by Robin Hardy
“As you wish, Chataine,” he said uneasily. The troops moved forward in tension to the palace gates, which stood ajar. Without waiting to be instructed, several soldiers dismounted and opened them wide. The army rode in.
The front courtyard was as deserted and clean as the town—with one difference. “There are bloodstains here,” Roman remarked, nodding toward the ground. “There has been fighting.”
“But no bodies,” Galapos mused.
A moment later the soldier he had sent into town hurried up. “Commander—I went into every shop and store—they’re all empty. But goods and tools are in place, for the most part. Nothing seems to be wrecked or stolen, but the folk are gone.”
A light began to glimmer. For the first time in an hour, Galapos showed his sly smile. “They got wind of his coming and escaped. Well done!”
Roman lowered the one brow and arched the other. “If that’s so, it doesn’t explain why Tremaine would pass over the town untouched. Nor the empty grounds here.”
“True, I don’t know what happened here. But why should Tremaine bother with the town’s spoil on his way to crush us? After we were done with, his men could pick it over at leisure. First things first, my boy.” Dismounting as he spoke, Galapos then gave instructions for the care of the horses and the salvaged gear. Also, he sent a group of soldiers into the palace to scout it out.
Galapos and Roman remained outside, and were examining the grounds in the deepening twilight when the soldiers sent to the Village Branch returned. “Commander,” said one, “the village is deserted but untouched. There’s no trace of fighting. We didn’t see anyone until we were leaving, then Varan here spotted a boy watching us from behind a hut. When we saw him, he fled, and we lost him. It struck us odd that he didn’t appear to be a villager. He was wearing a Lystran uniform.”
“An errand boy?” Roman’s voice rose in hope.
“Perhaps, though neither of us could recognize him.” A pensive silence followed.
“What do you make of it, Galapos?” Roman asked.
The Commander stroked his moustache. “Nothing. He may be an isolated survivor who took a dead man’s uniform.”
“But then, who removed the dead or wounded from here? Tremaine’s men wouldn’t bother, would they?” demanded Roman.
“Certainly not,” Galapos assured him. “It is a puzzle.”
While they mused over this, the scouts appeared from within the palace, bringing out torches. The leader saluted Galapos. “Commander, the palace is empty. We found bloodstains and damage in the foyer and the great hall. There was a fierce fight here, to be sure. And the Surchatain’s treasury has been forcibly opened and robbed. There’s very little left—several hundred royals and some jewels.”
“No bodies? Anywhere?” queried Galapos.
“No, Commander. There’s been fighting, for certain, but there are no bodies.”
“There must be survivors, Galapos,” Roman declared with conviction. “What about the townspeople?”
Galapos shook his head forcefully. “Not them. If they were able to escape before Tremaine came through, they certainly would not return simply to bury the dead. It doesn’t make sense. And Tremaine was always too thorough to leave any surviving soldiers or courtiers.”
But then the men near the gates began shouting. Turning to look, Deirdre caught her breath and Galapos muttered, “Well, well!”
A line of Lystran soldiers and servants entered the gates led by a slim, grey-headed palace official and an errand boy. “I told you it was them; I told you!” the boy was declaring.
“Kevin! It is you! Thank God you’re alive!” Roman cried, sprinting toward him. He grabbed the boy’s shoulders and shook him in joy.
The official bowed to Galapos. “Commander Galapos, you cannot imagine our relief to see you and your troops return here. And Roman—how glad I am that the rumors proved true, that you are alive.”
“I know you,” Deirdre said abruptly, snapping out of thoughtful watching. “You’re the secretary to the overseer—what is your name again?”
“I am your humble servant Basil, Chataine,” he said, bowing. “Welcome home, my lady.”
There were renewed shouts and greetings as townspeople entered behind the servants, hailing the army as returning victors. Galapos glanced over them. “Basil, what happened here?”
“Commander, I’m not entirely certain, but I’ll tell you what I know. About three weeks ago—I cannot remember the exact day—I was overseeing the wheat harvest when I heard a tumult from within the palace. A palace guard, one of the Cohort, came out into the courtyard and announced a new Surchatain was ruling Lystra—Sereth, or Serep, I could not hear the name well—another of the Cohort, though, I’m sure. At any rate, he was holding an open audience immediately to declare himself ruler, and those of us who valued our lives had best show up to swear allegiance to him. Well, Commander, this all smelled of a treacherous coup, and I wanted no part of it—”
“Where in heaven were the soldiers? The standing army?” Roman demanded.
Basil opened his mouth in surprise, then shut it in conviction. “Then you did not know. The standing army was dissolved by the Surchatain some time ago.”
“What?” exclaimed Roman.
“Why?” grilled Galapos.
“Commander,” declared Basil, “in truth, I don’t know. The High Lord simply dismissed them as a unit—‘costly and unnecessary,’ was what the official decree said. He evidently believed the Cohort was all that was needed at Westford. I have since heard rumors that he doubted the soldiers’ loyalty. They could not believe it either—especially those owed back pay.”
“What did the Counselor say to this?” wondered Roman.
“As I recall, he openly opposed it,” Basil replied. “At any rate, most of the soldiers drifted away. A few stayed and attached themselves to some of the townspeople, to serve as protection. They are the ones with us now.” He gestured to the fifteen or so soldiers, still in uniform, behind him.
“What then?” pressed Galapos.
“Well, as I said, I didn’t care for rule by the Cohort. So I quietly gathered the servants under me, and we ran to the hillside caves to hide and watch. None of my people had seen any more than I had, and we none of us knew what had happened, though someone said he’d heard the Surchatain had been murdered.”
“Is Nanna with you?” Deirdre asked hopefully.
“No, Chataine; your nursemaid is not with us; I’m sorry,” Basil said.
As he was saying this, Galapos was whispering to Roman, “The messenger who brought us news of the fall of Westford—is he among us now?”
“No,” Roman answered. “He died shortly after delivering that message.” Galapos nodded in remembrance.
At that point a mild commotion at the rear of the crowd was heard. The people parted, laughing, for a horse which nosed its way to the front. It was a bay.
“Roman—!” exclaimed Deirdre, as the horse trotted up to the steps.
“The Bay Hunter!” Roman cried. “How—?” The horse nuzzled his master and Roman stroked his neck in bewilderment.
A servant stepped up, grinning. “Sir, when the Secretary took us from the palace, I ran by the stables to release your horse. We couldn’t take him with us to the caves, but I knew he’d be better off on his own than serving the Cohort. And I knew if you ever came back, he’d come back. You’ve always been good to me, so I thought, ‘Say, someone should give a thought to the Captain’s horse.’”
Heartened and amazed, Roman gazed at the fellow. “Thank you.”
A grin passed over Galapos’ face before he turned back to Basil. “Could you see anything from the caves?”
“From the precipice above, yes, Commander. Our lookout reported that the townspeople went into the palace for the audience and then came out again shortly. A number of them promptly packed up their families and drove out of town. And at nightfall, we could all see the windows of the great hall lighted as if for a fest. Kevin also spott
ed several of the Cohort leaving the grounds secretively, with bags packed on their animals.”
“From the treasury,” Roman whispered to Galapos.
“We posted a watch all through the night,” continued Basil, “as we feared they would notice some missing and come hunt us down. But we had little to fear from them. For in the last watch, our lookout spotted a terrible army approaching on the road from the north—Tremaine’s army. We sent men swiftly to gather up the remaining townspeople and bring them to the hills. Men went to the Village Branch also, to warn the villagers. The townspeople would not have them with us in the caves, so the holy man among the villagers took them toward the coast. We did not go knocking on the palace doors. I assumed that they, too, had lookouts.
“Well, Tremaine attacked the palace before daybreak and swept aside the unit on guard, from what we could see. Then he simply walked in. When he and his soldiers came out again, they stopped at the Village Branch to draw water before going north.
“We waited until they were well gone, then went to the palace to look for survivors. There was none. We buried the dead and returned to hiding to this day. We had not hoped to see you come marching back, but the people refused to leave their homes without fighting,” Basil related.
Galapos pensively scanned the proud faces behind Basil. “Did you find the Surchatain among the dead?”
“No, Commander. We found the Counselor, however,” Basil answered. Roman closed his eyes.
“Nanna?” Deirdre asked in a little girl’s voice.
“No, Chataine, we did not find her body, either.”
The questions ran dry and the crowd stilled. A mood of uncertainty began to spread upon them. By the light of the flickering, smoky torches, their eyes turned to the Commander in curiosity or apprehension. Galapos saw those eyes and perceived he must act immediately to gain their full trust.
Raising his voice to address the crowd at large, Galapos said, “I declare an open audience here and now to tell you the future of Lystra. Listen! I have accepted the title of Surchatain, to guide you into a future and a hope. All I require of you is to return to your homes and shops and work with me to restore Lystra to soundness. Anyone who has suffered loss and needs a livelihood, I will give a portion of the Surchatain’s fields to own and till for himself. Those who wish to resume service in the palace may do so, with the understanding that we cannot pay you, only feed and shelter you. We’ll have no slaves here. Anyone who stays and serves must do it of his own choice.”
He let them consider that a moment, then gestured to Basil. Startled, the secretary stepped forward. Galapos said, “Because of your actions, Basil, all these with you escaped Tremaine. Due to the prudence you showed, I appoint you as my Counselor, to benefit myself of your wisdom.” Basil went directly to his knees in an attitude of humble acceptance, and the group behind him cheered.
Galapos lifted him and placed him ceremoniously on his right. He continued to the people: “I wish also to announce the coming birth of my grandchild in the winter to my daughter, Deirdre, and her husband, Roman.” The claps and cheers attending this statement were muffled under startled whispers.
“And I have one last appointment to make. Roman—” Galapos turned to his Second, who instinctively went down to his knees on the palace steps before the new Surchatain. “Roman, your actions at the outpost opened the door to our salvation from an unbeatable enemy. For that reason alone—not because I have loved you from childhood and trained you for war, not because of the pride I feel in your skill and stature, but because of your conduct as a good and faithful soldier on all fronts do I appoint you as Commander of my army.” Roman closed his eyes and pressed his lips together in inexpressible thoughts.
Galapos added to the crowd: “Those of you who wish to hear how Tremaine was defeated, come now to the great hall and we’ll tell you.” The murmuring crowd flowed into the palace behind their newly appointed leaders.
Chapter 3
That evening, after relating the events at the outpost to the survivors of Westford, Galapos declared a feast for them all. Given a few silver pieces as wages, enough servants were found to serve the tables that night, though none had volunteered to remain longer. Galapos’ offer of land was too appealing, and who wished to stay a slave when the chains were unlocked?
Extra tables and chairs were found to seat all the guests in the banquet hall, and at once it was filled with laughing, chattering, good people, drinking in the refreshment of the hour. Galapos himself strolled through the hall, pausing to receive congratulations and heartfelt expressions of allegiance. He accepted it all graciously, warmly, yet with a reserve that commanded their utter respect.
Lord DuCange, the silversmith of Westford and a leader among the townspeople, placed himself in front of the new Surchatain to bow and say, “Surchatain Galapos, I speak for the town when I say we are united behind you. Now, I wish you to meet my son Lelan.” Galapos glanced at the young man who bowed to him. “I had thought, Surchatain,” continued the silversmith, “that he would make a fine addition to the Cohort.”
Galapos gagged in surprise and coughed to clear his throat. Then he calmly replied, “Lord DuCange, we have no Cohort any longer, and after the recent events, I am astounded that you think of starting one up again. If the young man desires service, I will be happy to put him in the standing army.”
DuCange darkened. “You should not judge the potential of the Cohort by its past members. With finer material to start with, it would be a finer unit.”
Galapos darkened. “I have seen from experience that honor and advancement must go to the men who have proved themselves worthy in the lowest positions.”
“No worthy man would serve as a slophand!” DuCange snapped.
Having stripped away the thin veneer of respect to expose the arrogance beneath, Galapos drew up his immense frame to address that as well. “You are speaking to one such man. Do you charge me with unworthiness?”
DuCange looked in sudden uneasiness at the shocked and scowling faces of soldiers standing near them and gulped, “Certainly not, Surchatain. Excuse us. Lelan—” Bowing, he and his son withdrew.
Galapos tightened his lips, knowing that there would be more and harder challenges to his authority in the near future. As he turned, another resident stopped him with a low bow: “Surchatain, may I introduce myself? I am Hylas. On behalf of Westford, allow me to express our utmost allegiance to you.” Galapos opened his mouth, but Hylas had not finished his speech: “And how it thrilled me to hear you are a believer. I am also, and it has grieved me to see the chapel in the palace closed off. Will you allow me to put it to use, to teach others the way of God?”
“You’re not a holy man,” Galapos hedged, seeing that he wore the shiny breeches and long coat of a successful merchant.
“No, Surchatain, just a man earnest toward Him,” Hylas admitted.
“Very well,” agreed Galapos. “I’ve learned that not all holy men wear rough robes.”
“Surchatain.” Hylas bowed gratefully. “I shall begin immediate preparations.” Galapos watched him hurry off, then turned toward where his children sat.
How right, Deirdre thought, watching him advance by degrees to the head table. It is so right for him to rule. He was born for this. She glanced across the table to Roman, who also was watching Galapos, and her heart bounced a little, as it tended to do whenever she looked at him. And he is all mine, she thought, feeling a little greed satisfied in her.
He looked across to her and smiled just slightly. When Galapos gained the table, they stood. As he sat, the people hastened to their chairs and sat. The hall grew still as they waited for the command to the servants to bring in the food.
But before Galapos could speak, Roman stood again and demanded, “Surchatain, may I speak?” Surprised by his formality, Galapos nodded. Roman picked up his goblet. “A toast in honor of our father and Surchatain. Galapos—may you rule long in peace and prosperity.”
The guests stood to the last o
ne. “Peace!” “Prosperity!” “And long life!” they echoed, and drank.
“You are a well-mannered, rogue, my boy,” Galapos laughed. Roman, pleased, sat again. “Now let us attend to more important matters. Dinner!” Galapos commanded with a laugh, and dishes promptly began arriving at the table.
“Ah!” He inhaled from the platter set before him and declared, “I never thought to taste veal again—peppered just so!” and he sneezed violently. A laugh went around and more dishes followed.
Deirdre smiled, considering how no one would dare to laugh at her father—the former Surchatain. Here, they did not fear to laugh, as it carried no disrespect. Galapos understood that their laughter sprang not from derision, but contentment. It was healthy and right.
Food continued to fill the table. Deirdre gathered a handful of plums from a generous platter, but turned up her nose at the chard. Roman observed, “It’s a wonderful thing to have so much to eat that one can be picky.” So she turned up her nose at him, too.
Roman averted his eyes. On his right, Kam coughed and turned to another soldier. After a hesitation, Galapos took Deirdre’s hand and said gently, “Be freer with good graces tonight, Chataine. Save rudeness for more deserving souls.”
She suddenly realized she had insulted Roman in front of the others with her haughty manner. Although burning with remorse, she could not bring herself to apologize to him openly. There was some part of her which still considered him her servant. Instead, she sat in silence the remainder of the noisy dinner, hoping that would show penance enough. Inwardly, she knew better. But she resisted the demands of her conscience until something soured within her.
The sulks were hers alone. The others around her were brimming with gladness—to be alive, to be free, to be eating and drinking—and they voiced it. Overhearing pieces of narrative as a soldier described Tremaine’s siege to some townspeople, Deirdre complained to herself, As if their lot was so bad—mine was worse. At least they could fight. I was a helpless captive!
She looked up, then, to see Roman studying her with concern, and blushed before she reasoned that he could not hear her thoughts.
