The Dog of the North

by Tim Stretton

  The crowd fell silent, a sullen, resentful brooding. It could not have been shock at the death of Sir Artingaume, since this had been known well in advance. Had it been the mention of Jandille? Arren had not seen him since he had returned – nor Eilla or Clottie for that matter. He felt a pang of alarm.

  ‘Despite our grievous losses, we have returned to the city unbroken and unbowed. You will see in the square before you we have a number of noble prisoners from Mettingloom, not including King Tardolio, who had the grace neither to fall with his army nor to surrender with it. Nonetheless, the prisoners we have here represent a considerable boon, and it falls to me to decide their fate.’

  Arren was conscious of Master Pinch sliding up beside him. ‘Let us hope he has learned statesmanship,’ said Pinch softly.

  The thirty or so prisoners looked up at Lord Thaume; some apprehensive, some affecting disdain for the proceedings.

  ‘The last time such prisoners were brought into Croad,’ continued Lord Thaume, ‘my father Lord Gaucelis hanged them as brigands from the very gallows in this square.’

  Master Pinch looked on, his expression as inscrutable as ever.

  ‘The temptation to do the same here is strong,’ said Thaume. ‘However, my father’s rashness led not only to his own death, but that of my brother Lord Borel, and nearly ended my own life. My nephew Guigot was left orphaned by the death of Lord Borel. The price of those hangings was high, since it led to the war we fight to this day.

  ‘My judgement today is different. My army has destroyed that of Mettingloom. The war is over. On receipt of suitable ransoms from King Tardolio, you may return to your homes. There will never be amity between Croad and Mettingloom while Tardolio remains on the Summer Throne, but we need not show hostility. I have won a great victory; I will not squander it with harshness in my triumph. Darrien, see to it that the prisoners are comfortably lodged, using a minimum of necessary restraint.’

  Master Pinch nodded. ‘He has shown true wisdom. He could have avenged his father in a moment, and paid for the rest of his life.’

  Lord Thaume called for wine; the day was growing warm, and the dust of the trail lay in his throat. He continued his oration.

  ‘The battle was not fought solely on Jehan’s Steppe,’ he said. ‘There have been privations in Croad too, and seasoned judgement necessary to ensure the smooth running of the city. I pay tribute here to my staunch wife, Lady Jilka, who has ruled the city with wisdom and restraint in my absence.’

  Arren again noticed the sudden change in atmosphere as when Jandille had been mentioned. Lady Jilka stepped up to the platform to embrace her husband, her red hair pent at the back of her head, her black cloak and breeches rustling as she walked. The crowd fell silent.

  Even Lord Thaume, flushed with his triumph, noticed the change. He looked around. ‘Jilka?’ he said quietly.

  Lady Jilka stuck her chin out. ‘This might better be discussed in our chambers, my lord. Not all of my decrees have proved popular.’

  Lord Thaume looked intently into her face. ‘There is more to this than the simple exercise of justice. Will you tell me what has happened?’

  ‘Not here, my lord,’ she said with a hint of supplication.

  ‘What decree can you have made which you are not prepared to defend in public to the lord of the city and your husband?’

  Jilka shook her head, whether in defiance or resignation Arren could not tell.

  ‘A number of decrees irked some folk,’ said Jilka. ‘I imagine the one which is causing this muttering is closing the Temple.’

  ‘Muttering’ understated the noise coming from the throng in the square. Lord Thaume looked intently into his wife’s face.

  ‘My lord?’

  ‘Would you care to tell me exactly what you mean by “closing the Temple”?’

  ‘The matter is simple enough,’ said Lady Jilka. ‘The Consorts and the viators teach us that the Wheel is a wicked heresy. Those who follow the Wheel depart from the Way of Harmony. King Arren himself has banned such practices. In my trust as ruler of Croad, however temporary, I found it necessary to bring these misguided folk back to the Way. As a result I promulgated a decree anathematizing the Wheel, banning its worship, and closing the Temple. It is of course sealed with your own sigil.’

  Lord Thaume’s face darkened. The crowd, as if sensing their conversation, had fallen silent.

  ‘In thirteen years as the ruler of Croad I had seen no need to take these steps. You felt it necessary within a month?’

  ‘We must each Follow the Way according to our own dictates.’

  ‘No doubt you took counsel from the viators?’

  ‘Of course. To settle such matters of doctrine and conscience myself would have been impious, indeed it would have smacked of the Wheel.’

  ‘Viator Sleech has been inclined to take a pragmatic stance on such matters, an attitude I have much appreciated.’

  ‘Viator Sleech was absent in the North with you, my lord.’

  ‘From whom, then, have you taken counsel?’

  ‘I have relied primarily on Viator Dince.’

  Lord Thaume nodded grimly. ‘And Viator Dince explicitly approved your decree?’

  ‘Just so. In fact, he drafted it.’

  ‘And where is Viator Dince now? He should be here to welcome his lord.’

  Ah – I – I believe he is in the Viatory, my lord, ready to give succour where it may be needed.’

  ‘Who will fetch me Viator Dince?’ said Lord Thaume in a quiet but penetrating voice. ‘He has much to explain.’

  The crowd burst into hubbub. There was no shortage of volunteers.

  ‘Serjeant Fleuraume, go with them to ensure there is no outrage. Viator Dince is to be whipped in the square, and I want him fully aware of the fact.’

  A great roar of approval went up from the crowd, many of whom stormed off to the Viatory. Arren wondered how many people in Croad followed the Wheel, and how many simply hated Lady Jilka.

  ‘My lord,’ implored Jilka, sinking to her knees. ‘Consider what you propose. To drag an honoured viator from the sanctuary of the Viatory, to abuse his person, how can this be the Way?’

  ‘Be assured, my lady, I take this action only because it is inappropriate to visit it upon yourself. Viator Dince must bear your punishment and his own.’

  ‘My lord—’

  ‘Silence! I return from the greatest victory ever won on the field of battle by a Croadasque army, paid for in blood, much of it belonging to those who followed the Wheel. I find that you have outlawed their hallowed practices. Was this what they fought and died for?’

  Lady Jilka’s voice fell almost to a whisper. ‘It is heresy, my lord.’

  ‘In that case, Serjeant Fleuraume is a heretic. Our son says Fleuraume saved his life on the battlefield: our only son. If allowing men like that to worship at the Temple secures their loyalty, it is a small price to pay.’

  Jilka stood upright. ‘No one could love Oricien more than I. I would repay the good Fleuraume in the best fashion I knew how – by bringing him to the Way of Harmony.’

  Lord Thaume stepped down from the platform. ‘I have heard enough. Return to your chambers. I will see you later.’

  2

  Arren turned to Oricien and Guigot. ‘Shall we go? I have no love for Viator Dince, but neither do I wish to see him whipped.’

  Oricien made a gesture of acquiescence. ‘I would like to see Siedra, in any event.’

  Guigot laughed. ‘You have girlish stomachs. We all know that Dince is a prating hypocrite. Nothing will give me greater pleasure than to see him thrashed and hear his howls. The viators are parasites.’

  ‘As you wish,’ said Oricien with disdain. ‘No doubt his howls will be audible from the castle. Come, Arren.’

  Arren was conscious as they stepped through the streets that they were met with new deference. No longer were they pranksome lads; now they had defended Croad with their bodies.

  The guards saluted as they turned into
the courtyard. Oricien set them at ease with a negligent gesture.

  ‘Where is Siedra?’ he asked, and was directed to the family’s private quarters overlooking the Pleasaunce. He knocked and walked in, Arren in tow.

  ‘Siedra!’ he cried, embracing her. ‘How you have grown.’

  Arren thought to see tears in her eyes as she flung her arms around her brother. ‘You have only been gone a month! I was so worried for you,’ she said. ‘But our father sent back a letter saying how bravely you had fought.’ She noticed Arren. ‘Lord Thaume also commended your valour, Arren. And he said your father saved the day.’

  Arren bowed. ‘It was my father’s duty to fight for lord and city.’

  ‘Don’t be so stuffy, Arren! He could have run away. I am sure I should have done. So could you.’

  ‘There was little real choice,’ said Arren. ‘We were surrounded by Tardolio’s men. It was not feasible to ask them to excuse us as we quit the field.’

  You speak like Sir Langlan,’ she said, tossing her hair. ‘You act as if the greatest feats of valour were simply achieved to stave off boredom. Dear Oricien, surely you will admit to courage and fortitude.’

  Oricien gave a rueful smile. ‘If we dwelled on the horror we would never fight again,’ he said. ‘We were part of Serjeant Fleuraume’s squadron, and we did as he said. He was far more intimidating than all Tardolio’s men.’

  ‘Where is Guigot? How did he fight?’

  Arren glanced at Oricien.

  ‘Guigot fought well,’ said Oricien. ‘As you might expect, he displayed a bloodthirsty ethic’

  ‘Guigot has much anger,’ said Arren. ‘Now he also knows how to use a sword. He will wreak much destruction before he is done.’

  ‘As long as he fights for his lord, it matters little,’ said Oricien.

  He will never fight for you, thought Arren. And you would never want him at your side.

  ‘At this instant,’ said Arren, ‘he is in the market square, waiting for your father to whip Viator Dince.’

  Siedra paled a little. ‘Whip – the viator?’

  ‘Just so,’ said Arren. ‘Lord Thaume has not relished your mother’s decree to close the Temple, and holds Dince to blame.’

  Siedra affected a nonchalant shrug. ‘He should have known better, and my mother too for that matter. Dince deserves whatever punishment he gets, even what Jandille got. Let my father whip him. He will not be so proud again.’

  Arren’s palms felt clammy. ‘What “punishment”? What has happened to Master Jandille?’

  ‘I thought you knew. When you spoke about my mother closing the Temple.’

  ‘That’s all I know, that Dince drafted a decree and Jilka sealed it.’

  ‘The Gollains – is that not what the followers of the Wheel call themselves? – did not take kindly to the decree, of course. Dince should have seen that they would not simply give up their worship. Some of the Elders went to the Temple on the day of the decree to defy it. Master Jandille was at their head.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Arren, his heart pounding.

  ‘My mother told them they contravened the will of Lord Thaume and wilfully departed from the Way. They were to disperse at once, and if they valued Harmony, to visit the Viatory and beg forgiveness for their impiety. Jandille asked to see the decree. When he had read it, he said that he would not accept it until he had had it from Lord Thaume himself. My mother said that it had Lord Thaume’s seal on it, and did he propose to defy his lord?

  ‘Jandille ripped the decree in half and said again that until Lord Thaume presented it to him it was no decree.’

  Oricien frowned. ‘In this he was incorrect, whatever the provocation. Lady Jilka acted with Regent’s authority.’

  ‘But to outlaw the Wheel!’ said Arren.

  ‘The Wheel is already outlawed,’ said Oricien. ‘My father chooses to allow the Gollains to worship, but he disobeys the King in doing so.’

  ‘What happened after, Siedra?’ asked Arren.

  ‘Viator Dince said that in destroying the decree he had struck the person of his lord, which is treason. He said that the penalty was death.’

  ‘Death – for ripping a piece of paper?’

  ‘My mother said that was too harsh. Jandille was a good man and should be given the chance to find the Way of Harmony. Viator Dince found this idea compelling. He recommended instead that, since Jandille had struck the person of his lord, that he should lose the hand which had offended. They took him to the square and cut off his right hand on the spot.’

  ‘Siedra!’ gasped Arren. ‘He is the city’s master mason – how can he work with one hand?’

  ‘Viator Dince said—’

  ‘I have heard enough of Viator Dince for today. What happened to Jandille, and his family?’

  ‘He has a brother with a farm on the Southlands. They left the city to go and live there. My mother was glad to see them go, for the people were sorely angry at the treatment of Master Jandille. No doubt they are there now.’

  ‘Enough!’ said Arren. ‘I need a gallumpher, now. I must find them.’

  ‘Wait, Arren,’ said Siedra. ‘Lord Thaume will surely pardon him and recall him to the city.’

  ‘And will our father give him a new hand?’ said Oricien. ‘I am going to join Guigot to see Viator Dince whipped. I hope he is flayed to the bone!’

  3

  The ramshackle farm of Canille, Jandille’s brother, was no great distance from the city walls and Arren found it without difficulty. As he had ridden out through the streets of Croad he had heard the cries of Viator Dince, and on some deep level taken satisfaction; but he knew that things were too far awry to set straight with a flogging.

  He dismounted from his gallumpher and tethered it to a fence. ‘Hoi there!’ he called to a youth of about Arren’s own age. ‘Is this the farm of Canille?’

  ‘Who wants to know?’ scowled the youth, squinting into the sun which silhouetted Arren’s figure.

  ‘I come from the war,’ he said. ‘My name is Arren.’

  ‘Chandry?’ came a voice from within a barn. ‘Who is there?’

  ‘One of Thaume’s lackeys,’ said young Chandry, scowling at the ground.

  Arren, who was still in his surcoat and chainmail, admired the lad’s pluck.

  ‘Send him away! I want nothing from the city.’

  Arren recognized the voice. ‘Master Jandille! It is Arren!’

  There was silence, and a figure appeared from the barn and walked across the yard. He looked into Arren’s face, and after a pause embraced him.

  ‘My, but you are the soldier, Arren. Hissen guard you.’

  ‘I had heard . . .’ said Arren, unsure how to broach the subject.

  ‘About this?’ said Jandille, holding up his bandaged stump. ‘The exquisite mercy of Lady Jilka.’

  ‘I do not follow the Wheel,’ said Arren, ‘but this is monstrous. Lady Jilka must have taken leave of her senses.’

  ‘Do not let her hear you, lad. Her temper does not grow more forgiving with age.’ Pigs squealed out of sight as they took their meal.

  ‘Lord Thaume was enraged. He has returned to the city today and has had Viator Dince whipped.’

  Jandille’s eyes glimmered briefly. ‘It resolves nothing. The Temple is closed, and my hand is . . .’

  ‘I am sure Lord Thaume will pardon you. He has never been hostile to the Wheel.’

  Jandille shook his head. ‘I will not return to the city. I can never sculpt with one hand; even on the farm, there are few tasks I can perform with credit. I would not wish to receive a pension from Lord Croad; if I must accept charity, let it at least be from my own family.’

  ‘You are a hero in the town, sir, even among those who do not follow the Wheel.’

  ‘You have been at the wars, lad. Maybe you realize now that it is no great thing to be a hero.’

  ‘The experience was not what I had expected. No doubt Tardolio’s expectations have also been altered.’

  ‘You
have not come to see me, I am sure,’ said Jandille, with an approach to a smile. ‘The girls are over in Wanish Copse, looking for mushrooms. Why do you not go over and see them?’

  With a bow Arren set off to walk into the woods. The interview with Jandille had been uncomfortable, as he had expected.

  ‘Eilla! Clottie!’ he called as he stepped into the copse. Out of the sun, the air was chill even at midday.

  ‘Who is there?’ came a high voice, with a tremor of uncertainty. From behind a tree came Clottie.

  ‘Why, Arren! With sword and mail,’ she cried. ‘You look quite the soldier.’

  Arren thought she looked thin and pinched. Her eyes were furtive. Lady Jilka’s justice had not maimed Jandille alone.

  ‘He is a soldier, you fool.’

  Arren turned. ‘Eilla!’ he said.

  Eilla ran a hand through her thick dark hair, now hacked roughly at her shoulders. Arren saw the same wariness in her eyes.

  ‘Eilla, I have so much to tell you,’ he said. ‘But I think you must have more to tell me.’

  She gave a bitter laugh and set her basket down on the ground. ‘We have had our own war,’ she said, ‘and our own casualties.’

  ‘I have heard,’ he said. ‘And I have spoken to your father.’

  Eilla shrugged. ‘He brought it on himself,’ she said, her moist eyes belying her casual tone. ‘Why did he give Jilka and Dince the excuse? Now we will all rot on the farm for ever. Canille already wants me to marry Chandry: the event will not take place. Clottie may have him if she wishes.’

  A spark kindled in her eye. This was the Eilla he recognized.

  ‘Does Canille not have a second son?’ asked Arren.

  ‘He does not, and he could have a hundred and it would make no difference. I would not marry my cousin: such things are unnatural. I have no wish for a five-headed baby, nor a husband who views an annual bath as freakish decadence. Clottie is younger and her views may not be so fixed.’

  ‘Clottie will not be marrying Chandry either,’ interjected Clottie, wrinkling her snub nose. ‘My father says I am too young to think on such things.’

  ‘They say that Lady Siedra will be packed off to Glount to find a husband,’ said Arren. ‘Lord Thaume will need to appease Duke Panarre. She is only Clottie’s age.’