by Candy Rae
The four who met that afternoon in the tiny chamber above the taproom were Tom, Arthur, old Kurt and Marcus Kushner.
The latter should have been on manoeuvres with his regiment but a broken arm sustained in practice had meant a six-week hiatus with light duties in the barracks.
It was Tom who began the proceedings after he had carefully checked the bolts on both the outer and inner doors.
“Any news from the regiments Marcus?”
The young man shrugged, “except that they’ve gone and expect to be away for at least a month, nothing.”
“They’re definitely in Brentwood?” queried Arthur.
“We thought it strange,” Marcus admitted, “especially if the rumours are true and we are to aid the Larg with their attack on Argyll in the summer. That’s only barracks’ gossip though, most of the men don’t believe it.”
“We believe the rumour is true,” put in Tom.
“Perhaps you should break a leg as well as your arm,” suggested Kurt, “unless you want to enjoy an extended visit to the north.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Any word about your sister?” asked Tom at this point, real concern in his voice.
“Nothing,” was Marcus’s despondent reply. “I know she was taken south with some other girls by van Buren but nothing else.”
“We’ll keep looking,” promised Tom.
“I’d appreciate that.”
Tom turned to Arthur.
“You got anything?”
“Yes and, as usual, I haven’t written anything down.”
The others nodded understandingly. One never knew when one of the guards would decide to instigate a search of both person and quarters.
“Start at the beginning,” instructed Tom, “Kurt here will take notes.”
The elderly Kurt drew pen and ink towards him. His was the neatest hand amongst the four and he possessed the added advantage in that he was noted down in the public records as being virtually illiterate, so if the document passed into the wrong hands, he would not be suspected as the author.
“I got this from my usual source,” Arthur began with a wry grin. He had cultivated the friendship of the secretary to the Lords’ Conclave, the man who took the minutes of all their meetings. The secretary was quiet and industrious but had one vice, drink. When inebriated he would tell the listener, any listener, anything they wanted to know. Lord Sam Baker was well aware of this, there was little he was not interested in and as a precaution, the secretary was not permitted to venture past the gates of Fort proper. It was a mark of Arthur’s acting skills that he was trusted to be a friend of the man. Baker believed that any information he let slip would go no further.
Arthur drank with him once a week, at least the secretary drank and Arthur sipped the indifferent ale and let him ramble on.
“I’ll start with Fort then move on to the rest.”
Kurt readied his pen.
“The coronation is to go ahead, date not confirmed but soon. The Lords have been ordered to attend and to bring all their children who have reached six years in age.”
“Baker’s going ahead with the betrothals then?”
“It appears so,” was Arthur’s terse reply, “it’ll draw the Lords together for a while, long-term implications, well my guess is as good as yours.”
“Go on.”
“Lady Anne’s health continues to give me concern. If she survives the birth I’ll be surprised.”
The faces of the listeners grew sad at this news. Anne was held in quiet affection by certain sections of the population.
“This month’s slave market has been cancelled. I cannot find out why, but none of the Lords appear unduly concerned.”
“Did you ask?”
“My drunken informant didn’t know anything, so whatever the reason, Baker and Co are keeping it on a need-to-know basis. The unfortunate Andrew Snodgrass has reappeared and has been given quarters, substantial ones.”
Kurt’s head rose at this.
“Can you arrange a conversation with Snodgrass?”
“I’d need a reason,” Arthur raised his hands in a helpless gesture, “unless he sickens and comes to me.”
“You could give him something, make him ill,” ventured Marcus.
Arthur threw him a withering glance.
“Let me continue will you? Time’s getting on.”
“Smith was absent from the Conclave, word is he’s on his last legs. Baker is rubbing his hands together with glee at the thought of another Lordship to control and Gardiner has turned cattle rustler. Duchesne complained he was violating his border and Gardiner argued the animals were his and had strayed on to Duchesne lands.”
“What did Baker do?”
“Nothing ‘cept to tell him not to do it again.”
“I bet that went down well.”
“He’s trying to keep Gardiner sweet,” surmised Tom, “anything else?”
“The Lords had a serious and lengthy discussion about what they called the ‘critical point’.
“Critical point?”
“My source was near to passing out when he began to talk about it and if you can make sense of his garbles, it’s a list of numbers. I hope I can remember them right. Here goes, seventeen thousand, seventeen thousand five hundred, fourteen thousand, eight thousand, fourteen thousand and twenty-three thousand. The critical point is the fourth one. Oh and Lord Raoul van Buren was looking mightily pleased with himself, claiming he had the solution.”
Marcus pulled the sheet of closely written notes towards him and regarded the list of numbers in confusion.
“Van Buren has the solution?” Tom asked, “and he is the one who is collecting and buying up all the females under thirty he can find. There must be a connection. What does that tell us?”
Marcus raised angry green eyes. “It tells us everything we need to know. I say these numbers are projected population levels, we know they have been worrying about them and the ‘critical point’ is when us men from the Electra die and before van Buren can breed enough replacements. That is where my little sister is and I can do nothing to help her.”
He brought his hands to his face and began to sob bitter tears.
Tom placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and looked at Arthur, “I suspected it was something like this,” he said, “but there is little that can be done. Van Buren guards these compounds he has built as if his life depended on it.”
“He ranged through this area a while back recruiting guardsmen. Word is he’s looking for more. Perhaps we can get a man in there.”
“Someone trustworthy,” warned Kurt.
“I’ll go,” offered Marcus.
It was gentle Arthur who provided the words to stop him.
“No lad, you can’t go, you’d stand out like a sore thumb, you’re far too young and the regiment will miss you. It must be one of us ex-cons.”
“If they’re setting up a baby factory,” mused Arthur, “he’ll need doctors, nurses. I wonder.”
He remembered his talk with lady Anne’s young maid.
“I’ve got an idea,” he said.
“There’s the hour bell,” announced Kurt, “opening time soon.”
“Time for me to go as well,” announced Arthur, “I’ve got a clinic up at Fort.”
“I’ll leave the marker in the usual place when it’s time for the next meeting,” agreed Tom, rising to his feet and the resistance ‘cell’ dispersed to more lawful pursuits.
Later that evening Dr Arthur placed a request with Sam Baker.
Sam eyed the old man, an amused leer on his scarred and saturnine face.
“Fancy your chances with her? A grope up her skirts when she’s bending over the patients?”
“I need an assistant,” protested Arthur, careful to keep his face as bland as he possibly could, “I’m getting on a bit and need a strong young girl to do the lifting and carrying.”
Sam Baker rocked back on his heels.
“So there�
��s life in the old dog yet,” he guffawed, slapping Arthur on the back with enough force that the old man staggered and almost fell.
“I want to train her as a nurse,” Arthur insisted, recovering his balance.
“Go on then,” Sam Baker was in a magnanimous mood, “you can have her, I’ll send the ownership documents over tonight.”
Sam turned on his heels and strode away, chuckling to himself.
Arthur was content. It was a beginning.
* * * * *
CHAPTER 25 - NADLIANS OF THE LARG
Aoalvaldr the Larg picked his careful way through the numerous sentries that guarded the huge Largan, the pre-eminent Larg, their ultimate commander, the one with the power of life and death over all.
It was good to be back, his exile over at last. As he approached, the Largan and his advisors eyed him up and down, appraising him, assessing him.
Aoalvaldr came to a halt and genuflected, cowering down until his belly reached the floor and pressing his nose into the hard packed soil.
“You may rise Aoalvaldr,” intoned the closest advisor.
Aoalvaldr did so, not too slow, not too fast, being careful to ensure that his gaze was centred not on the old Largan’s face but on his paws, as befitted one recalled to his service after many seasons’ disgrace.
“We have considered what you have proposed,” was the Largan’s ponderous announcement, “Bvdmaldr?”
A dark-hued male, which was even larger than the Largan stepped forward.
“Our revered Largan has decreed that the time is indeed right. The information you, Aoalvaldr, have sent indicates this. The Largan agrees with you. If we do not assert ourselves now, it will be too late. Your exile is therefore at an end and you will take your place amongst us once more.”
“We are to attack the north?” ventured the daring Aoalvaldr.
He did not get a reply.
“You maintain contact still with the human named Snodgrass?” asked the Largan.
“Yes I do,” answered Aoalvaldr. “He has tried to hide his mind from me but failed. He will come when I call, he cannot resist. Humans have such weak minds.”
“Summon him to the edge of the human land. Go there to him and bring him to me. This Snodgrass must take our demands to their Largan.”
“They call their Largan a King,” said Aoalvaldr, “but the real power lies with the man called Baker.
“That is of no import,” uttered the Largan. He cocked his head to one side as if pondering deeply.
“You know much about these humans?”
“I have learned some of their language and keep my eyes and ears open,” answered Aoalvaldr with a bow. “Some humans think of me as a friend.”
“The north,” the Largan pressed, “you have learned much?”
“Enough to know where an attack will succeed.”
“Attack?” the Largan sounded amused.
“Is that not why I was brought back?” asked Aoalvaldr.
The Largan gazed at him through speculative eye.
“I will know more of this,” he announced.
His gaze perused the Larg around him.
“All but Aoalvaldr will leave me,” he barked.
They left with reluctance, but with promptitude demonstrating that the Largan, old that he was, was still absolute ruler.
Aoalvaldr the Larg left the Largan in high spirits some time later.
He had been offered much more than he had any right to, disgraced commander that he was.
True, he was not to lead the kohorts of the main army into battle, but perhaps the command he had been given was better. It certainly contained many possibilities.
If he succeeded and he had every intention of doing so, he would take his rightful place at the Largan’s side.
Bvdmaldr watched him pass, his mind filled with dark thoughts.
* * * * *
CHAPTER 26 - VADATH
The northern leaders were not unaware of what was happening in the southern continent.
“Duchesne does not wish for war, but he is the only one who thinks this and fears it will not be long in coming. Be on your guard. The Lindars are on standby.”
Thus Jim Cranston wrote to the Councillors in Argyll.
He sighed as he sealed the envelope and placed it on top of the pile of despatches and looked up as Winston Randall entered the daga.
“News?” asked his visitor, “I heard you had returned.”
Jim decided not to mince his words. Winston was a pragmatist; he would not panic.
“This summer. There will be war by summer.”
Winston sat down, a sinking feeling in his stomach.
“I had hoped,” he began, then lapsed into silence.
“Duchesne says it will be this year. He also calculates that Murdoch can field an army of around six thousand, though it would virtually denude their land of the able-bodied. He is worried that it will leave the Larg free to roam where they will within his borders, not that it matters to Baker, Cocteau and the rest,” continued Jim, “the pirates must be reporting perceived weaknesses in our defences, they know it will be their last chance of a major assault.”
“The Larg?”
“Duchesne does not know for sure but says the Larg are pressing Baker to make this move on Argyll, they know they have little hope of success on their own. Seems he heard it from Baker himself.”
“If they attack in large enough numbers they will swarm us under.”
“I think,” said Jim, “that the Larg will find the fortifications this side of the island chain virtually impossible to breach without help from Baker’s men. My worry is that they will decide to attack somewhere else.”
“Everyone knows that there is nowhere else,” protested Winston, “the island chain is the only way across the sea.”
“They have boats. Look at how the pirates manage.”
Winston dismissed this, shaking his head.
“They would need too many sea-going vessels which we know they don’t have. The majority of their craft, except for the pirate galleys, as you have told me time and time again, can only be used in inland waters and for river passage. What other news?”
“Duchesne is scared. The assassination of Brentwood rattled him and there have been other developments.”
“Go on.”
“Lord Baker has arranged the betrothals between the children. It’s his solution to keeping the peace. It appears that Baker is pressing Duchesne for a betrothal of his eldest son to one of Baker’s daughters as a means to cement their ‘friendship’. Duchesne is not at all keen on the idea but is caught between the cleft and the deep blue sea. If he agrees to the betrothal, he believes Baker might well assassinate him. Pierre’s eldest is only eight and Baker would be the obvious guardian. Of course, if he rejects the proposal, Baker is likely to have him killed anyway.”
“What will he do?” asked Winston.
“Reports are that he wants to move north to us,” answered Jim, “and bring as many of his people with him as want to come.”
“Any news of Anne Howard?” asked Winston. “Louis is engaged to her daughter Cherry and she is sure to ask when I see her.”
“Pregnant and sick and Duchesne is unlikely to learn much more. He thinks to refuse to attend the ceremonies at Fort.
“Ceremonies?”
“The crowning and betrothals. Duchesne has been ordered to bring his eldest son, Jacques I think his name is, I have a gut feeling that the boy will become unexpectedly ill, Duchesne fears Baker will insist the boy is left with him at Fort as a hostage to his father’s good behaviour.”
“Keep me informed,” said Winston, “I have to get back to Janice, she will have my ducks for garters if I am not around when Brian and Emily arrive home with our first grandchild. Will you be along later Jim?”
“I’ll try,” Jim promised.
* * * * *
CHAPTER 27 - KINGDOM OF MURDOCH
Chaos reigned supreme in the royal palace at Fort.
&nb
sp; Lord Regent Sam Baker had decreed that eight-year-old King Elliot, first King of Murdoch, was to be crowned as soon as it could be arranged.
He planned a stupendous ceremony.
Servants and slaves ran to and fro, making sure everything was as it should be, for all the Lords were invited. Guest suites were being prepared and provision made for the retainers who could not be accommodated in the Fort complex itself.
The guardsmen at Fort spent many hours ‘spitting and polishing’ for they would be much in evidence during the proceedings, for Lord Regent Baker, to whom the regiments had sworn a personal oath of loyalty, was to use the occasion to remind his fellow Lords of his personal power and wealth.
A special area to one side of the palace was set-aside for their out-kingdom guests, not even the hardiest of the army veterans wished to share lodgings with the Larg delegation.
As well as the actual crowning, the next day would see the formal betrothal promises between the children of the Lords of Murdoch and more importantly the signing by the Lords of the all important marriage treaty documents.
Sam Baker was going to force cohesion and unity of purpose on this disparate land the only way he knew how.
He had arranged matters so that his and Anne’s children would marry into five of the noble houses; his only regret being that he could not marry his eldest daughter to the young king, but even the other Lords had demurred at a marriage between a half-brother and sister.
Still, married to Anne left him in control of the king and he knew that, with the marriage of Elliot to Lord Smith’s eldest daughter and heir, he would control that Lordship as well, Smith being the oldest of the Lords and growing frailer with each passing day.
Lord Sam Baker left the seneschal, a veteran of his regiment, to finish the preparations and strode towards his wife’s apartments, well pleased at how his schemes were panning out.
