“The wall has fallen, Milecastle has fallen, Carlisle is a funeral pyre of its dead, and I am the ranking officer of the Protector in this part of the country. And if you spit at my feet again I’ll make you get down there and lick it up.”
He squeezed the horseman’s throat so tight that the man’s eyes bulged and he started to fight for breath. Then he let go, slowly.
“Now I believe you have a message for me?” Martin said.
The soldier spluttered and looked like he was about to argue, but one glance at Martin’s face changed his mind.
“It is a letter,” he said. “And it for the Thane’s eyes only.”
“Then you’d better give it to me and let my eyes see it,” Martin replied.
The soldier opened his tunic and removed a crumpled envelope. Martin immediately recognised the seal as being that of the Protector.
He took the envelope and opened it, carefully. He scanned it quickly once, then read it through more carefully.
“The Protector has sent the Duke of Cumberland north with an army,” he told Menzies. “We are to raise a militia of as many men as we can and meet him in Derby five days hence.”
Martin gave the letter back to the horseman.
“Once you are rested, take this to Lancaster. If the town still stands, give it to the Commander and bring him and his men to Derby.”
“And if it has fallen?” the soldier said.
“Then head north to the wall. I left a good man in charge at Milecastle. Give the letter to him, and wait for his instructions.”
The soldier saluted, then cleared his throat before speaking.
“About earlier sir…” he said. “I did not know.”
Martin smiled.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “If I had a mirror I doubt if I’d recognise myself.” The soldier saluted again, mounted his horse and rode off to the south. Martin watched until he was out of sight.
“Well, old friend,” he said to Menzies. “It seems we go to Derby.”
“As good a place as any to make a stand,” the Doctor said.
“Aye. It will be a good fight. I believe I’ll come to see it,” a voice said from the door of the inn.
Fitzsimmons stood in the doorway, blinking in the sunlight.
“It seems we’ll be fighting together again,” he said to the doctor.
Menzies grunted.
“Maybe. Just make sure we stay on the same side this time.”
Fitzsimmons laughed, just as Rollo emerged from the door behind him.
“What’s all the commotion? Can’t a man nurse a hangover in peace?”
“No peace, Gord,” Fitzsimmons said. “We go to take the Protector’s shilling once more.”
“Oh good,” the big man said. “Army or Navy this time?”
“Army,” said Menzies. “The rations are better. And usually you don’t have to eat rat.”
The three friends laughed together, and Fitzsimmons started off on another anecdote from their past. Martin cleared his throat loudly.
“Before you break out the porter again, we’d better make provision for the journey.”
“Journey?” Megan said as she came through the doorway. “Is someone leaving?”
“Aye,” Fitzsimmons said. “We all are. The Protector is making a stand against the Boy-King and he’s asked for our help.”
“What, again?” she said. “Just give me time to change.” She turned and quickly went back inside.”
“She’s not coming with us?” Martin warned. The other three looked at him as if he had suddenly lost his senses.
“Do you want to tell her she cannot?” Fitzsimmons said. “The last man to naysay her got his head broke open.”
“Aye. I remember it well...I still have the scar. And besides,” Menzies said, “We cannot leave her here alone. She has to come.”
Martin saw the logic in that.
“Well then, she comes.”
He turned to Fitzsimmons.
“You know how little we arrived with. We need victuals, arms, clothes and even horses, if they are available. Can you help us?”
The innkeeper’s face lit up in a broad grin.
“As I helped your friend the scarecrow, so I can help you. For the past three days we have been making ready to travel. Our trade has gone anyway, so there is nothing to keep us here. We have a cart loaded with all we will need, and we can be on our way within the hour.”
“And horses?” Menzies asked. “I need a horse. I think I wore my feet down to the ankles yesterday.”
“Aye, my friend,” the innkeeper said. “We have horses. Even one that will agree to carry an old crow like you.”
He turned to Rollo.
“Gord. Go and get the horses ready. And the dogs. We will leave afore ten on the clock.”
Rollo threw Fitzsimmons a mock salute and sauntered off round the back of the inn. He was singing again, the same song from the night before.
There was a young lady from Brest,
Who could balance ten men on her chest,
She could cover a city,
With each of her titties,
And hide a small hill in her vest.
“We should never have taught him that one,” Menzies said.
“Aye,” said the innkeeper. “But we weren’t to know he would remember it. He was only a babe in the crib at the time and...”
Martin coughed politely.
“I can see another story coming on. Can it wait?”
“Aye. We must plan a route,” Fitzsimmons said. “I have maps in the back room. Come...we can break our fast together at the same time.”
The innkeeper led them into the bar. Martin felt something brush his legs, and looked down to find two large dogs, one black, one grey, circling around his feet.
The innkeeper was astonished.
“Well I never,” he said. “They haven’t taken to a stranger so quick before.”
Martin lowered his left hand to pet the black one.
“Be careful,” the innkeeper said. “They belong to Rollo, and they are near as wild as he is.”
But the dog simply licked Martin’s hand, whimpered gently, and lay on its back on the flagstones, its tail between its legs.
“It looks like you’ve made a conquest, sire,” Menzies said. “But I don’t think young Sean would be impressed by your choice of paramour.”
Martin blushed, and Fitzsimmons laughed aloud once more and gestured for them to follow him through the bar. The dogs went with him. The back room of the inn was cool and comfortable after the glare of the sun.
“Well, it seems we must raise an army. Where will we go?” Martin said.
Fitzsimmons looked at him strangely.
“That’s for you to decide, surely,” the innkeeper said. “You are the ranking officer here. It is a long time since I took orders from any man, but I’ll take them from you, sir, if you’ll let me.”
“Let you?” Martin replied. “Of course I will. Just as the old man here is my right hand, so you shall be my left.”
Fitzsimmons shook his stump.
“Any time you need a hand, just whistle,” he said, and laughed. “Now, tell us. What next?”
“We raise the militia, as we are ordered. You know the area—where are we likely to find men willing to travel to Derby?”
The innkeeper spread a cracked, yellow map on a table and traced a route with his index finger.
“I fear that most of the hamlets will already be emptied,” he said. “But there is a Manor at Thornton-in-Lonsdale, less than twenty miles to the east. More people work there than live in most of the villages, and the Lord of the Manor should have them organised. And there is a coach road south and east from there that will take us over the hills by the quickest route. We should go there first.”
“I agree, sire,” Menzies said. “This Lord is known for his discipline and organisation. He will surely be ready for a fight.”
“Then Thornton-in-Lonsdale it is,” Martin said. “Now
you said something about breaking our fast?”
An hour later Martin was riding on the back of a horse at the head of a small band. Menzies was at his side, and they rode in front of a covered cart, pulled by four horses. The cart was laden with provisions and weaponry and was being driven by Megan. The two dogs sat up high on either side of her.
Fitzsimmons and Rollo brought up the rear. Rollo was horsed on a pony so small that his feet almost touched the ground.
“Is that horse strong enough to bear you?” Menzies asked him.
“If the going gets tough, I’ll carry him,” the tall man said, and once more the friends all laughed together.
“Time to move out!” Martin said, and nudged his horse forward. The innkeeper had shown him the route on the map, and it seemed simple enough. Martin led his command away from the inn.
He heard a shout from behind.
“Come on, old man,” Megan shouted.
Fitzsimmons was staring back at the inn.
“All those years...” he said. “....all that work.”
Rollo rode over and led the innkeeper away.
“We’ll be back,” he told the older man. “Before you know it we’ll be back drawing the rest of the porter.” There were tears in the innkeeper’s eyes as the inn slowly receded behind them, but it wasn’t too long before Rollo had him smiling with a series of ribald jokes involving monkeys and clergymen.
“...so the wife said, ‘If you give him a farthing he’ll let you’.” Rollo said. Martin hadn’t heard the rest of the joke, but Fitzsimmons found it so funny that he went red in the face and brought on a coughing fit.
Martin nudged his mount closer to Menzies.
“You hadn’t seen Rollo since he was a child?” he asked, and the doctor smiled.
“Aye. Nearly thirty years ago, and on another continent.”
Martin waited. He knew a story would come; it always did. And he hadn’t heard this one.
“After my wife died, I got itchy feet and asked your father for a leave of absence from the watch,” the old man said.
“Wife? I never knew you were married.”
“Do you think I am a eunuch?” the doctor said. “Now do you want to hear the story or not?”
Martin waved his hand to tell the old man to continue.
“I signed up on a merchant ship taking cargo to the colonies. That’s where I met Fitz. He was the quartermaster, and Megan became the cook. We discovered a common bond in ale and song, and we caroused up and down the coast at every port of call. We fought with pirates, red-men, Frenchies and each other. It was the best of times.”
The old man stopped as they crested a hill and the land opened out beneath them. The sky was clear and blue and the moors rolled away into the distance.
“It’s hard to believe, on a day like this, that such things as the Others exist,” Martin said.
“But they do. And their reach is far,” Menzies replied, and started into his story again. “It was near the end of our trip, and we were as far north as we got, in a remote outpost in northern Maine. The captain had passed that way several times before, and knew the people well. We put ashore near their fort, but it was obvious that there was something wrong. There was no welcoming committee, no children running to see the boat. Nor was there any smoke from the chimneys, nor sound from the guards.”
“Just outside the wall of the fort we found the first body, bloodless and strangely sunken. I think you can guess what we found inside the fort?”
“The Others?” Martin said. “In the New World?”
“Aye,” Menzies replied. “Even there. But they do not thrive, for the red-men are vigilant. ’Tis a pity the fort did not follow their example. The whole town had been taken, or so we thought. We were almost finished ensuring all the bodies were staked and buried when I heard a wailing. At first I thought I had found a living woman, but when I turned her over, I found a babe. A bawling, red-faced babe in sore need of sustenance.”
“Gord?” Martin said.
“Aye. The very same. It’s hard to believe such a lanky streak grew from a babe. Even harder to believe that I did not stake him there and then. But Megan was always a hard woman to refuse. She took charge of the babe, even stood up to the captain who wanted to test Gord with the bulb. She had Fitzsimmons declare that the boy was his. He’s been at her side ever since.”
“But how then came he by his name, and his Scottish lineage?”
“As I said, the captain knew the people of the fort—even knew the woman. He told us their history, and it was he who named the boy. Gordon was his father’s name.”
“Aye, and a fine man he was too,” a voice said. Martin turned to find that Gord had rode up beside them.
“I visited his grave. The year afore last,” the tall man said. “His, and my mother’s. The fort still stands, and the graveyard is well kept. It’s more than is achieved by most of the victims of the Others. For that I will always thank you, old man.”
Menzies doffed his cap.
“It is my pleasure to find you such a fine man,” he said. “If a little tall for my liking.”
“I get it from my ancestors,” Gord said. “Did you know that the first king of the Normans was a ‘Rollo’? He was a Viking who settled in France and built an empire around him. I might be descended from him...and through him from ‘The Conqueror’ himself.”
“Next you’ll be telling us that you are the rightful heir to the throne,” Menzies said.
Gord laughed.
“I might be at that. The next time I meet the Boy-King, I’ll debate the relative merits of our claims.”
He started on another ribald tale about how tall men had proportionately large private parts.
“You can tell by the size of the nose,” he said. “And as you can see, mine is exceptional, both for length and girth.”
Soon all three were laughing, and the morning passed pleasantly. So much so that Martin almost forgot their plight.
After an hour of riding they came to a fork in the road. Martin called Fitzsimmons forward.
“Your maps didn’t show any deviation on this road,” he said.
“No, sir,” the bald man replied. “But the maps are old, and roads change.”
“So which one is ours?” Martin said.
Fitzsimmons shrugged and looked sheepish.
“Head south-east,” Gord said. “The north road heads over the high tops and overlooks Penrith. It goes too far north.”
“And how do you know that?” Menzies asked.
Gord blushed, a deep red that covered his whole face.
“I once visited a lass in Penrith.”
“A lass is it?” Megan shouted from behind them. “And when was this? I never heard...”
Menzies led Martin and Fitzsimmons down the south-east track. Megan could still be heard behind them berating the tall man.
“She treats him like a child,” Martin said.
Fitzsimmons laughed.
“That she does. But in all respects but his birth, he is her son, her only son. Surely your mother is the same?”
Menzies cuffed the bald man on the side of the head, and whispered angrily in his ear.
Martin rode forward, putting some distance between himself and the others. He could hear Menzies explaining his background to the innkeeper, and he rode faster, putting more space between them. He knew his story already, he didn’t need to hear it second hand.
Some time later, he heard the four companions behind him break into song, but his heart lay heavy, and he kept a distance in front of them for several miles.
They passed no one on the road, and what little habitation existed on the open moorland was all empty...some boarded up, others left open to the elements.
In mid-afternoon Martin dropped back to speak to the others.
“Will we make it before dark?” he asked.
“We should,” Gord said. “For we have been making good time. I’ve heard tell there is an inn about an hour’s walk from here
, and the Manor is a mere mile further on.”
“Another lass?” Megan said, and Gord blushed, but the innkeeper saved him further ridicule.
“Aye,” Fitzsimmons said. “I too have heard tell of the inn at Thornton. Although their beer is not said to be of as high quality as ours, I would like to sample it for myself.”
“Do you ever think of anything other than beer?” Megan said.
“Just come with me into the heather, and I’ll show you,” the bald man said, and once more they were all laughing.
But there was to be no sampling of beer. They came round a corner about ten minutes later to find that the inn had been razed to the ground by fire, it’s great beams still smouldering.
“Why would they burn the place?” Martin asked.
“To burn out Others?” Menzies asked. “Aye. Maybe,” Fitzsimmons replied. “Let us hope the Manor has not received the same treatment.”
But the Manor still stood. They approached it up a long drive of poplars. Its facade stared down the avenue at them, dark and implacable.
Martin had never seen so grand a building. The walls were smooth, as if a master mason had ground them flat as glass. Marble pillars that held up only air ran the whole length of the front. There was glass in every window, and statues on pedestals in each alcove. Dragons and devils set in stone guarded the turrets, and gilded lions protected the doors.
There was no indication of any fighting, but there was no sign of life, either. The late afternoon sun turned the walls the colour of blood, and Martin felt a chill run up his spine as he approached the main doorway. He heard Menzies loosen his scabbard, and Fitzsimmons load the blunderbuss as he dismounted and approached the open door.
The hallway beyond lay in darkness.
“Hello!” he shouted, and his voice echoed back at him. He waited for long seconds, but there was no reply. He turned back to his companions.
“Gord. Have a look round the back,” he said. “Be back in ten minutes. If not, we’ll come looking for you.”
Gord once more threw Martin a mock salute and dismounted his pony, drawing his sword as soon as he was on his feet. He ran off to their left and was soon out of sight round the corner of the building.
The Watchers Trilogy: Omnibus Edition Page 32