by Peter Kenson
They called an early halt that night with many of the drivers slumped over the reins, relying mainly on the horses’ good sense to follow the wagon in front. Ash stopped the march just about a half day short of the city but compressed the length of the column by doubling and where possible, trebling the wagons alongside each other on the high road. The state coach in all its gilded finery was brought to the head of the column, weaving in and out of the parked wagons to cheers and admiring glances.
Kemon returned to the column two hours after dark and David called the full council and his own officers together to hear the report.
“Where do you want me to start, milord? With the city itself?”
David nodded his agreement.
“Ok, Highport sits on the confluence of two rivers, the Staden and the Yarrow. It also sits precisely on the boundary of all three dukedoms, Paelis, Keldis and Westron. There are three gates to the city, each named after the corresponding dukedom. The trails from Stadenbridge and Wyndport join the high road just short of Paelis gate on this side and on the other side, there is one gate which leads to Waymeet in Westron and one which leads to Kell and Yarford in Keldis.
“To the west of the city there is a river gate for the boats coming up river from Westport. To the east of the city there are guarded openings in the city wall for the two rivers, the Staden and the Yarrow but there is no traffic through either opening.”
“Describe these openings in the city wall,” David said.
“They are just arches over the river, milord. The city wall is continuous across the rivers with a small tower on both banks and a portcullis which can be dropped but which isn’t usually lowered because it would trap any debris coming down the river and block the flow.”
“What about the western river gate?”
“That’s not so much a gate as a gap in the wall. The river is very wide at that point and flowing strongly. There is a chain that they can raise to stop boats entering and the walls are very thick there right down to the water’s edge so that it would be very difficult for anyone to force their way upstream by swimming. I don’t rate that as any sort of possibility for entry.”
“Go on,” David nodded.
“Inside the city walls, the High Warden’s palace, if you want to call it that, is situated on the land between the two rivers. There is no bridge below where the rivers join; that’s just wharf space for the river boats and barges. Above that there are two bridges; one for each river and you have to cross both of them to get to either of the gates on the far side of the city. The good news is that the bridges inside the city are not guarded. Once you are through the gates, you have free movement throughout the city.”
“And the city defence force? How many men does the High Warden command?”
“I was drinking with one of the sergeants last night. The total strength is seventy five men with roughly half on duty at any one time; six on each of the three gates, two keeping watch on each of the river openings, half a dozen on duty at the High Warden’s palace and the rest based down at wharves. The barracks for the off-duty guardsmen is inside the palace compound. If the city is threatened, which is generally by one of the three dukedoms surrounding it, they will drop the portcullises, reduce the guards on the unthreatened gates and massively reinforce the side that is being threatened.”
“Ok, tell us about the High Warden himself.”
“He’s a mouse. He hides behind the High King’s charter and follows a strict policy of appeasement with all three dukes. He’s desperately afraid that one of them will move in and take over, which the other two will obviously resist and Highport will be destroyed, or at least financially ruined, in the resulting conflict. Admittedly there is quite a bit of history to justify that particular worry.
“The High Warden rules with the aid of an appointed council, mostly drawn from the wealthier merchants including Master Benson who was the contact given me by Lady Falaise. According to Master Benson, Duke Henry has already been in touch with the High Warden and, as a result, there’s no chance of the gates being open to us when we arrive. I looked for leverage points; there are always one or two but the council members are mostly too concerned with protecting their own positions against the other council members to unite in any meaningful way against the High Warden.”
“So if you’re ruling out persuasion as a means of getting in, that brings us back to the use of force. Is there any way we can get a group of our men inside the city to open the gates from the inside?”
“Two ways. As I said, when the city is threatened, they drop the portcullises on the river inflows. Now they know we are coming but the impression I got was that they regard us as a large group of refugees rather than a threat to the city. Certainly the portcullises were still raised when I left this evening. The openings are watched more than guarded but it has to be the most boring assignment imaginable, particularly overnight. It should be possible to sneak a handful of men through one of the openings in the dark, overpower the watchers and bring the rest through before any alarm can be raised.”
“But the alarm would be raised as soon as the guards are missed,” David said. “At the latest that would be when the day shift turns up to relieve them. The head of the column won’t reach the city gates until midday by which time they will be seriously on their guard. So what’s the second way?”
“Master Benson has a warehouse built against the city walls, behind the wharves on this side of the river. From the roof of the warehouse, it is possible to gain access to the top of the wall and drop a rope down the outside. The walls are patrolled during the night but not frequently and that part of the wall is not visible from the towers at the Paelis gate.”
“Will this Master Benson help us?”
“He will need some serious persuading and, even then, I suspect that the most we will get is the keys to the warehouse and grudging permission to hide there for the morning.”
“I may be able to help there,” Foxley put in. “Benson and I go way back and he does owe me one or two favours that could possibly be called in. Providing I can get to talk to him.”
David considered that for a moment. “It might be dangerous… and almost certainly wet.”
Foxley gave a short laugh. “I think I can cope with getting wet. But seriously, if you need Benson’s help, I’m the man to get it for you. And besides, I think it’s about time I made a bit more of a contribution to this endeavour.”
“Well, what do you say, Kemon?” David asked. “Can you get Lord Foxley into the city and through to Master Benson’s house?”
“Yes, that can be done, milord. Just the two of us.”
“No three. Talk to Feynor and take one of his men with you. If you run into any trouble, I want to make sure that Lord Foxley gets through and talks to Master Benson. Oh and give Feynor an exact description of where to position his group outside the walls by the warehouse, ready for the rope. And then you’d better get going since you have the longest night of it; getting into the city unseen, convincing Master Benson to help us and then getting onto the roof of that warehouse no later than two hours before dawn.”
Kemon bowed silently and left with Feynor on his heels.
“If you will excuse me also,” Foxley said, heading towards the exit. “I have some preparations to make before I leave.”
David nodded his agreement and spoke to the rest of the council.
“Okay, now tomorrow I want to make the best pace we can in order to arrive within sight of those gates by midday. The state coach will be at the very head of the column with an honour guard of ten of Jorgen’s spearmen and we will be the only ones who will actually approach the gates. Do you have the honour guard’s cloaks?” David asked Falaise.
“We have ten red cloaks as similar as we can make them. I’ve also sorted out Baltur’s equerry uniform and we have something that will be suitable for yourself, my lord, but we do need to arrange a fitting.”
“Excellent. Thank
you, my lady. Now Bern, I want two of your archers to accompany Feynor’s assault group up the rope. Just a precaution in case you are surprised by a patrol on the wall. I would prefer to get through the whole of tomorrow without killing any of Lord Maxten’s guardsmen but if it can’t be done….. The rest of the men will be in the van with Ash and yourself.
“I believe they will open the gate to admit the coach but not the honour guard. In which case I will demand an equivalent honour guard from Lord Maxten’s men to escort us to the palace. Once we are out-of-sight with the escort, that will be Feynor’s signal to attack the gate. As soon as you see the gate opening for a second time and the honour guard getting involved, then start the wagons moving and rush the rest of the men up to the gate.”
“And what if they do let the honour guard in?”
“Then get moving straight away because they will have made the biggest tactical error of their lives. With both Jorgen and Feynor there, we will have enough men to keep the gate open until you arrive.”
“What will you do if they don’t even allow the coach in?” Bardsley enquired.
“Then I shall stress the great personal friendship between Lord Jeren’s father and Duke Theron of Keldis and the outrage that the Duke will feel if Lord Brantyen’s widow and son are not permitted to visit the Duke and inform him personally of the death of his best friend.”
“Um, I wasn’t aware that my father had ever met Duke Theron,” Jeren said hesitantly.
“Yes well they don’t know that. Outraged and insulted, I would think the Duke would be under the circumstances. And he would undoubtedly want to know the person who was responsible for such an insult.”
There were general smiles and even a few chuckles from the councillors at that.
“Lord Held,” Falaise said. “A few days ago I said that I thought you were a good man. I have changed my mind. I now think that you are a very bad man… but in a good way.”
***
Kemon led the way quietly towards the city walls at a point where they were not overlooked by any of the towers. They had dismounted a hundred paces further back and left the horses in the care of a young scout to return to the column. They moved cautiously because all of the trees within bowshot of the walls, had been felled at some point in the past to provide a clear field of fire. However, there was still a lot of undergrowth covering the ground and there were a few stifled curses as shins were barked against the hidden tree stumps.
They reached the base of the walls and turned towards the river. When it came into view, Kemon signalled them to stop and pointed out the two towers. The one on their side of the river was totally dark but there was a faint glow coming from the one on the far side.
“Good. No night vision,” Kemon mouthed silently.
Lem, the swordsman that Feynor had assigned them, uncoiled the rope from round his shoulders and tied one end to a stout bush. Then they all stripped down, shivering slightly in the chill air, placed their clothes inside the waterproof backpacks that Marta had provided and secured their weapons to the outside. Lem passed the end of the rope through the straps of all three backpacks and carefully lowered himself into the water. He pushed out from the bank and the current took him swiftly through the opening under the walls.
After what seemed like an age but was probably only a couple of minutes, there was a tug on the rope and Kemon released the backpacks to be hauled through.
“You go next,” he whispered to Foxley. “Hold onto the rope all the way through and Lem will help you out at the far side.”
When the next tug came on the rope, he untied the end from the bush and allowed himself to float down in the current as Lem pulled the rope in. On the inside of the walls, they found themselves directly outside the open entrance to the tower. Fortunately there were no signs of life from this tower and no sounds of alarm from the one on the other bank. Still Kemon led them swiftly away from the walls until they found a narrow alley where they could dress themselves again.
“Right, now stay close to me and stay close to the walls,” Kemon ordered. “There are patrols on the streets but only irregularly. However, we’re going to have to risk the main streets because we don’t have time to go dancing around all the back alleys. So keep your eyes and your ears open.”
The wealthy district of Highport was the land in between the two bridges, where the High Warden’s palace and administrative offices were located. All of the wealthier merchants had a house there even if they had a second property down nearer the wharves and warehouses. The house belonging to Master Benson was one of the larger mansions just across the bridge over the Staden and Kemon was confidently leading the way when he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks and peered cautiously round the next corner.
What he saw was a small square bordering the river on one side with the bridge in the right hand corner. The second side of the square opened onto the wharves and the other two sides were lined with small shops. The noise that Kemon had heard came from the river side of the square where the public stocks were situated and where the current occupant of the stocks was engaged in a lively conversation with the night patrol.
Apparently the unfortunate occupant of the stocks was well known to the guardsmen and much light-hearted banter drifted across the square with no sign of the patrol moving on. Indeed flasks and food were appearing and being shared round amongst everybody, including the man in the stocks.
“We cannot reach the bridge with that patrol there,” Kemon reported back in a whisper. “And there’s no other way of getting across the river. We need a diversion.”
“What do you suggest?” Foxley asked.
“I think a small fire would be appropriate. It would not only drag the patrol away but it will bring the entire population out onto the streets. It’s the single scariest thing in a wooden city like this. In all the confusion, we can move through the crowds without attracting attention. You two wait here. Don’t move unless the patrol starts heading directly for you. Then choose an alleyway to hide in and I’ll come and find you.”
With that he was gone. Foxley and Lem took it in turns to peer round the corner but the conversation on the far side of the square was just as lively as ever and showed no sign of ending. The wait seemed interminable and they were beginning to think that something had gone wrong when a shout of “Fire! Fire!” went up from about three streets away. The guardsmen spun round startled, trying to identify where the sound had come from. “Fire! Fire!” the shout came again from a street on the warehouse side of the square and in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Kemon’s.
With that the patrol sprang into action. The sergeant despatched one of the guardsmen back across the bridge in the direction of the palace and the rest headed across the square at a fast trot in the direction of the shout. As they watched them disappear around the far corner of the square, Kemon suddenly reappeared at their side.
“Wait a few more minutes,” he said. “Then it should get busy.”
Windows were starting to open and tousled heads appeared with shouted enquiries.
“I think there’s a fire in Bakers Row,” Kemon shouted in reply to one query. Then the tocsin sounded from the palace and people began to pour onto the street; some still in their nightclothes, others hastily pulling on shirts and trousers.
“Right, come on now,” Kemon said. “Keep to the side of the square because we’re going against the flow. If we get separated, go across the bridge and take the first street on the right.”
They had to wait at the bridge while the off-duty guardsmen came hurrying across pulling the fire cart behind them, buckets rattling as the cart bounced across the bridge. Then they ran across themselves and turned down the street where Master Benson lived. Kemon hammered on the door and was answered almost immediately by one of the servants.
“We need to see your master,” Kemon said. “And right now.”
“Why? What is it?” came a voice from behind the servant. “Is it one
of my warehouses?”
“No, no, Master Benson. There’s no danger to your property. A small fire in Bakers Row is all. Should be easily containable. One of the apprentices must have been a bit careless.”
“I know you,” Benson said. “You were here yesterday, on business from Lady Brantyen.”
“I think you know me also,” Foxley said pushing his way in.
“Foxley, by all that’s wonderful. What are you doing here? How did you get through the gates?”
“That’s a long story, old friend. And one that might be best told in private. Is there somewhere we can talk?”
“Yes, yes, of course. Come in, come in. You’re sure the fire is in Bakers Row?”
“Oh absolutely,” Kemon replied with a straight face. “And very small.”
Nevertheless, Benson despatched a servant to keep an eye on the progress of the fire and others to fetch refreshments as he led the way into his study.
“So tell me your news. Why are you here? Although I think I may be able to guess that.”
“We need your help, old friend. The Lyenar people need your help.”
“I don’t think I can help you, my friend. You, or your people, seem to have upset Duke Henry in a very major way. That snivelling wretch Maxten is absolutely pissing himself in case the Duke turns up here in person. There’s no way he’s going to open the gates for you and there’s nothing I can do to persuade him otherwise.”
“Even if my people are massacred outside your gates. Men, women and children.”
“Oh come now. I don’t think even Duke Henry would go that far.”
“It’s not Duke Henry who’s calling the shots on this. It’s his new chancellor. I don’t know his name.”
