the two men was startling enough you would never guess they were brothers from the same parents. Bairstow's hair, now mostly gone from wearing a helmet all these years and what now remained at the sides was speckled heavily with white, was once a rich brown while Brent's was reddish–blond, hence the nickname. The older brother sported hazel eyes and Brent had eyes a blue so deep they often won him the favours of many of the less chaste women in the castle – both married and single. Brent also looked much younger of the two even though Brent was now forty–five. Neither man was married, both having chosen a simple and solitary marriage to the demands of military life instead.
Their father had been a military officer, and both sons had eagerly followed him in profession, but, having seen the strain the life had placed on their mother, decided to never subject a woman to that same loneliness. Their father had been wounded and nearly killed supporting the Revolution and their parents were forced to raise the boys on the meagre stipend the Lord Protector's government had provided in recognition for supporting the cause. Their father died a few years after the Protector had declared martial law to complications from his wounds. His kidneys had failed, and he died in agony, yellowed and thrashing. By the time he finally died, his boys had already moved up in rank within the officers' core and had begun to make names for themselves. They buried their father with all the pomp and circumstance he deserved and watched, amused more than anything, as their mother then blossomed and found happiness.
Now duty and honour replaced any prolonged interest in women and they permitted themselves only the occasional dalliance; Brent much more so than Bairstow. It helped that the bachelor life suited them well, and they had only felt minor regret over the years. When their mother quietly passed away two years ago, she had expressed a dying wish that they have children of their own to continue the family line and they told her they would, knowing they lied, but wishing simply to comfort her in her last days. Brent had suggested to his brother afterwards it was entirely possible they actually did have children somewhere and that they hadn't lied – they just had no knowledge of them. Bairstow hadn't found that particularly humourous. They buried their mother beside their father and plunged themselves into their careers.
Today, Bairstow was the Marshall of the Army of the Realm and Brent was the General of the Lord Protector's Guard. The Protector's Guard was filled by men of the army selected through acts of honour and prowess from the Army ranks. The Guard was the elite of the military and acted like it. Bairstow ruled over both the army and navy. Both brothers answered directly to the Protector and not to each other. Outside the castle, the Guard had no authority unless Bairstow, or the Protector permitted it. Those lines had been drawn from centuries of law back when the Guard protected the King.
They knew within their hearts that their father would be immensely proud of them, but they were saddened at the lengths they had to go to keep the peace in the Realm and in the castle. The Lord Protector hated them both. It was only the insulation of the devotion their men placed in them that kept them solidly in their positions. They had earned the men's respect over the years through hard work, blood, and sweat. They were the 'two brothers' – the Bear and the Fox and the Army and the Guard loved them both.
Brent looked wonderingly at his brother and smiled to lessen the look. He wondered what latest news would have him so angry this time. Anger from his brother was normal, but this was a whole new level of anger, judging by the bright flares of red high on his brother's cheeks, and he had no doubt his latest summons to the Lord Protector had not gone well. They seldom did. Brent knew the Protector harboured a deeper dislike for Bairstow due to the ease at which his brother had earned and been provided the immense respect from his men. He had a natural leadership style that resulted in intense loyalty and respect from the military as a whole. Despite his strong army background, his brother had also gained the respect of the Navy of the Realm and the current Admiral of the Fleet was now a close friend of the two brothers. His brother didn't even know he had it – whatever 'it' was. You just knew, looking at him that he would do anything for you and you wanted to impress him and live up to his impossible standards of duty and honour. The Protector was his exact opposite in so many ways, but it took years to see that for truth and you had to be close to him to catch the faint and sour smell of incompetence. Years more to recognise that the Protector was an expert in manipulating people and hiding it. A talent he had proven as he had methodically worked his charms on the brothers in those early days so long ago. Too late, they found themselves trapped by his machinations.
Brent's smile faded a little as he remembered the days of the Revolution but he shrugged it off as best he could and admitted, not for the last time, that it was getting harder and harder to do that. He fixed his smile, dropped his feet from the desk, and extended his middle finger with practised ease and leaned forward with a gleam in his eye.
"Right back at you, sir!" He laughed and thrust his finger forward for emphasis. The lines etched around in his brother's eyes lessened a little and Brent took that as a good sign. The day his brother failed to find some mirth in the daily grind would be the day he packed up both their gear and fled for the fabled eastern lands of milk and honey.
"Ah, Brent," Bairstow said with a smile. "You've a way with words. And such reverence."
"For you always, you old codger. You appreciate me and my loose ways."
"Pfft. It's getting more difficult these days to remain positive. Any hope we have that the Protector will drop dead of heart failure is fading fast as the years go by and the Protector seems to grow stronger while mine fades with age. I fear I have opened up a new line of attack for the arse with an accidental comment about my age." Bairstow sucked air through his teeth. "Nothing to be done now about it now. I'll tighten my defences and prepare for the shit storm that surely will follow."
Brent furrowed his eyebrows for a moment. The spite and anger the Protector threw at them both was now open for all to see and the illusion of working as a team with either of them was all but shattered. "What was your audience about?"
His brother looked down at his hands spread open across his desk. "Brent," he said at last. "The Protector has a new task for you and it includes men of your Guard and my Army."
Brent raised an eyebrow at this but remained silent. His brother's authority did not extend to include any authority over the Guard. The Guard answered only to the Protector and to all matters that directly related to the safety of the Protector. Lately it was not becoming uncommon for Brent to hear things from his brother rather than directly from the Protector. It bothered him immensely, but he took painstaking effort to keep it hidden; but his brother knew. They often discussed it.
"The Protector has ordered me to send my men to retrieve the belongings of a known traitor to the realm, long thought dead, in the far off town of Jaipers – a town I barely recalled until I remembered seeing it once on a map. It lays in the southern Turgany Barony." Brent leaned forward in his chair, intent on the words from his brother. This can't be, he thought as his brother continued. "Being ordered to use the regular military as simple errand boys grates me – that's what the Realm Guards are for. Surely to Word, the Captain of the garrison in Jaipers could arrange transport and cover for mere belongings? But no, the Lord Protector disagreed and now I'm forced to provide my own men to the task."
Bairstow started rummaging through his desk until he found what he was looking for. He drew forth a rough map of the realm and opened it on his desk and peered at it squinting. After a moment he speared the map with a finger.
"Here, they'll have to travel all the way to Jaipers and then back again – a journey of at least three months by the looks of it." Bairstow looked up at his brother. "That's not all, I'm afraid to say. If that was not enough that my men have to attend to this, the Lord Protector dropped the other glove and informed me that men from your Protector's Guard would also be going and that they would be in Command." Bairsto
w grated his teeth before continuing.
"The Army does not take orders from the Guard unless it deals directly with the security of the Protector. It just doesn't happen. So I told him that."
Brent found his voice. "You did? What did he say to that?"
"He got that gleam in his eyes, you know the one?" Brent nodded. "He said 'Not done?'" and by the Word if he didn't hiss in glee and smile down at me. The evil was there for all to see. I'm a bloody fool! I opened the door for him. He then insisted that the General of the Protector's Guard would accompany them to insure success in the mission and then laughed with his head thrown back high on his perch on the throne."
Brent blinked for a moment and digested what his brother had just said. "Me?"
Bairstow nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. "Yes, you. The head of the Protector's Guard, my own brother, is being sent to gather a traitor's belongings!"
"Me?"
"Yes, you. Nothing of this makes sense. It seems too calculated. Why would he risk such insult to the Guard? I stood there, Brent, stupefied in front of the Protector, with the laughter echoing off the walls, repeating the orders in my head and looking for an out and knowing I wouldn't find one. The Protector had planned the entire audience and knew he could manipulate me into whatever response he wanted to hear. The intelligence and manipulative nature of that man is astonishing! In the end I just nodded, and he dismissed me with a flip of his hand. I felt like a dog with its tail between its legs as I left the audience. I kept my head up though. The gleeful eyes of the council followed me out the door like rats in the corner."
"Did he name the traitor?" asked Brent, already certain of the answer. He knew there was only one person in Jaipers who could be labeled a traitor.
"Bill Redgrave, if you can believe it. The Protector has informed me that the belongings of the traitor are to be gathered up in Jaipers and escorted back to the capital. It is to be a combined Army and Guard contingent led by the Protector's Guard." Bairstow's eyes opened in shock as he noticed the look on his brother's face. Brent could no longer hide the pain he was feeling. "What, Brent? I knew you would be pissed at the news but you look horrified! I haven't even told you the worst part!"
"Bill Redgrave, you say?" said Brent quietly and looked about the room, turning his head to confirm the door to the room was still closed.
"Aye, the traitor himself! All this time we thought him burned in that house fire that destroyed his family and there he was, alive and well in Jaipers. He's dead now. Killed some weeks ago. He went by the name of Burstone down there – he kept the name Bill. Hiding in plain sight all this time."
Brent stayed quiet for a while and kept his face immobile so Bairstow couldn't read his emotions. Bairstow knew something was upsetting him but couldn't possibly be able to fathom what it could be. He will be wondering why I'm so shocked at the news. He'll figure it out shortly. He'll know I already knew he wasn't dead all these years.
"You knew him, didn't you? You knew that traitor! You knew he was alive!"
Brent looked up to his brother and saw the astonishment there. Bairstow's eyes grew wide when he didn't correct him. Brent just nodded once curtly, and grimaced against the guilt that flooded him, and lowered his head. He heard his brother rock back in his chair and felt his eyes boring into the top of his head.
When Brent looked up briefly, his eyes were red–rimmed with grief. Bairstow cried out.
"You–you're mourning this traitor? Brent? How can you? The man was vile! A traitor to the Realm. Tell me!"
Brent stayed silent for a long time and then spoke to the floor. "It's true. I knew him. I knew he was alive. But brother, believe me when I say this: Bill was no traitor to the Realm. His family was murdered in front of him and he was tossed into his burning house alive to die beside their still warm corpses. I was there and watched it happen. I watched as the Protector himself ordered their execution and then stood and watched the house burn to the ground. It was a horrible sight to see. Horrible!"
Brent knew his brother would find the truth impossible to accept. All Bairstow knew was that he had been involved with the execution of the traitor. Brent had never spoken of it and Bairstow, he had assumed, had simply thought the memories too painful to ask about it. The military often had to do things they would rather not talk about and likely the events at Redgrave's home had simply been one of those times.
Brent waited a moment, sorting out his thoughts before he resumed his tale. "That was, what, twelve years ago?" Brent shook his head to himself. "It still seems like yesterday. After the house burned, the Protector directly ordered me to stay and sift through the structure with two of my men to see what we might find. I wore only a captain's bars back then and was full of piss and vinegar. I took to the task with all my will and energy. It wasn't until later that I realised he had simply left me there to insure I was not with him for the journey back to the city. He learned to hate me back then."
Brent laughed once – a cold, hard laugh – and resumed his tale. "We had to wait for two days for the remains of the house to cool enough to allow us to enter the ruins. It was filthy work, Bairstow. Filthy! We covered our faces with cloths to keep the soot out of our lungs but it still got in. Overnight we would cough up black phlegm. It was all we could taste. Soot and more soot. Horrible, it was. So, after two day of digging through the soot and charred remains of the house, I took pity on my men and ordered them to take a break and rest in a nearby common inn. We stunk and were black from head to foot with that soot by then. They were glad to go. The men had a hard time getting the innkeeper to let them in! Ha! I remember that I coughed up the black snot for weeks after that. Weeks! Anyway, I stayed there at the house while my men happily rode off to wash themselves and bed down wenches. An officer's lot, eh? And so I did my duty and remained to watch over the remains of the house and to keep pillagers away." Bairstow nodded in understanding.
"I wandered the ruins and poked into corners for hours. There was little I could do by myself. Thankfully, the remains of Redgrave's family were completely incinerated. Just some charred bones, and we buried them with some dignity. I insured that though the men complained. They were a traitor's family and deserved it, they said. I didn't agree that the family deserved it and made them dig a proper grave. I said some words, from the Church, you know how I am."
Brent looked up to his brother to gauge his reaction. Bairstow followed the Word but Brent was still a follower of the Church, albeit in secret. There were many like him: still religious despite the Revolution and the Great Debate. Bairstow nodded again and Brent continued.
"That house had burned so hot for so long! I don't think I could have remained by myself had we not buried them. The sight of those children being slaughtered haunts me enough. It was then I found the trapdoor at the rear of the house nearest the river. Based on the remains of the cast iron stove it was where the kitchen had been. The door had been covered over and hidden by the fallen charred support beams and whatnot. It was a mess. I wouldn't have noticed it except for a glint of sun off the steel ring that remained to open it. A chance beam of sunlight.
"I remember being excited at the find. I knew what it was at once: a root cellar. But it was so unusual that a root cellar was accessible from inside the main building and I imagined treasures. Rumours had it that Redgrave had stolen gold and for a bit there I imagined it all buried in the cellar." Brent chuckled, but it was forced.
"Redgrave had been wealthy, you know. I thought if I returned to the capital with gold the Protector would think highly of me. And so I used my horse and with ropes dragged the debris clear of the opening and lifted the door only to find it full of what you would expect: a room lined with wooden shelves and a cupboard containing naught but carrots, potatoes and bottled preserves. Most had burst with the heat of the fire above.
"But imagine my surprise on discovering an opening in the cupboard. Behind it was a low tunnel passage that led from that cellar clear down to the riverbank. A metal grate had been push
ed aside, and I got down on my hands and knees and crawled the length. I was twenty feet in when I started to smell the nearby river. Then I smelt him. Lying at the end of that tunnel was none other than Bill Redgrave. At first, I thought him dead, but I soon discovered that he lived!"
Brent clenched his hands together and looked quickly up at his brother to see his reaction. Bairstow was simply staring at him and cocked his head to get him to continue. Brent took a deep breath. "Against all odds, Redgrave had made his way through his burning house, past the burning remains of his wife and children, and escaped that inferno. But his lungs were now filled with liquid and he could barely breathe. I knew at once that he was drowning from within as I had seen it before from people who'd survived house fires. It's the smoke, you see. It burns the lungs and like a burn on the skin, it blisters and fills with water. They die soon after if they've inhaled too much smoke."
He paused to look at his brother to see if he knew what he meant and when he nodded, he took another deep breath and continued.
"I made a decision then that if any man could survive that inferno from Hell then I would do what I could to ease his passage into death. I thought for sure that he would die. He was burned badly. Infection was sure to set in. He was not long for the earth, but he clung so hard to life. After a time, and to be truthful, I realised that I had to know what could drive a man to conduct such acts of treason after a lifetime of heroic acts. I was beginning to understand that the Protector was not what we thought him to be. I think that even then I was looking to the future and perhaps saw that this man was my future too." Brent paused and gathered his thoughts as if unsure where to continue the story.
Leaf and Branch (New Druids Series Vol 1 & 2) Page 21
