The Marquis (17 page)

‘He needs someone that knows their way around town; and who is who and who you can trust. If he has two, it will also show his senior status. Rarely can anyone afford two so young.’

‘But they are young. What will they know that will be useful to him?’

She smiled knowingly. ‘We are Merian. We make it our business to know everything. Of the girls, who would you keep?’

‘Well, I don’t know…I might need some time to consider.’

She laughed. ‘Then I will make the decision for you. I’ll keep the one with the largest breasts – you seem to have a preference that way.’

Somewhat miffed at the insinuation that he was so fickle, and feeling the sudden loss of status with only two theow, he nonetheless officially transferred the two theow to Leowahl; who was very excited about having the two eager and voluptuous women under his roof and in his bed; notwithstanding that he was already receiving representations from fathers about taking their daughters as bedda. The Steward of Anga, Kadmah’s brother, had a daughter, and it seemed to Conn that it was a suitable match.

Kelinda was the name of the Merian theow that he got to keep, and she was indeed remarkably well endowed.

~oo0oo~

Alrys il Avanti, Eaorl, came to inform him that he was heading home early, and wanted to know if Conn wanted to join him. He had been fairly contrite due to his inadvertent complicity in the potential assassination of the Wealdend’s daughters, and feeling the cold shoulder in Larsan, decided to leave.

It was a twelve day ride to his town and during the travel he agreed to supply the Eaorl with stallions for his herd. He was the main horse breeder in Larsa, and although he had excellent herds, an infusion of the heavier and larger horses from Meshech would have tremendous impact.

‘You know,’ he said, ‘it was stallions that got us into this mess in the first place. Vigulfur’s father gave my father a stallion as dowry for my sister and he unfortunately died after one season. He was not one of their golden horses like your men ride but a large brown horse. His influence has been significant. He had it brought here from Kishdah. Vigulfur offered my son two golden stallions in exchange for the ring. Given his illness and that my other sons are under age, it seemed a reasonable exchange – not of course that we will ever receive them now.’

‘Do you still want a golden stallion?’

He was surprised. ‘I heard that you captured Ancuman horses in Samria but they don’t ride stallions – just mares and geldings?’

‘Normally true; but it seemed that the stallions destined for you were delivered to Samria; they are now in Caledonia with my mares. I will arrange for one to be delivered to you.’

A much happier Eaorl kept him celebrating in Avanti for a couple of days before he continued east to Rasadi. The Eaorl had told him more of the problems they had been having with the Merians.

‘We had a peaceful interaction with Meria for hundreds of years – they’d come to sell us slaves and buy our wool. But about twenty years ago they stopped visiting and instead wiga came across the mountain and raided our villages in the east, stealing our sheep and our children. Vigulfur came up with the plan a couple of years ago to secure the border; the permanent garrison at Rasadi – it came at a price because he hired Ancuman wiga to help him fight. He said they would only work for him if he was ennobled.’

‘Was he successful?’

He nodded. ‘Indeed – there hasn’t been an attack in over a year.’

Coincidence or providence. Conn wasn’t sure which but it seemed that the Larsans had been set up.

Leaving Avanti they rode through productive – though underutilized – fields and grazing lands dotted with herds of horses. Just to keep Balios happy, he had bought ten mares from the Eaorl and they trailed along behind. The closer they got to Rasadi, the tireder Balios got.

There last night in Avanti was in a small inn on the river that was the border. The wiga that the Eaorl had sent with them as an escort informed him that this was as far as he went.

‘Over that river is your demesne, Marquis. If you continue to follow the path east you will arrive in the town of Rasadi. It is a three day ride. Good luck.’

‘I hate it when Priecuman say ‘good luck’.’ Derryth noted sourly as they headed out the next morning. ‘It always indicates that they expect us to have bad luck.’

In Rasadi, the land became largely deserted; the sheep got fewer, and the horse herds non-existent. The first night was in a village that sat at crossroads. Turn left, and you headed towards Malla, and right towards Rasadi. During the second day, they started to encounter farmers with ox driven carts heading their way. They stopped when they saw Conn and Derryth and the troop of wiga. The device on the shield and tabards would have possibly been of concern.  Rasadi had no heraldic device so Conn had a new one created – his golden sun over a castle on a field of blue, Badb’s blue.

After assuring them that they were in no danger, Conn asked if Rasadi was under attack.

‘No, not that we know. We have heard that the Marquis is dead and his wiga have left the town unprotected so it will be no time before the Merians raiders cross the border and attack. The town is full of people but few wiga – and I do not want my children stolen or killed.  Rasadi is lost, you should turn around and try your luck elsewhere. There is no Marquis to pay for your services.’

Conn smiled. ‘Alas, I cannot, I’m the new Marquis.’

The farmer and his family dropped to their knees. ‘My apologies Marquis – I meant no disrespect, but we have our lives to think about.’

‘No offense taken. However, do as you will, but I think that you should reconsider.  I will ensure that you will be safe.’

He shrugged. ‘You have men but they will not be enough.’

Conn tossed over a bag of coins. ‘Go to the Inn at the crossroads. Stay there for a week. You have enough money there for pay for food and lodging for your family. If I do not send for you within a week, you have my blessing to continue to Avanti.’

The man agreed and Conn decided that he needed to get to Rasadi as soon as possible so fastened the pace. They passed the second day Inn mid-afternoon and continued on; arriving outside of the town as the sun was setting. For all the money he was taking defending the border, the former Marquis had done little to ensure that the village was able to survive a full blown attack – probably because he wasn’t expecting one. The palisades were old, broken in places and the ditch and mound that surrounded them had been left full of rubbish and filth.

As they rode up to the gatehouse, Derryth mused. ‘I don’t know how you did it, but you have got us lost. This cannot be it. Surely Rasadi is bigger than this – it will be impossible to defend.’

‘Improbable – not impossible.’

Nervous wiga waited for them at the gate, preventing their entry. They had to wait until the Steward arrived before the gates were opened.

He apologized profusely. ‘We had received a messenger saying that there was a new Marquis but no one said when you would be here this soon – if at all.’

Inside the gates, grooms came to help them put away their horses while servants guided their new Marquis into the roundhouse.

Derryth stopped at the door. He addressed the Steward. ‘I’d like to check out the defences. I’m already not liking what I’m seeing. Who is the Folctoga and where are the rest of the Wiga?’

‘We have no Folctoga – he was Ancuman and left on a ship yesterday. We have about fifty wiga on duty or at home. Most of the other wiga were Ancuman. Most have left but a few are still here – down in the harbour. They are waiting for a ship to pick them up.’

‘Where are they?’ Conn asked.

‘In the “Sea Eagle Inn”.’

While the women headed inside to look at the roundhouse, Conn headed for the inn as Derryth proceeded to check out the defences. Conn’s guide left him at the door.

He walked inside and everyone turned and stopped talking. The crowd made up of a mixture of Ancuman and Larsans – with a few others who he assumed to be Pontians. The dozen Ancuman were clearly visible at one end of the room.

Conn strode to the bar and handed over a gold Ryal. The wench looked at him with amazement. She didn’t say anything.

‘A drink for everyone please. Until the money runs out.’

She smiled, her smile ruined with missing teeth. ‘Who shall I say bought the drinks?’

‘The new Marquis of Rasadi.’

The silence was broken by chatter. An older man came up to him. ‘You are here to protect us from the Merians?’

‘Yes.’

‘How many men do you have? Do you have the Healdend’s fyrd with you?’

‘No, just the thirty that I brought with me and whatever was here already.’

He turned away, muttering, ‘We are doomed. Deserted by our Healdend.’

As chatter returned to the room, Conn raised his hand. They stopped to listen.

‘I am the new Marquis of Rasadi.  I am recruiting workers and wiga and I pay very well. The signup bonus will be one thousand Ryals; two for wiga. You will be paid twelve thousand Ryals for a year’s work, double for wiga.’ Conn knew what he was offering was double what was the normal pay in Larsa.

One of the Ancuman stood up. ‘It doesn’t matter how much you get paid if the end result is death. The Merians will soon be flowing over the border – and there is nothing that you – even with our help – can do about it.’

‘Why are you so sure?’

He took a deep breath. ‘Because they are being advised by an Axum. The Folctoga that was here last week has gone to Utika to recruit a fyrd. He means to take Rasadi for himself – if not this year then next.

Conn paused to consider. ‘Did you fight in Meshech?’

‘Meshech … how do you know about Meshech?’ He walked up closer. ‘I did not go to Meshech but I heard a lot about it … most of the people there were from Axum. Incompetent fools. They let themselves be defeated by a group of Priecuman led by some feorrancund.’

‘Well, that feorrancund was me. My name is Conn il Taransay.

He laughed. ‘Taransay … how is that possible – what would you be doing in this Gyden-forgotten end of the world?’

‘As I said, I’m the new Marquis – I inherited because Vigulfur made the mistake of trying to kill me. The Axum don’t like me very much – I don’t know why. Otherwise I would not be. I don’t understand why you are still here?’

The Ancuman looked disgustingly to the ground. ‘There was only enough room on the ship for the Axum wiga and their families. They told us to arrange our own passage.’

‘Do you think you will be rescued before the Merians arrive?’

He shook his head, and shrugged. ‘I doubt it. We will do what we have to.’

‘I have a deal for you. Fight with my men against the Merians and I’ll provide you with a ship that will get you back to … where are you from?’

‘My name is Guntor il Saba.’

‘Saba – I met someone from Saba. Her name was Elddis.’

Guntor looked confused. ‘Elddis is my father’s mother’s cousin. She almost died in Meshech. Someone saved her life and sent her home.’

Conn nodded.

‘Was that you?’

Conn nodded again.

Guntor sighed and looked at his men behind him. ‘So I owe you a life. Damn.’ He thought for a minute. ‘And a ship to get us home, you say?

‘I’ll also pay the Ryals I promised.’ He turned and addressed the crowd. ‘Tomorrow at dawn we start work. Come to the bailey.’

Conn then walked out and headed for the roundhouse for a night’s sleep.

~oo0oo~

Within a week, Conn had a semblance of order within the town; and the arrival of a junk from Caledonia raised spirits with the inns and taverns being replenished with beer and cider as well as the wiga having new uniforms and weapons. The Sabans were cavalry, so Conn redesignated his wiga to be bowmen on the now reinforced palisades. Caledonia had also sent across his catapults and they were assembled inside the walls.

After a week of watching the newly assembled fyrd, Guntor watched with amusement as the now well armoured wiga went about their training. ‘I’m beginning to see why we … they lost in Meshech.’ Guntor shook his head. ‘This is getting very weird. I can’t believe that I am going to battle with the enemy of the Ancuman.’

‘I am not the enemy of the Ancuman, Guntor, just in opposition to the policies of your current leadership; which I believe are all from Axum.’ Conn responded. ‘Except your Folgere – I am their enemy.’

Guntor involuntarily shivered at the mention of them. ‘In that you are not alone. They are despised on the Southern Isles.’

As the days progressed, they got more and more crowded inside the walls. As refugees arrived from the east, they were given a shovel, a pick or a wheelbarrow to help create a deeper ditch outside the palisades, and every effort went a long way to bolstering their defences.

They were in the hall eating breakfast. Cynilda paused from ordering people around and sat down beside him.

‘What do you know of Meria?’

‘Very little – you have told me almost nothing despite my questions, and all everyone else says is that they like to fight wars and collect theow.’

She shrugged. ‘I didn’t think you had a need to know. Now you need to know that despite what you may know already, the wiga that you fight is not like a normal fyrd.  A Merian fyrd is like a snake – it has a head. If the head is intact the body is strong. If the head is gone, the body fails to function. An Ancuman may think he is the head but he is not. You need to cut off that head and the attack will fail.’