The Marquis (21 page)

‘Ten is not enough. We go by foot; I’m sure they will attack when we go over that next rise; it is quite large and we will be most vulnerable heading downhill. Balios will keep the horses moving and we will get them from behind.’

Baldric was also instructed to keep a steady progress and to surrender immediately if challenged and not put anyone at risk. Whilst out of sight, Conn and Derryth dismounted and headed for the hills; bows in hand.

They climbed the hill rapidly and silently and soon found their way down the other side to where the bandits waited. Derryth held up his hand.

‘There’, he whispered. ‘Four on the right and four on the left. Don’t know where the others are. Cynilda should be visible soon.’

As expected, Cynilda was the first to appear; her mother on her side; two more theow followed; leading the first of many packhorses, the wiga and the rest of the theow. When the last horse appeared, Balios, the theow-raiders revealed themselves, crying out ‘Hold or die!’

Immediately they realized that something was wrong – there was no one riding after Baldric; just two riderless horses. They tried again.

‘Hold or someone dies!’

There was caution in their voices. Baldric did as he was instructed; he made everyone hold – and had them raise their hands in the air.

‘Where is the Twacuman?’ A bandit called out.

‘I don’t know!’ Someone responded. ‘He was there a minute ago.’

‘I’m up here,’ Derryth called out. ‘I needed a toilet break… just me and my bow – and the Marquis and his bow… why do you ask?’

There was confusion before the voice answered. ‘Surrender … or someone dies.’

Derryth called out. ‘Feorhhyrde, do we surrender?’

Conn had been moving; he was further down the valley and ahead of them now. ‘No, we never surrender. They could of course…’

Their mistake was not to surrender immediately; two of them moved to aim their bows more aggressively at Cynilda and her group – possibly as a threat. Conn didn’t bother to find out. They died before they had nocked their arrows properly, the power of the arrow imbedding itself through the minimal armour and into their chests. The second arrow hit them before they hit the ground. The other eight, seeing their leaders die so suddenly, dived to the ground, yelling.

‘We surrender, we surrender.’

Cynilda was not happy. ‘You could have told me!’ she yelled, as she brought her horse under control. The body of one of the bandits had rolled down in front to her.

Conn walked down the hill, collecting the prisoners as he went.

‘No time…’ He scanned the group. ‘Where is Balios?’

Baldric shrugged. ‘He just went after we stopped.’

They heard a neigh, and looked up the hill. They could now hear him in the scrub.

A women voice called out. ‘Oh, all right! Damn horse…have it your way!’

Two women suddenly appeared from the scrub. Balios paused and the girls looked around. One looked towards the mounted party. She stopped. ‘Cynilda? Is that really you?’

Cynilda jumped off her horse and ran up the hill and the two girls embraced, tears flowing down their faces. Once they had separated, Cynilda found her voice.

‘Eowen, I expected more from you.’

Eowen shrugged. ‘You have to work with what you have. We have been doing well until today. None have died.’ She walked over to inspect the two dead men – she hardly displayed any emotion.

She turned and returned to Cynilda. ‘My master is dead – so who is my new master?’ she looked at Conn as she asked the question.

Cynilda did the introductions.

‘The Steward of Tashke is actually dead? I’m very happy to hear that. He bought me illegally and sold me illegally to him.’ She pointed to the dead man. ‘The Steward wanted to buy some Pontian theow that my dead master had bought in Utika.’ She looked around until she found the Pontian. ‘Hello Keowyn. Not so nice to see you again. I was mostly offended by the amount of Ryals he handed over as well as two of us. I hope you were worth it.’

Conn instructed the prisoners to dig a grave and after twenty minutes the two men were buried.

‘Where are your horses? ’Conn asked.

‘Over the hill.’ She turned back to Cynilda. ‘Sister, if you allow us to leave, we will collect the rest of our hird and meet you in Tashke. We will arrive two days after you do. We acknowledge that we are booty and will act as expected. You have my word.’

Cynilda was about to answer but stopped herself. She looked at Conn. ‘You can trust her.’

‘As you will.’

The survivors bowed and headed back over the hill. Conn leapt on Balios’ back and joined the troop as they continued their journey downriver toward their evening stop in a river village called Halra.

Derryth looked at him with a sly grin. ‘They are making decisions without you now. How will you cope?’

Conn was deadpan. ‘I thought I did alright…didn’t overreact. I think I’m getting better.’

~oo0oo~

Halra was the first village in Tashke – and the Mundbora would be kin to his future bedda. She was also his vassal; something made very clear soon after their arrival.  Not long after his arrival at the gatehouse, and his dismounting at the livery stable, they were greeted by the Mundbora and Steward; inviting them to dinner in the main house. There the pair also made their vow of allegiance.

Conn was surprised that they knew of the change until told by Cynilda that the first thing that a Bout Tent did was send out messengers. It was part of their service.

It was not quite a full day’s ride from Halra to Tashke, but given that it was now winter, it was almost dark as they arrived.  From the range they crested on their way into the town, they could see that it was large; a collection of almost a hundred roundhouses and numerous barns. The population of cotters and theow was over five hundred and fifty people, living in a collection of roundhouses near a river that flowed east. There were two halves to the village; his farmland on one half, and the village that served as the transit point for travellers south. This other half was filled with merchants, craeftiga, a bout hall, livery yards and inns. Whilst vassals, they had some independence and enjoyed his protection in exchange for the payment of taxes. 

On their arrival, they were escorted into a large two story round house, perhaps half the size of the bout hall in Kirman, but of the same design. It was a large room and the turf roof meant that, despite its size, it was reasonably warm with four stone fireplaces in the room.

They entered a room filled with people – children, theow, wiga and cotters – all curious about their new master.  He knew that Bricgar had a hird of twelve theow, a fyrd of ten wiga and several hundred cotters. Of the twelve theow, four had been in Kirman – and one, Enilda, had been sold while another had been released and sold. He was down to eight – or eleven if you included the three that he had when he arrived – but not including those that belonged to the bandits that he had captured.

The oldest woman in the room came and greeted them. She had by her side a younger woman – a very happy looking woman with most of everything hanging out.

Enilda introduced him to the pair, the Mundborak, and her eldest daughter, Wukilda.

‘Wukilda is the Mundborak’s heir and she is yours to claim tonight. After a night with you, she will be the new Mundborak. A festival of joining has been prepared for your enjoyment.’

Conn and Derryth were escorted to the main seats in the table and over the next hours, with Wukilda sitting increasingly closer and closer to him as the night progressed, he met everyone in the room; all making a vow of allegiance. Music was played, songs sung, and his hird of theow danced for him with very little on. Gradually people left the roundhouse until there was only the two of them. They were good friends by now – she was sitting on his lap and as soon as the last person – Cynilda – had left the building, she immediately stripped naked. She appeared very eager.

She started to undress him. ‘The downside to being an heir is that you must wait until your father decides it is time to retire. My father was too greedy and I have waited too long. I have yet to try the elixir of life. I wish to make up for lost time. Theow are nice and at night they keep me warm, but I hope you are as powerful as you loo…’ Conn was now naked. ‘Gyden;
that
looks powerful enough…’

~oo0oo~

They spent the next day familiarizing themselves with the village – several wiga asked to be released and Conn thanked them for their service by giving them a theow – an unusual kind of parting gift. He soon learnt that some of the previous Steward’s wiga had been a little too familiar with some of his theow, behind his back, so reducing his numbers had been surprisingly painless.

Others he was trying to decide if he could remember their names – it always seemed impolite to not know the name of the woman you were fornicating with. Additional tasks were created when Eowen and her group arrived. This hird had over twenty members – nine theow, four wiga, and five children. Having lived rough in the mountains for some time meant they looked like the poor cousins.  Conn asked that everyone be fed and washed and changed.

Eowen came into the roundhouse and greeted everyone like old friends – because they were. She had a small girl with her whom she introduced as Beornia, her daughter. She then bowed to him before embracing the beaming new Mundborak. A night of sampling the elixir of life had worked wonders. She explained to Conn that it was only two winters ago when she was sold from Tashke, and it was six winters ago when she was first brought here.

Eowen described her companions in their absence. ‘The four wiga are still young men – I urge you keep them. As for the theow, five are yours to deal. I am the only one of blood – and given that you have so many others of blood in your hird to keep you sated, I suggest that you have no need for the others so they can be sold. If you sell me – I hope you don’t – I will bring the most income for you. Also you should keep Fritilda, as my companion.’

All very unemotional. ‘You called Cynilda your sister. Are you also of Sinope?

‘No, we are father-cousins. I was fostered in Sinope when my mother died young – she was Mundborak but as I was too young to be claimed, my mother’s sister became Mundborak. I was secretly taken to Sinope by my brother because he thought I might be in danger – if my aunt hadn’t a daughter before I became sixteen I could reclaim my birthright, and she didn’t have any children. When I had seen sixteen winters, she still didn’t have a daughter. Before I could go and claim my birthright, my cousin Osnoth sold me to a theow-raider who sold to the Steward of Tashke – and he sold me to another theow raider.’

‘So where is your birthright?’

‘My birthright is to be Mundborak of Chois.’

In the ensuing silence, all Conn could hear was the sound of Derryth trying to suppress his laughter.

Conn had three months to spend in Tashke getting things working “his way” before he had to leave; handing over responsibility to Baldric and Alward. Leaving others in charge was not typical in Meria but they both “owed” him. He was also paying them well.

He also had to give a lot of thought to where he would go next. Eowen wanted him to go to Chois to reclaim her birthright, as Conn had not taken up offers to buy her, while Cynilda and Wilenda wanted him to go direct to Bahal – from where he could “invade” Sinope. Conn wasn’t fond of invading if he didn’t have enough wiga. And he didn’t. He needed to go to Sytha – but that seemed unlikely. Cynilda’s promise that they could go to Sytha from Kirman had proven to be hollow.

When Derryth returned from his daily lunchtime patrol of the village with Baldric, Conn was still thinking, and he sat down with him as food and drink was served. Derryth hated missing meals.

He took a deep draught of his beer before speaking. ‘So have you decided? Are we leaving next week?’

‘We are – and south – but other than that I don’t know. Sytha is definitely not an option; too many too pregnant and too far to travel, and too few wiga. I simply can’t defend them. I also have a weird feeling that we are missing something – something unfinished.’

‘There is always something unfinished. If you ask me, that is the nature of the Priecuman existence. Anyway, how many people are travelling with us?’

‘Over a hundred.’

He had done his best to reduce numbers in his hird – he had rid himself of all his theow except for nine; the four of Blood in Meria, four companion theow, and Keowyn. He knew now why having more than one theow of Blood was considered a bad idea. That being said, he was down on bed-mates as three were now pregnant; Cynilda, Wilenda and Wukilda.

‘A hundred – and only have ten wiga to guard them. I understand your hesitancy. I’d consider it a suicide mission. Where can we get more?’ 

‘At a port – Caledonia should have a company waiting for me – if we can find more horses big enough. Most of the local ones are still ponies.’

‘Which means?’

‘It means we will go to Chois. That is the only plan I have so far. With Eowen’s connection there perhaps we can find a port to use. I have two pigeons left – I hope they can make it to Caledonia’

‘You are assuming they will be happy to see you in Chois...’

He smiled. ‘Why would they not be happy to see me?’

~oo0oo~

When they did leave Tashke, none of his theow of Blood were happy with him; mainly because he hadn’t told them what he intended to do except go to Chois. He was asked many times during the six day ride, and he remained non-committal. As their frustration increased, Derryth’s level of amusement increased.

It was mid-afternoon when they finally arrived on the outskirts of Chois, and as they rode down to the town, it was clearly the largest settlement they had seen so far in Meria; taking up a long distance along the river and into the bay. Inside the town, Eowen led them to the largest inn that she remembered, and after they had settled their animals in, they headed for the residence of the Mundborak. It was their duty to go and announce themselves on arrival although having passed through the main gate, the Steward would know already. Eowen had been inconspicuous at the gate; she had in fact disappeared into the throngs of minor theow and wiga.

Wilenda led the way through the muddy streets and they soon arrived at the large roundhouse; guards stopped them at the front door.

‘Who seeks audience with the Mundborak?’ One demanded, formally rather than aggressively.

‘The Steward and Mundborak of Tashke.’ Wukilda answered, stepping forward.

The guards bowed and stepped aside. Inside they were met by another servant. Wukilda handed him a document and he led them further into the building. Soon they stood inside a crowded circular room similar in design to the Bout Hall in Kirman; at the main table sat the Steward and Mundborak. Conn was surprised to see that the Steward was not Merian – he was clearly Pontian and around him sat the rest of his hird – including an Ancuman theow. Conn looked at Derryth.

‘The plot thickens.’

The servant raised his hand, and a bell was struck resulting in a quiet room.

‘Fugol, Steward of Chois, Cearo, Mundborak of Chois, I present Conn il Taransay, Steward of Tashke and Wukilda, recently claimed Mundborak of Tashke.’

Conn and Wukilda stepped forward and bowed.

‘I also introduce Derryth of Halani, representative of the Twacuman.’

Derryth stepped forward, and bowed. The crowd clapped in surprise.

The servant continued. All of Blood must be introduced.

‘I introduce Cynilda of Sinope, claimant to Mundborak, Wilenda of Bahal, claimant to Mundbora, and…’ he stopped and looked at Eowen and then looked back to the scroll, his voice now strained, ‘and Eowen il Chois, claimant…’

His words were lost in the outburst of voices and it took some time for calm to be restored. A smiling Eowen stepped forward when silence was restored. By this time the Steward and Mundborak were standing; the expressions on their faces was one of shock – especially, Conn noted with interest, the Steward. He looked furious.

She bowed. ‘Hello Aunt, do you have any daughters yet? I do.’

Cearo looked extremely confused. ‘Eowen; I thought you were dead.’ She turned and looked to her Steward, ‘I was told you were dead…’

Eowen shook her head. ‘Alas, no. Theow-raiders are reluctant to throw away money despite how much they are paid – especially if you are willing to do
whatever
you need to do to survive. They are just men after all, and I was very
willing
to ensure that I survived. They were very satisfied with my skills. Later the Steward of Tashke bought me illegally but found me attractive enough to father a daughter.’

Conn had discovered earlier that theow-raiders didn’t rape women – despite stealing them and buying and selling them. An interesting contradiction until one learnt that the punishment for rape was worse than that for murder – with an added fine for the clan. The punishment for the rapist himself was castration and then execution a year later. A false claim of rape was likewise very severe for individual and clan.

‘I see. Men are so fickle.’ She directed them to sit down at their large U shaped table. ‘Despite what you may believe, I was not involved in any attack upon you. You are kin. When I found out, it was too late, and I thought you dead. What was done cannot be undone.’

Food and drink was served before Cearo spoke again.

‘So, Eowen, do you intend to stake your claim and set me aside, because…’

Her Steward had been looking furious the entire time and he immediately interjected, standing.

‘I will not be set aside... if this Samrian thinks he can take my place just by walking in the door he is mistaken. I will not stand for it…’

Cearo looked at him calmly. ‘Steward, you have no choice. If you had spent as much time fornicating with me as with others in your hird, and out, we might not be in this situation. I do not even have a son. I have been forsaken by my Gyden and I will have to repent for
your
sins.’ 

‘It will not happen.’ Fugol stormed out of the building, the rest of his hird behind him.

The Mundborak watched him go; shaking her head. ‘He thinks he has the support of his wiga – but in that he is also mistaken. He is Pontian, they are Merian.’ She looked back at Eowen. ‘So do you intend to set me aside?’

Eowen was about to speak but Conn put his hand on hers. She looked at him confused.

‘No, not today. I am on my way to Sytha… but I would have you formalize Eowen as your heir and her daughter Beornia as your heir. I will be happy to come back later to insist if the Steward has a problem with that.’

She smiled. ‘I had a report about how you became Steward of Tashke – I doubt that my Steward would step into a ring with you. He was once a strong man but now is only interested in paying boys to bend over for him down at the docks.’ She looked back at Eowen. ‘Eowen, I am truly happy to see you. My current heir is the idiot daughter of our cousin Eostre. I was in despair – she is so fat and ugly no man will claim her.’

Eowen smiled. She seemed resigned. She was also pregnant so couldn’t ask Conn to sell her.  Another rule.

Cearo continued. ‘Now, I have to know why a Samrian and a Twacuman are on their way to Sytha. I wasn’t even sure that the Twacuman even existed anymore? You are both a long way from home.’

It was late when they left the company of the Mundborak and after seeing everyone back to the inn, Conn and Derryth went to the Bout Hall to “investigate” and escape the questions of his theow. Inside the large building they found a reasonable beer and sat down at a small table. Around them a mixture of Merians and Pontians drank, fought and partook of services offered by the numerous theow owned by the innkeeper for the purposes of fornication hire. He seemed to have a thriving business.

As they sat, and watched, Conn noticed that the Ancuman theow of Fugol entered the smoky room. She spoke to several people before turning and looking at Conn before coming over to him. Everyone seemed to know her very well, and she casually slapped off a couple of errant hands as she passed. In other times, they may not have been pushed away.

She bowed to Conn and ignored Derryth. Conn was not surprised because to the Axum, the Twacuman were nothing but theow – to be seen and not heard.

‘Steward, I apologize for my rudeness earlier. I was taken away before I was introduced. My name is Dorte il Axum.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Dorte. You are a long way from home.’

She shrugged, mostly to ensure that her bust, large and hardly covered as it was, quivered. ‘A theow is a theow…’ She smiled as she scanned the room. ‘I have heard a rumour about you – one of which I would very much like to investigate…my master the Pontian doesn’t quite have the …let’s say… equipment … to bring a smile to my face. There is a small room out back that I know is available…I would be
very
appreciative and I promise you that it will be an experience that you will never forget…if you know what I mean.’

‘Dorte, I’d be more than happy to participate in your experiment … please go ahead, I’ll just finish this beer and follow right behind…’

She turned and pushed her way through the crowd towards the back door. As Conn stood, his hand passed Derryth’s, collecting his dagger. He had his own but two might be necessary as he didn’t have any swords.

Conn followed her to the back of the building. She waited for him at the door, ceremoniously loosening her halter straps to further expose her breasts, smiled with promise, and then turned and walked quickly out the door. Too quickly. Conn, pretended to drop something, waited for an extra stride before launching himself through the doorway in a forward roll; his childhood training as a gymnast serving him well. Where his head would have been, a blade swung harmlessly into the timber door frame. The force was strong enough to get the blade stuck in the timber momentarily and allowed Conn time to stand and counter attack. The Pontian wiga died with Derryth’s knife in his liver. Claiming the attacker’s sword, Conn turned to defend against the second assailant, who was quickly taken back by the ferocity of Conn’s swordplay and soon found himself outmatched and clutching at a sword as it sat lodged in his gut. The third assailant hang back, watching, and when he saw the fate of the other two, he tried to leave, sprinting, with Conn hot on his tail. It was obviously the Steward because he was overweight and unfit and within fifty yards was slowing down. He ducked into an alley and stopped. Conn didn’t pursue as he could hear his deep breaths in the darkness.

Conn called out. ‘Fugol. That was a very stupid thing to try and do. You know you are going to die now don’t you? I take people trying to kill me very poorly…’

Fugol puffed. ‘You can’t kill me – I’m the STEWARD. I demand that you go away.’

‘You are the Steward – my safety is your responsibility. You have failed and this is your punishment. I’m not going anywhere.’ Searching around, Conn found a large piece of timber broken off one of the buildings, and using it as a shield stepped into the alley. Fugol lashed out with his sword, straight into the piece of wood. Conn used Fugol’s momentum to spin him closer to him and directly into the path of the dagger. It entered straight into his stomach and into his lungs, and he collapsed to the ground. Conn pulled out his dagger as he fell and wiped it on Fugol’s tunic.

‘You were told…’

As Conn exited the alley, Derryth arrived with several members of the town guard carrying torches.

‘We found the two at the doorway – how many others?’

Conn pointed behind him. ‘Just the one…’

‘The Steward?’

Conn nodded, as the guards went in to investigate. The Steward was unceremoniously dragged out – there didn’t seem to be much respect for him, and they soon declared him dead.

Conn walked with Derryth back towards the bar. ‘Get your knife back?’

‘Yes; had blood all over it. I’ll have to boil it now. So where is the girl?’

‘Not sure – she ran. I hope you haven’t lost our table…’

‘Of course not – I have a girl sitting there for us. With two new full tankards.’