by Wilf Jones
‘Good to see you well, Lord Gumb,’ Angren told the forester, ‘that was a hard fight.’
‘And a strange ending don’t you think? Felled like a young pine I was. Horse too. What did you make of it?’
‘Haven’t a clue,’ Angren replied while trying to suppress a smile: Gumb was no young pine. ‘I’m just glad whatever it was has gone. I thought I was dying.’
‘It’s not the only thing that’s gone, is it? Did I not see the Lord Wizard bolt from the field as though all the fiends of the underworld were after him?’
‘I think the fiends were fleeing before him. I’ve never seen him in such a temper. He’s gone to Astoril and he wants us to follow straight away.’
‘Straight away’ proved to be impossible, there was too much to do. First of all Angren helped Gumb organize care for the wounded. A fast rider was despatched to Lavenda, the nearest unravaged town, to pass on the news that the Black Company had been defeated, and to beg for surgeons to treat the most severely injured. Limbs would be lost, men blinded or maimed or witless as a result of the battle. The field was a pitiful sight.
The conflict had spread wide and there was no meadow without its reddening earth; no hedgerow without a corpse beneath; hardly a tree not shivering to the laboured breathing of a man nearly dead. Seeing such a quantity of gore, Angren found it hard to believe that there were survivors. Eighty or ninety dead seemed as bad as a thousand. Who would think they had so much blood in them?
As Angren overlooked the sad fields his eyes were ever searching for his friends. Where was Bibron and the twins, and ‘Berta and Sigrid? The thought of them hacked like the man just in front of him made him flinch from the sight.
‘Terrible to see, Angren.’
‘Yes.’
‘Blood is too precious to be wasted.’
Angren turned. The voice was right, but the words seemed off key. Garaid was staring at his open palm. Blood was pooled there as though he’d just scooped it up from the chest of the cadaver that lay on the ground before him.
‘Garaid are you—’
‘Look! Bibron.’
Sure enough, a few hundred yards away was the worthy captain and two more friends. Angren was overjoyed and ran to meet them. ‘Berta and Bibron, supporting Edro between them, raised a cheer to greet him. The sailor had a slashed thigh, not deeply cut but too painful for walking, and his companions were taking him to the camp in the forest to have the wound cauterized and bound.
‘Leg this time then?’
‘Angren! It’s only a scratch. The filthy dog was pretending to be dead. I trod on him, and this is what he does. Pah! He pretends no more.’
‘Good. We don’t want any of that sort left to bother us. How’s your brother?’
The swarthy Partian looked troubled. ‘I haven’t seen him. No one has. I fear for him you know. It’s very strange, but I think he’s… I don’t know if I’ll see him again.’
‘Less of that. He could be anywhere. He was with the bowmen wasn’t he? Garaid’ll have seen him. Garaid…’
But Garaid hadn’t joined them, and in fact he was nowhere in sight.
‘That’s odd,’ Angren muttered. ‘Look Bibron, take Edro over to the camp and see if you can catch up with some of the archers. They might have news. I’ll keep my eyes open but I have to help Gumb over at the house.’
‘And what about Sigrid?’ ‘Berta spoke up, ‘I haven’t seen her since that bit of trouble you were in. She can’t be hurt: there was no one to match her in that crowd.’
‘I was hoping she’d be with you. But you’re right, the way she was fighting today, well, she’ll be fine. Glad she was on our side! Don’t worry, I’ll have everyone that’s fit looking out for the pair of them. See you later. Don’t give up, Edro, we’ll find him.’
‘We’ll take care of the lad,’ said the captain, ‘Oh, Angren… er…’
‘Yes?’
‘If you should happen to find any rum in the house, you couldn’t—’
‘Purely medicinal, of course, Bibron?’
‘What else? Being thirsty’s unhealthy. Serious though, some spirit’d help with the pain for quite a few.’
‘I’ll see to it.’
Gumb had packed off his nephew with a handful of men to scour the edge of the forest for any survivors, whether friend or enemy – his instructions about the enemy were brief – when Angren caught up with him again.
‘How many have we left, Lord Gumb?’
‘Well, there’s you, and there’s me. Enough to storm a castle, what!’
‘Probably. At least one without defenders. Let’s hope they all came out.’
‘We’ll see. Come on, we must find out whether the ladies are still alive. I won’t have them locked up any longer.’
Angren took the reins of the horse Gumb had found for him, and they wasted no time in making for Moreda. But they’d not gone far when Angren pulled up short.
‘Hang on a minute. I think I see a lady in distress.’
Sitting in an untidy heap in the muddy ground, hair half-loose and eyes glazed, was Sigrid. She wasn’t bleeding but she looked as though the wind had been knocked out of her. Thinking she wasn’t much hurt, Angren chuckled: she looked just like one of his sister’s rag dolls.
‘Now then my little warrior-woman, you look a bit sick.’
Sigrid didn’t respond immediately, and when she did it was to shake her head, and then peer unfocussed at the pair of them.
‘Angren?’
‘Yes Sig, no one worse or better.’
They dismounted and Gumb fished out his hip flask. The spirit helped a little and though she was bleary-eyed and dizzy, she managed to explain that a horse she’d found had stumbled and thrown her. She must have whacked her head on the nearby fence as she fell. Angren was relieved it was nothing more serious. His understanding of medicine was limited to field action, but he believed that, after a whack on the head, as long as you came round fairly quick you were generally alright.
‘What say we take her to the house, Angren? With any luck we’ll find someone there to look after her.’
Angren nodded agreement and picking up his rag doll very carefully he managed to lift her onto his saddle. He was climbing up behind when they all heard the hoofbeats of a horse cantering towards them. Hair rippling gold in the clear sun, the vermillion cloak borrowed from one of Gumb’s men streaming behind her, Helen Travers looked like a goddess of war, a queen at the very least. To Angren she was an uplifting sight, but to Sigrid the dizzy flashing of bright colour was the final discomfort that pushed her over the edge. She leaned over and retched and retched and retched. Spew splattered over Angren’s arm as he supported her.
‘Poor Sigrid,’ said Helen, all concern. ‘You’re unwell. Let’s get you up to Moreda. You need looking after.’
‘It’s a bit risky, niece. I think you should wait until we’ve found out—’
‘I am coming with you Uncle! I want to see those women safe.’
Lord Gumb regarded his niece with an appraising eye. He refrained from asking questions. ‘We’ll go then. I haven’t time to argue.’
Catarina Beltez had been the worst. She so obviously resented Helen getting all the attention, that she refused to listen to what was only common sense. Helen wasn’t surprised. The Beltezians had always turned up their noses at the people of the northern divisions, though Helen couldn’t understand what they had to be so proud of. And here they were again, denying sense because it was spoken by an uncouth Northerner. Helen wanted her revenge. Not the violent revenge of the field, but a gentle teasing revenge to pay them for allowing the sorcerer’s men to carry her off undefended. Walking in to greet them like a victorious queen would do it. She couldn’t wait to see their faces.
The relief force of the two men, one woman and a
nother but very sick woman, threw caution to the wind on their approach to Moreda. They were certain it was unguarded and luckily they were right.
For the second time that day Helen galloped over the moat bridge and clattered through the gravel yard. Angren was first to dismount but by the time he had helped Sigrid down, Helen had beaten him to the door.
‘They’re still here,’ she called, and then laughed at the alarm on the men’s faces. ‘Don’t panic. I mean those two Sigrid cut-up this morning. They must have left them dying. You would have thought they’d be good to their own.’
‘There was no good in any of them, niece.’
Gumb squeezed past Helen and looked into the hall. ‘There seem to be more dead by the stairs. Sigrid again?’
‘As I remember, uncle, she had only two of those. Angren and Seama shared the others, but she is amazing, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, and it would be good to keep her that way. Let’s see if there’s somewhere she can rest.’
A very short search found them a small parlour, and they were helping Sigrid onto the couch when they were surprised by a polite cough. Rising nervously from behind the couch was a girl of about fourteen years, hair tousled and cheeks red. She didn’t say anything to explain her presence but after a few moments she managed a smile.
‘Hello,’ Angren offered, but the girl merely smiled more broadly. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Giselda, your honour; Giselda Banco.’
‘By heaven, Angren. I know someone who’s going to be happy. What were you doing here, lass? Did they hurt you?’
She dropped her head in answer and Gumb decided to question her no more. She seemed grateful.
‘Is the lady hurt, my Lord?’ she asked, seeing Sigrid so close to fainting. ‘I could get some medicine. There’s a chest-full in the kitchen, I’ll—’
She had been striding to the door but stopped, suddenly frightened to leave the room.
“Are they all gone now Sir? Are they?’
‘Yes, yes. Fear not, lass,’ Gumb took her gently by an arm and made her sit down. ‘You just sit here. Did you not see the battle?’
‘I watched until the monster came and I… I could’t watch anymore. Not again.’
‘Well then. The demon is gone, and those that called the beast are dead. What do you say to that, Giselda?’
‘It’s good.’
‘Good? No more than that? It’s a time for rejoicing, young lady! A time to be happy.’
‘Forgive me, My Lord, but I can’t… My father and mother are dead. My brother too. He was so brave, he…’ She began to weep softly and Helen, hiding her own grief, found it painful to see the girl’s misery.
‘Hush little one, hush.’ she said and took her in motherly arms. ‘They died nobly, I’m sure. We’ve all suffered by these evil men but now they’ve paid for their crime. Hush now.’
‘Gumb! Will you not tell her?’ Angren burst out.
‘I was about to, Angren. Given a man chance. My dear, all is not so terrible. I cannot do more than console you about your parents, but as to your brother…’
‘Guy?’
‘Yes, the lad himself. He is, as far as we know, alive and well, and what’s more, he’s somewhere in this house.’
Giselda didn’t know where to put herself.
‘Where is he, where is he? I’ve got to find him.’
‘All in good time. Now then, first of all we have Sigrid to care for. We cannot leave her like this. I’d thought, perhaps, you could look after her, while we release the others.’
‘Oh. But… Yes, of course, my Lord.’
Helen looked on. The girl must have suffered so much, and said not a word about it. Her only tears were for her family and now, despite the desperation to find her brother, she still had the goodness to think about poor, injured Sigrid.
And there she lay, the woman who had done so much to save Helen’s life, pale as death. She deserved all the care Helen could provide.
‘It won’t do,’ she said aloud, ‘No, Uncle,you must take Giselda to her brother, and release those poor women from that awful cellar. I’ll stay here to look after our friend. Well? Go on then: they’ve waited long enough.’
And so it was that despite her more ignoble yearnings, Helen Travers settled for the inglorious task of nursemaiding and she found herself satisfied with the role.
The night in the cellar had not passed without incident. After Seama had left, De Vere assessed the situation and decided how they would last the night. He knew that barricading the door would be a mistake, would risk raising the alarm too soon should any of the men upstairs decide to come down. The answer was to marshall the women into a force willing and capable of trapping or killing anyone that entered the cellar. Terrance De Vere had no problem in motivating the ladies of Beltez. He was not a strip of a girl, he was a man and they were used to taking orders from men.
Guy tried to help at first, but he wasn’t much use. He was more concerned with trying to find his sister and mother. When it was established that his mother had been among the first to die, he was inconsolable, but when he learned that his sister had been taken away a few hours before they arrived, he was blazing. Guy ran for the cellar steps, all set to rampage through the house and prepared to kill the lot of them, if only he could save her. But Terrance blocked his path.
‘You’ll spoil everything if you start trouble now,’ Terrance told him.’It’s hard Guy, I know, but that’s the way it has to be. If you cannot help us here, I suggest you keep out of the way. But mark this: if you attempt to leave the cellar, I’ll have you bound to a rack. Do you understand?’
Guy was too angry to speak, but understood the look in Terrance’s eyes and backed off. Attempting to bottle his rage he flung himself down in a corner and spoke to no one.
It was with Catarina Beltez that Terrance arranged things: a simple trap that would require only a little confident dissembling. He suggested that two women might begin a fight at the first sign of company. The men would almost certainly want a closer look.
He could hardly believe their luck when he found a tarpaulin so close at hand, and wasn’t slow to think of a use for it. They strung the canvas between wine racks, too high to be noticed in the dim light. The ladies, with their wooden staves ready for more worthy targets than earlier, waited all-innocent, weapons hidden in the folds of their skirts.
It must have been nearly four o’clock when they were called upon to use those weapons, and they used them with all the vengeful strength they could muster. Three men came to amuse themselves and were delighted at the spectacle of a fight. Sure enough, they descended the steps to see better, the tarpaulin fell, and the blows rained down on them as they struggled to get free. It was a horrible death. A death in confusion. The women didn’t stop beating for some time after all movement had ceased.
Shortly before dawn, De Vere allowed them to erect the barricade knowing the real trouble was about to begin. None of them had slept much. Terrance was worried that if they had to fight, fatigue would count against them. In the end it didn’t matter. Some women screamed when the uproar began, but most took it calmly. They heard yells, the clash of steel, and the sound of people running.
Some men ran down to the cellar door and hammered on it when it wouldn’t open. They shouted orders and threats, but before they could work at forcing the door other voices were heard.
‘Mart Scarik wants us on the field. Leave ‘em. We’ll see to the bitches later. Come on! You’ll miss the game.’
A sort of silence fell. There were dim noises far off, but it was impossible to understand what was happening. All they could do was wait.
After what seemed an age there was more hammering on the cellar door.
‘Open up! Open up! Terrance, it’s me, Angren. Let us in. I’ve Gumb with me. Hello! Is anyb
ody there?’
It took a while to dismantle the barricade but eventually the door was opened. Instantly a small figure flew through it, surprising everyone except Guy, who didn’t notice because he was skulking around at the back of the crowd. He didn’t see her coming. Giselda launched into his arms before he even had the chance to understand who it was. But then he knew her, and then he laughed and then he cried, and he clung to her as though he would never let her go.
Over a bite to eat they decided who was to come, and who would stay, and who would follow later. Of Seama’s company De Vere, Garaid – who had reappeared when the house was explored for any more survivors – ‘Berta, Bibron and a now much recovered Sigrid, would all accompany Angren and Lord Gumb on the road to Astoril. The baron would bring with him four regular soldiers and, on Terrance’s advice, young Alan Travers.
Terrance had said: ‘That boy is stirring trouble, my Lord; trouble we can all do without. Why not invite him to take the journey? Why not insist? I want to keep an eye on him.’ Gumb hesitated only to observe the bragging youth exhulting with the younger surviving soldiers, before nodding and saying: ‘So do I.’ Helen would stay, of course, to help with the wounded, and she was apparently happy to do so.
Edro wasn’t fit to travel. His leg was heavily bound and very stiff, but the discomfort was nothing to him. Piedoro’s body had been found, dead, seemingly without a wound. Angren understood well enough the young sailor’s need to see his brother given a decent and proper funeral. Sigrid offered to stay with him, but Edro declined saying that the journey alone to Astoril would be good for him.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ he said, ‘When I’m finished here, I’ll come. Tell Seama. I know they’re all dead, this Black Company, but… I don’t know: it doesn’t feel as though it’s over. I need an enemy and I think Seama will find him for me. I need to make someone pay.’