Conflict and Courage (30 page)

He did not get
a reply.

“You maintain
contact still with the human named Snodgrass?” asked the
Largan.

“Yes I do,”
answered Aoalvaldr. “He has tried to hide his mind from me but
failed. He will come when I call, he cannot resist. Humans have
such weak minds.”

“Summon him to
the edge of the human land. Go there to him and bring him to me.
This Snodgrass must take our demands to their Largan.”

“They call
their Largan a King,” said Aoalvaldr, “but the real power lies with
the man called Baker.

“That is of no
import,” uttered the Largan. He cocked his head to one side as if
pondering deeply.

“You know much
about these humans?”

“I have learned
some of their language and keep my eyes and ears open,” answered
Aoalvaldr with a bow. “Some humans think of me as a friend.”

“The north,”
the Largan pressed, “you have learned much?”

“Enough to know
where an attack will succeed.”

“Attack?” the
Largan sounded amused.

“Is that not
why I was brought back?” asked Aoalvaldr.

The Largan
gazed at him through speculative eye.

“I will know
more of this,” he announced.

His gaze
perused the Larg around him.

“All but
Aoalvaldr will leave me,” he barked.

They left with
reluctance, but with promptitude demonstrating that the Largan, old
that he was, was still absolute ruler.

Aoalvaldr the
Larg left the Largan in high spirits some time later.

He had been
offered much more than he had any right to, disgraced commander
that he was.

True, he was
not to lead the kohorts of the main army into battle, but perhaps
the command he had been given was better. It certainly contained
many possibilities.

If he succeeded
and he had every intention of doing so, he would take his rightful
place at the Largan’s side.

Bvdmaldr
watched him pass, his mind filled with dark thoughts.

* * * * *

The northern
leaders were not unaware of what was happening in the southern
continent.

“
Duchesne
does not wish for war, but he is the only one who thinks this and
fears it will not be long in coming. Be on your guard. The Lindars
are on standby.”

Thus Jim
Cranston wrote to the Councillors in Argyll.

He sighed as he
sealed the envelope and placed it on top of the pile of despatches
and looked up as Winston Randall entered the daga.

“News?” asked
his visitor, “I heard you had returned.”

Jim decided not
to mince his words. Winston was a pragmatist; he would not
panic.

“This summer.
There will be war by summer.”

Winston sat
down, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“I had hoped,”
he began, then lapsed into silence.

“Duchesne says
it will be this year. He also calculates that Murdoch can field an
army of around six thousand, though it would virtually denude their
land of the able-bodied. He is worried that it will leave the Larg
free to roam where they will within his borders, not that it
matters to Baker, Cocteau and the rest,” continued Jim, “the
pirates must be reporting perceived weaknesses in our defences,
they know it will be their last chance of a major assault.”

“The Larg?”

“Duchesne does
not know for sure but says the Larg are pressing Baker to make this
move on Argyll, they know they have little hope of success on their
own. Seems he heard it from Baker himself.”

“If they attack
in large enough numbers they will swarm us under.”

“I think,” said
Jim, “that the Larg will find the fortifications this side of the
island chain virtually impossible to breach without help from
Baker’s men. My worry is that they will decide to attack somewhere
else.”

“Everyone knows
that there is nowhere else,” protested Winston, “the island chain
is the only way across the sea.”

“They have
boats. Look at how the pirates manage.”

Winston
dismissed this, shaking his head.

“They would
need too many sea-going vessels which we know they don’t have. The
majority of their craft, except for the pirate galleys, as you have
told me time and time again, can only be used in inland waters and
for river passage. What other news?”

“Duchesne is
scared. The assassination of Brentwood rattled him and there have
been other developments.”

“Go on.”

“Lord Baker has
arranged the betrothals between the children. It’s his solution to
keeping the peace. It appears that Baker is pressing Duchesne for a
betrothal of his eldest son to one of Baker’s daughters as a means
to cement their ‘friendship’. Duchesne is not at all keen on the
idea but is caught between the cleft and the deep blue sea. If he
agrees to the betrothal, he believes Baker might well assassinate
him. Pierre’s eldest is only eight and Baker would be the obvious
guardian. Of course, if he rejects the proposal, Baker is likely to
have him killed anyway.”

“What will he
do?” asked Winston.

“Reports are
that he wants to move north to us,” answered Jim, “and bring as
many of his people with him as want to come.”

“Any news of
Anne Howard?” asked Winston. “Louis is engaged to her daughter
Cherry and she is sure to ask when I see her.”

“Pregnant and
sick and Duchesne is unlikely to learn much more. He thinks to
refuse to attend the ceremonies at Fort.

“Ceremonies?”

“The crowning
and betrothals. Duchesne has been ordered to bring his eldest son,
Jacques I think his name is, I have a gut feeling that the boy will
become unexpectedly ill, Duchesne fears Baker will insist the boy
is left with him at Fort as a hostage to his father’s good
behaviour.”

“Keep me
informed,” said Winston, “I have to get back to Janice, she will
have my ducks for garters if I am not around when Brian and Emily
arrive home with our first grandchild. Will you be along later
Jim?”

“I’ll try,” Jim
promised.

* * * * *

Chaos reigned
supreme in the royal palace at Fort.

Lord Regent Sam
Baker had decreed that eight-year-old King Elliot, first King of
Murdoch, was to be crowned as soon as it could be arranged.

He planned a
stupendous ceremony.

Servants and
slaves ran to and fro, making sure everything was as it should be,
for all the Lords were invited. Guest suites were being prepared
and provision made for the retainers who could not be accommodated
in the Fort complex itself.

The guardsmen
at Fort spent many hours ‘spitting and polishing’ for they would be
much in evidence during the proceedings, for Lord Regent Baker, to
whom the regiments had sworn a personal oath of loyalty, was to use
the occasion to remind his fellow Lords of his personal power and
wealth.

A special area
to one side of the palace was set-aside for their out-kingdom
guests, not even the hardiest of the army veterans wished to share
lodgings with the Larg delegation.

As well as the
actual crowning, the next day would see the formal betrothal
promises between the children of the Lords of Murdoch and more
importantly the signing by the Lords of the all important marriage
treaty documents.

Sam Baker was
going to force cohesion and unity of purpose on this disparate land
the only way he knew how.

He had arranged
matters so that his and Anne’s children would marry into five of
the noble houses; his only regret being that he could not marry his
eldest daughter to the young king, but even the other Lords had
demurred at a marriage between a half-brother and sister.

Still, married
to Anne left him in control of the king and he knew that, with the
marriage of Elliot to Lord Smith’s eldest daughter and heir, he
would control that Lordship as well, Smith being the oldest of the
Lords and growing frailer with each passing day.

Lord Sam Baker
left the seneschal, a veteran of his regiment, to finish the
preparations and strode towards his wife’s apartments, well pleased
at how his schemes were panning out.

He was not best
pleased to see Andrew Snodgrass awaiting him. The man’s presence
could mean one thing only; the Larg wished further
conversation.

For Sam Baker,
unbeknownst to the other Lords, had made a secret pact with the
Largan and the time was fast approaching when these plans would be
set in motion. If all went well, his position and those of his
heirs would become unassailable. With his eldest son heir to his
own Lordship of Baker, his second son already installed in
Brentwood and betrothed to the assassinated Lord’s only daughter,
he was in a strong position and knew it. When old Smith died and
that day was fast approaching, he would be in de facto control not
only of Baker, Brentwood and Smith, but also of the King’s own
demesne in the desert expanse of Sahara.

Four out of the
eight Lordships was a lot, but it was still not enough for him; he
was more than aware that he did not have a majority in the
Conclave. This galled the ambitious Lord Regent.

As well as
this, Henri Cocteau, his staunch supporter from the first days had
been showing signs of dissatisfaction. The crusty Lord Gardiner
followed Cocteau’s lead in most things and where van Buren’s
loyalties lay was anybody’s guess.

And Lord Pierre
Duchesne in his distant northeastern Lordship, well, Sam Baker was
most displeased with his antics to date. His lands were prosperous,
arguably the most prosperous of them all, with its tracts of arable
land and dense forests. It was also of immense tactical importance
being situated so close to the island chain, the only known
land-route into Argyll.

Sam Baker hated
Pierre Duchesne.

The feeling was
mutual.

Duchesne had
made a point of resisting every one of Sam’s overtures of
friendship and made it quite clear that he both disliked and
distrusted the Lord Regent.

So Sam Baker
had a lot to think about as he approached the Larg emissary, one of
the handful of humans in Murdoch in telepathic rapport with their
Larg allies. Andrew Snodgrass was mind-linked with one Aoalvaldr,
whom Sam Baker remembered from the south’s abortive attack on the
north eight years before. Aoalvaldr was central to Sam Baker’s
plans for Duchesne.

Sam Baker was
playing a dangerous game.

“Aoalvaldr
sends you greetings,” Andrew welcomed the Lord Regent with a low
bow.

“He didn’t
really did he?” Sam growled.

Andrew
shrugged, “and says that the kohorts are on their way. The advance
party has been transported to the staging area. He wishes
reassurance that the regiments will be in place when the time
comes.”

“Our advance
party left yesterday,” answered Sam.

“Aoalvaldr will
be pleased. The Lords did not object?”

“Didn’t say a
thing,” admitted Sam, “and as it is my own three regiments who are
taking part in this escapade of Aoalvaldr’s it’s no skin off their
noses.”

Andrew looked
surprised.

There was a
pause as he communicated this to Aoalvaldr.

“Well?”

“I am to go to
him,” said Andrew.

He made another
bow as he took his leave.

“Aoalvaldr’s
part of the bargain?” growled Sam at his retreating back.

“The kohort
will be in place,” answered Andrew after a somewhat longer pause,
“and it will move with the new moon.”

“When he looked
up, Andrew was gone.

Sam carried on
with his interrupted walk. Anne was near her time now; he hoped she
wouldn’t drop the child during the coronation. The sight of a
heavily pregnant woman did not do anything for Sam and the years
had not been kind to his wife. Since the birth of King Elliot and
his twin sister Princess Ruth, eight years ago, Anne had given Sam
five children and was pregnant with her sixth.

In fact, he
calculated as he reached the door, this would be his wife’s
eleventh child and that was not counting the miscarriages.

He took a deep
breath as he turned the handle. As mother of the young king and as
Lady Baker, Anne had attained a certain position within the Kingdom
and it would be politic to at least be seen to accord her the
respect due to her rank.

Sam Baker had
long regretted the political necessity of taking Anne
Murdoch-Howard as his lawfully wedded wife. Almost constantly
pregnant since that day, her body becoming more shapeless and
unattractive and now, so her doctor informed him, ill, with a
constant racking cough which made each breath she took a painful
one as the disease that was killing her inched its way through her
lungs.

As expected,
Anne was resting on her daybed. Her indomitable spirit broken at
last, she had spent the last months of this pregnancy lying
flat.

She lay still
and listless as he approached her, moderating his more usual loud
tone for one more in keeping to a husband visiting his sick wife
and mother of his heirs.

Cara, Arthur’s
trainee nurse was sponging her forehead. She was, Sam Baker noted
in surprise, dressed entirely in white, from head to toe, even her
hair was covered in the white material. The doctor was standing at
the head of the bed taking Anne’s pulse.

“She is
drifting in and out of sleep,” whispered the old doctor.

“The
child?”

“The baby is
not due for another two weeks but I fear it will not be long now,”
Arthur Kurtheim replied. “She did feel some pains earlier today,
but it was a false alarm. I’ve given her a small dose to help her
rest. She will need all her strength and has little to spare.”