The Black Robe (The Sword and the Spell) (35 page)

Borman caught the look on Rastor’s face and didn’t like it at all. He knew and trusted the man more than anyone else, but he didn’t like that look. It was the look of a man who was becoming dangerous and perhaps the time had come when he should collar and cage him like a rabid hound, but not yet. He hadn’t taken everything that Rastor had to give, though he already had his replacement lined up for when that moment arrived.

He put his hand on Rastor’s shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “Rastor, my friend, you have done everything that a man could do to find the lady, but she must be somewhere, she couldn’t just disappear. Now go and have a pot of ale and something to eat and we’ll talk later about what we should do next.”

Borman was pleased to see the look of annoyance slip off Rastor’s face to be replaced by something far less threatening. He patted the man on the shoulder like a faithful hound and watched him leave. When he turned around Malingar’s steward stood behind him holding a tray with a fresh goblet of wine and some of those small spicy nuts which he liked so much. He could see why Malingar valued him; he had the knack of being where you wanted him at the right time with just the thing you wanted. If Malingar ever wanted to be rid of him, then he might find a place for him in his own service. He took the goblet and went to turn away.

“Your Majesty, I know it is presumptuous of me but may I make a suggestion?”

Borman turned back and scowled; servants didn’t usually address him, but he supposed it was because this one used to be a captain of guards, so he thought he had the right to do so. “Well?” he snapped angrily.

“Your Majesty,” continued Sharman, “It could be that the reason Guardcaptain Rastor cannot find the lady is that he’s looking in the wrong place. Well, I mean he’s searching the countryside and it could be that she’s never left the camp.”

“You are misinformed. The Tarbisian camp has been thoroughly searched for anything of value.”

“My apologies, Your Majesty, I meant your camp.”

Borman looked astonished. “Why would anyone try to hide the lady in my camp under my nose? No one would dare.”

Sharman bowed ingratiatingly. “Indeed not, Your Majesty, but I hear the lady is very beautiful and sometimes men do foolish things when women are involved that they later regret and try to hide.”

“Malingar, come here.” He waited until Malingar crossed to where he stood and bowed. “Have you heard what your man is suggesting?”

“I have, My Lord, and I have advised him to keep his thoughts to himself. I’m certain that none of your loyal servants would do such a thing.”

Borman thought for a moment. He wouldn’t be the first king who was betrayed by those he thought were loyal. “No, he’s right. It’s the only place we haven’t searched. As soon as Rastor has eaten I will get him to organise it.”

“My Lord,” interrupted Malingar. “Guardcaptain Rastor has been riding for five days and is very tired and tired men miss things. Perhaps it would be better if someone else conducted the search?”

“Like you?”

“If that is what Your Majesty wishes. My man here has suggested that sly hounds are used to sniff the lady out, although I think it’s a foolish idea I will gladly put every man under my command into the search.”

Borman took a sip of his wine and savoured the rich taste. It was a wine he hadn’t sampled before but its smooth taste and heavy aroma was just how a wine should be. He looked at it appreciatively and wondered where the man had found it. “I think the sly hounds are a good idea, less obtrusive than thousands of heavy guards stomping through camp. Could they be made silent?”

Malingar looked questioningly at Sharman who nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty. They can have their muzzles bound so they wouldn’t make a sound.” He gave a small, excited laugh. “Your Majesty, that’s a brilliant idea! The hounds could seek out the lady in silence, so that if she is in the camp, whoever has her will not have the chance to move her.”

Borman wasn’t certain if he wanted to be pleased that his idea had such merit or annoyed that it was a servant who had given him the accolade of being brilliant. In any case it didn’t matter; using hounds would flush out the lady if she was hiding in the camp, and if it revealed the person who was hiding her, that would be even better.

“Are there hounds in the camp?”

“No, Your Majesty. So many scents send them crazy but there are some kept nearby.”

Borman nodded in understanding. “Lord Malingar, if the Lady Tarraquin is in the camp I want you to find her and bring her to me, and if there are any who have aided her or concealed her, I want them too, in chains and at my feet. Can it be done tonight whilst it’s dark?”

“Yes, My Lord. Hounds don’t need daylight to do their work.”

“Good, then get it done.”

*

It had taken a lot of searching and organising to find a suitable pack of sly hounds and have them in the right position in time. They were all young and eager and half the weight of the adults which were used to hunt wild grunters, but their noses were keen. It was a pity though that this would be their last hunt before their handler knocked them on the head. Unfortunately the cloths, which had been tied around their muzzles for the last two days, soaked in the sap of the red-thorn bush, had already destroyed their ability to follow any other scent. Their handler would be sorry to see them go, he had trained them from houndlings, but the bag of gold coins and a promise of a living in a large estate in north Leersland was more than adequate compensation.

For a while they had sniffed around aimlessly, and Malingar was certain that their plan wasn’t going to work as the hounds pushed their noses into packs and provisions and snuffled at men who lay rolled in blankets by the fire. Some of the men sat up in alarm as the hounds went by, but kept silent at the sight of Malingar and his guards following behind. They decided that if a lord wanted to search the camp with a pack of hounds in the middle of the night, it was none of their business and it would be best to just turn over and go back to sleep.

When they came to the first rows of rough shelters, a single hound was pushed inside each one by their handler, causing some of those within to cry out as a hound stepped on top of them in its futile search for something which wasn’t there. One or two guardsmen even poked their heads out of their shelter. The one who commented that he’d never seen Rastor’s and Malingar’s men working together before got a thwack on the side of his head for his trouble.

It wasn’t until they reached the area where the officers had their sleeping quarters that the first of the hounds started to show an interest. It sniffed the air and then stuck its nose to the ground as if the two were connected, following an invisible line to the seating area where the officers had eaten their last meal. Malingar stood well back whilst the hounds did their work and resisted the temptation to look at Sharman who stood at his side.

The excited hound rubbed its nose against one of the logs and snorted making a small cloud of dust rise a hand span from the ground. It tried to whine through its taped muzzle but only managed a choked rumble at the back of its throat. However, that was enough for the others and in moments they all had their noses to the ground, snuffling around the log. When one set off in the direction of the officers’ tents the others followed, gaining speed as the scent became stronger.

Malingar and his twenty picked men, all of them squad leaders from across the army, followed at a run passing through the smaller tents of troop leaders and into the cleared area where the army’s commander had his tent. The two guards outside of the tent’s closed entrance crossed their pikes and tried to stop the hounds from getting through, but there were too many of them and they were too intent on getting inside to where the scent was coming from. The guards didn’t even attempt to stop Malingar and his armed guards but just stepped back and let them pass.

Inside it was chaos as the hounds climbed over clothes chests and stacks of discarded weapons and armour. One of the hounds became entangled in the curtain which separated the sleeping room from the day area threatening to bring the tent down, until a guard stabbed it with his sword. The rest ignored their dying pack brother and streamed through the opening, pouring over the bed in a tide of writhing limbs and sharp claws to get to the heap of personal belongings on the other side. Rastor, woken from a deep, exhausted sleep by the first hound which had leapt on top of him screamed in anger. He buried the long knife he kept beneath his pillow into the hound’s side and then slashed at the others, battering them off him until they had all passed.

He staggered to his feet looking confused and shaken, just as Malingar, Tordray and two other squad leaders pushed their way into the sleeping room. Rastor snarled something nasty at the intruders, but Malingar ignored him and strode around the bed to where the handler was trying to hold the hounds back from Rastor’s personal belongings. He stared down at the heap with distaste. If this was all that Rastor had managed to accumulate in his long service to Borman, then perhaps he should have found a more generous master. Using the tip of his sword so that he wouldn’t dirty his hands, he flipped the clothing over, pushing a couple of crumpled cloaks to one side to reveal a saddlebag and a small box.

Malingar knelt down, undid the buckle on one side of the saddle bag and pulled out a number of delicately embroidered smallclothes, one stained with blood and one he recognised as having belonged to his younger sister. Disgusted he turned away and opened the wooden box, taking out the torn dress from the top followed by several pieces of jewellery including the ring with the royal seal of Tarbis on it. He turned back to where a silent and deathly white Rastor stood with Tordray’s sword tip at his throat.

“You have gone too far this time, Rastor. The king will have your head for this.”

*

Borman hadn’t really thought it would work. After all, who would be stupid enough to conceal Tarraquin in the camp, throw the body into the waste pit and then hold onto the evidence like some grisly trophy? He looked down at Rastor and knew the answer; the man had always been an idiot. Not only was he stupid, he had a vicious streak which was well known and feared. Then of course there were his sordid sexual appetites; women, girls, even young boys, usually tavern wenches or pot boys, but occasionally those of higher birth when he could get them. The Goddess only knows how many times he’d had to placate angry fathers, husbands and brothers, but to keep trophies of his exploits was disgusting. Above all, he’d dared to touch his king’s property, and not just touch but destroy it in case he was found out.

It had been his intention to replace Rastor when he was settled as king of Tarbis, but after what he had done he didn’t think he could stand having the man around him for another day. It wasn’t a problem though. He was certain that Malingar would jump at the chance to take his place.

He walked around the kneeling man and poked him with his toe. “Why did you do it?”

Rastor looked up. Somewhere during the arrest he must have resisted as his face was battered, his nose broken and one eye was closed. It made it impossible for his king to read him. “I didn’t, My Lord. I never touched her.”

“What about the things that were found in your bags? Did they hide themselves of their own accord?”

“No, My Lord, someone must have put them there.” He looked at Malingar through his one good eye. “It was him! He put them there to frame me!”

“Don’t be so ridiculous. Would he put his sister’s intimate clothing in such a place with all your other trophies? Of course not, he loved his sister too much to have anything of hers defiled like that. And what about Tarraquin’s small clothes, her torn dress and the royal seal? Where do you think he got those from?” He walked around the prisoner one more time. “You appal me, Rastor, for your crudeness and your uncontrolled lust, but more than that you have betrayed me. You have taken something of mine and have deliberately destroyed it, despite everything I’ve given to you, and for that there is only one punishment. Guards! Take him away, remove his head and throw the remains into the pit with the rest of the dead.”

Rastor went to protest but the hilt of Tordray’s knife caught him on the side of his head and sent him sprawling, his senses knocked from him. Malingar stepped forward before Borman had a chance to turn away.

“My Lord, death is a harsh punishment for one who has served you so loyally for so long. The men will not understand and will think that the only reward for loyalty to you is death. I implore you, Your Majesty, to reconsider. There are other punishments which would be more meaningful.”

Borman frowned. He’d expected Malingar to be celebrating Rastor’s demise, not trying to save his life. “What do you have in mind?”

Malingar bowed and beckoned Sharman forward to speak. “Your Majesty, before I came into your service, and then Lord Malingar’s, I’d always commanded fighting men, and there’s only ever been one punishment for a man who puts himself about where he shouldn’t. Soldiers know the punishment is just, and it makes sure that the man never rapes anyone ever again. And if it’s done in public, then it scares the shit out of any who think they might like to have a go themselves any time in the future.”

Borman turned as white as a sheet and looked horrified. “You did that? To your own men?”

“It’s what has to be done if you want to keep discipline, especially when there are lots of men far from home and about to move into new lands. A sharp knife, a hot iron and exile works every time.”

The king swallowed hard and looked at Malingar who gave the slightest of nods. “Will you do it, Malingar?”

“No, My Lord. It will look too much like revenge.”

“What about your man?”

“He is just a servant and has no authority to do such a thing, unless I’m in a position of command and can give him a direct order on your behalf.”

Borman nodded in understanding and regained his equilibrium. “In that case, Guardcaptain Malingar, I give you the authority to carry out the punishment at first light, which must be only a candle length or two away. When you have done that you may take command of the army, and do whatever else it was that used to take up so much of Rastor’s time.”