When Sean had finished, the woollen trousers and linen shirt lay in a pile on the floor and he was wearing a pair of leather breeches and a fine white cotton shirt that Martin had given him on his eighteenth birthday. He kept the red leather vest, and also the boots, which were in remarkably good condition once all the muck had been scraped from them. He strapped on Fitzsimmons’ sword before looking at the Warden.
“So. Am I to be carried away in chains?” he said.
“I won’t be carrying anything for some time,” the big man said. “But I knew already you had the right of it. I never fully trusted Johnson—there was too much of the renegade in him, and I always felt that he stopped just short of brigandry himself. Although it is a shame that he took two others with him—they were not bad men, just misguided. If I ever make it back to Garstang, I will have plentiful tales to tell.”
The Warden winced as he tried to move, and Sean moved fast to his side to help him. He got the Warden into an upright position.
“I’ve just realised that I do not even know your name,” Sean said.
“Nathaniel Cooper,” the big man said, and put out a huge hand. “Nat to my friends, of which you have just become the newest.”
Sean shook the man’s hand, feeling the strength of the grip.
“Sean Grant, officer of the Watch of Milecastle—no, as of this morning, Captain of the Watch of Milecastle, although I wish my promotion had not come upon me in such a fashion,” he said. “I hope you no longer wish to see me dangling on a rope?”
Cooper laughed.
“No. I fear you have a greater destiny, for I have never heard such a story. I cannot blame you for your actions—any of them—and although you have broken several laws, I believe God would judge you innocent. I only wish I had not busted this leg,” he said, slapping the splint, then wincing at the pain it brought him. “I would fight by your side again.”
The big man swung his legs out of bed.
“Come. Help me to the courtyard. I would pay my respects to our dead.”
“The doctor said I was not to let you out of bed,” Sean complained.
“And I told him that I would not stay in bed when the Boy-King is loose in England. Which of us do you believe will prevail?”
Sean laughed. “I never was one for doing what I was told by my elders. But we will go slowly, for that leg will not take much exercise.” “I promise not to run if you don’t,” the Warden said, and they both laughed as they headed for the stairs. The laughter died in their throats as they emerged into the dead silence in the courtyard.
There was already a small crowd gathered around the pyre, and Sean realised with a sudden shock that this must be all that was left. He might have been appointed Captain of the Watch, but it looked like there wasn’t going to be anyone to watch over.
The people stood in a rough semi-circle around the pyre. Their faces showed the strain of the previous hours, and no one spoke. Even the children were quiet, clinging close to the women’s skirts. There were few still with their birth mothers—it looked like many of the town’s families would be rebuilt with new members after last night.
Sean helped Cooper over to a low wall and got him seated.
“You do not bury your dead?” Cooper asked.
“Not such as these,” Sean said. “For after Others have attacked, it is hard to tell who is true dead, and who might return. But the Thane is always accorded a pyre...it is our tradition.”
When Sean turned back to the pyre, Menzies was coming out of the Great Hall, his pace slow and measured. He was wearing the colours of a member of the council, a plain white cloak, its hood pulled down over his eyes. Beneath it he wore the grey tunic and black breeches of an officer of the Watch. Campaign medals hung on his chest. Sean realised, for the first time in all the years he had known the man, that Menzies had not always been a medical man, or, if he was, he had combined it with some serious military action.
Sean had always thought of Menzies as a weak old man, but last night had changed that opinion forever. And now, as the old man walked with a straight back and a dignity that belied his years, Sean felt ashamed of his previous low opinions.
Behind Menzies came Campbell, grim and serious, carrying the Thane’s sword. His wound had been tended and stitched and his hair washed. He looked much like he had on Sean’s first view of him, barely a week before. But this was a sterner man, somehow a stronger man. His eyes blazed, like twin sapphires burned beneath his brows, and he looked neither left nor right as he paced behind Menzies.
Behind the Scotsman, looking like he could barely stand, came Martin, carrying the body of his father. The bandages on his arm were soaked red, the blood dripping to run on the white robe with the red trimmings—a Thane’s robe. Under the robe Martin also wore his Watch uniform, and Sean found himself wishing that he had thought to wear his own, though if truth be told, he was loath to part with the red vest.
Martin looked to have aged ten years or more in one night, but his pace did not falter as Menzies led the small procession to the pyre.
Sean could hardly believe that the body in Martin’s arms was that of the Thane. It looked too small, too shrunken. Only the swathe of grey hair reminded him of the old man he had known...that and the white robe that mirrored the one his son wore.
It was only after the body was in place and they all three stepped back that Sean saw Martin falter, his knees buckling. Campbell was beside him waiting for it and allowed Martin his shoulder for support.
The Parson stepped forward. It was only the second time Sean had seen him since his return to the fort; the God-fearing churchman had been conspicuous by his absence the night before.
“The wrath of the Lord has descended on us all, but we have returned from the very gates of Hell itself,” he began, and Sean switched him out of his mind. He had long since realised that the Parson’s god of blood and vengeance was not a god he could recognise. What he had heard from Martin of the ways of the woodsmen sounded a much better basis of a religion for him.
The Parson’s droning voice continued for long minutes before Sean realised that the small crowd had their head bowed in prayer. He joined them hastily, but not before he noticed Menzies studying him with an amused look.
Finally, the Parson stopped. A light rain started to fall and the sky darkened, but no one left the courtyard as Martin stepped forward and started to speak.
At first his voice was weak and barely carried across the courtyard, but it strengthened as he went on.
“Only a week ago I was a boy, and my father was an old, old man who blocked me in my desires. I did not understand what it meant to be Thane. Now I am a man, I have no desires left, and I cannot tell him that I now know the weight he had to bear.”
He faltered, and it seemed like he would not be able to continue. Sean was about to step forward when Martin’s head rose and he started to speak again.
“He died, not as a Thane, but as a father protecting his son against a traitor from the very ranks of the Watch. I will always be grateful to him, and I will not rest until the traitor is brought before the book.”
His voice rose further so that all the crowd could hear.
“He was your Thane for thirty years, and the task that was long-awaited fell to him. He did not shirk from it, and he died trying to keep an oath. Milecastle will sorely miss him, his people will sorely miss him, and I will sorely miss him.”
Menzies lit a brand and handed it to Martin. His hand shook as he took it, but he didn’t drop it, staring into the flames as he spoke.
“We may burn his body, but his soul rests with God.”
He thrust the brand deep into the depths of the pyre and stood back as flames began to lick the wood and gather strength.
The Parson began to shout.
“Take his soul, oh Lord, and cleanse us all of our sins. Wash us in your holy flame and purify us.” His voice was rising into a shriek, and he began thrashing his arms in a frenzy. “Let the fire of your love wash the
taint of the Others from our souls. Cleanse us Lord...cleanse us of our sins.”
As he spoke, the Parson stepped ever closer to the fire...so close that smoke was beginning to rise from his cassock.
“Burn out the sin!” he screamed. “Burn out the sin and purify me, Lord!”
Sean realised with a shock that the man was quite mad. He stepped forward to pull the man away and noticed that Menzies had the same idea, but they were too late. The Parson threw himself, head first, into the centre of the fire.
“Cleanse me! Cleanse me!” he shouted, even as his flesh roasted, but then the words became incoherent and turned to screams that were soon extinguished by flame.
The pyre had caught quickly and the flames lapped hungrily through it, finishing with the Parson, and reaching for the Thane’s body above. Sean saw the white burial robe start to smoulder, and had to look away. When next he looked back, the body could not to be seen amongst the tangle of burning timber.
Martin shouted to make himself heard above the crack of blazing wood.
“As one Thane departs, another take his place. I will take my place in the chair, and I will take my father’s sword. I accept the Thaneship.”
Campbell stepped forward, the Thane’s sword lying across his forearms.
Martin took the sword and raised it, point upwards, in front of him.
“By the sword of my fathers, I vow to watch, to serve, and to protect. Let God be my witness, and let no man call me false.”
A muffled, ragged, cheer rang around the courtyard, but the main expression on the faces Sean could see was shock and despair. Even Martin himself looked like a man who had lost the will to keep living as he continued.
“I will keep the law, and I will maintain the Watch, and I will ensure that the Others do not stay long in this fair country of ours.”
Fine words, thought Sean, and although he agreed with them, he knew that things were never going to be the same again in Milecastle. Martin would have to come to terms with it before the day was out.
The small crowd stood in silence as the pyre burned and finally, when the dome collapsed in on itself and sent a forest of sparks skywards, Martin turned and slowly made his way back to the Great Hall, leaning on Campbell for support. He left a red trail of blood behind, all the way from the pyre to the doors of the hall.
Menzies approached Sean.
“You could not have saved him,” he said, and at first Sean did not get his meaning, then realised he was referring to the Parson as Menzies continued. “I had been watching him closely all day, for it was obvious he was close to breaking. But one cannot be everywhere at once.” The old man looked pale and tired, his eyes red and rheumy.
“You should rest,” Sean told the doctor. “You have already done enough for two men.”
“Time enough for rest when the Thane is safely abed and sleeping,” Menzies said. “For if he doesn’t rest soon he’ll be resting forever.”
The old man ran his hands through his hair and sighed deeply.
“I wished in my youth that the Boy-King would come, so that we could repel him and send him away with his tail between his legs. And now look what our arrogance has brought to pass.”
“We did our best,” Sean said
“Aye,” the old doctor said sadly. “We did our best. And we failed.”
“We’re alive, old man,” Sean said. “And Martin is alive...we still have a Thane.”
The doctor shook his head as if to clear it.
“I need some ale, or even some water...anything to wash this stench of death from my gullet.”
“Come to my quarters,” Sean said. “I may have a flagon there.”
“No,” the doctor said. “Martin asks for your presence at a council meeting. And he asks that the Warden be present. It is time for us all to tell our stories and make a decision.”
“Is he well enough for this?” Sean asked.
Menzies shook his head.
“He is grievously ill. I fear he will lose the arm whatever happens. And if we do not get him to stay abed he will surely die. I know not how he managed to get out of bed in the first place...I was sure he would not have the strength.”
The doctor clasped Sean by the arm.
“But he is the Thane, and we must obey his wishes. Hurry. The council must decide on a course of action, for the night will be on us again all too soon.”
A voice called out behind Sean as the doctor followed the Thane inside the Great Hall.
“If you please, I would rather get off this wall—my rear feels like it has frozen to it.”
“Yon is too big a lump of meat to freeze that quickly,” Sean said as he helped Cooper to his feet and led him into the Great Hall. The man looked around appreciatively.
“A fine building to find this far north,” he said.
“Aye, not bad for a bunch of barbarians.” Sean said dryly, and Cooper began to laugh. Sean joined him, but stifled it quickly—there was a heavy atmosphere in the room, and merriment would be inappropriate at such a time.
Martin sat slumped in the Thane’s chair. At first Sean thought he was asleep, but he lifted his head and looked straight at Sean. A thin smile broke out on his face that made him look younger immediately.
“I am glad to see you still alive, my friend,” the Thane said. “Although I did not think our adventures would take us so far so soon.”
“Nor I, my Thane.” Sean said, and suddenly they were both laughing.
“Captain of the Watch.” Martin said and snorted.
“Thane of Milecastle.” Sean said, and laughed loudly himself.
But the laughter was not merry, and there was more than a touch of hysteria in it. They would never walk the wall as fellow officers and equals again, and there would certainly be no romps in any barns. Sean felt the weight of new responsibilities on his shoulders. His friendship with his Thane would be redefined in ways that they could not yet see.
Menzies coughed, as if to remind Martin of his position.
“It seems I am being reminded of my duty,” Martin said.
“My Thane should not have to be reminded,” Menzies said.
Sean looked at Martin, realising that his friend was stifling a giggle. Sean had to look away...if both of them laughed, Menzies would be apoplectic.
Martin, the Thane now, motioned Sean and the Warden to three chairs arranged in a semi- circle before him. Menzies was already sitting in one of them, while Campbell stood all the while beside Martin, mute and unmoving.
“The first thing we need to do is hear everyone’s story...Duncan,” Martin said, turning to the Scotsman. “Are you up to telling our part in this?”
Campbell nodded brusquely, and in a dead monotone told of what had happened since they had all parted at the gates of Milecastle. It didn’t take long, for this time there was no embellishment to the man’s tale, only the bare, ugly, facts.
When he got to the part concerning the wolf pack, Sean wanted to take Martin in his arms and praise him, but the Thane’s eyes were unfocussed, as if he was a long way away.
When Campbell got to the part about his daughter and the role that Barnstable had to play in it, he broke down and wept openly, unable to say any more.
Menzies took over, telling what he knew of the story of the royal bloodline of the Others, and of Mary Campbell’s suspected part in the Boy-King’s plans.
Then Sean spoke of his travels and travails, with supporting comment from Cooper. When he mentioned Fitzsimmons, the old doctor snorted.
“Bald cove...sea-faring man with no left hand...likes his ale over much?”
Sean nodded. “That’s the man. Do you know him?”
“I am amazed he is still alive—his body should have failed him long since. But I suppose we all mellow with age,” was all Menzies said, and didn’t elaborate further. Sean knew there was another tale there waiting to be told, but now was not the time.
He told of the encounter with Johnson and the Warden’s men in the clearing, and t
he attempted rape which he had foiled. Campbell embraced him in gratitude while Martin’s eyes showed a respect for Sean that made him swell with pride.
“It is good to see that we taught you something useful,” Menzies said.
“Aye,” Sean said dryly. “I know that Paris is the capital of France.”
Finally Martin spoke, his voice weak and trembling, of what the Boy-King had said to him, of his descent down the stairs and the finding of his father, fatally wounded.
A heavy silence fell on them all. The old man’s death did not prevent his presence being felt in the hall.
“So we know the whole tale,” Martin said. “Now we must decide on our next step. Menzies and I have talked already...I would like to know your plans, Duncan. You have been quiet so far.”
“I am resolved. I am going after my daughter,” Campbell said, and his look was so grim that no one would nay-say him. “I brought her here, and it seems that I was doing the Boy-King’s business all along. If I do not go after her, then I could no longer be a man, never mind her father.”
“I expected nothing less,” Martin said. “I would have liked to include you in my plans, for I have come to respect you, as a man and as a friend. But God go with you.”
“And I too go after Mary Campbell with her father,” Sean said, before Martin could continue. He knew it would not be well received, and he was right.
Martin had a pained look on his face.
“I had thought to make you Master of the Watch,” he said. “We have few enough men as it is.”
“I cannot accept, my Thane. My place is with Campbell.”
Sean saw that Martin was suddenly angry. “Your place is where the Thane says it is. The Thane commands and the Watch acts out those commands. That is our way. Do I have to remind you of your duty?”
Menzies spoke before Sean could, seeing that the young man was also getting angry.
“My Thane, we spoke of this earlier—Mary Campbell must be brought away from the Others. We cannot allow the bloodline to be propagated.”
Martin was leaning forward in the great throne, and there was a fire in his eyes that Sean had never seen there before.
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