Oath of Fealty

by Elizabeth Moon

  “And who’s this?” Arcolin asked. The bundle appeared to be breathing, or trying to.

  “The live brigand,” Tam said. “We didn’t think he ought to go back and tell his friends that someone had attacked them out of the dark. Might be bad for the villagers.”

  “And we thought you might want him,” Vik added, dropping his end of the prisoner with no concern for the prisoner’s welfare. “He must live on rocks; he weighs as much as a bullock.”

  “Is he wounded?”

  “A knock on the head is all,” Tam said. “He should live, I think, but it was dark.” Arcolin had his doubts. Tam’s fist had killed men before.

  “He was breathing when we wrapped him up,” Vik said.

  “Stammel, take charge of the prisoner. If he lives, we’ll see what he has to say when he wakes up. Devlin, check the perimeter again and let’s set an extra guard on the stock. Tam, Vik, come with me.”

  Their report was brief and simple: The two men from the village had gone through the village and then out in the fields, where they’d met two other men. They’d been asked about the cohort; they’d first answered as Arcolin suggested, but when challenged, they’d elaborated.

  “One of them said they weren’t afraid anymore, because you were going to get rid of all the bandits. The other threatened those two—it was ridiculous. There they are, no weapons, no reserve force, and they’re challenging men they must know have killed a dozen times, more.”

  “I’m surprised they were killed quickly,” Arcolin said.

  “The dead brigand had a temper,” Vik said. “Whipped out his sword—one of those curved ones from the coastal region—and had the head off the first man, so the second brigand ran the other one through.”

  “We didn’t realize in time,” Tam said. “They had just this little light, and it was the shine of the sword that we saw, too late. Then they started arguing with each other, and we got to them.”

  “Who yelled?” Arcolin said.

  “This one,” Vik said, with a jerk of his head toward the camp. “We got the first one, but this one yelled, and then Tam hit him. Twice.”

  “He didn’t hold still,” Tam said, scuffing one boot in the ashes. “And he still had his blade.”

  “So,” Arcolin said, “in the morning I get to explain to the village headman that two of his friends were killed by brigands right under our noses?”

  “Not right under, sir,” Vik said. “Way off there, where there’s that block of woods.”

  “They might think their two stumbled on a brigand and killed him, after he wounded them, and then they died,” Tam said.

  “The one with no head helping his friend stab the brigand, you mean?” Arcolin asked.

  “He could’ve thrown a rock, before,” Tam said. His brow wrinkled. “See, he hears something—he throws a rock, it hits the brigand, who cuts off his head, and then his friend—”

  “Without making a sound, manages to stab the brigand with his nonexistent sword while being stabbed. Of course. I’m sure the village will see it that way. I, on the other hand, am aware how easy it is to kill an unarmed peasant with any decent blade. I don’t suppose you brought it along?”

  “Only one,” Tam said, producing it from behind his back. “We left only one brigand, so we could leave only one blade.”

  The curved blade had a deadly elegance; Arcolin hefted it with care, not only for its edge but the stench of death on the blade. He handed it back to Tam. “See that it’s clean, and wrap it so no one gets cut. Then get some sleep, both of you.”

  In his tent, Burek snored lightly, deeply asleep; Arcolin made his own notations on the map and in his log, then went out to walk the perimeter again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  At the change of watch, Arcolin told Burek what had happened.

  “I slept through that?” Burek looked ashamed.

  “No harm done,” Arcolin said. “I may sleep through the next little problem. Wake me if you need me.”

  He woke to the smell of breakfast cooking. That meant it was near dawn or after; the tent wasn’t as dark as it had been. He had one boot on when Burek poked his head into the tent. “Sir—good, you’re awake—”

  “What is it?”

  “The man died, and I thought you should know before the villagers found him—”

  “Found him?”

  “And the scene, I mean. He died about midwatch, so I told off a squad to take the body back to where the fight was. I thought that way we didn’t have to explain why we had his body here.”

  Arcolin had a quick mental vision of four of his soldiers, two lugging the dead brigand’s body, over the fields in the dark. He could imagine the track they’d leave on the dew-wet grass—

  “I worried about the track they might leave,” Burek went on. “But Stammel said the grass was dry enough, just be back here in a glass or less. And they were, and dewfall came after that.”

  Arcolin pulled on his other boot and stamped down into it. “Good thinking,” he said. “I suppose you had them take his weapon back with him?”

  Burek stared, then flushed. “No, sir—I didn’t think of that.”

  “Never mind,” Arcolin said. “They’ll think someone stole it, or there was a third brigand.”

  “Do we march today, after all this? The brigands must be near.”

  “We march, because we’re not supposed to know the brigands are near.” And with luck they could be packed and on their way before the villagers found the dead men. “We know nothing, we heard nothing, we saw nothing … they told us no brigands were anywhere around and they’d had no trouble, so … we go on being ignorant.”

  Burek grinned. “Stammel thought you’d say that.”

  “Stammel is a wise man,” Arcolin said.

  By the time the sun had cleared the trees beyond the fields, they were ready to march, leaving behind only flattened grass: the jacks filled in, scraps of food burnt to char and then the fire pit watered down and raked, the brambles pulled into a pile. Burek had arched his brows at the care taken.

  “Leave a mess behind, find a worse mess when you return,” Arcolin said. “Duke’s saying; I expect he learnt it from Aliam Halveric. Farmers don’t like their fields and pastures damaged, and they’ll find ways to cause you trouble the next time you come through.”

  Burek thought about that for a moment, then said, “Dead men aren’t a mess, then …?”

  “Not if it’s nothing to do with us. They’ll think it does, but more like we drew trouble down on them, the brigands spying on us. That reminds me—” He turned, just as Tam came up with something wrapped in a cloth. “Ah—thank you, Tam.”

  “It’s really pretty, Captain,” Tam said.

  “It’ll go in the Company records as split between you and Vik,” Arcolin said. “It’ll be the end of season, most likely, before you see a copper out of it.”

  “’Sfine, Captain. I just wondered.”

  “And remember—no talking about it, anywhere we go.”

  “No, Captain. I’ll tell Vik.” He paused. “I can tell Vik, can’t I?”

  “Tell him not to talk about it. Nothing happened. That’s the important part. Nothing at all happened.”

  Tam grinned, saluted, and hurried off. Arcolin unwrapped the cloth. The grip of it was made of some intricately carved bone or tooth—he didn’t want to meet the animal with such teeth—inlaid with gold and silver. No guard but a narrow flange of metal where the two met, and the blade itself had the waterflow pattern that meant the best steel.

  “Rich brigands,” Burek said. “Or they’ve been robbing rich men.”

  “Rich men with exceptional taste in weapons,” Arcolin said. “And this one’s seen considerable use.” The carving had worn down almost to the inlay, just where a hand would put the most pressure. He wrapped the cloth around it again. A shout came from behind the wagons, in the direction of the village. Several shouts. Arcolin loosened the cord of his saddle roll, pushed the wrapped weapon into the center,
and retied the cord.

  “Try to look stupid,” Arcolin said to Burek. “Whatever you do, don’t smile. Mount up.” He mounted his own horse, and turned it out of the lane, where he could see what was coming.

  The rest of the cohort, now in marching formation in front of the wagons, were doing their own best to look stupid. Hurrying up the lane toward them was yesterday’s village headman and two others, waving their arms. Arcolin knew the wagon guards would stop them.

  “Stammel, a hand with us, and start the rest down the road.”

  “Captain.” Stammel named five, who fell out and lined up beside Arcolin and Burek. The others filled in, Stammel gave the command in a voice that could probably be heard in Cortes Vonja, and the cohort marched off, in perfect step. Behind them, the first wagon’s driver slapped reins together and yelled at the mules; harness creaked and harness rings jingled as that wagon, and then the next, followed.

  “With me,” Arcolin said, and nudged his horse forward, toward the approaching villagers.

  Faced with two armed men on horseback and five armed soldiers afoot, the villagers straggled to a halt, breathing heavily.

  “What’s amiss?” Arcolin asked.

  “You—you can’t leave—I demand—you killed four men!” the headman said.

  “We did not kill four men,” Arcolin said with perfect honesty. “And you are not authorized to place demands on me—my contract is with Cortes Vonja, in whose outbounds your village lies.”

  “I will report you to the city as thieves and murderers,” the headman said, less breathless now.

  “Then I will report you as an arrant liar,” Arcolin said. “We stole nothing and we did not kill four men. We camped away from your village, as you requested; we left our camp clean and ready for use again as pasture. We brought our own supplies; we had no need to steal.”

  “Two men from the village came to see you last night. I know they did.”

  “They did indeed. Did you send them? Did they tell you that I sent them away? I do not deal with such as they—men afraid of the light, who whisper in the dark.”

  “They’re dead,” the headman said. “They never came back from your camp, and this morning they’re dead, over there—” He waved in the general direction Arcolin knew was right. “You must have killed them—we have no weapons to take off heads.”

  “You said four were killed—who were the others? And why were four of your people wandering around at night?”

  The headman glanced at the other two men, who were still standing slack-jawed, staring at the soldiers. “They—we don’t know—maybe from another village—”

  “They spoke to me of a robber band, as if they knew where it was—why not robbers?”

  The headman paled. “We—we don’t have robbers here. I told you that.”

  “But you do have four dead men. And one with his head cut off, you said. Would farmers from another village have swords?”

  “Nay,” one of the other men spoke for the first time. “They don’t have swords no more than we do. But you folk have swords.”

  “So we do,” Arcolin said. “But we were camped here last night, and you say the dead men are over there somewhere.” He waved in a direction slightly different from what the headman had indicated.

  “Not that way, but there,” the second man said, eager now to correct him and pointing very specifically. Arcolin looked in that direction.

  “Where?”

  “There’s a mound, maybe sunhand away, and there’s trees on it—it’s not level so no use to clear it for a field.”

  Arcolin translated this from peasant estimates of distance to those used by the Company. “And you found dead men there?”

  “Aye, that I did. I been sent to track the headman’s bull that broke out last night, and once we were past the ploughland, my dog, he picked up the smell of blood, and I couldn’t call him off. It might’ve been the bull’s, after all.”

  “And you found four dead men,” Arcolin prompted.

  “Yes, and one with no head—it turned me right up, sir, it did indeed. That was Aren, married to m’wife’s third sister, and her baby coming any time. Noki, the other, he’s m’cousin by m’father’s sister, her husband, they has four, the youngest still at breast …”

  “What about the two you didn’t know?” Arcolin asked.

  “Never saw them before,” the headman said. He glared at the other man.

  “That’s not right,” the third man said. “You spoke to that one with the big sword yourself, that time he come to the village to buy a goose, he said.”

  “Be quiet,” the headman said. The other men said nothing, but from the sly looks, Arcolin knew they were enjoying the headman’s discomfort. “They don’t know, sir. They mistook his face. I never saw either of the others, and I still say it must’ve been you—or one of your men—that killed them.”

  “I know it was not,” Arcolin said. “Do you think soldiers who have marched all day have nothing better to do than run around the countryside all night finding wandering peasants to kill?” The headman opened his mouth but Arcolin went on. “It’s clear to me that your two villagers stole your bull, took it away to sell to someone, probably a whole group of robbers, and there was a quarrel. The robbers killed your men, and then perhaps another quarrel, and the others made off with your bull, leaving four dead men behind. It’s nothing to do with us, but you might consider that two of your men knew more about robbers in your area than you did.”

  “But—but you can’t just leave—” the headman said, as Arcolin lifted the reins and his horse took a step backward.

  “My orders from the Cortes Vonja Council are to keep on the move until we drive brigands away,” Arcolin said. “Now they’ve got meat and know we’re in the area, they’ll be away from here. And your two who were in league with them are dead. Go back to work.” He backed his horse another three steps and spoke to Burek and the men. “Come now; we have work to do. Let these farmers do theirs.” He turned his horse in a showy spin and rode off, not looking back until he was sure they were out of earshot. Then he saw the farmers still standing in the road, the other two apparently haranguing the headman.

  “That went well, sir,” said one of the five marching alongside.

  “I wonder what he’s going to tell his brigand contact,” Arcolin said. “The next one, I mean. What a whey-faced little wiggler he is, too. I’m afraid that village is in for trouble, unless those two force a new selection.” He looked at the sky. The dawn’s limpid blue had faded to a harder sheen. West, wisps of cloud like wing feathers appeared high up. Sweat tickled his scalp under his helmet.

  “Rain later today or tomorrow,” he said. “Good thing it wasn’t last night.”

  “Do you really think they stole the headman’s bull?” Burek asked.

  “No,” Arcolin said. “I think the headman’s bull doesn’t exist. We came through the village—did you see any bull yesterday?”

  “Could’ve been out with the cows.”

  “Could have. Except we passed cows with a cowherd and two dogs: no bull. I make it a practice to look in the pens in villages we pass, in case we’re accused of stealing livestock. The headman’s house—second on the left—had a stone-walled pigpen. Sow and litter of piglets on one side; a boar on the other. A fenced pen for cows, but no bull. Most of these villages share a bull between two or three of them. There was a bull in that first village we passed yesterday.”

  Burek shook his head. “I’ve been with two other companies, and I never knew a captain to notice more than whether the village had enough to feed us. I’d heard the Duke’s Company was different.”

  “The Duke always said you couldn’t tell which information was important until you needed it,” Arcolin said. “And we spent years down here, you know. I had time to learn.”

  “I will learn,” Burek said.

  Not, Arcolin noted, I’d like to learn, or I want to learn, or Teach me, but I will learn. He hadn’t had such a promising junior ca
ptain since Ferrault. He wondered suddenly if this was how Kieri had felt after hiring him. He remembered saying almost exactly the same thing, the first time Kieri explained why he’d done something.

  “I’m sure you will,” he said to Burek. “Now, tell me what you notice about the fields we pass.”

  Burek looked to either side. “Ploughland once,” he said. “Furrows grown over with grass—and grass that grows in damper places. Cow-paths … it’s pasture here. Rougher than behind us.”

  “Easier to conceal people and animals in, wouldn’t you say?”

  Burek looked again. “Not as flat as it looks at first,” he said. “Yes—that—” He pointed to a sinuous line of thicker growth in a slight hollow. “That could be a hidden stream.”

  “When I was here last,” Arcolin said, “this, where old furrows show, was ploughland and that over there was grazed short. There’s a spring in there somewhere—it’s boggy across the way—but a good gravel-bottomed pool. That’s where they watered the village herds, back then. But I don’t see a regular path to it now. The population’s down, from that war, but you’d think they’d still use the water. Now they’re watering cattle upstream from the village. That’s not good practice.”

  “I noticed that, yesterday,” Burek said. “I didn’t know this other water was here.”

  “Land hereabouts, the water runs generally east—wiggling north or south, but meeting the Immer downstream of Cortes Vonja … it’s all in the Immer drainage. My guess is someone else is using that water now. Someone who knows a trail through the bog on the far side, so they can come to the village through the woods to the east.”

  They were almost up with the cohort now; Arcolin waved; the wagon guards signaled ahead and Stammel halted the cohort for them to catch up. The soldiers moved back into their places, and Arcolin spoke to the teamsters and guards.

  “We’re being watched,” he said. “I want everyone alert, both sides and behind—notice everything and I’ll take your report at nooning and evening. That headman was lying; the others were scared.”