They found a field adjacent to that place, and it was one of the few places empty of corpses to be found near Walcox. They recovered several of their tents and pitched them, then the stumbling men lay flat on the canvas without blankets and slept.
Three blessed hours of sleep later, and Aelfric was awakened by the voice of Haim. “Aelfric, you are needed.” He said. “They are preparing to hang Busker.”
Aelfric rubbed the sleep from his eyes with a hand still crusty with dried blood, thankfully none of his. “What are you talking about, Haim?” He asked after a moment. “Hang Busker O’Hiam? The Hammer of Arker man?”
“It’s some of them Dunwater men.” Haim explained. “They’re claiming he killed the duke.”
“I thought he died leading a sortie.” Aelfric said, still confused for want of sleep. “Shot down by the Auligs.”
“Well, that’s as may be, but they’re saying Busker was in charge at the gates and didn’t tell the Duke they was Auligs shooting.”
“I don’t know what you think I can do.” Aelfric observed, putting on his tabard and running his hands through his hair. “I’m just a mercenary.”
Haim looked uncomfortable. “Well, everyone has been calling you the Privy Lord, Aelfric, and half of the town is ready to take a knee for you and swear feetly.”
“Fealty.” Aelfric absently corrected. “And their wanting me to be a lord doesn’t make me one. This is a judgment for the lord mayor to make.”
“Well, he accused himself. I guess there was a bishop, and he accused himself, too.” Haim answered uncertainly. “Said they couldn’t sit judge because they was witnesses. I guess they both saw what happened. They looked around to find another lord, but there wasn’t one.”
“They recused themselves, you mean.”
Haim looked at his boots, still stained with muck and blood from his march in the forest. “I sort of told them you was noble born.”
Aelfric’s eyes widened in outrage. “You what?” He demanded angrily. “Why in the name of Lio would you say that? If Elderest finds out where I am, they will kill me.” He said this last in a whisper, fearful of being overheard as they walked toward the remains of Walcox.
“Well, Aelfric, what was I supposed to do? They was planning to hang him without a judge, and people were about to get in a swordfight with the Dunwater soldiers. It’s real bad right now, and the only person everybody agrees can judge the case is you. You’re the one they’re calling the hero of Walcox.”
“Tell me you didn’t tell them who my father was, Haim. Tell me that much at least.”
“Well, the Bishop said if you was noble, who was your kin? I had to tell them something, and I weren’t going to lie to no priest. They put you in stocks for that.”
“Seven hells, Haim. After what we just went through who cares about being in stocks? I swear, you are some kind of a fool.”
But when Aelfric reached the south gate of Walcox, the only part of the town that was reasonably intact apart from the stone foundations of the larger houses and the fire-blackened tower, he saw that things were already nearly out of hand. Fifteen heavily armored men in black full plate stood around Busker O’Hiam with their swords drawn, facing an angry crowd of freemen and peasants. These were the people whom Busker and his Hammers of Arker had seen through the gates and into the forest, and most of them had sheltered from arrows beneath the mercenaries’ shield wall. “Lord Privy comes!” Someone shouted, and the crowd parted for him as if by magic. Busker’s hands were tied behind his back and he had a fresh bruise on his cheek. A noose had been suspended from a pole jutting from the top of the stockade wall of the south gate, here fifteen feet above the ground.
The lord mayor, a man in bishop’s clothing and a hard-faced man in the plate and mail livery of a knight of Dunwater awaited him at the center of the crowd. Plainly the Dunwater men were impatient to get Busker dangling, for the crowd was rapidly growing as word spread of what they were doing.
“What goes on here?” Aelfric demanded. “Who has the writ to hang this man?”
“We don’t need no writ, Privy Lord.” The knight responded. “I seen what he done, and he’s naught but a freeman. He made the Duke of Dunwater to die.” For a knight he seemed very inarticulate to Aelfric, but a hard and difficult man to look at him.
“We aren’t in Dunwater.” Aelfric replied. “You can’t hang freemen in Northcraven without a trial.” Several people around him repeated what he said, and many in the growing crowd echoed agreement.
“Nobody’s gonna stand judge.” Replied the knight. “Thet makes me, Urgin Charth, the ranking nobleman, on account of I’m the duke’s knight, and I got the right to hang this man.”
“Your man says that you are of the gentry, Master … Privy.” The man in the Bishop’s clothing said hesitantly. “If that is so, you could stand judge.”
Busker looked at Aelfric in a desperate way, hoping against hope, and Aelfric replied truthfully. “Yes, it is true.” He admitted. “My father was Lord Hambar D’root. I am Lord of Root’s Bridge.”
“A little town too poor to piss in.” Charth complained angrily. “That’s not a proper lord.”
But the name of Hambar D’root had already electrified the crowd. Aelfric heard his father’s name repeated loudly. “He’s the son of Hambar D’root!” One fellow in burned and stained merchant’s clothing yelled, and another replied.
“Well, no wonder he out-generalled them Auligs.” His father’s name, of relatively minor note in southern Mortentia, was well known and revered here, not far from where he had fought the battle of Maslit. “Let him stand judge.” The bishop and the lord mayor agreed gratefully, for neither of them wanted to provoke the duke’s men and thereby incur the wrath of Dunwater, a duchy known for harsh rule and vengeance, nor did they wish to stand against the crowd, to whom Busker O’Hiam was clearly a hero.
Aelfric turned to the men of Dunwater, looking uncomfortably at the still growing crowd, despite their armor and weapons. From the condition of their arms, Aelfric coldly noted that they did not appear to have participated in the Whitewood Forest attack, and he suspected Charth was the reason why. “Who accuses this man?” He asked.
“I do. Me, Sir Urgin Charth.” The Duke’s knight replied. “I accuse him.”
“Very well.” Aelfric replied, then he turned to Busker. “Do you wish to defend yourself, or do you have an advocate?”
“I’ll defend myself, Lio willing.” He said, but then another Hammer of Arker mercenary stepped forward. He was tall and thin and probably fifty, but he carried himself with the assurance that came of being very good at soldiering. He wore the shoulder markings of an officer.
“No need, Busker.” He said. “I’ll defend you. I’m Aldrid Faithborn, commander of the Hammers of Arker. Please to make your acquaintance, Lord Pr … Lord Aelfric. I commanded the Hammers last night. Busker is my man.”
“Very well.” Aelfric replied, putting on his best courtroom manner. Haim was looking on, and he was sharply reminded of a day not too long ago when the big half-breed had called his ability to judge fairly into question. He found an overturned barrel and sat on it. “We don’t have a proper courtroom, but we can make do here. Now, let me start by saying that I was not present when the duke of Dunwater died, and I have no knowledge of it, as I was in another part of the battle. As Busker O’Hiam’s accuser, the good knight Urgin Charth has the right to bring forth the accusation first, and then Aldrid Faithborn shall stand in defense. All of you people standing by, you may listen, but you may not disrupt the court or interrupt. Is that acceptable to all?”
Charth nodded reluctantly, looking suspiciously at Aelfric. Commander Faithborn nodded and crossed his arms.
“What is the accusation?” Aelfric asked Charth.
“That man killed the Duke of Dunwater.” He said bluntly, pointing at Busker. “Him and his partner done it. They was manning the south gate and they sent the Duke through without no proper escort, and them damned Auligs done for h
im.”
“All right.” Aelfric replied. “So what you are saying is that Busker O’Hiam, who was in charge at the south gate of town, forced the Duke to go through the gate which was being shot at by Auligs, is that right?”
“That’s right. He didn’t give us no shield wall. He give one to everybody else, but he didn’t give one to us. We could have all died there.”
“And you were witness to this?”
“I was.”
“Is there more to your accusation? Do you have more to tell us?”
“I said it. That’s what happened. I was there, and I swear it’s so. The duke’s grandad was King Pembanis and he were second cousin of the king, and killing him is a hanging crime. It don’t make two shits if it happened in Dunwater, where we wouldn’t be wasting no time like this I tell you, or if it happened in Zoric or Northcraven or Elderest or even in little Root’s Bridge.” His tone was contemptuous. “There ain’t a place in Mortentia where you don’t hang for killing a D’Cadmouth.”
“All right, you have spoken. Now you shall be put to question.”
Charth’s face turned white as a sheet. “You can’t put me to the question …”
“I don’t mean tortured, sir knight.” Aelfric explained patiently. “Have you never seen a trial? It means Aldrid Faithborn will now ask you questions to test the veracity of the charge.”
Charth relaxed, visibly relieved. In Dunwater Duchy being put to question had a much different connotation, and Aelfric supposed that they didn’t often have trials. From what he had heard, guilt could be established in Dunwater by accusation alone.
“Commander Faithborn? Your witness.”
“Thank you, and may it please the court and the representative of our Holy God and all of these fine people, I shall now ask questions of this witness so that the truth shall be known under the light.” Faithborn announced with a flourish, plainly playing to the crowd, who seemed to enjoy the performance.
“Just ask your questions, sir.” Aelfric frowned. He wanted to know what happened, he didn’t want a show.
“Thank you your honor.” Faithborn said in a loud voice, bowing. “Mister witness, isn’t it true that the duke of Dunwater wanted to go out that gate?”
“He wished to depart, but he did not want to escape.” Charth said enigmatically.
Faithborn’s head went back and he eyed Charth critically. “Well, isn’t it true that he was so eager to get out that gate that he killed a man? Or did he have you do it?”
“There was a man there who insulted the duke.” Charth replied uncomfortably. “The duke asked us to punish him.”
“Well, did he have you all kill that man just for insulting the duke or was he stopping the duke from going out the gate?”
“It was both.” Charth replied, plainly reluctant to talk about the killing, for the faces in the crowd had grown grim. “The man was not letting the duke take his proper place in line, and he said to bugger him.”
“He told you to bugger the man?” Faithborn’s tone was of shocked disbelief.
“No, that’s what the man said to the duke. He said ‘bugger youself’.”
Faithborn paused and nodded to himself. “So the duke wanted to get out the gate, and he was in a hurry, is that fair to say?”
Charth eyed him suspiciously. “That’s so.” He admitted.
“And Captain O’Hiam was one of my officers in charge at the gate when you arrived, correct?”
“Aye, he were there all right.”
“The other officer was Gorlim O’Hilos, who was unfortunately killed in the Whitewood this morning. Were you in the Whitewood?”
“I were there all right.”
“In the camp or in the battle?” Faithborn’s voice was cool, for plainly he knew the answer already.
“In the camp.” Charth sneered. “Protecting the bishop.”
“I see. In the camp.” He shook his head. When the mercenaries attacked the Auligs that morning Aelfric had asked for every fighting man, and many of the villagers, armed with only pitchforks or knives, had joined in. Here was an armored knight who had not.
“Isn’t it true that the duke asked to go ahead in line last night?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t it true that Busker O’Hiam and Gorlim O’Hilos both let him skip over the freemen and mercenaries to go to the front of the line?”
“Well, that’s so, but…”
Aelfric spoke quickly. “Just answer the question that’s asked.” He cautioned the knight.
“And isn’t it also true that Busker O’Hiam and Gorlim O’Hilos both told the freemen and the townsmen assembled there to bow to His Grace the Duke?”
“That was meant in fun. They was making fun.”
“They were making fun of the duke of Dunwater?” Faithborn’s tone was acidic. “You mean you’ve never known the duke to have a man flogged for failing to bow?”
“Well, he has, but …”
“Nothing funny about that, is there?”
“No.”
“And the duke had just ordered his men, and you with them, to kill a man for getting in his way, isn’t that true?”
Charth said nothing. The crowd’s mood had gone black, and they were staring him into silence.
“So the Duke of Dunwater, he demanded to be let through the gate out of turn, didn’t he?”
“Yes.” Charth admitted reluctantly.
“Did he ask for a shield wall?”
“He didn’t, but we didn’t know how bad it was. They sent us out without one, and that’s what killed us. They should have told us.”
“Are you not a knight?”
“I’m a knight, that’s true.”
“And to become a knight you need training, isn’t that right?”
“I got training.” Charth’s tone was defensive.
“And not just training in killing people the duke tells you to, but training in battle, right?”
“I done that, too.”
“So, you, an experienced and battle-trained knight, you were with the duke, isn’t that right?”
“I already said I was there.” Charth turned to Aelfric. “I already said that, You Honor.”
“Yes you have.” Aelfric replied. “Asked and answered, commander Faithborn.
“Did you ask for a shield wall, Sir Knight?” Faithborn continued.
“No.”
“And when the gates opened, did you and your men form a shield wall?”
Charth’s mouth went into a firm line. “Some did.” He acknowledged in a quiet voice, but Faithborn wasn’t letting him off the hook.
“Some of the duke’s own men formed a shield wall around him, correct? But some did not?”
“Some did.” Charth said again. “And some departed.”
“And you, Sir Knight, charged with protecting the body and person of the Duke of Dunwater, did you form the shield wall, or did you depart?”
“I departed.” The man admitted uncomfortably. There were angry mutters from the crowd.
“You departed, but some men remained with the duke for bit, didn’t they?”
“That’s so.”
“But none of them are with us now, are they? They all died.”
“Yes.”
“But Duke Prosk, he didn’t stay in the shield wall, he went out and led a sortie against the Auligs, singlehandedly killing at least ten of them and saving the lives of many of the people of Walcox!” Faithborn said, raising his voice and thundering to the crowd. Aelfric had heard this story about Duke Prosk repeated several times in camp this morning, and now he saw how ridiculous it was. There were a few loud guffaws from the crowd, but Charth glared at them angrily.
“That’s what your men, your surviving men have been telling anyone who will listen, isn’t it? You can hardly hold the duke’s being a hero against the men at the gate who let him through, can you?”
Charth said nothing, but the look he shot the mercenary leader was pure menace. Faithborn in turn looked back, and it was
plain that the man was not at all afraid, but rather eager to deal with a threat from the disgraced knight.
“I am done with my questions of this witness, Lord Aelfric.” Faithborn said, and there was scattered applause.
“Thank you commander Faithborn.” Aelfric turned to Charth. “Does the accuser have any more witnesses?” Several of Charth’s men had been standing by to be witnesses when Faithborn’s questioning began, but now Aelfric could see none of them.
“I think they departed.” Someone quipped, and there was scattered twittering.
Aelfric adjudged Busker O’Haim innocent in the matter of the death of the Duke of Dunwater, but he also gave him a warning about the Dunwater men. “They are a vengeful lot, especially that Charth.” Aelfric told him. “Don’t give him a chance at your back. I am going to have to write down this judgment also, or he will go carrying stories to the rest of the D’Cadmouths, and your life won’t be worth a silver penny.”
“Thank you Lord Privy.” Busker said. “That’s once again you’ve saved my life. You need anything and I’m your man.”
“Your commander saved your life, Busker. He should be a courtier.”
Now that Aelfric had served as a Lord in truth as well as in name only, his business was far from over. He was called to counsel with the Lord Mayor and the Bishop, as well as Faithborn, who was the sole surviving mercenary commander, and they began the tedious process of dealing with the aftermath of the battle. Messengers had to be dispatched to the surrounding towns and villages to beg food, the wreckage of the town had to be dealt with, and the survivors who had fled down the king’s road sent for. The dead had to be buried. The mercenaries who had been Blackboots, Ajin’s Band and others were incorporated into the Red Tigers or the Hammers of Arker, new fyrdmen had to be selected, and provisions made to defend the town should the Auligs return.
Several hours had passed in this business when Aelfric saw a familiar shape approaching. It was the man in the livery of Walcox whom he had told to make an accounting of the dead. He looked harried and disheveled. Another man walked beside him, a silver-haired man wearing grey clothing of fine cut, thin and ascetic looking.
War of the Misread Augury: Book One of the Black Griffin Rising Trilogy Page 54
