The Dog of the North

by Tim Stretton

  ‘Arren, what do you think happened to Guigot?’ asked Oricien as they rode home.

  Arren shook his head. ‘He was always wily. Maybe he joined the hill bandits, maybe he even struck north for Mettingloom. He may have gone south to Glount and taken passage anywhere.’

  ‘My father worries that he has not been captured.’

  ‘He is one man,’ said Arren. ‘He can never come near the city without being taken and recognized. For all we know he perished in the wilderness.’

  Oricien shook his head. ‘Guigot has too much spite to allow himself to die in obscurity. For my money, if we ever see him again, it will be with Tardolio’s army.’

  Arren laughed. ‘Even less reason to worry. By the time Tardolio has gathered the men and the spirit to come back, you will be an old man. With a sister married into the Duchy of Lynnoc, you will always have an army to call on. There are plenty of more pressing matters to dwell on than Guigot.’

  ‘No doubt you are right, Arren. Come, if we press the heels we can be back for dinner.’

  9

  Arren stabled Nippet and went back to his quarters to change and make his final preparations for departure. Lord Thaume did not take a late table, and he would have time to dine before stealing into the night. He looked around his quarters for the last time. He knew that he was not being fair to Thaume, who had spent time and money educating him in the arts of statecraft and war: his intention had clearly not been to fit him for a clandestine marriage with a dowerless servant. He had every reason to expect that Arren would be a strong support and counsel for Oricien. Perhaps in time he would be able to return; but if not, he had no doubt that he was following his only real course in eloping with Eilla. What was a seat at the lord’s table compared with that?

  On his pillow he noticed an envelope addressed in a feminine hand, ‘Seigneur Arren’. He ripped it open.

  I need to see you urgently, and in secret. Meet me in Lord Thaume’s viatory at eleven bells: we know that he does not use it at night-time.

  If you value my safety do not try to see me beforehand. I will explain all when I see you.

  E.

  Arren’s heart beat faster. What could be so important that it could not wait until midnight?

  He read the letter again. Eilla wrote in a fair lady’s hand: he realized that he had never seen her handwriting before. The Gollains put a great premium on reading and writing. Eilla was a credit to whoever had taught her.

  Arren was not convinced that the viatory was the best place to meet. Lord Thaume had rebuked him for using it as a meeting place at Guigot’s condemnation and would not be pleased to learn of them visiting it again. On the other hand, there were few locations to meet in secrecy, and in the Pleasaunce it was clearly impossible to be secure against eavesdroppers.

  Arren sat back in his chair. Of course, Eilla would have thought the question through: she had as much to lose as him if they were caught together. Tomorrow it would not matter – they would be away from the city. Until then, a modicum of caution was appropriate. He chose a fresh set of clothes, and went down to the table.

  Arren forced himself to eat although he had no appetite. It might be a while before he had anything more than the barest rations. He did not drink the wine at all; a clear head was a necessity in what was to come.

  In his mind he had already left, he realized. The conversation rumbled on around him but it was as if he were watching a play. Lord Thaume was in a genial humour, ribbing Oricien about his failure to bring anything back from the day’s hunting trip; Oricien responded with a sober analysis of the conditions and made occasional appeals to Arren, who gave only perfunctory responses. Master Guiles regaled the company with an anecdote of some lapse of etiquette during his days at court; it would have been tedious even had it not been a story everyone present had heard many times before. Master Coppercake, as was his way, said little. His favoured companion, Master Pinch, was not present, and Arren suspected he had slipped away for good to carry on his researches elsewhere. Sir Langlan, who always enlivened the company, was not present: tonight he was commanding the Guard in their unceasing vigilance for threats from the North.

  Arren realized with a touch of regret that he would never be part of this company again. There was no other way for it, and it was a small price to pay to be with Eilla, but he had spent many years among these men, and for some of them he had real affection. One day, he promised himself, when the notoriety had died down and he had established himself in his new life, he would return, and they would see what he had made of himself. Maybe then they would all be easy together again.

  ‘Arren, you are quiet tonight,’ said Lord Thaume.

  ‘I am sorry, my lord. I am feeling a touch unwell.’

  Lord Thaume’s brow furrowed. ‘Do not let us keep you, Arren. There are plenty more feasts. Take yourself off to your bed, now.’

  Arren nodded. ‘Thank you, my lord. I am sure I will be restored tomorrow.’

  He walked from the hall for the last time, feeling guilty at taking advantage of Lord Thaume’s solicitude, with only a single backward glance. On his way back to his room he picked up some provisions from the pantry. The less they had to forage until they reached Glount, the better.

  He left the pantry and then, stepping boldly to deter any questioners he might encounter, made his way to Lord Thaume’s viatory. What could Eilla want? Surely she could not be postponing their departure – or might she have changed her mind altogether? He would know soon enough.

  He slid the door open, wincing at the creak, and slipped into the room. There was a chill draught: the window through which Guigot had jumped had still not been repaired. He looked around in the dim candlelight but there was no sign of Eilla. He was a few minutes early: Eilla was timing her arrival to a nicety.

  He gently moved the arras aside and settled down to wait. He would hear Eilla arrive and no doubt she would think to look behind the arras in any event.

  There was a sudden rapping on the door, as if with a sword hilt. ‘My lady! Will you open the door?’

  It was Fleuraume’s voice. What could he possibly want? And who did he think was inside?

  While Arren was deciding what to to, the door flew open and Fleuraume crashed in, with three other guards; all had swords drawn. Arren came out from behind the arras. It could not be him they were looking for.

  ‘Fleuraume! What is this?’ asked Arren.

  ‘Arren, this grieves me greatly. I had hoped the reports were false.’

  ‘Reports? What are you talking about, Fleuraume? There is a misunderstanding of some sort.’

  ‘Conceivably not,’ said Fleuraume. ‘Please do not attempt to leave; you would not wish to be restrained.’

  Unarmed, with four men facing him, Arren knew he had no choice for now. What would happen when Eilla appeared?

  ‘Heray, fetch Lord Thaume; Gildier, see if you can intercept Lady Siedra.’

  The two guards marched off. The odds were still not good, thought Arren, and anyway, what was his crime? How was Siedra involved?

  ‘Fleuraume, will you tell me what this is about?’

  ‘The less you say, the better, lad. You will have your chance soon enough.’

  From along the corridor Arren could hear the sound of boots. Lord Thaume came in, his face thunderous. In his wake trailed Oricien and Master Coppercake.

  ‘Bring him outside,’ said Lord Thaume. ‘And when Siedra appears, bring her too. Send also for Sir Langlan.’

  Flanked on either side, Arren stepped out into the Amber Room. Almost immediately another guard appeared with Siedra at his side.

  ‘Arren!’ cried Siedra. ‘What is happening?’

  ‘We will now learn the truth,’ said Lord Thaume, taking his place in his judicial chair. ‘Gildier, where did you find Lady Siedra?’

  ‘She was in the corridor outside, my lord. She appeared to be on her way here.’

  ‘Siedra? You were supposed to be at Lady Cerisa’s soirée.’

 
; ‘I had the headache, father.’

  Lord Thaume raised his eyebrows. ‘A coincidence. Arren too was indisposed, although he appears hale enough now.’

  ‘My lord—’

  ‘Silence, Arren! I will hear you in due course. Siedra, all is known: your scheme has been betrayed.’

  ‘What – How?’

  ‘You will not improve matters for yourself or Arren by feigning girlish ignorance. You have been caught at the most foolish intrigue. A full account is your best course.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Did you not hear me, girl? One of your ladies has betrayed you, and the proof is Arren’s presence awaiting you in my viatory.’

  Siedra began to sob. ‘I am sorry, Arren, my love. It is too late to dissemble. Father, forgive us!’

  Arren looked on in astonishment.

  ‘Arren, will you not tell my father of our love?’

  Arren remained dumbstruck.

  ‘Please,’ she sobbed. ‘Do not deny me now! You said you would be true to me through all.’

  ‘Siedra, this is lunacy!’ cried Arren.

  ‘This is the worst blow of all! I can bear my father’s fury, but not your indifference. Be brave, my love!’

  ‘My lord, I do not know what Siedra is saying.’

  ‘Enough whimpering, from you both,’ said Lord Thaume. ‘Siedra, continue your account.’

  She knelt before her father. ‘My lord, it was not our fault. We tried to hide our feelings from ourselves and each other, but it was no use: they would not be denied. Arren and I have been lovers these many months. We would send each other messages through the servant girl Eilla, and he would come to my chambers with such ardour. We knew it was wrong, but our love was so strong. Arren wished to tell you, but I knew your wrath would be terrible. We have been so foolish, but I cannot regret a second of it! Please forgive us.’

  Lord Thaume’s face had taken on a purple tint which seemed to threaten an apoplexy. Oricien’s jaw hung loose; Sir Langlan, who had slipped into the back of the room, slowly shook his head. Coppercake looked down at his feet.

  Your account at least tallies with my information,’ said Lord Thaume after a pause. ‘That does not make your conduct any more excusable, but it helps me to establish the facts. I will consider your punishment later, and indeed that of Eilla, from whom I would have expected better. Meanwhile, I must turn to Arren. What have you to say, boy?’

  Arren swallowed hard. ‘It is all lies, my lord.’

  ‘Lies? You call my daughter a liar?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Your evasions only magnify your offence. My daughter has admitted this shameful misalliance in front of us all. It is she who is degraded. Can you not be a gentleman and confess your own deeds?’

  ‘The account is false, my lord.’

  Lord Thaume’s mouth pinched into an almost invisible line.

  ‘You have not deflowered my daughter? Such matters can be verified with ease, if little dignity.’

  ‘No, my lord,’ said Arren, conscious that he was forked in an inescapable trap. The truth would not save him either.

  ‘Mistress Eulalia will be brought forth to assess Lady Siedra’s virginity. I hope you are man enough to deny her this ordeal.’

  ‘If she is not pure, my lord, the fault may not be mine.’

  ‘Impudent whelp!’ roared Lord Thaume, rising from his seat and striking Arren in the face. ‘You deflower my daughter, debauch her repeatedly, deny that you have done so, and seek to portray her as a wanton. And to think that I took you into my home, raised you from your miserable birth, gave you every advantage and education. This is how you repay me. Be assured that no one mocks Lord Thaume in this way! Your punishment will be swift and harsh.’

  Master Coppercake stepped forward. ‘My lord, may I speak?’

  Lord Thaume looked at him in surprise. ‘Your counsel is always to be valued.’

  ‘In my lore of mathematics we speak often of proofs. One fact is laid upon another in such a way that deeper truths are revealed, and that which we may only suspect is proved.’

  ‘This is not the time for a mathematics lesson, Copper-cake.’

  ‘My point, my lord, is that notions of proof apply to life as well. You do not, in this case, have what I would consider a proof. You have two sets of “facts”, Lady Siedra’s account, and Arren’s. They are contradictory, and at most one set can be true. You have no means for distinguishing which is correct.’

  ‘Have I not? I find Arren waiting in my viatory, which I have explicitly forbidden him; my daughter pleads illness and then trips forth to meet him; her maid coming to me with the tale of what I would find, and her suppositions being borne out. The evidence is strong.’

  ‘But not conclusive, my lord.’

  Arren, if your account is true, can you explain Siedra’s motives?’

  Arren looked back gloomily. If he said that it was spite and jealousy because he had thrown her over, it would go no better for him than Siedra’s fabrication. The essential offence was that he had deflowered her; she had simply arranged events so that Lord Thaume would learn of it.

  ‘Perhaps, my lord, she thinks that if she is held to be no maid, Duke Panarre’s family will not wish to pursue the match.’

  ‘Panarre is not so choosy, especially where dowries are concerned. I give Siedra credit for more sense, and more honesty. Everyone seems to have an opinion: Sir Langlan, what of you?’

  Sir Langlan shrugged. ‘Truth is hardly to the point here. Tonight you must judge your daughter a liar, or Arren. You cannot do anything but believe Siedra, since otherwise you ruin her. That is “truth”.’

  Lord Thaume looked at him sourly. ‘You do not credit my integrity highly.’

  Sir Langlan gave a half-smile. ‘Think rather that I esteem your statecraft.’

  ‘Oricien, have you any light to shed?’

  Oricien looked hard at both Siedra and Arren. ‘I have observed recently a partiality on Siedra’s part for Arren. I thought it nothing but a fancy. Today I mentioned it, almost in jest, to Arren, and his reaction was extreme and alarmed. Now I understand why.’

  Lord Thaume shot his cuffs. ‘I have heard enough. Arren, there can be no doubt of your acts, and your lack of shame and remorse. Siedra is equally guilty; however, she has at least acknowledged her acts, and the range of sanctions I may take against my own daughter is limited. As far as your own culpability goes, gelding is the most appropriate punishment. Clearly you have not forced Siedra against her will, so the noose goes too far. Your immoderate lusts, however, demand suppression.’

  ‘No!’ bellowed Arren. His bowels turned to water. ‘I beg you, not that!’

  Lord Thaume rose from his seat and his hand dropped to his sword-belt. Arren looked around in desperation. Lord Thaume drew his sword.

  ‘My lord!’ cried Arren. ‘Have mercy!’

  ‘Silence,’ said Lord Thaume in a clipped voice. ‘Your father would not beg so.’

  He put his sword on the floor and spun it on the hilt boss. The sword circled three or four times, coming to rest with the point facing the altar.

  ‘I am mindful of the great service your father has given me; also of your own valour on the battlefield, and your role in uncovering Guigot’s treachery. On this occasion, I am inclined to mercy. Your sentence, then, is exile, on pain of death. You see that the sword points north. You will be taken from the Traitors’ Gate, with a gallumpher and provisions for three days. You are required to ride in the direction of the sword until you quit my territory. Any man of Croad who sees you has my leave to kill you on the spot.’

  Arren’s legs felt weak. He was not to be gelded, but exile was a cruel blow. He thought of Eilla, even now waiting at The Patient Suitor.

  ‘In addition,’ said Lord Thaume, ‘I must judge the case of the girl Eilla, whom I defended against the Lord High Viator at the jeopardy of my own rule. Words cannot express the depth of her betrayal. I will spin the sword again, and she too must follow it to exile: and le
st Arren should be tempted to follow her, I will not carry out the sentence until tomorrow.’

  ‘My lord,’ said Coppercake. ‘You rule in defiance of the evidence, and surely Eilla has a right to speak in her own defence.’

  ‘Enough, Coppercake. I heard your counsel, and have given it weight. Nonetheless, my sentence stands. Arren and Eilla are both clearly guilty of the offences in question, and further debate will not alter the nature of their betrayal of their true lord.’

  ‘I cannot serve such a lord,’ said Coppercake. ‘Good and bad are mingled in you to an unusual degree. The viators have much work to bring you to Harmony.’

  You may leave my service at any time, Master Coppercake. I am no tyrant.’

  ‘I used to think not, my lord.’

  There was a silence as Lord Thaume considered his options. All present were aware that violence was one of them.

  ‘You will know best whether your wages are in arrears,’ he said in a tight voice. ‘Apply to Cyngier for any shortfall before you leave.’

  ‘I have always ensured I was paid in advance, my lord. I can no longer with dignity serve you; by your leave I will accompany Arren.’

  Lord Thaume raised his eyebrows. ‘So be it.’ He rose from his seat. ‘Fleuraume, accompany Arren yourself, with ten of your best men. I will not have a repeat of Guigot’s escape.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  As Arren was led away by the guards he passed Siedra. She looked him in the eye and her mouth twisted into a sneering smile. She pursed her lips into a kiss as he was marched past. She had her revenge: not just on Arren, but on Eilla too.

  15

  Croad

  1

  Beauceron heard sounds below and looked out from the window of The Patient Suitor across the river. Virnesto heard the noise and walked across to join him.

  ‘What is happening?’ asked Virnesto.

  ‘It sounds like a battle-horn,’ said Beauceron steadily. ‘Surely Oricien cannot mean to fight.’