The Dog of the North

by Tim Stretton

  He pursed his lips. The matter would have to stop here. Alluring as Siedra was – and he could not deny that his heart beat faster at the thought of being alone with her again – he could not allow their intimacy to continue. He puzzled for a moment. Surely a short diversion could not do any real harm – at least until Lord Thaume returned.

  He jumped from the bed and shook his head. More resolution was necessary. He barely had the willpower to keep away from her now; if he became more accustomed to her favours it might become impossible. Then there was the prospect of quickening: if he thought the situation was complex now, imagine the horror if he got her with child. Thaume would hang or geld the man who made his unmarried daughter pregnant. There was nothing for it: he would have to keep away from Siedra. The risks and the rewards were simply incommensurate.

  He stalked from his room, out through the castle gates and into the streets. He did not want to be caught alone, by anybody.

  It was market day and by some unseen force he was pulled towards the marketplace. He remembered the day Eilla had stolen a cow. How long ago it seemed, although it could only have been five or six years.

  ‘Arren! Ignore me if you choose!’

  He looked around guiltily. Surely Siedra could not have found him in the market. But it was Eilla herself. He embraced her before he realized what he was doing.

  ‘Seigneur, you forget yourself,’ said Eilla with a grin, her cheeks red from the sun.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Arren. ‘I had just been thinking about the cow, and there you were.’

  ‘I am not sure I understand what you mean. Eulalia has sent me for some fish. There will be nothing decent left at this time of day, and she will berate me for slackness and incompetence.’

  ‘Let her fetch her own fish.’

  ‘You may say as much to her; I cannot.’

  Arren rubbed his chin. ‘She is unreasonable.’

  ‘I am learning nothing new.’

  ‘I will speak to her on my return to the castle.’

  Eilla paused and inspected Arren. ‘You seem distracted,’ she said, ‘unsettled in some way.’

  ‘Shall we walk down to the wharf?’ said Arren. ‘We might yet pick up some fresh bream.’

  They turned and walked the short distance to where the last of the fishing boats was unloading.

  ‘Will you not tell me what is troubling you?’ said Eilla gently.

  ‘You would not thank me,’ said Arren with a wry grin. ‘The matter is trivial, especially compared with your own concerns.’

  ‘Arren . . .’

  ‘If I mention the Lady Siedra, that should be sufficient.’

  Arren saw Eilla tense. She spoke to one of the fishermen unloading his wares. ‘Is that your best catch?’

  ‘Depends what you have to pay,’ grunted the fisherman.

  Eilla spoke again to Arren. ‘There can be no tale involving Siedra which makes good hearing – You there, I am buying for Lord Thaume’s table, so I’ll thank you for some civility.’

  ‘Thaume’s silver is as good as any, but I’ll not part with my goods on the cheap.’

  ‘Siedra has conceived something of a fancy for me,’ said Arren in a quiet voice.

  ‘How much for your five best bream? – You are deluding yourself, Arren. She has a fancy for no one but herself.’

  ‘Two and a half florins.’

  ‘My lord will have you whipped for insolence. Twenty-five pennies is more the sum I have in mind.’

  ‘I have all the proof you could ever need,’ said Arren.

  Eilla paled. ‘Would I care to know the nature of this “proof”? – No, even a florin is too much. Let us say forty pennies and be done with the matter.’

  ‘We should discuss this elsewhere,’ said Arren with a meaningful glance at the fisherman.

  As you wish – No, forty or nothing. Thank you. That need not have been as difficult as you made it.’

  Eilla took the bream which the fisherman had wrapped and followed Arren over to the wharfside railing.

  Are you going to tell me about Siedra? Are you trying to tell me you—’

  Yes.’

  Eilla jerked her gaze away and stared down at the turbid water.

  ‘Eilla?’

  You are a – Arren, do you love her?’

  ‘Of course not! She is Siedra!’

  Eilla shook her head. ‘Then why, by the Wheel – Do you even like her?’

  Arren looked down at his feet. ‘She is not as bad as you may think.’

  ‘Perhaps not, since I see her as spite and selfishness incarnate. Have you forgotten how she treated me?’

  ‘No, of course not. It’s just—’

  ‘No further, Arren. You have not forgotten how she treated me?’

  ‘I have just said that I had not.’

  ‘In that case, you clearly regard it as inconsequential.’

  ‘Eilla,’ said Arren miserably. ‘It was not like that.’

  Eilla folded her arms and looked him in the eye. ‘You have a choice to make, Arren. You cannot be her friend and mine. I will say nothing about how ludicrous the notion of any kind of match between you is. I hate Siedra second only to Lady Jilka. She has behaved abominably to me. You may disport yourself with that hussy to your heart’s content, and I do not care.’

  Arren too looked down into the murky water. .

  ‘Eilla, there is no one as precious to me as you.’

  ‘Do not continue. I cannot hear your voice without hearing it honeying up to Siedra. I will judge your acts, not your words.’

  ‘Eilla—’

  ‘I must return to the castle. Mistress Eulalia will not thank me for bringing back stinking fish.’

  Arren leaned against the railing and watched Eilla’s straight back as she marched back towards Lord Thaume’s castle. He should have known better than to raise the topic with her.

  13

  Mettingloom

  1

  The King’s Council met by tradition on the first day of the week. On one morning in late winter a cariolo drew up before the Occonero with four occupants. The first of them, Beauceron, alighted on paving damp from melted frost. Monetto leaped down immediately behind him, and Mongrissore clambered down more slowly. The fourth figure, a man of middle years, carried himself with a stiff and watchful gravity. He licked his lips and surveyed the scene. Beauceron, in his crispest black coat and starched white breeches, gave the man a wolfish smile.

  ‘You can relax, Quinto,’ he said. ‘No harm will come to you in the Occonero. Soon you will be free of your burdens. Are you a religious man? Think of today as a long march on the Way of Harmony.’

  Quinto climbed gingerly down from the cariolo. ‘I have never taken much notice of the viators,’ he said. ‘I make my own way in the world.’

  Monetto said: ‘The approach has brought you neither wealth nor happiness thus far. Speak true today, and you may start afresh.’

  Quinto narrowed his already thin eyes. ‘Neither of you seems to me a man of the Way. Your concern is not with my welfare.’

  ‘Naturally not,’ said Beauceron. ‘Nonetheless, what helps us helps you.’

  ‘But Davanzato will be present.’

  ‘Allow us to worry about Davanzato,’ said Monetto. ‘Your safety is assured. You have Mongrissore for company.’

  Mongrissore bared his crooked teeth in what might have been a reassuring smile. ‘I have been present at many confessions,’ he said. ‘The penitent always feels a lightening of spirit as a result.’

  ‘And on occasion a lightening of his neck, by the weight of his head,’ said Quinto with a morose glare.

  ‘Where did Cosetta find such an avatar of joy?’ asked Monetto.

  ‘Tush, Monetto,’ said Mongrissore. ‘You too might tend to the lugubrious if you had Quinto’s crimes at your account.’

  Monetto gave a rueful smile. ‘If only you knew,’ he said.

  ‘Enough,’ said Beauceron. ‘We must be ready soon. Mongrissore, you are sure Lady Cosetta wil
l be here?’

  Mongrissore nodded. ‘For whatever reason, she feels she owes you a debt. She will be on hand when she is needed.’

  ‘Good. Shall we step inside?’

  Beauceron and Monetto strode along the marbled corridor, their boots echoing against the plastered walls. Mongrissore and Quinto made their own soft-footed way along some distance behind.

  King Fanrolio’s Council at this time consisted of a small group of influential figures: General Virnesto, responsible for the Winter Armies; the Lord of Equity Gionardo, the Chamberlain Osvergario (represented during his indisposition by the Under-Chamberlain Davanzato) and, for the development of his statecraft, Prince Brissio. As groups of advisers went, it was not considered either unusually corrupt or unusually inept, a judgement perhaps as telling on expectations of probity and competence as on the capabilities of the persons involved.

  Beauceron and Monetto were escorted before this group by two footmen, and made the necessary obeisances. Beauceron looked around the room and saw little sympathy for his projects. Davanzato was an enemy, Brissio both stupid and malicious. Virnesto was fair-minded but not a man to wink at a treason trial, and Gionardo had not looked on Mon-grissore’s legalisms in good part. Still, he was at least here before the King.

  Fanrolio cleared his throat. ‘Welcome, Beauceron. Davanzato, can you remind us why the captain is before us this morning?’

  ‘He wishes to raise again the topic of the invasion of Croad, Your Puissance.’

  Fanrolio peered at Beauceron. ‘You were accused of treason against us less than a month ago.’

  Beauceron inclined his head. ‘All present will remember that I was acquitted. I desire nothing more than to bring glory to the Winter Court by taking the city of Croad for Mettin-gloom.’

  Fanrolio frowned. ‘Did we not consider this very matter last year?’

  Your Puissance is acute,’ said Davanzato, sitting back and steepling his fingers. ‘On this occasion Beauceron has additional arguments to deploy.’

  ‘Is that so, Beauceron?’ asked the King, coughing into a lace handkerchief.

  Your Puissance, my reasoning remains essentially the same as last year. However, I have been fortunate in my plunder during the summer season, and propose to finance the invasion myself, in the hope of recouping the sum from pillage of the city.’

  ‘Captain,’ said Virnesto, ‘Prince Brissio did not sit on this council last year. Perhaps you would care to outline your proposals.’

  ‘With pleasure, General. The prevailing wisdom within Mettingloom is that the city of Croad is impregnable. This assumption is rarely challenged and is based, in so far as it can be said to have a basis, on the defeat suffered by the Summer King at Jehan’s Steppe, an event which took place thirteen years ago.

  ‘It is my contention that the popular view is wrong. The ability of Croad to withstand a siege is untested; Tardolio’s army never reached the city walls.’

  Lord Gionardo interrupted. ‘Is there any reason to believe that your army would be able to forge so far south?’

  ‘Tardolio’s army made significant tactical errors, most importantly in dividing its cavalry. This meant that Thaume’s smaller force never had to withstand a full cavalry onslaught. Lord Thaume was also fortunate in the exceptional quality of his commanders: Thaume himself, Artingaume, Langlan, Darrien. Only Langlan survives. Oricien has not the flair of his father. My belief is that he will not ride out to meet an army. He will prefer to sit behind the walls of Croad and wait for aid to come from either Trevarre or Enguerran. His policy has been to build alliances, not armies. He will not commit his forces to a battle in the North when defeat would leave Croad unprotected.’

  Virnesto nodded. ‘Your analysis is not implausible. However, Croad is a walled city. If it expects relief from the South, it will not fall easily.’

  ‘I know the fortifications of Croad well. They are not impregnable. We will have weeks rather than months before help arrives, but I am confident that the city will fall in that period. Monetto has brought diagrams for improved siege engines which will throw larger rocks faster and more accurately.’

  ‘The cost of such machines will not be trivial,’ said Gionardo.

  ‘It is a cost I meet myself. There will be no drain on the Treasury.’

  Virnesto scratched his chin. ‘You are an unparalleled field commander, Beauceron. Your reputation is well earned. However, you have never, to my knowledge, commanded a siege. The discipline is different to the harassment and bravado which characterize your raiding strategy.’

  Beauceron gave a harsh smile. ‘You speak to me of discipline, sir? I have waited long years for this opportunity; I have denied myself the pleasures of my wealth, the softness of easy living, the favours of beautiful women. Do you think I would waste my toil in an assault on walls before they were broken? My lust for revenge is strong, but it is cool. You may have no fears on that score.’

  Prince Brissio broke in. ‘I say you are not to be trusted. You schemed and plotted against my father the King. What is our guarantee that you will hand over the city once it falls? You may shut yourself behind its walls and call yourself the Lord of Croad.’

  ‘My lord, only an imbecile would consider such a course. The walls of the city will have been compromised and a sizeable army from the South will be on the way. No adventurer could hold the city.’

  Davanzato spoke for the first time. ‘Prince Brissio’s observations bring us to a profound point. Your plans are based solely on the events leading up to the city’s capture. Virnesto will be best placed to advise on the robustness of these plans. No attention, however, has been given to outcomes following the city’s fall.

  ‘How, for example, will you hold the city once Enguerran marches north? And what of his inevitable reprisals as he brings his army to Mettingloom? Next summer, at the latest, the army of Emmen will sit on the shore of our lagoon. Or is your prowess so extreme that you expect to destroy the flower of his army in the field with your own invasion force? You still have many questions to answer.’

  ‘Do you believe,’ asked Beauceron, ‘that any force marching from the Emmenrule can take Mettingloom? Enguerran will not come in winter; there will be no food for his gallumphers, or his men. If he comes in summer, he can harry the shore as he chooses, but he has no means of taking the lagoon.’

  ‘What if he allies with the Garganets?’ asked Brissio. ‘Their galleys are strong.’

  ‘Galleys are ineffective in our choppy northern waters. Our cogs would destroy them; and Garganet will not wish to boost Enguerran’s pride.’

  ‘Do you suggest,’ asked Virnesto, ‘that Enguerran will sit at home and bear the loss of Croad with equanimity? If so, you are a poor judge of character.’

  Beauceron smiled and shook his head. ‘I think the opposite; Enguerran cannot accept the rebuke. He will march north with all the men at his command. He may come next summer, or he may wait and come the year after, once he has prepared. I think he lacks the patience to wait. When he finds Croad has fallen, he will move north with his relief army, and think to deal with Croad on his return.’

  Lord Gionardo frowned. ‘You present the certainty of invasion as a boon.’

  ‘Exactly so, my lord. Enguerran’s pride, his folly, his over-confidence will send him forth with his Immaculates to chastise our city. He will arrive in the summer, and find Tardolio before him. How will Tardolio deal with the threat?’

  There was silence as the Council tried to assess how Tardolio would respond.

  ‘He will sally forth!’ declared Prince Brissio.

  ‘I think not,’ said Beauceron. ‘He lacks the stomach for a fight.’

  ‘In his position,’ said Virnesto, ‘I would wait Enguerran out. He cannot starve us, for he lacks the fleet to blockade the lagoon; he cannot take the city by assault, because once again he lacks the naval power to do so. Enguerran will ride up and down the shore, harassing the lords’ estates until it occurs to him that he cannot win. Then he will turn sou
th to set about reducing Croad.’

  Beauceron beamed and nodded. ‘You show potential as a strategist, General. Tardolio will not ride out to meet Enguerran, because it would be folly to do so.’

  Fanrolio frowned. ‘I do not understand the point you are making.’

  ‘Simply this: Prince Laertio will wish to fight; the Lords of the Shore will be vexed, to say the least, at the devastation of their estates. Tardolio will be correct not to fight, but he will look timid, and his stature will sink. When the winter comes around, who will be the beneficiary?’ He paused. ‘The Winter Court, of course. Tardolio will be isolated within the Summer Court and Enguerran will have slunk away in frustration. How you follow up that advantageous situation is a question for your own judgement.’

  Fanrolio smiled slowly and nodded. ‘Your points are most interesting, Beauceron. We will need to reflect on them a while.’

  Beauceron bowed. ‘I ask no more, Your Puissance. There is, however, another matter I wish to bring to your attention.’ From the corner of his eyes he looked at Davanzato. ‘I have recently engaged the services of an excellent apothecary, who I hope will travel south with us. However, I have heard of the travails of your own health, and wonder if I might send the man to recommend a regimen for your chest. Such things should not be neglected.’

  Davanzato looked at Beauceron with raised eyebrows and a flush to his cheek. ‘Surely, Your Puissance, your own apothecaries cannot be improved upon. Carledo is skilled and seasoned.’

  ‘I grow no younger, Davanzato. Beauceron, let your man wait upon me. If he is a charlatan, I shall send him back.’

  Beauceron bowed again. ‘As you say, Your Puissance. He waits outside, if it pleases you.’