Dragontiarna: Knights

by Moeller, Jonathan

  Niall looked bewildered. A faint smile went over Rhiain’s face. She realized what Ridmark had done, though Niall hadn’t quite worked it out yet.

  “My lord,” said Simon, scowling, “this is…”

  “Additionally,” said Ridmark, “Lady Antenora’s husband, Sir Gavin, holds lands in the Northerland. He is looking for freeholders to settle in his benefice, for most of its original inhabitants were killed or driven out during the war against the Frostborn. I shall write a letter of introduction, and charter one of the merchant barges that travel up the River Moradel from Tarlion to Marhosk. Any man or woman of Ebor who wishes to travel to the Northerland in search of a new home aboard that barge may do so.”

  “This is outrageous!” sputtered Simon, spots of harsh color appearing on his gaunt cheeks. “This is an insult to the dignity of the Monastery of St. Bartholomew. We have suffered loss…”

  “I have compensated you for this loss,” said Ridmark. “You have suffered nothing more than inconvenience…”

  “The abbot demands vengeance!” said Simon.

  “Vengeance?” said Ridmark. “Vengeance, prior? I am not a priest or a bishop, but I cannot recall the Dominus Christus instructing the apostles to take vengeance upon anyone.”

  “The Comes is correct,” said Bishop Belasco, turning a smile that was somehow both beatific and smug towards Simon. “As I recall, in fact, the Dominus Christus said that if a man demands your cloak, give your tunic as well. I frankly doubt anyone wants to see us unclad,” a murmur of surprised laughter went through the hall, “but if we do not surrender our cloaks, perhaps the monks of the monastery could join us in distributing alms to the men of Ebor?”

  Simon whirled to face the bishop, a dark light in his eyes. For a moment, Ridmark thought the prior was going to fling himself on Belasco, and his hand twitched towards Oathshield’s hilt. But Simon seemed to come back to himself, a calculating look flashing through his eyes as he regained control.

  “This is an outrage,” said Simon at last, his voice calm but his face tight with anger. “This is an insult to the monastery. The abbot shall hear of this at once. He will inform the archbishop of Tarlion of your lawless perfidy.”

  “Lawless?” said Ridmark. “You have been compensated for your losses. Or you will be, anyway, if you stop talking long enough for us to settle on the details. Go to your monastery’s bursar, find the value of the taken beasts, and you will receive remuneration.”

  “The abbot will be informed of this,” said Simon.

  Ridmark repressed the urge to sigh. This was going to complicate the other task High King Arandar had given him. “Then I suggest that you go inform him.”

  Without another word, Simon whirled and stalked towards the monastery doors. The top of his head, visible through the tonsure, had turned red with anger. The other monks fell in around Simon, and Ridmark watched as they strode into the forum on their way to the monastery.

  He felt a headache starting behind his eyes.

  “Are there any further petitions?” he said to Flavius.

  “No, my lord,” said Flavius. “All the cases have been addressed.”

  “Very good,” said Ridmark. “I will hear no more petitions today. Go and enjoy the market day.”

  With that, he rose, and the court was over. The crowds began filtering out through the doors to the courtyard and heading back into the town. Ridmark spotted the blond woman as she headed for the gate to the forum, moving with a quick, determined stride. Once again, Ridmark had the overwhelming feeling he knew her from somewhere. Annoyed with himself, he pushed the entire matter from his mind. He must have seen her during one of his previous visits to Castarium and forgotten about her, and he had more urgent matters to consider.

  He walked to join Calliande, Flavius following him.

  “That was nicely handled, I think,” said Caius.

  Valmark grunted. “The abbot will be furious with you.”

  “The abbot is always furious about something,” said Ridmark. “I suspect the man has little else to do other than to complain.” And, of course, to scheme to become an advisor to the next High King of Andomhaim. He turned to Flavius. “Gather together whatever is a generous price for two sheep and a pig and take the money from the strong box. I’m going to go see the abbot at once and put an end to this matter. Oh, and have Vegetius and three of the men-at-arms waiting for me with horses at the gate. I’ll leave as soon as you have the money.”

  “My lord,” said Flavius, and he turned and hurried away.

  “The abbot will be furious,” said Caius, “but he won’t be able to do anything about it. You are going to cover their losses, so he will have no reasonable cause for a grievance. If he complains to the archbishop of Tarlion, he will look petty and unreasonable.”

  “Yes, God forbid he expose his true character to the archbishop,” said Ridmark.

  “A moment,” said Calliande. “I want to speak with Ridmark.”

  Ridmark nodded, and he and Calliande walked back to the dais, out of earshot of the others.

  “You're going to talk to Accolon,” said Calliande, voice quiet. “That’s the real reason you’re going now, isn’t it?”

  “Aye,” said Ridmark. “I promised Arandar that I would. Hopefully, I can talk some sense into the boy.”

  “He’s not a boy, Ridmark,” said Calliande. “Not anymore. He’s a man, and he made his choices…and now he’s having a hard time living with those choices.”

  “Maybe,” said Ridmark. “But if I know anything, it’s how to deal with grief badly. And he is not handling his well.”

  “Should I come with you?” said Calliande.

  Ridmark hesitated and then shook his head. “No, not yet. I’ll have a hard enough time bullying my way in to see Accolon. If I bring you with me, the abbot will claim I brought a woman to tempt the brothers of the cloister to lust.”

  Calliande raised an eyebrow. “Under other circumstances, that would be flattering, to think that I am still fair enough to lure a monk into breaking his vows.”

  “I had the business of the Comes to conduct today,” said Ridmark, “and I would rather have slipped off with you than spend the morning listening to complaints.”

  Calliande laughed. “That’s almost as flattering.” Her smile faded. “But I think you should bring Caius and Kharlacht with you. Accolon knows them. They fought alongside you during the year you were Queen Mara’s magister militum. Perhaps Accolon will listen to them.”

  “That’s a good idea,” said Ridmark. “All right. I’ll bring them with me.”

  “I’ll stay here.” She glanced to the side. “And I’ll suggest to Antenora that she sit down before she examines that dagger any further.” Antenora had held up the dagger to the light and was gazing at it with intense concentration. “Gavin says she sometimes forgets to eat if she becomes engrossed in something. Oh, and I think you had better decide what to do with Niall before you go.”

  Ridmark glanced to the side. Niall still stood before the dais, looking stunned, one of the men-at-arms standing over him. His aunt Rhiain hovered next to him, trying not to look relieved and failing at it.

  “Yes, I should,” said Ridmark.

  Calliande flashed him a quick smile. “Duties, my love. There never seems to be an end of them.” She rejoined Antenora and the children, and Ridmark walked to join Niall.

  Rhiain saw him coming and gripped her skirts and did a passable imitation of a deep Cintarran curtsy. “My lord Ridmark. Thank you for my nephew’s life. I wasn’t expecting…”

  Ridmark shrugged. “Theft is a serious matter, but there were extenuating circumstances, and the crime was hardly worth execution.”

  “Niall’s an honest man, Lord Ridmark,” said Rhiain. “He’ll work until his debt is paid.”

  “I will, my lord,” said Niall. He took a deep breath, seeming to steady himself. “Whatever you ask of me.”

  “What skills do you have?” said Ridmark. Come to think of it, he thought Niall
might make a good man-at-arms. The boy – the young man – had good balance, and he looked to be in sound health. And if he had survived the attack of the red orcs on the road, that meant he had excellent instincts on how to handle himself in a fight. Perhaps once the debt was paid off, Ridmark would offer to make Niall into a man-at-arms. It would be worth it, just to annoy Abbot Caldorman.

  Niall shrugged. “We were farmers, my lord. I know a little bit of everything – some carpentry, how to sow crops, how to handle beasts, how to look after myself. But I’m not afraid of hard work.”

  “I can see that,” said Ridmark.

  “Will you truly write to this Sir Gavin of the Northerland and ask him to let the folk of Ebor settle upon his benefice?” said Rhiain.

  “I shall,” said Ridmark. “Sir Gavin is a friend of mine, and he’ll listen to me. The Northerland needs men and women who aren’t afraid of hard work. I will write a letter this afternoon, and you can leave tomorrow if you wish it.”

  “I will talk with the others,” said Rhiain, “but for myself, I won’t leave while Niall is still here.”

  “Well, perhaps we can find something for you to do as well,” said Ridmark. Flavius joined him and passed over a small leather pouch filled with copper and silver coins. Ridmark opened it, grimaced at the amount, and tucked it into his belt. “Flavius, do you have some work for Niall around here?”

  “Oh, aye,” said Flavius, giving Niall a level look. “We always need extra hands in the kitchen. Feeding all those men-at-arms is a lot of work. And the stable master needs a new assistant. You have any experience with horses?”

  “Some,” said Niall. “Mostly plow horses.”

  “Better than nothing,” said Flavius. “Come along. You too, Mistress Rhiain. We can find something for you to do.”

  They left, and Kharlacht and Caius joined Ridmark.

  “Calliande said you wanted us to accompany you?” said Caius.

  “Aye,” said Ridmark. “I’m going to pay the abbot for his beasts, but I’m also going to talk to Accolon. It might go better if you come with me.”

  Kharlacht gave a shake of his head. “The boy’s got himself worked up over nothing if you ask me.”

  “A suicide is hardly nothing,” said Caius.

  “It’s not,” said Kharlacht. “But he didn’t tell that girl to hang herself, did he? It wasn’t as if he would turn her out in the street, he’s not that kind of man. With a royal bastard in her belly, she could have had a comfortable living for the rest of her days.”

  “That’s a harsh way of looking at it,” said Caius.

  Kharlacht shrugged. “Sensible, if you ask me. I think the orcs of Rhaluusk are more reasonable about these things than humans. If a man of Rhaluusk sees a woman he likes, he takes another wife. Then he’s obliged to support both his wives. None of this sneaking about with mistresses and bastards.”

  “Remind me again,” said Caius, “how many other wives you took after you married Mhaljaka?”

  “None.” Kharlacht snorted. “You’ve met her. She wouldn’t stand for it. And I couldn’t take a second wife. Mhaljaka would terrorize the poor girl to the point of madness.”

  “The women would kill each other, a fine argument for monogamy,” said Ridmark. “Let’s go.”

  He led the way into the castra’s courtyard, Kharlacht and Caius following him. Vegetius and three men-at-arms waited near the gate to the forum, holding horses ready. Ridmark started towards them, intending to have Vegetius get two more horses for Caius and Kharlacht.

  “Papa!”

  Startled, Ridmark turned and saw Rhoanna running towards him, a smile on her face. For someone who had only learned to walk not all that long ago and still tended to waddle, she could move fast when she set her mind to it. Her nurse Lucilla, a stout woman towards the later end of middle age, jogged after her, puffing and wheezing a little bit.

  Ridmark picked up Rhoanna, and she laughed in delight.

  “I’m sorry, my lord, I’m sorry,” said Lucilla, coming to a stop, still wheezing. Lucilla had raised three daughters of her own, all of them now married, but evidently, none of them had liked to run quite as much as Rhoanna. “She was so restless and crabby, so I took her out to the courtyard for a walk. She seemed to like that and was watching all the folk go out to the market. Then she saw you, and…”

  “It’s all right,” said Ridmark. The poor woman all but wilted with relief. Ridmark’s fearsome reputation sometimes meant people were more frightened of him than necessary. “No harm done. But let’s not mention this to her mother, hmm?”

  “Thank you, my lord,” said Lucilla, getting her breath back.

  “Well, young lady,” said Caius, his voice grave. “It seems you like to run quite fast.”

  Rhoanna gazed at him. “Friar!” She looked around, as if expecting Joachim to spell out the word, and then pouted in disappointment when he failed to appear.

  “Bishop, actually,” said Kharlacht.

  Rhoanna tilted back her head to look at him. “Orc!”

  Kharlacht snorted in amusement. “I’d noticed, yes.”

  “I can take her, my lord, if you have business,” said Lucilla.

  “I do,” said Ridmark. Hesitation gripped him. He did have business, but he wasn’t looking forward to any of it. The temptation to simply ignore everything and spend the day with his wife and children surged through him. But, as Calliande had just told him, duties never ended. “Thank you. We…”

  “Dragon,” said Rhoanna, pointing at the keep.

  “Dragon?” said Ridmark, looking at the sky as she shifted Rhoanna to one arm, his other hand reaching for Oathshield’s hilt. He remembered the Confessor’s mighty golden dragon soaring over the army of Owyllain, breathing its terrible fire, hundreds of men screaming as their flesh ignited like kindling. God and the saints, the smell had been hideous…

  The sky was empty of everything except clouds.

  At once, Ridmark felt ridiculous. He was jumping out of his skin at the word of a two-year-old girl who tended to babble words at random without regard to their meaning. Nevertheless, he still took a quick scan of the sky and the town.

  Nothing seemed amiss. There was no sign of anything wrong, let alone any dragons.

  “Dragon?” said Lucilla. “Why, young mistress, I have no idea where you learned such frightful words. I’m sorry, my lord.”

  “I’ve spent years around soldiers,” said Ridmark. “I’ve heard much worse.”

  “Sleepy,” said Rhoanna. She yawned, closed her eyes, and rested her face against Ridmark’s shoulder, and her warm weight went limp in his arm. Running through the courtyard must have tired her out. Ridmark passed his daughter to Lucilla.

  “I’ll put her down for a nap, my lord,” said Lucilla. “And again, I am sorry…”

  “There is nothing to be sorry for,” said Ridmark. “Getting interrupted by my daughter on a day like this is an unexpected pleasure, not a burden.”

  Lucilla smiled and took the sleeping Rhoanna back towards the keep.

  “I wonder why she said dragon,” said Kharlacht.

  Caius shrugged. “Surely, that is no mystery. She must have been talking about Ridmark.”

  “Me?” said Ridmark.

  “You were the Dragon Knight, all Andomhaim knows that,” said Caius. “Children at Rhoanna’s age are like a sponge. They soak up everything they hear and repeat it back to you.” A wistful look went over his face. “Usually at the least appropriate time imaginable.”

  “Just as well she didn’t do that during court,” said Ridmark. “No doubt Prior Simon would have taken it as a personal insult.” He glanced towards the spires of the monastery’s church to the northwest. “Speaking of the monastery, let’s get this over with.”

  ***

  Chapter 4: Penance

  A short ride took Ridmark and his companions through the streets of Castarium to the gate of the Monastery of St. Bartholomew.

  The monastery had two gates to its courtyard. One opened
into the northwest corner of Castarium’s outer wall. The second was in the monastery’s curtain wall and led outside of the town. The town gate was sturdy, built of thick planks of oak bound in iron. Vegetius pounded on the gate with the hilt of his sword until the doorkeeper opened it.

  “Aye?” The doorkeeper was a stout monk with a fleshy face and a suspicious expression. “What do you want?”

  “The Comes of Castarium is here to speak with Abbot Caldorman,” said Vegetius. “Fetch him at once.”

  The doorkeeper scowled but offered a polite nod. “I’ll summon the abbot. He’ll want to meet with your lord. I’ll take you to him myself. Boy!” He gestured to a skinny young man in the robe of a novice. “Run and fetch the abbot, tell him that Lord Ridmark is here. Be quick about it.” The novice sprinted off, and the doorkeeper beckoned. “This way, my lord.”

  Ridmark and the others followed the monk into the courtyard. At other monasteries Ridmark had visited, the gates remained open during the day, allowing visitors to pray in the monastery’s church. That also allowed the nearby villagers and townsmen to make use of the monastic hospitals and guest houses.

  The Monastery of St. Bartholomew was closed up like a miser’s strongbox.

  Ridmark rode into the courtyard, looking around. The courtyard was a large, grassy space, several times larger than the yard of the castra, though it wasn’t paved. He saw the great stone church at the center of the monastery, the cloister walk that led to the dormitory and the great hall. There were also the outbuildings that supported a monastic community – a forge, a kitchen, a bakery, a laundry, a kiln. A monastery like this would be almost self-supporting, with the brothers making almost everything they needed, and sustenance coming from the lands held by the monastery outside the walls.

  Everything looked to be of the highest quality, and all the monks Ridmark saw were stout, some of them verging on gross obesity. It was a common perception that many of the monasteries of southern Andomhaim, especially those in Taliand, had gone soft, that they had become so rich and influential that the monks acted more like secular lords rather than attending to the work of God. Based on what he had seen of Abbot Caldorman and his monastery, Ridmark was beginning to suspect that spiritual apathy had set in deep.