Dark Oak

by Sannox, Jacob

  While Lachlan passed the time of day with the guards, Hadwyn looked them over surreptitiously. They wore scant, soft leather armour and hoods. Each was armed with a polearm, seemingly of their own devising or, at the very least, made crudely and locally. Here there was none of the splendour of Linwood’s standing army and so Hadwyn judged the men to be local folk recruited into makeshift militia roles. He thought it diligent of Linwood to have such a force in place, and it was certainly more than Lachlan had organised in the Isles. He found himself nodding slightly in approval, before once more heeding Lachlan’s efforts to ingratiate himself.

  ‘You folk aren’t from around here then,’ said one of the militiamen.

  ‘Oh? So obvious?’ replied Lachlan, his tone light, but Hadwyn could tell it was forced. He hoped it wasn’t so obvious to the militia.

  ‘Aye. Twang in your tongue. Hear it, Ralph?’ he turned to his colleague.

  ‘No, Corporal,’ said Ralph. He had picked up his polearm and was doing his best to look attentive.

  ‘Barely aware he’s alive, that one,’ whispered the corporal as an aside, then, ‘Go back to sleep, Ralph, eh?’

  Ralph grumbled, but not audibly, and the corporal ignored him.

  ‘What was your name again?’ asked Lachlan of the corporal.

  ‘John. And yours?’

  ‘Cadby,’ lied Lachlan.

  ‘Where you from then?’ asked John.

  ‘Family are from the Isles, but we’re posted at Straggler’s End.’

  ‘Or were,’ added Hadwyn.

  Hadwyn was relieved when the man just seemed to weigh up the information, nodding.

  ‘Were? What brings you to Redbranch?’ he asked, seeming to remember he did actually have a job to do.

  ‘Seen the timber carts?’ asked Hadwyn quickly, before either of his companions could reply.

  The corporal nodded.

  ‘Not bloody blind, am I?’

  ‘Suppose not,’ said Hadwyn. ‘Sorry.’ He made an effort to look cowed.

  ‘Forget it,’ said the corporal. His cheeks had reddened somewhat, and he had straightened his posture a little. ‘So you’re off to help with the road, are you? What do you do?’

  ‘Shouldn’t really say,’ said Lachlan. ‘Said too much as it is.’

  The corporal frowned and pulled at his right ear lobe. Hadwyn judged that the man was feeling slighted and, given that he’d applied for office, it seemed likely that he appreciated feeling in control. Hadwyn decided to feed the man what he needed.

  ‘…but we’d appreciate anything a man could tell about how the scouts are being treated on the road build.’ He winked.

  John smiled, but it turned to a frown as he realised he had little to tell.

  ‘Not heard much about that. All I see is the carts and the logs.’ He looked back over his shoulder. ‘They’re due to start building a stronger palisade around this place next week. Lady Isobel’s aide came and scouted us out a month or so ago.’

  Lachlan knew the name and thought he could recall a face from his last visit to the Drift.

  ‘If things don’t work out in the forest, we’ll be looking for work. You need men for the militia?’ asked Hadwyn.

  ‘We can fight,’ said Belman, folding his arms in such a way that his biceps bulged. John flicked his gaze to him, and the big man’s presence seemed to unsettle him somewhat; perhaps feeling, thought Hadwyn, that with such a trio in the militia, his own standing might be diminished.

  Judging they had risked all that was wise with the corporal, Lachlan steered the conversation towards accommodation and found the name of a boarding house not far off. Lachlan made a point of addressing him as ‘Corporal’ when he thanked him and took the time to shake his hand.

  They moved off into Redbranch, but suddenly Hadwyn turned on his heel.

  ‘Say, Corporal, it’s not my place to say, but…did you hear the fleet returned?’ he asked, his voice hushed.

  John leant on his polearm.

  ‘Oh?’ He sounded eager. Hadwyn turned his back to him and whispered to Lachlan.

  ‘Should we say?’

  Lachlan looked over Hadwyn’s shoulder at the corporal’s open expression. The man locked eyes with him, and the Lord of the Isles frowned, drawing out the moment as long as he felt he could.

  ‘Meet us at the boarding house after your shift,’ he said, and when the corporal returned his nod, he turned and set off into Redbranch.

  ‘Did they do it?’ called Ralph.

  Lachlan stopped walking.

  ‘Who?’ he said, without looking back.

  ‘Lachlan and Cathryn,’ said Ralph.

  Lachlan, Hadwyn and Belman all smiled.

  They soon secured a room at the boarding house, and as the afternoon wore on, the bar filled with more and more villagers, many of them members of the militia who had abandoned their posts to hear from the strangers.

  Lachlan finally admitted that the three of them had returned from the wars, and, after much ale was bought for them and many meals were consumed, it had become quite apparent that the people of the Drift were still very much still for Cathryn, no matter how they felt about Linwood.

  Amidst the hustle, the laughter and the singing, Hadwyn drew back to a quiet corner and watched his brother joining in. It had been many a year since he had seen him smile and talk so freely. It gladdened Hadwyn’s heart to see it.

  ‘All well?’ Belman sat down beside him. Hadwyn nodded.

  ‘Thinking,’ he replied.

  ‘Thinking on what?’ said Belman. ‘Are you not encouraged?’

  Hadwyn snorted a little laugh and smiled,

  ‘Encouraged, certainly. They love Linwood well enough, but Lachlan and Cathryn? They seem to be more than rulers to these people, something more akin to legends.’

  ‘I thought the same,’ said Belman, quaffing from his tankard then setting it down upon the table.

  They set off west towards the forest the next day, but as soon as they were out of sight of the village, they turned south and once more circled around Redbranch. They found the road and began the walk towards Linwood’s keep at Stragglers’ End, for there, they had agreed, was where they would hear all they needed about his intentions.

  They spent their days on the road, talking and dodging into cover whenever anybody approached. At night they camped out and dug out well-ventilated fire pits that would burn hot and give off little smoke. They set snares early in the evening and hunted when they could, bagging the odd rabbit or game bird and even, on one unusual evening, a badger. The meat was foreign and made Lachlan feel nauseous. He determined not to try badger again unless in dire need. The next morning they stepped off the road and walked cross-country towards Stragglers’ End, not wishing to arrive openly at the main gate.

  Before nightfall they had arrived at the Whoreswood, a tract of woodland that surrounded much of the southern side of Stragglers’ End, growing right up to the outer wall of the town. There were discreet doors in the walls through which the residents could pass quietly from the town into the wood, to where the eponymous whores plied their trade amongst the ash trees, their caravans drawn up in secluded dells. If ever there was a sacred place in the Drift, thought Lachlan, this was Linwood’s notion of it – a place where men put aside quarrels and worshipped the sister goddesses of open legs and soft tits, where hips and plump rumps were gripped as tight during the fucking as was any pew or holy book during the throes of prayer.

  Chapter Twelve

  Morrick had spent enough time on the ocean to never wish to see it, let alone sail on it, ever again. Many of his men found their sea legs and were even put to good use about Lord Aldwyn’s flagship, but Morrick found that his entire nature changed upon the water. Gone was the powerful woodcutter, descendant of thegns. Gone was the fearsome sergeant who steadied the line, inspired his men and held his ground against terrible enemies. That man was replaced by a limp bag of skin that could scarce clamber out of its hammock without emptying his stomach all over th
e deck. The vomiting was violent to the extent that, days before, Morrick had eventually given up on food. He was starving, exhausted and many aboard felt that he would die.

  After a few days, the thought of the damage to his reputation weighed steadily heavier on his mind and, churning insides or no, Morrick determined that the next morning when the watch was called he would be up and amongst them.

  The remainder of the week was torturous, but he set himself the task of keeping his men busy and, at all cost, avoided looking up enough to realise that he was not standing on some sort of wooden platform built above dry land. When it was time to rest, he would eat little and trade his food for grog, which he would guzzle down fast, hoping for the welcome, steady oblivion of unconsciousness.

  During one watch, not long after sun up, Lord Aldwyn summoned him to the great cabin. The duke wanted to learn all he could, concerning the terrain between Oystercatcher Bay and the Hinterland.

  ‘Beg pardon, m'lord but I've never journeyed out of the Hinterland save southward to war. Best I can tell is common accepted thought where I'm from - follow the southern treeline of the Impassable Forest and we'll reach home.’

  ‘And can you tell me nothing about what to expect on the road?’

  Morrick shook his head.

  ‘I’m afraid not – as I say, I’ve never been out of the Hinterland. The route skirts a mountainous area to the south, but other than that, I can tell you little. I hear tell it’s much the same as the Hinterland, but cannot be sure.’

  Aldwyn nodded.

  ‘Very well. What of the Hinterland? What can I expect to find there?’

  So Morrick told him all he knew of the villages, the overseers and the Devised numbers. He drew maps of his own village and the terrain surrounding it. When they were done, Lord Aldwyn sat for a while staring at the newly drawn map and pondered.

  ‘What would you advise?’ he eventually said, looking up at Morrick. The sergeant stuck out his lower lip, mulling over the courses of action. The ship lurched to port and he yelped, clutching the edge of the table. Aldwyn smiled as Morrick blushed.

  ‘Heights and seas. Quite the month for you.’ He laughed. Morrick mumbled an apology.

  ‘My answer is that it depends on how you intend to proceed. How many troops are you thinking of committing? Are you stationing any at Oystercatcher Bay or sending any to Culrain? Can I speak frankly?’ asked Morrick.

  Aldwyn sat back in his chair, interlacing his fingers over his gut, seemingly amused.

  ‘Go ahead.’

  Morrick had been voicing his opinions on how to proceed for a short while when a knock came at the door.

  ‘Enter.’

  The ship’s master entered and doffed his cap.

  ‘Beg pardon, m’lord, but the captain sends his respects and to tell you that we’ve sighted land.’

  ‘Very good. Please thank him for me and tell him I’ll be on deck directly.’ He turned to Morrick as he stood.

  ‘Wait here. Let’s see how good a navigator our captain is…’

  He ducked low as he moved below decks and hurried up the steps to the fresh sea air.

  The Nightingale had been sailing northeast and, if the captain’s reckoning was correct, they should be drawing close to Oystercatcher Bay. Sure enough the shape of the coast line was that of the west coast of Crinan, running north to the southern headland of the bay which was still a day’s sail away. From here on out, he had agreed with the captain, they would sail parallel with the coast.

  Aldwyn mused that landfall could not have come too soon. They were running low on supplies and any inclement weather or delay could well have been devastating. He returned to his cabin and informed Morrick that they had but a day before he would once again have his feet on an unswaying surface. Morrick could not hide a grin.

  Aldwyn fetched a bottle of white and poured out two glasses. He passed one to Morrick, took a sip and said,

  ‘Allocation of resources is to be of primary importance. I have two main concerns to consider; firstly I must be confident that the troops left at Oystercatcher Bay were sufficient to defend against attacks from Linwood’s men both by sea or from any he has put down there on the way home. Secondly I must commit enough men to secure the Hinterland, without overstretching supplies.’

  Morrick nodded.

  ‘Surely the latter is simple enough. Depending on the rate you march us, we can be there in seven to fourteen days, I’d say. Might take a little longer in the foothills, but from what I hear, the land is not so barren there and there should be good forage. Once in the Hinterland itself, there are both cattle and crops, if you can pay for them.’

  Aldwyn almost laughed. Had he been of a mind to walk in and take all he wanted, there was nothing the Hinterland could do to stop him. They survived only by his mercy, but once again his estimation of Morrick increased for trying to ensure fair treatment for his people.

  ‘I hope that it is so. Lord Linwood landed his people in Oystercatcher Bay not long after the invasion began in the south and drew the attention of Awgren’s main army. He had orders to secure the bay, so with any luck he will have sent scouts into the hills and made best use of whatever manpower has to make the area sustainable. We will know soon enough, but either way, our people will need to be ready to both march and fight before ere long.’ He sipped again from his glass.

  ‘How does it feel to be heading home, Morrick?’

  Morrick blew air between pursed lips.

  ‘I’m frightened what I will find. Unless things have changed there has been no word of the Hinterland since Awgren died. Who knows if the Creatures of the Devising have heard? Part of me hopes they have not and that all remains as it was when I left. If they have somehow learned of his fall, will they have reacted out of spite, vengeance or malice? Will they throw down arms as they did in the south?’ Morrick shook his head.

  ‘I have an image of my wife, Rowan, and our children burning atop a heap of the dead,’ he said quietly and closed his eyes, drinking up what was left of his wine. When he opened them again Aldwyn was regarding him with a softness in his eyes and his brow furrowed.

  ‘I pray for the safety of your family and swear to you, I will do all I can to keep them safe. You can assist in telling me all there is to know about the Devised forces in the area.’

  The Nightingale rounded the southern headland of Oystercatcher Bay ahead a column of some twenty ships. The waters were misty and the light fading, but some hours after entering the bay and yet still distant from shore, a shout went up from the crow’s nest.

  Aldwyn was called on deck and he found the captain glassing the horizon from the prow of the ship.

  ‘What news?’ asked the lord.

  The captain handed him his telescope.

  ‘A ship sighted in the bay, still hull-down.’

  ‘Like as not it’ll be one of Lord Linwood’s,’ Aldwyn replied. ‘Maintain course.’

  In due course though, it became apparent that the vessel was of the design employed in Stragglers’ Drift. It also became apparent that the ship was not alone. More and more ships were sighted sailing variously north-to-south and south-to-north across the mouth of the bay.

  ‘What do you make of it?’ asked Aldwyn of the captain when they had identified a sixth vessel.

  ‘Has all the hallmarks of a blockade,’ said the captain. ‘We’ll know soon enough when we draw nearer.’

  The next morning one of the vessels, surely having sighted the Nightingale approaching from the west, changed course towards her.

  A brazen move, thought Morrick, if this was indeed a blockade, given that the Nightingale headed up an entire fleet whilst this vessel would be alone until the next passed by. As such there was little to fear and the Nightingale crashed on under full sail to meet her.

  ‘Heave to!’ ordered the captain and the sailors set about checking the Nightingale’s progress. Linwood’s ship bore the word ‘Heron’ lettered upon her stern, and bobbed a little way off as her crew put out a sma
ll boat. From the ship’s rail Lord Aldwyn, the captain and Morrick could see a man sitting in the stern-sheets, dressed in the custom of Linwood’s naval officers.

  ‘Good morrow, sir,’ called down the captain of the Nightingale. ‘To what do we owe the pleasure?’

  ‘Captain Marchment of the Heron, sir, out to meet the fleet from the Folly. Who commands here?’

  ‘Captain Silas Unwin of the flagship commands the vessel and Lord Aldwyn, the fleet,’ Captain Unwin shouted back, and at this Aldwyn made himself known.

  ‘What news of Oystercatcher Bay, Captain?’ he continued.

  ‘Perhaps I might come aboard, my lord?’ Marchment replied.

  The captain met with Aldwyn in the great cabin and together they toasted the victory of the Combined People. Morrick paced the deck waiting for the outcome, staring out at the Heron and her crew, who often turned their gaze in his direction. It made him uncomfortable to know that the man who had branded his men was dominating the waters so close to his home and feared what Lord Aldwyn’s talk would reveal. When finally the lord did emerge, his reddened cheeks and scowl did little to reassure him. Captain Marchment departed with few words, and the Heron moved off as soon as he was aboard, back in the direction she had come towards the south coast of the bay, in the lee of the headland.

  Aldwyn summoned both the captain and Morrick to him.

  ‘Lord Linwood has left orders that no man shall place his feet on Crinish soil. He contests that the entire coast of Oystercatcher Bay falls within the borders of Crinan. In his ‘kindness’, Captain Marchment informs me that Linwood has given leave for my troops to land at the extreme north of the bay and set up a small camp there within the palisade. He suggests I march directly towards the Hinterland as a large presence will not be tolerated. I am then directed to remove my fleet forthwith.’

  ‘Insolence of the man!’ barked the captain. ‘These waters belong to the Combined People, not him alone.’