Still engulfed in the inferno, the heretic remained where he was for a moment and then smoothly rose to stand next to the deceased man. Flames roared all around him and some people screamed in terror. He was the very image of a demon from hell. He lifted his gaze to look around at the mob who surrounded them and locked eyes with the Archbishop. In that instant, the Archbishop was pierced by the combined look of horror and disgust that lay behind those eyes and for a second, he felt his soul exposed as unclean and oily. He squirmed internally to break that stare but could not tear his eyes free – he was trapped and a whimper threatened to break free of his throat and he fought it. The image of the heretic standing in the flames untouched and glaring defiantly at him tore at his fear. He struggled to find his Faith and felt it slip from his grasp. This demon stood there defiantly goading him and he was helpless and afraid. Just as suddenly, the heretic looked away, releasing the Archbishop. He sobbed and fell back a step in relief.
With a cry from Benjamin, the flames roared to a massive height, and the crowd screamed, the Archbishop included, and they turned away in fear. Just as quickly the flames were gone, snuffed out as if they never existed except for the remains of the Bishop that smoked within a puddle of melted body fat and grease. Benjamin turned and strode directly into the crowd. The people hastened to move out of his way and they parted before him like a wave and then closed behind his retreating form. A profound silence filled the courtyard.
After a moment, the King shook his head as if removing a spell and then screamed in rage. He reached out and grabbed the nearest guard and screaming ordered him to track down Benjamin and then tried to throw him after his Advisor. The scream seemed extraordinarily loud in the silence of the courtyard and many flinched and recoiled. The thrown guard stumbled and fell onto the remains of the Bishop and screaming, rolled off quickly in horror. A couple of guards leaped forward to help drag him clear.
"Leave him!" screamed the King. The Archbishop could see that madness filled his visage and so could the guards nearest him and they stepped back in fright. The King was beyond noticing the reaction of his men and continued shouting orders. "Grab that man! Grab Benjamin! Kill him!"
No one moved; fear rooted them. The King slashed his sword at the Captain of the King's Guard nearest him and the edge bit deep into his side. Blood sprayed, and the man cried out and collapsed, grabbing at his wounded side. The Archbishop grinned at the sight of more blood.
"Move! Now!" yelled the King once more, swinging his sword and spraying the blood that covered it on all that stood near him. The spell was broken and the senior guard officers started yelling out orders. Many cried out and wiped at the blood that came off the King's sword.
The crowd was starting to look ashamed at one another and avoided eye contact. Their frenzy had been quenched with the flames and now they stood naked for all to see the depravity that lay within them.
The Archbishop watched the men and women scramble to clear the courtyard and several ran off in the direction Benjamin had gone. A couple of men raced to the side of the captain, one of them, the Archbishop noted, was Major Bill Redgrave.
"Archbishop," said the King, and he turned his head to look at him standing there with his sword dripping blood to the stonework. "I am going to clear the land of all heathens. I will not suffer their presence in my Kingdom and under the eyes of God. I will slaughter them all. Men, women and child."
The King, clearly mad, turned and started hacking at the bubbling remains of the Bishop.
Redgrave knelt beside the captain and knew he would not survive the wound. Already the pumping blood slowed and then stopped altogether. Redgrave could stand it no longer. He had watched the Kingdom collapse into complete anarchy over the past few hours – all over the loss of faith of one man. He knew intuitively that it was much more than that – but how could it have led to so much horror?
The memory of seeing the slaughter of so many innocents numbed him. And now a man had just been burned alive in front of a hungry mob. The chaos was wide and spreading with a madness that knew no bounds and it needed to be quelled quickly in order to minimise the loss of life. Hearing the words of the King to the Archbishop had frozen the blood in his veins. He knew, watching the King continue to poke and hack at the corpse of the Bishop, that through the King there remained only madness and more death.
His thoughts returned to a quick conversation he had with Baron John Healy only an hour ago. The Baron recommended a course of action that had appalled him at the time and he had almost arrested the man for treason. But the Baron had always been his friend, supportive of him and his family. They had spoken of this course of action many times in the past but always hypothetically and without real intent.
Now, watching his King hack at a man who had done nothing to deserve his plight, his thoughts turned to the course of action the Baron had recommended. Could he do what needed to be done? Could he rise to the challenge and prove his worth to the Kingdom? More importantly, could he break his oath and then live with himself?
He would need his own men to support him in this and he had spoken to his most trusted men over the past couple of years. He looked around the courtyard and realised with a start that it was his own men, strongly loyal to him, who remained by his side now. Redgrave looked directly into the eyes of his captain, Ran Pawley, and then looked with purpose to the King and back again. The captain tightened his lips in a line and then nodded once. It was decided. They would act now. He was startled by how quickly the decision had been made and queasiness flooded his belly and a sour taste filled his mouth.
The ringing from the King's sword striking the stone beneath the corpse filled the silence of the almost empty courtyard and it sounded like a death knell to Bill Redgrave. He moved slowly to the King's side and circled him until he was sure he was in the King's line of sight. He did not want to be hit in error with the King's sword.
"Your Highness," he began and placed his hand on the pommel of his sword. His voice caught, and he cleared his throat. He waited until his men moved to surround them both. Bill glanced nervously at the Archbishop who still remained but he did not appear to be interested or following what was happening. The Archbishop was continuing to stare in the direction that Benjamin had wandered off. Bill tore his eyes from the Archbishop and focused on his King.
"Your Highness, please!" he started again and watched with horror as the King looked quickly at him and then away to the shattered corpse at his feet. The King drove his sword into the head of the Bishop and twisted it. Steam rose from the inside as the brain was exposed. Not sure what was causing it – either the look in the King's eyes or the smell rising off the dead man – but Bill had to fight the urge to vomit and swallowed bitter acid. He stood straighter and drew his sword. The steel of the sword rasping inside the scabbard as he drew it caused the King to pause and look over to Bill with a puzzled expression.
"Your Highness," Bill stated with some authority in his voice he did not feel. "I place you under arrest for crimes against your Kingdom."
The King merely stared back at Bill. Bill wasn't certain that he had heard. As he drew a breath to repeat himself, the King screamed and launched himself against him. Bill deflected the King's sword thrust and quickly rapped him on the skull with the pommel of his sword. The King collapsed at his feet. Bill stared at his sword in disbelief – as if it had somehow turned on him. His men stood in their circle unmoving. Bill looked to his captain.
"Ran, take him to the apartment at the top of the tower. See to his comfort. He is still our King. Post two guards. See to it yourself and then gather the King's Guard in the courtyard," he ordered.
Ran nodded once. "And you?" he asked.
"I need to find Baron Healey," he replied after a small hesitation. He was making this up as he went along. "We have a Kingdom to secure and he's the man to lead it."
The captain nodded again and looked down at his King in disgust. "Too bad his older brother died all those years ago. Now he would have been a great King."
The captain looked up at his men and started barking orders.
Bill turned to stare at the Archbishop. The Archbishop had seen what happened and did nothing. Bill could not be certain what the Archbishop would do next, so he stood there with his sword in his hand, uncertain what to do. The Archbishop flicked a glance at the guards as they lifted the King to transport him to the tower. The Archbishop looked back at the sword in his hand and seemed to make a decision.
"Baron Healey, you say?" inquired the Archbishop with raised eyebrows.
Bill nodded his reply.
"Then might I accompany you, major?"
Nineteen
Outside Munsten South Gate, 900 A.C.
BRENT WAITED OUTSIDE the southern gate seated high on his horse and watched the men under his command muster beside the road under the vigilant eye of Major Sean Gillespie, his second for the mission. He was Army, and therefore not one of his own. Looking to his left he could see that the King's Road turned from dirt to cobblestones after a mere hundred feet leading up to the gate beside him to the right. This part of the road rose to the wide stone bridge that crossed the river. This river split further upstream and surrounded and made an island out of the city. Beside him rose the massive stone wall that surrounded and defended the city. It stood at least twelve men in height, and was complete with parapets and towers placed strategically along the wall to give an unobstructed view of the terrain surrounding the city. All arcs of attack were covered and an assault on the castle would be unimaginably costly for an attacker. A siege could last years and never be truly effective. It was simply the best–defended city in the Realm and home to the Lord Protector and his government of puppets.
The stonework of the wall was thick and well maintained. It was kept clear of any vines or mosses and no tall trees or bushes grew within one hundred feet of the base. The Realm Tax – a more reasonable version of the King's tax from before the Revolution – paid for the city upkeep. The city engineers reported to him on a regular basis on any possible areas, or breaches where significant repair was required. Brent knew it was solid.
Major Gillespie had insisted that they muster here outside the wall instead of outside the barracks and seeing no reason to object, Brent conceded and allowed it. And so it was here on the north side of the bridge between the river and the wall that the men laid out their gear in the shaded, grassy area by the tree line. Late in the day this whole area would be completely shaded by the high southern wall but it was now only late morning and the entire road leading to the gate was baking in an unforgiving sun. Brent regretted his allowance to muster here. The heat was stifling.
Brent also didn't like the exposure. The south gate was one of the more populated areas leading into the city and today was no exception. People thronged the area, and the noise was deafening. The road was full of laden carts and wagons, horses, sheep, goats and hundreds of people – both rich and poor – all in line and waiting impatiently to be passed through the checkpoints and gain access to the profitable markets and stores. There was an equally busy line of merchants and travellers leaving by the same gate and entry and exit was slowed by the chokepoint. It was slow going and the majority of these people, Brent knew, had all arrived at the gate before the dawn.
Guards were positioned at the bridge and at the gate, all of whom were made up of Army regulars, and they were being absolutely thorough with their duty. Brent caught the glances toward him from the guards and chuckled to himself. The guards were being extra thorough today due to him standing watch over the area. That wasn't completely fair. His brother would never allow contraband to pass into his city and so the guards at the bridge routinely were very thorough in checking the contents of carts and wagons and would only allow one cart at a time over the bridge, in both directions. His brother was known to try to slip a cart or two through the gates to test security. The people in line, with the heat of the day starting to wear thin their patience, and being unable to argue with the guards, took to arguing amongst themselves and the heat and noise of so many raised voices was starting to give Brent a terrible headache. He pinched the bridge of his nose to ease the pain. It didn't help.
Brent looked past his own carts lined up on the side of the road to his men that were assigned to the mission. They were now standing in front of the carts in three straight ranks, more or less at attention, and they were being reminded of their orders and responsibilities for the long road ahead of them. The major spoke in sharp clear tones and it was one of those voices that could pierce the noise that filled the air outside the main gate. He had his captains beside him and the two sergeants were positioned in front of the ranks of men. Civilians passing by the men would shout out jeers and japes and laugh when they were ignored except for the occasional glower by the major.
A troop of young boys was gathered off behind the men and were mimicking the events before them. They were lined up in three rows and one of them was gesticulating to the words of the major. It was quiet farcical and was generating quite a bit of attention from the people lined up on the walls of the castle looking down. Another boy of maybe eight years was cheekily throwing small stones at the feet of one of his men and every time he hit a boot it would elicit cheers from those that watched. He was soon joined by another boy who had found the courage once he saw that the men couldn't move from their positions. They took turns tossing the stones and their combined laughter was just more noise in the chaos outside the gate.
The major finished his speech, and he dismissed the men for a kit muster and beckoned the captain over for a quiet word. As the men were dismissed, the two boys throwing rocks ran off squealing in delight, one shouting loudly that he was the winner of whatever contest they had arranged between them. The men turned to gather their kit in the small grassy area behind the carts and as they reached it they started placing their weapons and gear out in precise order on their bedrolls for inspection.
The captain and the sergeants started moving through the men and their horses to examine their gear and tackle, occasionally berating a man for a speck of rust found on their armour or weapons. They studiously ignored the men's leather backpacks, which all bulged oddly beside the gear. Brent smiled, knowing that it would not help for the sergeants to discover the flasks of hard liquor that were likely tucked away inside the packs. Looks of relief passed quickly over the men as they realised they could keep their alcohol. What concerned the sergeants was not alcohol but badly maintained weapons and armour. That could mean life or death for the party and that bore serious scrutiny. The same was true for the horses, and they too were examined, teeth to hooves. The inspection would continue for at least another half an hour and so the Brent took the time to examine the area and think about the long road ahead of them.
Brent eyed the small band of beggars that clustered near the bridge but far enough away from the nearby guards to be ignored. The beggars would approach the carts as they slowly paraded toward the city and ask for coin with plaintive voices, each of them providing imaginative reasons for why they were so impoverished and needing the charity. Brent hated them and pitied them at the same time. He could not tell the real beggars from the fakes and there was nothing he could do to help those that truly needed charity. But they were docile enough and clearly knew where the line was drawn between begging and being a nuisance. As he looked them over, nothing stood out to alarm him. Thankfully his men were being intentionally ignored by them and even avoided. He suspected it was the abnormal presence of the men of the Protector's Guard outside the castle, and himself. It was not every day that the General of the Guard was seen on horseback outside the castle. Eyes would flick to him and quickly look away. Their open curiosity was plain to see when they stared too long and secretly shared their wonder; the General of the Guard and his men joined with Army soldiers and traveling south. How strange! Rumours would already be spinning all through the city by now. Brent chuckled. He should start a few rumours himself. Even his own men were looking sideways at him and he knew that t
hey too wondered why he of all people was being tasked to run this errand.
His men now all knew that Redgrave had been found in Jaipers. Whatever the men thought of him being in charge of the mission, they were likely rationalising it as only military men can. Still, he thought, it's never much fun when the big boss is around. This would not be a trip they would enjoy, but Brent truly did not care. He had been there and done that, and now it was their turn. In any event, discipline would be his major's problem and he would keep an intentional distance between himself and the men. Major Gillespie would be the face and voice to the mission; Brent would tell Gillespie what he wanted in private.
It would take them a few months to reach Jaipers and by the time they arrived they would immediately turn around to return by the same long road – provided the gold was indeed there. If not he would need to figure out where it had gone – that could prove impossible. But right now it was already early in the month of Luil, which meant they would likely be returning just before Yule, barring any delays. Over half a year would be gone from his life, and all for a minor errand. Brent grimaced, wondering again why the General of the Guard was being tasked with such a shitty mission. It grated him. And so he growled at no one in particular just to feel better.
As soon as he left his brother's office last night he had hurriedly found Major Gillespie and issued his orders. The major had not been surprised at the orders and Brent fought the desire to interrogate the major on how he knew so much of the mission before the head of the Guard did. But he resisted the impulse, gritted his teeth and simply left the major to deal with all the logistics for the journey. After that he had seen to his own gear and horses and then found that the entire night had already passed.
He went to his brother one last time and had him grudgingly admit to the authenticity of his claims. Brent would not soon forget the haunted look that had passed over his brother's features. He had years to become used to the revelations, but for his brother it had all come as a sudden shock. Admiringly, once he accepted the evidence, his brother had quickly become resolved and together they tried to determine a suitable path forward on what to do next and they tried to formulate some kind of crude plan. In the end, they failed. There simply wasn't enough time to deal with it and so they agreed to keep everything quiet for now and wait for Brent to return from the south. They clasped hands and embraced and Brent hurried off to prepare himself to lead his mission to the south and to finalise the details in following the Protector's orders.
Leaf and Branch (New Druids Series Vol 1 & 2) Page 31
