He walked into Sea Street and turned left, tasting the salt tang rising from the harbour. It was better lit here – torches burned at intervals along the seafront and the red lamps at the warehouse windows gave the faces of the nearest passers-by an eerie, demonic tinge.
At last he was here. The last warehouse on the eastern side. The brothel owned and run by the Kegertsas. It had a great many shuttered windows in its high façade of clean grey stone, not even counting the others to the building’s side. Where would he begin? Why was he truly here? His nerve – fuelled by alcohol, initially, but since whittled down by the cold – began to fail him. He was about to turn on his heels when he thought again about why he was here and who was behind those implacable stone walls, maybe just yards away.
The door was of oiled dark wood. A double door, it was closed and guarded by two burly men. Was any man here of normal build? A couple of girls were there, too; despite the night chill, their loosely laced bodices could barely contain the quivering flesh underneath. Willem swallowed, asked Artorus to forgive him, and marched up to the door.
‘Two ducats for admission,’ said one of the men, his voice a study in boredom. ‘And no weapons; we need to search you first.’ Willem paid the money and let the man pat him down. The other man was chatting to the girls. Willem found it interesting that, although he found his situation bizarre, to these people it was just another day, as tedious as the day before. They talked of the price of onions, the necessity of a trip to the cobbler to fix some loose stitching on one of the girl’s slippers, which tavern sold the best ale, and so forth. Just another day earning enough to get by.
Satisfied with his search, the man opened the door just wide enough to admit him. Willem stepped through, completely unsure of what to expect. Would it be a simple waiting room? Would it be a decadent lounge, furnished in plush red velvet, in which various young ladies would be reclining? In fact, it was neither – it was a plain room with a bench and two people who came over to him as soon as he saw them. The first was a woman with a white-painted face, make-up thickly applied probably to disguise her age. The second was a man, but it was the woman who spoke to him first.
‘Hello there, sweetie; I bid you welcome to our establishment. What is it you wish of us? If you have the coin, then anything can be provided for you. And I mean anything. Nobody leaves here disappointed.’
Willem’s nerves started to show. He started to stammer, something he rarely did these days. ‘I ... I ... w...would like a ... a girl.’
‘Well, you are in the right place here. Any particular type? Young? Old? Fair or dark? We have them all here.’
‘I know exactly what he wants,’ the man cut in. He came and stood next to the woman, and Willem saw that he was in fact one of the heavies that had arrived with Odo when he came to speak to them. ‘Do you want me to check if she is free.’
Willem’s nervousness went. The cheek of these people – as if Alys belonged to any of them here. ‘Yes.’
‘I will be five minutes. You will have to pay like anyone else, though – five ducats for half an hour, more for extras, but Monica here can tell you about those if you are interested.’
He disappeared through a back door. Willem briefly saw a staircase before it was closed again. Monica looked at him with interest. ‘Your girl works here?’
‘Yes,’ said Willem, ‘and if I was anything like a warrior, I would come here sword unsheathed and just take her away from all of you.’
‘You would never get out alive,’ Monica said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘Though this is just the right place to unsheathe your um ... sword, if that is what you want. Now, as the man said, five ducats, please.’
Willem stumped up the cash and sat down. Shortly after the man returned.
‘Follow me.’
He led Willem deep into the building. What had once been large storage rooms had been converted long ago into dozens of smaller cubicles, some framed in stone, others in barest wood. Curtains served as doors here and, judging from the noises he could hear, most were fully occupied. The place was a maze; he would never find his way out unassisted. They went up three flights of stairs, down several corridors and around two or three sharp corners. Finally the man stopped at the last room in one corridor. It was gloomy in the lamplight; the dark curtain was pulled fully over the door frame. Behind him as he leaned back against the wall, waiting, Willem felt a window shutter; he guessed they were somewhere along the side of the building.
‘In there,’ the man said. ‘You have half an hour. I will get you when it is up.’
Willem pulled back the curtain and went inside. The room was as gloomy as the corridor, one lamp lit it dimly. He saw a table, a small storage trunk and a simple bed covered in a thick mattress. And Alys. She was sitting upright on the bed watching him.
Seeing her for the first time since her abduction caused a tidal wave of emotion to well up inside him – concern, relief, happiness, despair. Choking it off as best he could, all he could manage to say in as even a tone as possible was ‘Hello.’
‘Hello,’ she answered back. She had make-up on and her hair was loose behind her. She was wearing a long nightdress of cotton that had fallen off her shoulders and with its laces loosely tied so that it barely covered her breasts. She became immediately aware of her immodesty and quickly pulled the laces taut. ‘I am sorry,’ she said, ‘it is how they like it here.’
Willem walked over to her and she stood so that she faced him. Her eyes brimmed with tears and he was not so far behind. They hugged, silently.
Eventually, she released him as the strength in her arms waned. She spoke, as though reciting a speech she had practised many times in her head. ‘Willem,’ she said, ‘I thank you for your loyalty and courage in pursuing me here; it must have been difficult and not without danger. But I must ask one thing of you and one thing only, and that is that you leave here and forget me. Go back to Tanaren City. Learn from Cedric and become the great scholar you deserve to be. I am no longer worthy of you. Please do this, find another lady more deserving, I beg you.’
Willem was taken aback for a second. ‘No, I have come here t...’
‘I am no longer worthy of you!’ she half shrieked, half sobbed, at him. ‘Every night the men come – six, seven or eight a night – and I do not refuse them for I am nothing but a coward. There is no escape from this place. I will become diseased and will do nothing but produce bastard children until I am no more use to those that own me. Now leave me!’
She slumped back on to the bed, head in hands, her body racked with sobs. The lump in his throat made it difficult for him to speak. He was close to tears himself but was determined not to show them. He had to be strong for her; it took him a minute to compose himself and speak in an even tone but he finally managed it.
‘I will never leave you, Alys. Never. For I love you more than I could ever love another. What you do here you have to. To survive. It is your body doing these things, not you, and as long as that holds true what happens here is of no importance to me. Do you still think of me here?’
She nodded dumbly.
‘And I never stop thinking of you. Never.’
She smiled, wanly. ‘But how can we escape? These are dangerous men.’
‘I know, and yet again it is Haelward you must thank, not I. He will be fighting for your release in a spike fight, whatever that is, in a couple of days’ time. If I were more of a man, I would be the one fighting but, as ever, I sit idly by as the fate of the woman I love is decided by others.’
Alys smile strengthened a little. ‘Are you saying you are not so much the man as others might be?’
Willem’s reply was bitter. ‘I thought that was glaringly obvious.’
Her voice became grave. ‘Sit down, Willem, here, next to me where I can hold you.’
He did so and she put her arm around him. ‘Do you think the measure of a man is decided by his prowess in a fight? By his ability to kill and maim? Perhaps by the strength with which he strikes
his wife if she scolds him. Or maybe you think it is determined by his ability to coerce others, to use fear and terror to bend people to his will? But then, surely, if that was the case, then the wolf that brings down a deer is a man, or the bird that devours its sibling, or the pike that swallows the moorhen chick. No, Willem, what makes a man a man is his ability to conquer his primal instincts, to ascend them, to become what all other creatures cannot. A real man is one who is constantly learning, humble yet eager for knowledge and understanding. Only such a man as that is capable of the truly great virtues – gentleness, compassion, humour! – for to make a lady laugh is a gift sorely undervalued. The writer Mountfessen was a great man, one who will be remembered for centuries. The Kegertsas will not, and you, Willem, are far more a Mountfessen than a Kegertsa; you are both sensitive, caring and brave, for, if you weren’t, you would not be here, and that Willem is why I love you. You are a real man, far more than the thug standing guard outside. Never forget that, even if it is our destiny never to be together.’
Willem pulled Alys to him. ‘Thank you, my love. We will get you out of here; do not give up hope. Even if Haelward fails in his fight, there will be other ways, other chances. We have made many friends of late and they will not abandon us.’
They sat in silence for a while, comforted by their proximity to each other. Finally Alys spoke again. ‘Willem.’
‘Yes, my love.’
‘You still have over fifteen minutes.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘I have washed; I am clean. I do not smell of other... men. Can you hold me please, embrace me until they come for you? It would be so comforting to hold the man I love, even if only for a little while, even if it is for the last time.’
‘It will not be the last time. And you are always clean. And with your hair down and your shoulders bare...’
‘Yes?’
‘You have never looked more beautiful.’
She kissed him. ‘Then let’s make fifteen minutes last a lifetime.’
And that is exactly what they did.
25
They arrived in Thakholm harbour to find it a scene of frenetic activity. Evidently the news of events in Osperitsan had already arrived, for the entire fleet housed there was making ready to sail. Ceriana saw half a dozen galleons, three times that number of carracks and many more cogs and caravels, all with men swarming over their decks preparing sails, loading shot for the catapults, bolts for the ballistae, pitch that could be set aflame if required, and many other munitions required for war. The jetty and harbour-side itself were also teeming. The quiet fishing town Ceriana had remembered had become a military base.
With all this activity going on, their little fishing vessel went completely unnoticed. It skirted close by a couple of vessels, close enough to hear their captains yelling orders and the creaking of their timbers, before eventually sidling into a quiet little mooring spot close to the statue of Hytha, god of the sea, whose presence was obligatory in all sea-fronting towns.
As she had nothing to do on the journey other than sit and wait, Ceriana had had a lot of time to think. Too much time really for she could not stop playing and replaying the events of that terrible night over and over again in her mind. Her husband was dead, killed by traitors, as was her father. The two men who had been closest to her in her entire life were gone and had been replaced with ... nothing. She felt nothing but a big yawning ache inside her, yet she had not cried. It had surprised her, for tears often came readily to her when she was upset, but this time, despite undergoing the greatest trauma of her short life, she had remained cold and resistant to such a womanly trait. She had prayed for both of them, of course, but again, for the first time she could remember, she felt as if she was speaking to those deaf to her pleas.
Gereth assisted her on to the jetty while one of the other fishermen (his cousin, she had been told) carried her baggage on to the shore. ‘I am sorry, my Lady, but I need to stay with my vessel. I may even be called to serve with the fleet. I do not know. Ebba will stay with you, of course, and I think that man Henk is trying to secure you transport to the manor house.’
‘I thank you, Gereth, for you have saved me from imprisonment or even death by risking your own life. I will repay both you and Ebba, I swear it.’
‘That will not be necessary, my Lady, serving you has been an honour for me. Ebba has spoken of you often, of your kind heart and generosity. It has been good to see that her tales were not exaggerated, I just wish the circumstances of this journey had been different.’
As he finished speaking, Henk strolled up to see them. He had said little to Ceriana on the voyage and had even seemed to be actively avoiding her. This time, however, he made a beeline for her.
‘It has been difficult finding transport, my Lady; in the end I had to use your name and threaten a whipping to get a coachman to take you. All men are being pressed to aid the navy you see. Come, I will escort you and Ebba to the man in question.’
Carrying their hastily packed bags, Henk walked both ladies the distance of the jetty to where a man sat atop an uncovered coach, obviously waiting for them. Henk assisted both of them inside, then spoke to Ceriana.
‘My Lady, I have business to attend to here, but would like to request an audience with you for later in the day. You may learn things of interest to you.’
What did that mean, she wondered? There was something about this man that just didn’t ring true. Despite her reservations, she replied simply. ‘Of course. I will see you at the manor house whenever you get there.’
Neither girl spoke as they travelled up the coastal path to the manor house, for the wind off the sea rendered conversation difficult. Ebba did look at her with pity in her eyes, though, and Ceriana was surprised to see Ebba take her hand in her own. Back home in Edgecliff, such impertinence in a servant would be rewarded with a scolding, or even a thrashing. This time, though, all Ceriana did was squeeze Ebba’s hand tightly, recognizing the other girl’s attempt to comfort her.
At the courtyard of the manor house she gave the coachman a coin and waited for the seneschal to come to her. It didn’t take long and he recognised her immediately. ‘Is Baron Skellar here?’ she enquired.
‘My Lady, he arrived not ten minutes before you. He has been at the harbour all day ensuring that the fleet sails with the morning tide. A man is informing him of your arrival as we speak.’
‘Good. I would speak with him as soon as he is free.’
‘Of course, my Lady, come on in and be seated. I will arrange for the kitchens to provide some provender for you.’
‘For us both, please; I am sure Ebba is as hungry as I.’
He seated them in the main hall and had left them for under a minute before Skellar arrived, his face flushed with activity and his baggy silk shirt bathed in sweat.
‘Ceriana!’ he said. ‘You are alive, thank Artorus you are alive; we have had so little reliable information.’
She raised a hand to stop him. ‘Jon, inform the fleet that Vorfgan is in league with Kudreyan pirates and they will attack long before anyone gets to Osperitsan.’
He nodded. ‘Thank you, my Lady, but we know. Ships fleeing the attack have seen them, hence the fact that the fleet is still preparing to leave. It is expecting battle, so have no fear on that score.’ He stopped a second to gather his thoughts.
‘My Lady, we have had nothing but rumours. Your husband...’
‘...Is dead. As is my father.’ Ceriana then gave a blow-by-blow account of what had happened that night, trying to recall every detail. ‘Vorfgan has obviously been planning this for a while. I got the impression that Einar was a more recent recruit, Vorfgan had been travelling a lot around the north. It now seems obvious he was sounding out the barons, seeing who would join him.’ She shuffled awkwardly on her feet. ‘Did he try to recruit you? Thakholm is an important port, after all.’
‘No, Ceriana, he didn’t. Maybe he saw me and realised there was no point trying. If you recall last
time I saw him he nigh on knocked me out.’
‘Oh yes.’ She remembered now. ‘I had forgotten your duel. It seems so long ago.’
‘My head was singing for a week. If I had known then what he was up to, he would never had left the island alive.’
She nodded sadly. ‘Yes, it is a terrible thing to say, but I wish you had dealt him a fatal blow that day, so much pain and strife would have been avoided. The fleet in the harbour, it is off to attack Osperitsan, yes?’
‘To defeat the pirates and reclaim the island for the Grand Duke; that is exactly what it is doing.’
‘Vorfgan is expecting this. He will be prepared. And he has territories on the mainland.’
The Baron laughed. ‘I did not know you had become the general!’ he said. ‘One thing at a time. Take Osperitsan, then attack his power base, blockade his port and cut off his food supplies. Make it a long winter for him. That is the plan.’
‘Are you going? I mean with the fleet?’
‘No. When the fleet leaves someone needs to be here in case they try a sneaky attack on us. Thakholm has to stay in the Grand Duke’s hands. If Vorfgan controls this harbour, then he controls the seas in the north.’
She sighed. ‘He said as much. That once the fleet was defeated, he would come for you.’ She unexpectedly clasped his hands. ‘Don’t let him take you. You know he will show no mercy. Have a ship ready in case the worst happens. Promise me, Jon; I mean it. I have lost my husband and my father, I don’t wish to lose my friend, too.’
He pulled his hands free and placed them on her shoulders. ‘If that is what you wish. We have to make arrangements for you, too, and the little one you carry.’
The Forgotten War Page 109