"Okay. Grab a goblet. This will take a while. Let's see..."
Thirty-Eight
Highwayman Camp somewhere between Lakeside and Jergen, 880 A.C.
STEVE COMLIN WHISTLED exactly like the dark-grey jackdaw common to the region. He remained under cover behind the rock outcrop and waited. The whistle meant 'proceed with the plan'. All was set. The plan was rehearsed. All contingencies discussed and planned for. This is what set his crew apart from any other. This is what allowed him free rein in these parts while others were hanged from any nearby tree. And scruples, thought Comlin. I have scruples. I only take from those who can afford the loss. He wasn't worried. He only feared one of his crew would lose their life under his leadership. It took a little part of his heart with it, each and every time. What also set him apart was his attention to detail and the rehearsals. He had all his ambush sites picked out along this road but more importantly he had similar places in discrete locations where he could practice the entire attack until the operation was smooth and practised. Precision and attention to detail — that was his secret.
He had twenty of his men and women gathered here on this mission. He grinned to himself. He loved calling them missions. It pissed the crap out of Ben and Agnes. They liked the word heists. Pfft, thought Comlin, it sounded far too criminal. And this wasn't criminal. My crew worked for the Baron of the county of Turgany.
This should be straight forward, he hoped to himself. A small convoy with twenty guards escorting three covered armoured carts was expected to be heading for Jergen carrying a king's ransom in salts from Finnow Mines. The attack would begin with targeted bow shots at the front of the convoy to take out the lead guards, and then bow shots at the back to take out the rear guards. This would force the others to concentrate in the middle. It was human nature. Comlin's crew would then pour down continuous bow fire from both flanks angled in to reduce accidental crossfire. Twenty guards should be dead or disabled within thirty-seconds of the first arrow. The crew could then walk in, disarm the rest of them, and take the carts whole.
The Baron of Turgany would welcome the added influence. He would pay well for the goods and by ensuring the mission was successful he would gain significant leverage over the Lord Protector. Comlin didn't know enough to form an opinion but the Baron allowed him to take what he wanted on this road provided it directly impacted the Lord Protector. Comlin knew the firms and companies who transported the trade that fed the coffers of Healey. Finnow Mines was one such company. They had heavily reinforced convoys. They avoided the river like the plague. Who knew salt and water didn't mix?
This would be the fourth convoy this year and the second in as many months. The Finnow Mines were desperate to get a shipment through. Comlin smiled. The intelligence provided by the Baron's men was always the best. Comlin knew better than to get over confident. I try to keep my ego in check but, by the Word, it's hard. And this is going to be sweet.
Comlin heard a second jackdaw from the other side of the road. The convoy was sighted. He cautiously raised his head to look through the open crack in the outcrop. It gave him a direct view of where the convoy would first be seen when it rounded the bend. The road on the other side of the bend rose to a hill, not a large hill, but one that slowed down any retreat. This stretch of road straightened for two hundred yards and had towering trees on either side, trees his crew had built camouflaged blinds in. His best archers were positioned there now, waiting to hear the first cries and sound of bow shots. Further down, the road turned hard to the right to avoid the cliffs beside the river. It was an ideal location. Prime for an ambush. Lucky for him, the convoys knew and tended to tighten their order of advance. It made the ambush that much easier for him.
Comlin started counting. In two hundred seconds the convoy would be ideally placed and the attack would begin. He counted calmly and when he reached two hundred he heard the first bow snap. It was quickly followed by five more and then screams from dying men obscured the remaining shots. He moved quickly around the rock with his sword in hand and advanced on the convoy. He could see at least ten of the guards down, still or thrashing. The carts were still and the horses calm. The drivers slumped in their seats sprouting arrow shafts. One hung over the side with his foot caught in the cart frame. The air was filled only with the sound of pain from the struck men. There were no other noises and Comlin grinned. A few yells and orders sprang from the remaining guards and Comlin watched them concentrate to the centre of the convoy. Perfect.
Comlin reached his observation post just as the second volley from the flanks drove down into the ranks of the guards. It was a slaughter. Comlin checked his internal clock. Maybe twenty-five seconds. Not bad. He strode forward and his ground crew rose up out of covered trenches to move with him. No words were spoken. None were needed. Comlin and his crew moved quickly through the fallen men and gave them mercy.
Comlin cleaned his sword with a rag and tossed it aside. He watched his drivers climb up into the cart benches and push the dead drivers to the ground. Others kept the horses calm. Still others cleared bodies off the road ahead of the carts. Good. Agnes Butrill appeared next to him with her bow in hand and he smiled at her. She smiled back and Comlin watched it widen toward someone else behind him. Comlin turned to see Ben Rigby striding up with his sword in hand, flashing his own charming smile. How I wish she loved me as much as she loves Ben. My two best friends, but I can't have her. I envy the bastard but I can't find anger in it. He is the best man — at least to her. Comlin sighed and, on a nod from Ben and Agnes, he gave the third jackdaw whistle. His crew dropped on ropes from the nearby tree blinds and formed up on either side of the carts. The drivers gave the reins a shake and the horses took the strain and the carts moved down the road, resuming their ride as if nothing had happened. Perfect.
The team started around the sharp bend ahead. Comlin lingered toward the back of the carts and heard the first cry of alarm. He was about to react when a second alarm was sounded from behind. Comlin wheeled to see men on horseback thundering down the road behind him. The horses were destriers, and Comlin instantly recognised the mounted men were trained in their use. This is a trap.
He heard the raised cry from the front. The pounding of hooves was loud in the afternoon quiet. His team was caught between two teams of chargers and the cliffs by the river. Comlin reacted.
"Retreat! Execute Plan Foxtrot Uniform!" he screamed. His team reacted immediately. Drivers pulled the reins hard to the left and his crew beside the horses slashed their rumps. The horses bolted and the drivers leapt from the benches. The horses, insane with pain, ran off the cliff. The screams of the horses and the snapping of bones were excruciatingly loud as they tumbled down the cliff. Comlin swallowed the bile rising in his throat and forced his mind to concentrate on getting his team out alive. Plan Foxtrot Uniform was simple: destroy the cargo and bug out by the fastest means. Swords to protect archers. Straightforward and necessary. His swords understood. It took years to train an archer. Months to train a sword. Comlin grimaced and turned to see Agnes kiss Ben before she sprinted into the trees. Ben saw him staring after her and looked apologetic. Ben knew he loved her. Agnes had no idea.
"Plan Foxtrot Uniform. Great name now that we are finally executing it. Let's do it," smiled Ben and turned toward the rear to draw in the attack. Comlin watched his swords turn grimly to their task. He couldn't be prouder of them.
"For the Realm!" screamed Comlin and moved in beside his best friend as his crew repeated the rallying cry. He and Ben had fought together for years. They were a team and could fend off almost any attack. They stood side by side and watched the destriers descend on them like something out of the Church teachings. Four horses of the something or other, he thought. Bullshit, all of it.
In the garrison years ago, he and Ben had practised against men on horseback. It was a tricky thing and their chances were not good. They had taught their crew what worked best and they hoped the training would stick. You had to trust to the tactic and sta
nd firm until it was time to move. The terrain was your best defence. Then it was nice to have a long pike to plant in the ground and drive into the forequarters of the horse. Neither was an option at this point and never would be for their line of work. Comlin's men wore no armour other than a supple leather chosen more for camouflage than for any other reason. They had to be able to move quick and light and they trained to those strengths. There was a moment with any horse attack where the rider became committed to the attack. The best riders would use the horse to attack. If the horse missed the follow-on attack was typically a short halberd. These men were using halberds and Comlin smiled. They could do this, they could.
And then suddenly the horses were on them. Instinct and training kicked in and overrode thought. There was a blur of dirt, hooves, and screams. He dove through the air, sword slashing, and then tightened into a controlled roll across the ground. In a moment Comlin picked himself up from the ground, unhurt and sword glistening red. The charger he had struck lay screaming a few feet past him. One leg completely sheared off and gleaming wet on the ground near him. The rider had been thrown and was slowly picking himself up off the ground. His armour was bulky and cumbersome and Comlin grinned. He glanced left to see Ben advancing on his own rider, sword dripping blood to the ground.
In a moment he clashed with the armed man. He carried a sword not unlike his own. Simple and efficient. Comlin wasted no time. He couldn't wear the man down — his men depended on him finishing these opponents off and coming to their aid. He looked for a weakness and sensed it almost at once. The man favoured his left side. He must've landed on it from the fall. Comlin feinted, the man moved too slow and opened his defence and Comlin slid the sword in through the gap in the armour joint and felt the slight resistance the ribs provided before his sword burst through and deflated both lungs. Blood sprayed from the mouth of the full helm and the man collapsed in on himself. The fight was over for him, death his only reward.
Comlin looked up and saw the chargers had made it through their turn and were starting their second charge. "Riders! Second attack, brace!" he screamed to his men, trusting they would hear and react. He felt Ben position near him and waited.
The second charge was on them in a blink of an eye. More dust, more hooves and more screams. He dove through the air and slashed with his sword. He felt the shock of his sword striking a halberd and he cursed. He rolled and picked himself up and watched the charger thunder off down the road, the rider still intact. He looked over to Ben and watched him close his fallen rider. Ben feinted and the knight struck low. With an impossible slowness, the rider's sword struck Ben in the groyne. Blood blossomed and Ben arched his back in agony. Comlin was moving before he had thought. He closed on the rider and drove his sword point between helm and neck guard. His sword bit down and Comlin twisted it in anger and then ripped it free. He reached Ben and knelt beside him. Ben's eyes were rolled back white in agony and held his hand tight to his groyne. By the Word, thought Comlin, please no.
The vibration in the ground warned Comlin. He turned to see the charger coming back toward him. He moved to the side to put distance between Ben and him. In an instant, the horse closed and Comlin repeated the tactic, but this time throwing himself across the horse's path. The rider had moved to the expected side and Comlin slashed his sword and severed the horse's leg. The rider flew through the air and landed on his head with an audible snap of his neck. Comlin took in the area. His men were mopping up the riders. Only one remained on horseback. At least half his swords were dead, trampled, or run through. Those who stood had stuck to the tactics. Comlin watched his men take down the last two riders. "Full retreat. Mercy for those who ask for it!" Comlin turned to give his friend mercy and rocked back on his heels. Ben was on his feet. His pants bulged in the front and were covered in blood. He had stuffed something down the front to staunch the blood. He looked white and in pain but, by the Word, he was walking.
"Good man. Keep up, my friend."
Ben nodded once and limped off after the others. Comlin knelt by the guard who had broken his neck and looked him over. Finnow Mines men for sure. The minnow symbol was etched into the armour. A leather thong at the man's neck caught his attention and he snapped it free. The thong was attached to a symbol of the Church. The crescent moon with the star in the centre. The reverse was smooth and blank. Strange. Not many believers in the Church these days. Comlin wanted to search the others but had no time. He had to stay with his men and help Ben make it out.
He had been betrayed here. His ambush, the location, and timing had been known. It could only be someone from within his crew. No one else knew the details. I have a traitor in my midst.
Two weeks later, Comlin finished with his meeting with representatives of the Baron of Turgany. They had no news other than the traitor was most certainly within his own crew. Both he and the Baron had conducted an investigation into their men. All he had confirmed was that the traitor was not within the Baron's men. No others had known of the ambush location except for his own crew. Comlin took a closely guarded route out of the meeting place in Jergen and stayed hidden for two hours until he was certain he had not been followed back to the safe house. He gave the knock at the door in the alley and, when the door opened, he slipped inside and murmured the password to the woman guarding the door. They clasped hands and Comlin went down the stairs to the room where Ben was laid out.
Agnes sat beside the bed next to Ben. Ben was hallucinating and moaning in his sleep. The other figure next to the bed was examining the wound. It had not turned septic thanks to the herbs the man had administered. The man was on loan from the Baron. He worked miracles, that was for sure. Ben should be dead. Any lesser man would have succumbed. The man looked up at Comlin when he entered and rose to greet him.
"Any change?" asked Comlin.
"No. But that is good. He is recovering, but it will simply take time. Agnes is assisting. She does good work. Her touch is gentle and she seems to sense what he needs."
"My thanks, Peter."
"None are required. The Word teaches that all who are injured deserve our care. Your man is strong of will and body. He will recover. But not completely."
"Not completely? Then there is no hope?"
"Not entirely. He has lost most of his manhood. One bollock was removed completely. The other damaged beyond full recovery."
"Then how? Why not completely?"
"I have managed to save the basic functioning of his remaining bollock. He will not have children. But bollocks also make the man. They provide what a man needs to be strong and grow muscle. That ability remains and it will make sure he can still function as a man."
"But no children?"
"No. That is beyond him now. His seed cannot flow."
Agnes looked up at these words and a small sob escaped her. She turned back to Ben and laid a cold cloth to his forehead and stroked Ben's chest. Ben seemed to relax to her touch.
"She has the touch. That and her love for him will see him through the worst."
"The worst? What could be worse than losing your balls?"
Peter looked at Comlin for a moment. "You are a man of action. You've seen how these kinds of events can change a man. Steal his resolve. Give him night sweats and fear that loosens the bowels."
"Yes, many times. Those men have other uses. I never abandon them."
"That is because you are a good man in here," and Peter tapped Comlin over his heart. "He will need strength to overcome what will happen up here." And Peter tapped Comlin on the forehead.
"I see."
"Do you? Yes, I think you do. Tell me, what plans have you now?"
"What do you mean?"
"Is this the life you would continue to live? The Baron feels that your role is no longer necessary. You've done your part, but he fears that you can do no more. You've been compromised, my friend."
Comlin sighed. He knew it for truth. "How is it that you have the ear of the Baron to know such things?"
Peter
smiled. "The Baron trusts me and others like me."
"Like you how?"
"So many questions! Relax, there is much I can't tell you. I return to the Baron tonight and then to the capital. Something is happening. Something beyond the ken of the Baron. I join the others of my profession to try and determine how to best stop it. I fear bad times are fast approaching. You should take your crew and find a safe haven. There will come a time when the Baron will have need of your particular expertise. You are unequalled in the county, Steve Comlin."
"Nice to know. I still have not located the traitor in my midst. I cannot rest until he or she is exposed."
"I understand. Here take this." Peter moved back to the bed and rummaged through his belongings. He placed herbs and ointments on the nightstand and then pulled out a piece of parchment, rolled and sealed with wax bearing the impression of the seal of the Baron of Turgany. He handed the parchment to Comlin.
Comlin broke the seal, unrolled the parchment, and scanned the contents. "He can't be serious."
"Yes, he is. I recommended this to him. You will see the name of the owner is left blank. The Baron felt you would best decide who should own it. Fill in the name and I will return it to the Baron as soon as I can."
"This is too much. I cannot accept."
"You will and you must. Think of your people. They deserve this after so much sacrifice. I only caution you to discover who your traitor — or traitors — is. Deal with him, take what you are offered, and rest. Does land scare you that much?"
"Scare me? No. It is just not my calling." Comlin thought for a moment, then asked for quill and ink. Peter indicated the side table and Comlin walked over, dipped the quill and wrote two names in the blank at the top of the parchment. He sprinkled sand from the small pot on the wet ink and then blew it away. He fanned the paper and handed it back to Peter.
Leaf and Branch (New Druids Series Vol 1 & 2) Page 62
