The Marquis (19 page)

Conn walked to the counter and asked for two of their best. Though they looked at him strangely, the buxom and under dressed mead-maid handed over the drinks and gratefully accepted the large tip.

Conn pointed to the celebrations. ‘Why is he so happy?’

‘He has won his first bout in the ring. He has added four theow to his hird and a demesne – he is to be a Steward.’

She moved away and Conn went and explained what he had heard to Derryth. Derryth had been busy; a stream of people were walking up to him and shaking his hand.

Derryth was amused. ‘When I thought I’d seen everything, I see this. If I live long enough I will have much to tell my grandchildren.’

As they watched a second bout started. Very quickly it started going poorly for one of them.

‘This guy looks like he is in trouble.’ Derryth noted.

‘Way out of his depth.’

The elder man had just taken three punches to the kidneys and then a savage head butt and he fell to the edge of the ring near Conn.  He struggled to his knees with blood streaming down his face. The other guy, younger, stronger, stepped forward prepared for the killer blow; a haymaker punch to the side of his unprotected head and was winding up.

Conn stepped in the ring between the two men.

‘He’s had enough – leave him be.’

The guy was shocked – hesitation swept over him. ‘But…’ was all he could say. He looked curiously at Conn – at least six inches taller than him.

‘And don’t even think about taking a shot at me – you will regret it.’

The winner, still confused, looked at the judge.

The judge raced over. ‘Stranger, you cannot stop a bout. The loser has to yield.’

‘He is incapable of yielding – he can hardly sit. So a bout cannot be stopped unless…’

The judge looked confused.

Conn continued. ‘Unless I do what – there is always an exception.’

The judge bowed. ‘My apologies, stranger. Of course – unless ten thousand Ryals is paid in compensation.’ A year’s pay.

Conn rummaged in his pouch, and handed over the ten thousand in twenty gold coins.  ‘The bout is finished.’

The judge was stunned at the turn of events and nodded and signalled his second to ring the bell for match completion. The winner, looking somewhat relieved, then returned to his winnings – a group of theow as well as half the fine. Conn was about to leave when the silence was broken with a cry of:

‘Who the heck do you think you are?’

Conn turned to see a huge man – broad and obviously very strong, walking up to him. He was angry.

‘You walk in here and act like you can make up rules of your own. You can’t just stop a match because you have gold in your pocket….’

‘When you say can’t – you mean shouldn’t, don’t you? Because I did – so can’t doesn’t apply. I paid the fine. The matter is settled.’

‘It is not settled as far as I am concerned – this’ he pointed to the man who was being attended by medics of some kind ‘was going to die – and I demand satisfaction. If he can’t pay it – I’m happy for you to.’ He walked up close to Conn. ‘I challenge you to a bout – all in. What do you have to wager?’

Conn sighed. ‘You really want to do this?’

The man nodded. ‘I demand satisfaction.’

‘Okay.’ Conn reached for his coin purse. ‘I have a hundred gold Ryals. Is that enough?’

He nodded, ‘I would accept one for the pleasure of, you know,
accidently
killing you.’

The room was totally silent by this time and the huge man went to the ring; stripped off unnecessary clothing and wrapped his hands in swaddling.

As Conn stripped, handing over his sword, Derryth smiled at him. ‘I thought you weren’t going to do that anymore? You know, rearrange furniture.’

‘It was not my fault!’ he protested. ‘And what about some concern for my safety?’

Derryth looked around. ‘How many men are you fighting?’

‘Just the one. But he is fairly big… and he looks very strong.’

‘Then I only have concern for his safety. Just don’t let him hit you.’

Conn returned to the ring where the big man waited impatiently; the judge rung the bell and the bout commenced. They circled warily in the ring. Conn had fifteen years of cage fighting experience so he knew what to do – just wasn’t sure if the other guy had read the same rule book. He was very determined not to get into a bear hug with the guy, as although shorter than Conn, he had large and strong hands. He was however, much, much, slower. Every punch, cross, and jab the Merian attempted met clean air though Conn’s counters didn’t miss – and after a while he was suffering from an increasing number of blows that started to weaken him. Conn just needed to keep out of his grip. He was nonetheless a capable fighter and he kept out of Conn’s way as much as he could, but after twenty minutes without stops, a record time Derryth later informed him, Conn was finally starting to make headway. The guy’s eyes were starting to close, his lips were bloody and puffed, and bruises started to appear on his torso.

As strong and fit as he was, he also lacked Conn’s endurance and his final last haymaker left him exposed for too long and Conn’s double cross to his chin flattened him; he dropped to his knees and then flat on his face. He lay still. The match was over.

Conn returned to where Derryth was sitting and found a bewildered Cynilda waiting for him, staring at him. She was visibly furious. Conn found it amusing that a theow was furious at him. Akelda, standing beside her, on the other hand, was very happy. She had a very big smile on her face. Conn suspected it had something to do with Cynilda’s misery.

She almost yelled at him. ‘You are in Meria for ONE day, and I leave you alone for ONE hour, and it is impossible to comprehend the mess you have created. And you should not have done that.’ She waved to the man on the ground.

Conn looked at Derryth. ‘What is she talking about?’

‘I don’t know. She has been complaining ever since she arrived. I was getting the impression that she was hoping you would lose.’

Before Conn had a chance to answer, he heard a scream. The man had recuperated and had grabbed a knife and ran towards them.  Conn instantaneously manoeuvred to not only save himself but his companions – he feigned left and grabbed the man’s wrist as it passed his waist by inches, and using his weight, spun the man around. Unfortunately the assailant had skill and tried to counteract Conn’s tactic, which unfortunately caused Conn’s counter attack to his counter, to plant the knife deeply into his lower abdomen. He crumpled to his knees again—gripping the weapon in both hands, disbelief all over his face.

Conn shook his head. ‘That did not have to happen.’ He looked up as Cynilda raised her voice in annoyance.

‘Now you have made it even worse – you’ve killed him.’ And she ran wailing from the room.

They looked at her leaving in astonishment. They both spoke in unison.

‘I really wish I knew what is going on.’

The magnitude of the consequence of his actions did not become clear until the next morning. After the death, the whole bout hall closed for the night and everyone departed. None the wiser, Conn and Derryth returned to the inn and were greeted with silence from Cynilda. Akelda and Wilenda were more obliging and arranged for their meals and baths. Conn was surprised to find that Meria had large wooden tubs in a dedicated wash room, and he and Derryth sat in the hot water, drinking beer, for some time.

The bathroom was open to all and sundry; and they were joined by a very battered and bruised wiga. Conn recognized him as the first man he had seen defeated in the bout hall. He nodded to Conn and then shook Derryth’s hand. He then turned and bowed again to Conn.

‘Sir, not only are you a great fighter but you have the enviable counsel of one of the ancients. You are a lucky man. My name is Baldric il Melos. I was only recently Steward of a small village here in Tashke but I now find myself at liberty. Are you looking to hire wiga?’

‘Baldric, pleased to meet you. You were unlucky in defeat. As for wiga, I think that might be a great idea. I’m in need of a few extra hands.’ Conn introduced himself and Derryth, and when he left the bathroom to retire for the evening, he handed Baldric a pouch with gold coins. It was all local Larsan coins now; Conn had reminted all his Meshech coins while he had the chance because Meshech money raised too many questions and it was denominated differently. In Sytha, there were 500 coppers to a gold and 25 silvers to a gold Ryal and the gold Ryal was actually smaller at roughly 3.5gms of ore.

He looked inside the pouch. ‘This is a lot of Ryals – why are you giving them to me?’

‘I thought you might like to buy yourself a theow. I understand that there will be an auction soon. Perhaps one of your old ones…?’

He nodded. ‘Indeed. There is always an auction after a bout day. The victors take the opportunity to turn some of their winnings into gold.’ He smiled. ‘I thank you – it is a long time since I did not have theow. I did not expect to lose that bout – it was a lucky elbow. I was a fool to take him so lightly. I understand that the victor will be selling some of my former theow and children – he has my daughter to amuse himself with.’

A naked Wilenda waited for him in his bed. The round house had two levels; the upper was smaller and had a single, albeit quite large, room. It was reserved for the master while his third and wiga slept down below, to protect and serve.

Cynilda had recently determined that she was pregnant, and as was the practice in Meria, had advised him that she would not be satisfying Conn’s needs until after the birth of her child – or children as was sure to be the case. Wilenda was now the first to see him every night. After that, if he was energetic enough, Kelinda or Alreda would sneak in. As the lowest on the totem pole, they were always the last to go to bed and the first to rise.

Temporarily sated, Conn asked her to explain the Bout Hall, after telling her what he knew already.

‘You should know that demesne in Meria are inherited by us of the Blood; women who are descendants of the first group of ten Mundbora…’

‘Mundbora?’

‘Mundbora is the name given to the leader of every village in Meria. In Bahal every Mundbora is of my blood – my mother-kin, and every daughter we have is entitled to a village in our demesne. Luckily we never have too many daughters. The person who owns me is entitled to be Steward of that village.’ She traced her hand down his naked body. ‘If you take me to Bahal, you will be rewarded with a demesne.’

Conn thought he had already been. Still. ‘So the men are fighting for theow to become a Steward...’

‘Yes; but not all theow have that right, but if a man is powerful enough, and has built up a hird of theow of sufficient value, he might have enough to wager against the Steward of a small village in a demesne. If he wins he takes over the village as Steward. It is a risky business – the loser has nothing, but the victor has become wealthier, which is why a Steward might take such a risk. Also, a wiga might have accumulated enough normal theow in bouts to sell for enough gold to purchase one of Blood at auction.’

‘So a man determines his wealth by the number of theow he has in his hird?’

‘Yes, and their value – either won in the ring, bought or stolen from Sytha or Larsa – it matters not. If he had more theow than he needs, he can give them to wiga for their support and so gains more power. Meria is a peaceful nation – but wiga are used for raiding our neighbours – or as theow-raiders.’

‘So how much does a theow cost?’

She looked at him scornfully. ‘You have not been listening, we are not a cost – we are an investment, and the more you invest the better the outcome.’

Suitably reprimanded, Conn continued. ‘Okay, so how much does an investment in theow cost?’

‘Depends. If you are one of the blood, such as Cynilda, Akelda or me, your investment could be as much as 200,000 Ryals. The Mundborak is the Mundbora of the town in a demesne. Akelda is the second daughter of the Mundborak of Utika so is a better investment than me – the second daughter of a Mundbora of a village. Akelda would expect to receive around 50,000 Ryals – while I would be disappointed if I received less than 20,000 Ryals.’

‘What about Cynilda?’

She looked at him and paused. ‘Has she not told you?’

‘No… she is very slow with information.’

She laughed. ‘Well, if you were to sell Cynilda you could get as much as 200,000 Ryals. She is the eldest daughter of the Mundborak of Sinope. In fact, you control a fortune in theow.’

Things were starting to make more sense. ‘What of Kelinda or Alreda?’

‘They are not of the Blood, so are much cheaper – around 2,000 Ryals. More if you are very pretty. Many like them come up for auction. They are the first purchases of wiga – or when they are sold by wiga, to cotters, to spend their last days farming.’

‘So what happened when you were last at auction?’

She shook her head. ‘I have never been to auction – I was stolen by theow-raiders. My father was travelling to see the Steward of Bahal and he wasn’t able to protect us from a large troop of theow-raiders. He lost five of us that day – given in exchange for his life. When I was bought by the Steward of Utika, it wasn’t at an auction as it is illegal to sell stolen theow in an auction. Bred, won or gained in battle, yes. Stolen no. Because you won me in battle, you can sell me – but I hope you don’t.’

‘Is theow-raiding a problem?’

‘There are a few bands – most are former wiga who have escaped from justice or who have been unable to pay a wergild. Some are cotters who don’t want to be cotters.’

It was said so nonchalantly that Conn was taken back. She was stolen by human traffickers, then sold to satisfy the lust of another and then captured by Conn. She didn’t seem traumatised by any of it.

‘And the man I defeated?’

‘He is the Steward of the town of Tashke.’

Conn rolled the naked woman onto her back and kissed her breasts. ‘So, not a
village
in Tashke?’

She giggled. ‘No, master. Not a village, the
town.
’

‘So this is a bad thing?’

She pulled him toward her. ‘Some might think so – you now have control over two Mundborak. I believe that is unheard of. Anyway, I don’t think
anything
you do is bad. Certainly nothing you
do
to me…’

‘I’m very glad to hear that…’

~oo0oo~

After breakfast, a group of women and wiga arrived to see Conn.  Wilenda came to collect him from the stable where he had been working as a farrier for his animals. Derryth followed him into the roundhouse. Waiting seated on the ground were seven women and three men. Conn scanned the women. It was an unusual group as the eldest appeared to be almost over forty. Six were Merians – whilst the last was not.

The women stood and greeted him as he entered – also greeting Derryth with respect. He enjoyed being the venerable sage.

Cynilda begrudgingly made the introductions. She introduced the eldest women after the younger and cuter ones. ‘…and this,’ she continued, ‘is my mother Enilda. Lastly, that is Keowyn il Kapisi from Pontia.’

It suddenly clicked. ‘Wait… did you say your mother?’ Wilenda had told him that Cynilda’s mother was the Mundborak of Sinope – so it raised big questions.

Derryth couldn’t help himself – he burst out laughing.  Conn looked at him disdainfully.

‘I’m sorry – but I now understand the problem… or rather, your problem.’ He walked away chuckling – searching for food.

‘I apologize for my friend ... he sometimes lacks subtlety.’

Enilda shook her head. ‘There is no need – the words of the Twacuman are always wise. And yes, I am Cynilda’s mother. She has told me much about you. I have to say that I’m very impressed….’

Cynilda strode forward to interrupt her mother.

‘The man that you … killed last night was my mother’s master … his name was Bricgar, Steward of Tashke,’ Conn noted the attitude in the tone. ‘And as a result of his lack of honour in trying to murder you in the Bout Hall, all that was his is now yours.’

‘You mean like the Larsan event with the former Marquis of Rasadi?’

She nodded.

Conn nodded, taking in all the information. He walked around to where Kelinda waited sweetly with a tray of meats and tankards of beer. He pointed to the wiga who waited patiently. ‘And these wiga?’ He told Kelinda to offer them food and drink.

‘They were honour bound to serve Bricgar. They will serve you until you release them.’

‘I see. So tell me about Tashke.’

Enilda answered for her. ‘Tashke is an estate of over eighty thousand acres, while Bricgar had a hird of twelve theow including the Mundborak of Tashke, a fyrd of ten wiga and several hundred others – all cotters and theow. It is the largest in these parts – three days south of here. He has a dozen children – a mixture of boys and girls – and the Mundborak’s heir has seen over twenty five winters so is ready to claim her inheritance.’

Conn repeated himself. ‘I see. And why was the Steward of Tashke so far away from his home – surely there are Bout Halls closer.’

She nodded. ‘There are; but the bout was between Alward, a Steward here in Kirman, and Balred il Tanais, a Steward from Tashke. Bricgar has hated Alward for a long time – since Alward beat him in a bout many years ago and took away his first demesne. He has been trying to extract revenge ever since, and he manipulate this bout.’

‘What about a rematch?’

‘They are forbidden – and it takes many years to have the value and standing to challenge a Steward.’

‘So why did Alward take the bout yesterday?’

She smiled; ‘Alward is a very good Steward with a known weakness for theow. He buys and sells them all the time. Bricgar made sure that the bout was worth the risk – he had sold the purchase option to a theow he owned to one of his new Stewards in Tashke – simply because he knew that Alward very much wanted the theow. That option was part of the wager so Alward accepted the match.’

Derryth came over and handed Conn a refill to his tankard. ‘This is the most confusing system I’ve ever heard of. I’m not going to remember it all. I might even have to write it down. I hate that.’

Shaking his head in amusement, Conn continued. ‘Which theow did Alward risk so much for?’

They all turned to look at the Pontian, Keowyn. She was indeed beautiful – full figured, voluptuous even, and eyes tended to wander to her if you didn’t control them. She smiled sweetly and with resignation.

‘It seems that she causes problems wherever she goes.’ Cynilda added.

Conn could understand that as he tried to refocus on non-lustful thoughts.

‘So what is the winner going to do now that he is Steward of two demesne? And what’s his name?’

‘If Balred has the resources, he can keep both; there is no legal restrictions just practical ones. Usually you sell one – especially if you have no child to be heir of the Mundbora. Balred does – she is two, so he should wait until she is able to claim her inheritance, and then sell, but that is sometimes very hard to do if you have limited resources.’

‘And if he does sell before she is sixteen?’

‘His daughter will lose her inheritance as Mundbora but will be able to claim a village later after she is sixteen. It will be the worst village available. Alward’s daughter is fine – she is over twenty. Alternatively you can sell via adoption – but few like that option because the child becomes yours like a blood child but it is not a blood child. Most men don’t like that.’

Conn and Derryth look at each other in confusion. Conn had to ask. ‘Who designed this system of inheritance?’

The girls knew immediately. ‘The Casere of course – our ancestors were the first tribes that he brought under his control after his arrival from the sea. With the Twacuman, the Larsans and us, he conquered the Ancuman and saved Sytha. We were his first people.’

The immediate confused silence was broken by the arrival of food, and they all sat in the roundhouse and ate. Conn took the opportunity to meet with the wiga and see what they wanted to do. One was older and desired to be released to be a cotter with his two theow and family.  The other two wiga were happy to stay as wiga. When Baldric arrived to see him as arranged, everyone was surprised that Conn appointed him Folctoga. He was not without reputation so it was eventually accepted as a good idea.