The Forgotten War

by Howard Sargent

  ‘I thought you might like it here, as you come from a castle on the coast. On a good day you can see Osperitsan, though this is not one of them unfortunately. The windows have curtains, lest the light keep you awake.’

  ‘Thank you, Baron, the room is lovely; you have been very considerate.’

  ‘I am glad you like it; we take an early dinner here, probably in two to three hours. A servant will notify you nearer the time. I am sure the other barons will be eager to meet you. A servant is on her way to show your handmaiden her quarters. Until dinner then. I shall take my leave.’ He bowed and closed the door.

  Aside from the windows the room was comfortably furnished – she was especially pleased to see a full-length mirror in the corner. With horror, she regarded the straggling bird’s nest that once was her hair and she also detected a pink tinge to the skin on her face, a legacy of the strong winds that blew so frequently up here. Among nobility even a hint of ruddiness to the skin, with its implication that its possessor worked outdoors in a manual occupation, could not be borne. It also seemed to make her freckles even more prominent. I look like a farmer’s wife, she moaned to herself.

  Within the hour she was transformed. Ebba returned to her and combed her hair thoroughly until it was silky soft and looked like liquid honey. She washed and freshened up before donning the rich red velvet dress she had brought specifically to make an impression. It had long wide sleeves and was embroidered in gold thread. In her hair Ebba placed an emerald-studded comb and she also wore a simple emerald necklace her father had given to her. She idly noticed her hair had grown and now reached down to the small of her back, so she decided to leave it loose. She perfumed herself with rose-water and applied some make-up to her face, dusting her lids and around her eyes, hopefully making them look bigger. Thus prepared and backed by Ebba’s assertion that she looked ‘every inch the Grand Duchess’, she strolled to the main hall for her dinner.

  She was the last to arrive (something she had counted on). The tables were laid, one, it seemed, for the lesser members of the household and one for the barons. Baron Skellar noticed her and beckoned her over.

  It was only the three barons at the table. Richney she knew – one of the Grand Duke’s closest confidants, a young man with extensively waxed moustaches, he always dressed ostentatiously, even by Ceriana’s standards. Today was no exception – he wore a rich golden, extensively embroidered surcoat over a black shirt and leather trousers. He wore a rapier at his side; she knew this was only for show, as he had probably never used such a weapon in his life. Ceriana had heard the derogatory phrase ‘perfumed warriors’ applied to such men; those born to a nobility they had never earned and who eschewed the responsibilities inherent in such an office, preferring to pay others to do the work in their stead. Her brother had followed the family tradition, joining the Grand Duke’s knights and so earning the respect of the people he would one day rule over. Richney obviously felt respect was his by right.

  She had already drawn up a mental picture of Vorfgan – tall, bearded and grim, like so many of the men up here. The last thing she expected was the smiling, blue-eyed flaxen-haired man standing before her. He was clean-shaven and relatively simply dressed in a pale-blue shirt and brown leather breeches. He was also quite tall; she was taller than the average woman herself but was aware that she was having to tilt her head quite pronouncedly to get a good look at him. Baron Skellar introduced them both.

  ‘Hello, my dear,’ said Richney. ‘I see the healthy northern air is working wonders on you. Your father sends his fondest regards.’

  ‘Thank you, Baron. Any news you have of my father would be greatly appreciated. We do correspond but letters can take a long time to travel between us, as you can imagine.’

  ‘He has actually given me a letter to deliver to you. I was going to find a ship going to Osperitsan and deliver it that way, but I see that that will no longer be necessary. I am actually returning to Tanaren City on a fast caravel the day after tomorrow, so if you wish to pen a reply I will happily give it to him.’

  ‘Thank you. I do not know if I have the time to pen a reply, but if I do manage it, I would be happy for you to take it to him.’ She didn’t entirely trust Richney, he had been one of her suitors and, in line with her discussion with the Grand Duke, might still have designs on her. She could see him quite happily reading any letter trusted to him.

  ‘And this,’ said Baron Skellar ‘is Vorfgan, Baron of Clutha.’

  ‘May I say what an honour it is for me to meet a daughter of Duke Hartfield.’ The man was courtesy personified. ‘Although, if I may be so bold, it was never explained to me what a great beauty she actually is.’

  ‘Jewellery and expensive clothing can make anybody look impressive but I thank you for your compliment.’

  ‘You may not believe me but when I made that statement I hadn’t even noticed that you were wearing jewellery.’

  She laughed. ‘I am not sure I believe you but, as it is our first meeting, I will give you the benefit of the doubt.’

  They all sat down. The food was meaty and rich, with gravy and bread for dipping into it. There was ale and wine, which she avoided, and almond milk, which she drank thirstily. Richney explained that it was his first trip to the north and that the Grand Duke was keen to foster both closer and friendlier relations between them and the capital. He felt that it was his purpose to bring the various disparate elements of the country closer together, especially as it was his desire to resolve the conflict in the east as soon as was practicable.

  ‘Fine words indeed,’ said Vorfgan. ‘Unfortunately, the problems we have here can be a little more complex. Loyalties can shift easily; some barons are unfailingly loyal to the Duchy, others less so. There are even some who advocate total separation and the establishment of New Kibil, what with the North’s differences in culture and religion.’

  ‘Bear in mind,’ said Richney, ‘that the Grand Duke has not held his position that long. He is determined to get to grips with the problems here. Tanaren is Tanaren, not Kibil, not Arshuma, not a Chiran client state. He will be inviting several of your barons to the Tanaren Spring Council next year, so grievances can be aired and problems hopefully resolved.’

  She was sure she noticed a strange gleam in Vorfgan’s sky-blue eyes at Richney’s remark. What is he thinking? she wondered.

  ‘I am sure most of the barons here will welcome such a gesture,’ said Baron Skellar. ‘I can see where the next problem arises as every baron up here will want to come down. May I suggest he looks at the constituents of the Northern Council and hand-picks individuals from the various regions to speak before him? That does not include me by the way; I am not a great traveller. Osperitsan is the limit of my horizons, I fear.’

  ‘And what of you, Baron Vorfgan, would you like to speak before the Grand Duke?’ said Richney earnestly.

  ‘I am barely established as a baron following the sad death of young Dekkan, and my lands are not extensive enough to establish me as one of the major nobles up here. My neighbour Baron Tragsmann would be a more fitting candidate. He is far more experienced in circles of diplomacy than I.’

  ‘So be it,’ said Richney. ‘I shall convey all of this to the Grand Duke.’

  ‘The Tanaren Spring Council is held after the northern one I believe.’ Ceriana felt the need to speak. ‘In which case I am assuming the barons summoned to Tanaren will return there with my father.’

  ‘I had not considered that,’ said Richney. ‘But it makes perfect sense now you mention it. Would you be travelling, too? If your husband is called south, it would make perfect sense for you to come as well.’

  ‘That,’ she said, ‘would be a decision for my husband.’

  They continued to eat. A band of musicians had started playing in the gallery above them. She was unfamiliar with the tune and asked Baron Skellar about it.

  ‘It is an old Kibil song, the “Lay of Gudrun and Ahnvehr” and the story of their doomed love for each other. I can tell
you the full tale later if you want, though. I am sure you can guess it didn’t end well for them.’

  ‘How very sad,’ she said. ‘Is there any nation that does not have songs telling tales of doom and misery?’

  ‘There are happy songs, too,’ said Skellar. ‘I think you will find that for a nation to consider itself a mature one its cultural breadth must be broad indeed; both happiness and despair must be chronicled in song and verse, for there are always times when a man seeks recourse in one to the exclusion of the other.’

  ‘And a woman,’ said Vorfgan, flashing Ceriana a dazzling smile with a full mouth of pearly white teeth. She acknowledged him, their eyes meeting for a brief but lingering moment.

  ‘Is it true,’ she said, ‘that every man in my present company is single?’

  Skellar laughed. ‘I believe so! My advisors want to pair me off with a fat widow from the mainland. So far I have resisted their machinations. How about you, Vorfgan?’

  ‘When it happens, it will have to suit me politically ,’ he said. ‘If only Syvuhka would allow us multiple wives.’

  ‘Some of the nobility in Koze in the south do just that, I believe,’ said Richney with a smile. ‘I, too, am waiting for the most advantageous moment to wed. The Grand Duke has someone in mind for me, I believe, but now is not the right time.’

  Ceriana wondered whom exactly he meant, but after admonishing herself for her paranoia she decided to change the subject.

  ‘We are inspecting the ships tomorrow, Baron Skellar? What does such a task entail?’

  ‘It is merely ceremonial,’ he said. ‘The captain has had his men scrubbing desks and painting wood all day. He will lead us around; all we have to do is observe.’

  ‘Will you be asking him to patrol the coast, to see where these pirates are based?’

  ‘That I will, my Lady.’

  ‘I thought our troubles with pirates were at an end?’ said Richney, his eyebrows raised.

  ‘It is never the case with pirates,’ sighed Skellar. ‘They are always here, maybe in fewer numbers, but they are never completely eradicated. What exactly are the three of you planning to do after tomorrow?’

  ‘Alas, I have to return to Tanaren,’ said Richney. ‘There is a fast caravel waiting in the harbour.’

  ‘And I have to continue my tour,’ said Vorfgan. ‘Baron Rosk is waiting for me.’

  ‘I thought you were here for at least another three days?’

  ‘Alas, there has been confusion with my schedule. I was going to tell you earlier but the opportunity did not present itself.’

  ‘Then, may Hytha speed both your journeys,’ said Skellar. ‘Lady Ceriana, what do you wish to do?’

  ‘I was hoping to see more of your island?’ she said hopefully.

  ‘Of course,’ he said with a laugh. ‘But I doubt it will take that long. Apart from Thakholm itself, there are a few other fishing villages and Gvernur in the high hills where they quarry the slate.’

  ‘Any beaches?’

  ‘Some small ones, but you would need to be on horseback to get to them, not in a carriage.’

  ‘Excellent,’ she said. ‘We will do a riding tour, and you can show me your beautiful island. Can we do it in a day?’

  ‘Most definitely, my Lady. The matter is settled.’

  She slept well that night; she put it down to the great draughts of sea air she had been breathing over the last few days. The next morning she was up bright and early (for her), dressed herself in a plain white dress with pale-blue kirtle and decided to walk the grounds of the manor. Stepping through the front door she noticed how the wind had dropped; it looked like it would be a milder day all round. The next thing she noticed was what appeared to be two men fighting in the main courtyard ahead of her; she heard the clash of wood and a shout of triumph and decided to investigate.

  Barons Skellar and Vorfgan were duelling each other with quarterstaffs. They were both stripped to the waist and sweating profusely. Both men’s torsos bore ugly red weals where their opponent had already found a mark. She noticed how lean they both were, with not an ounce of fat between them, how the muscles corded in their forearms and shoulders, how tight their pectorals were as they circled each other looking for the next strike. A small circle of servants and guards were watching them, a circle she quietly joined.

  Suddenly Baron Skellar noticed her. Raising his arm to his opponent, he lowered his staff and walked over to her, Vorfgan following.

  ‘I was not expecting such auspicious company for our little morning exercise,’ he said. ‘Tell me, my Lady, which of the two of us impresses you more?’

  ‘I joined the crowd barely a minute ago,’ she replied. ‘Certainly there has not been enough time to see who has the advantage. I was actually going to do a circuit of the manor house, so I shall proceed with that and wish you both the very best with your endeavours.’

  ‘You would disappoint us terribly if you did not stay but a little while longer,’ said Vorfgan with a smile. ‘Come, Jon, let us start our duel from scratch and let the Lady Ceriana judge the winner.’

  ‘I am sorry, gentlemen, but I have no knowledge of this type of combat. I have been to tourneys before and seen men duel with lance, sword and mace, but I really do not feel able to judge the winner between the two of you.’

  Vorfgan, however, was not giving up easily. ‘Worry not, this is not a serious competition; we will treat it all in the light-hearted manner in which it is intended, so it barely matters as to whom you call in favour of.’

  ‘Very well,’ she said warily. ‘Just as long as you see it as a trifling thing then I will play along.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Vorfgan emphatically. ‘What say you, Jon, a duel of no import with ten crowns from the loser to the winner.’

  She was about to raise an objection but the two men were already crouched, circling each other. Vorfgan licked his lips, a hungry smile on his face, and lowered his guard. Skellar aimed a blow at his head which he dodged easily. Vorfgan assayed a counterstroke, which Skellar parried. The game of punch and counter punch continued for some time. Ceriana grew bored; she had no idea who was the better of the two and had even tired of admiring the impressive physiques of both men. She didn’t even know if it was appropriate for a married woman to be watching such a display. She was about to try and stop both of them and declare a draw when Skellar caught Vorfgan’s leg with a lightning blow, tripping him and sending him flying. The ever-growing crowd cheered and booed in equal measure; evidently most of Vorfgan’s entourage were here.

  He got up, spitting out dust. ‘Good blow!’ he said to the other.

  The fight continued. She noticed, though, Vorfgan’s mask of absolute concentration and sensed his determination not to be caught again. Skellar attempted a similar trick but this time his opponent leapt over the blow, landing firmly back on his feet. He was smiling. ‘You are quite the master, Jon,’ he said. ‘but you haven’t stopped me yet.’ Skellar made another attempt at him, missing by quite a margin, but in doing so he left his guard open. Quick as lightning, Vorfgan countered, the edge of his staff catching Skellar square on the temple. There was a loud ‘thwack’ and the hapless man was flat on his back, his staff rolling free, to land at Vorfgan’s feet. He groaned as his servants rushed to attend him.

  Vorfgan walked up to him. ‘Are you all right, Jon?’

  He received a feeble croak as a reply.

  ‘Good, I will see you later for my ten crowns.’ With that he handed his staff to a retainer and strolled confidently back to the manor, followed a minute later by four servants bearing the limp form of the house’s owner.

  When Baron Skellar was struck Ceriana let out an involuntary squeak and put her hand to her mouth. Although she was relieved she would not have to decide between the two men, it was such a fierce blow she was genuinely concerned for his welfare. Once he had been back in his room for ten minutes or so, she decided to pay him a visit. He was sitting in a high-backed chair with two female servants either side of hi
m; one was applying a damp cloth to a nasty swollen red welt on his forehead. He looked groggy.

  ‘Are you all right, Jon? That was quite the blow you received.’

  He stared at her, his eyes glassy. ‘It will heal; the blow to my pride, however, is probably terminal. And the one to my purse, for that matter. Still, it will teach me to go to ridiculous lengths to impress a lady.’

  ‘And which lady was that, may I ask?’

  ‘You of course; alas, I now look quite the fool whereas the Baron of Clutha has all the glory.’

  ‘I am a married woman, you know,’ she said, smiling. ‘Men are so prideful and foolish to think a lady would be so impressed by the winner of a stick fight. As much as it is worth, I regard you as a friend and a good man. Now relax and let these ladies look after you. We can inspect the ships without you easily enough.’

  ‘Artorus’s teeth, you will do no such thing. I will be there even if I have one foot in Keth’s furnace.’

  ‘Very well, I will leave you now to recover.’

  ‘As you wish, my Lady. And thank you, I will take your friendship any day of the week.’

  She left him to his misery but made little progress down the hall before bumping into the victor of the duel.

  ‘My Lady, how is the invalid? I was just paying him a call myself, and not just to collect my winnings, I assure you.’

  ‘His pride is as bruised as his head. But he will be well enough to join us at the harbour.’

  ‘Good.’ Vorfgan’s smile was dazzling. ‘My blow was a lot firmer than I meant it to be. I hope you do not think me a vicious brute.’

  ‘Ha!’ she laughed. ‘Two men duel each other and both come out of it feeling sorry for themselves. Fear not, you both went into it with eyes wide open and I think none the worse of either of you. My opinions of you both remain unchanged.’

  He looked at her intently, eyes holding her transfixed.

  ‘As I am completely unaware of your opinion of me prior to our little engagement, I am unsure as to whether you have just paid me a compliment or not.’