Martin was almost speechless.
“Command? I thought only of taking the shilling.”
“Aye. Shillings you’ll have. And a field rank of Major. You will have control of the west wall. There is a billet set aside, and the eastern militia are gathered there already. Brown!” he shouted.
A soldier came at a run.
“Show the Major here to his billet.” Martin was about to say more, but the Duke had already turned back to his maps as Martin was ushered out of the room. He barely had time to motion Menzies to follow as Brown led them out of the hall and back through the throng.
“So?” Menzies said. “What’s it to be?”
Martin was still stunned.
“Command,” he whispered. “Command of the men we brought with us, and three hundred more. We have the West wall.”
Menzies danced a little jig.
“The Duke knows his men,” he said, and laughed at the look of terror on Martin’s face.
“It is what you’ve been trained for your whole life. You have men, you have a wall, and you have Others to fight. What more could a growing lad want?”
They arrived at the west wall to find Gord and the men billeted beneath it. There were more than seven hundred men there, but already Gord had tents and wagons organised, and Megan had cauldrons of stew bubbling over ranks of fires.
Martin looked at the throng and his heart sank.
“What do I do?” he said to Menzies. “I don’t know how to command so many.”
“Then don’t,” the doctor said. “Did your father command every single member of the watch individually? No. His captains did that. I know this is only a militia, but you’ll need officers.”
“Aye. And I’ve got one already,” he said. “You’re appointed as captain. Fitzsimmons is quartermaster. Go and find me some good lieutenants, and let them choose their own officers. We’ll have a meeting in two hours time—lieutenants and above.”
“Aye, sir,” the old man said. “It seems you have the gift of command already.”
Menzies gave a salute to go with his smile and disappeared into the crowd. Martin stood, alone, bemused and lost. It was Gord who found him and led him to a large tent at the South end of the billet.
“Sawney has passed the word,” the tall man said. “And he made me a lieutenant. With responsibility for your personal safety, Major.”
The old man would never stop protecting his Thane. Martin knew that, and was thankful. He let Gord lead him into the tent.
There was a single bunk, a table and chair, and a porcelain washing bowl. Blackie and Fang were lying at the foot of the bunk, and rose, tails wagging, to greet him.
“It seems that our quartermaster has been busy already. Were did this come from?” Martin said.
Gord tapped the side of his nose.
“Best the Major does not know. The old sod has his friends.”
While Martin petted the dogs, Gord left and returned with a pitcher of very hot water.
Martin was grateful for the opportunity to wash, and was amazed to find that Fitzsimmons had even provided a razor and a small mirror.
Martin almost didn’t recognise the man who stared back at him. He had lost any fat he ever had on his face and his cheekbones showed proud through his skin. His eyes were sunk far back above dark shadows. A wispy growth ran across his chin—too thin and boyish to be called a beard. He toyed with keeping it, but it reminded him too much of his father, and two minutes with the razor were enough to get rid of it.
He was just drying his face when Menzies arrived, and with him, the officers of his command. There were seven of them. Gord, Fitzsimmons, Menzies and Hillman he knew already. He didn’t recognise any of the other three. Menzies introduced them.
The first was a tall, black-haired man. He was broad across the shoulder, like an ox. An old scar ran where his left ear used to be, but he had a quick smile and a warm handshake. He tried to test Martin’s strength, but Martin had played that game many a time, and gave back as good as he got.
“Toby, Smith of Chesterfield,” the man said. “I’ve never been in charge of anybody but myself before, but I’m your man till death. I hear you kill Others. I want to do that.”
The man’s smile had suddenly turned cold, and his eyes were like ice. Martin would not wish to have this man as an enemy.
“I think there’ll be plenty of Others before too long,” Martin said. “More than enough for us all.”
The second man was older, almost as old as Menzies himself, but his back was ramrod straight and he wore a faded red army tunic.
“Lieutenant Barclay. Late of the 17th light infantry, reporting for duty, sir.” He stood to attention and gave the stiffest salute Martin had ever seen.
“At ease,” Martin said, and the man relaxed slightly.
“You were a commissioned man?”
“Yes, sir. I was a lieutenant during the Protector’s Irish campaign, and captained a platoon against the red men in Virginia. That was more years ago than I care to remember.”
“But once a military man, always a military man. Old Menzies here has shown me that,” Martin said.
The beginnings of a smile played on the old man’s lips.
“Permission to speak plainly, sir?” he asked, and Martin nodded.
“I know the old man well. We fought together back in 1706. I was his C.O. then. I’d watch out for him—he never was one for taking orders.”
“Another old friend?” Martin asked, turning to Menzies.
“Aye, sir. And the best fighting man I had the pleasure to serve under.”
Barclay stood straighter.
“I may be old, sir, but I’ve done my share of fighting. I won’t let you down.”
“Nor I you,” Martin said, and moved to the third man.
The third was no more than Martin’s age. He wore a uniform of the Watch, and his eyes were haunted by something he had recently seen. Martin knew the look. He had seen it in his own eyes no more than ten minutes before.
“John Barr, Sergeant of the Watch of Witcham reporting for duty, sir,” he said.
“Any officer of the Watch is welcome in my command,” Martin said, “And it’s Lieutenant Barr from now on. You and I have seen the end of everything we were trained for. Here on this wall, we will start to fight back.”
Barr nodded, tears in his eyes.
Martin let them stand at ease, then looked them over slowly before speaking.
“We have been given the west wall,” he said. “And we will hold it. I have retreated in the face of the darkness long enough. Here I stay, and here I stand. Will you and your men stand with me?”
“Aye,” all three said, almost in unison.
“Then come,” Martin said, and gathered them around the table. “We must plan our defences.”
An hour later they had worked out a rota for the guard, had decided on the deployment of forces, and had discussed their strategy in the event of the wall falling. The lieutenants were dispatched to order their troops and Fitzsimmons was sent to find as much bulb as he could procure.
Martin sat down heavily in the chair.
“Well, old man. How did I do?”
Menzies looked at him appraisingly.
“You are your father’s son. You command, but have the common touch. You have the care of the people in your command at heart. He would be proud of you.”
Sudden tears welled in Martin’s eyes, and he bent to pet the dogs to cover his embarrassment.
“Yet I feel the burden, after a single afternoon. How much more must he have felt it, over all those years?”
“Oh he felt it,” the doctor said. “But he never let it bend him, and he never misused his power. Learn from him, as you always learned from him when he was alive. And remember his strength. I fear we will need it this night.”
Martin noticed that darkness was already beginning to fall outside the tent.
The city fell silent. Conversations stopped, and people looked upwards until t
he last light faded from the sky.
Darkness fell on Derby.
Chapter 5
SOMEWHERE SOUTH OF EDINBURGH 8TH NOVEMBER 1745
Sean was wet, miserable and hungry.
They’d been walking for two whole days, in pouring rain and strong winds. Now, on the morning of the third day, the rain was coming down even harder.
“Have we anything?” he asked, as Campbell checked their traps.
The Scotsman shook his head.
“It’s too wet for a coney to be out and about. They’re all down in their burrows, making more coneys.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Sean said. “A warm bed and a warmer woman.”
“Aye,” said Campbell. “And ten or twelve warm young ones running about at your ankles. Be careful what you wish for.”
“Is there anything else out here that is edible?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Campbell said.
“So it’s dried horse-meat again?” Sean asked.
“And precious little of that,” Campbell replied. “We can break our fast, but that is all.”
So they would be hungry again. They’d caught both rabbit and fish on the first day’s walk. Yesterday they had only found some blackcurrants and a few small sour apples. Then they had been forced to start on Campbell’s dried meat. And now it too was almost gone.
“It’s a pity you didn’t inherit Lennan’s ability for the hunt,” the Scotsman continued.
Sean grunted. In truth, he wasn’t sure what he had inherited—either from the woodsman or the Other who had bitten him. He felt permanently on edge, the way he used to before the exams old Menzies used to set in his classroom.
He knew already that he had been given some of Lennan’s ‘sight’. Twice now he had seen Campbell, his face bruised and bloodied. And the night before last, just before sleep, he had seen Martin riding at the head of a troupe of armed men. If he had the woodsman’s sight, he might also have his hunting ability.
But he would rather starve than find out. For if he had inherited certain things from the woodsman, he had also inherited something dark from the Other. He still got a warm tingling if he touched the hilt of his sword. But there was something worse than that.
Last night they had been cold, tired, and almost incapable of walking any further. The pair of them had huddled together for warmth in the branches of a tall tree. Sleep had eventually taken them both, but it was thin and fitful.
Sean woke, ravenously hungry, to the sound of Campbell’s heart pounding in his brain. He felt a sharp pain in his gums, and the taste of blood in his mouth. When he ran his tongue over his teeth, he felt the points of the new fangs. Campbell smelled like a large piece of meat cooking on a spit.
He leaned closer to the Scotsman, and felt the heat of the man’s body...the soft, seductive heat. He watched the pulse in Campbell’s neck, counting out the seconds the Scotsman had left to live. The fangs slid in and out of his gums, each movement bringing a fresh taste of blood. And still Sean inched closer, until his lips were almost brushing the man’s neck. He bent forward…
…and something shifted inside him. He felt blood in his mouth again as the fangs retracted completely and the sound of Campbell’s heart receded. He sat back, as far away from the man as he could get without compromising his position in the tree. He ran his tongue over his lips again, but his teeth were all as he remembered them. Somewhere out in the night an owl hooted, but Sean didn’t hear it. Tears ran down his cheeks, but he didn’t feel them. He was becoming Other, and if he’d had a stake, and the courage, he’d have given himself peace there and then.
He hadn’t got any more sleep. He sat in the tree, waiting for the sun. But the sun never came, only a gradual lightening of the grey to show that the night was over.
“Are you sure Lennan didn’t leave you the means to call food from the sky?” Campbell said as he packed away his empty snares.
“Find me a stone circle and I’ll see what I can do,” Sean replied, remembering Martin’s story.
“I can’t see anybody dragging stones out here to raise them,” Campbell said, and Sean had to agree.
They’d spent all day yesterday navigating their way through a seemingly endless peat bog. The tree they’d slept in was one of only three they’d seen in this barren landscape.
“How far does this bog last?” Sean asked.
“I don’t know,” Campbell said. “But we must be within twenty miles of Edinburgh, so it cannot be much longer.”
“And you’re sure that they will take her there?”
“As sure as I can be—as I told you twice yesterday, and three times the day before,” the Scotsman said, a grim smile on his face. “Now will you be quiet, laddie? I promise not to quiz you about what skills Lennan has left you if you stop asking me about my daughter.”
“I’ll try,” Sean said as they stepped onto the rough path that seemed to serve as a road. “But I feel we have lost too much time.”
“And I,” Campbell agreed. “But Gwynneth said I would see her again, and I have come to trust the woodsmen’s visions.”
Sean hoped for the Scotsman’s sake that the woodsmen’s sight wasn’t always sure, but he couldn’t get the bloodied image of the Scotsman’s face out of his head.
“You think they see true?” Sean asked.
“Aye. I don’t know where they get the power, but I know it is true.”
“And it is not the work of auld Nick?”
“Your friend Martin asked me the same thing. I’ll tell you what I told him. The woodsmen follow a different god to you and me, but they have little evil in them.”
Campbell didn’t elaborate further, and Sean fell into step beside him. Each man held his own thoughts and they walked silently for almost an hour. The path here was a bit more firm, and they were able to make good progress.
They stopped when Campbell spotted a solitary bramble bush at the roadside. They got six berries each from it, and were glad of them. But when Sean looked at the Scotsman, the man had the red bramble juice smeared around his mouth. Sean had to look away, suddenly nauseous.
“So what can we expect in Edinburgh?” he asked, hoping Campbell hadn’t noticed his disgust. “I have heard there is a high black castle there.”
“Aye,” replied the Scotsman. “I have never seen it, but I have heard it is a wonder—a dark wonder. Even before the Others came there was a castle there, and a chapel where kings and queens would worship. But after the Bruce, it was given to the Others. And they built it into a fortress that has never fallen. Not even your Protector could breach its high walls.”
“But why take her there?” Sean asked.
“Because the chapel on the highest point of the castle rock is where they hold their ceremonies of king-making,” Campbell said. “It was there that the Boy-King himself was turned, and his dark father before him.”
“And you know nothing of the nature of the ceremony?”
“Only that it involves the chalice they brought out of Jerusalem, the one they claim came to them from Jesus Christ himself.”
Sean had heard the story back in the Great Hall of Milecastle, how the Christ was actually an Other, one of the royal blood-line. He wasn’t particularly religious, but that particular blasphemy bothered him.
“And how are we to stop them?” Sean said.
“In Jesus’ name lad, that’s enough questions,” the Scotsman said, but he had a grin on his face. “I have no idea what we’re going to do when we get there. If you have a god, pray to him for guidance...don’t ask me.”
No birds sang, and nothing else moved, just them, the wind and the rain. As far as the eye could see was moorland, dank, bleak and noxious. The sun was just a lighter patch of grey in the sky, but it was enough to assure them that they were still heading east. They walked in silence again for another hour.
Sean had been looking at his feet for so long that he didn’t notice they were going uphill. He looked up to find they had left the bog be
hind. The air had cleared, and the rain was no more than a heavy drizzle. Over to their left there was even a patch of blue sky. Sean felt his spirits lift. He looked over at Campbell...and Lennan’s ‘sight’ took over.
Campbell’s right eye is a red, bloody ruin, and the left hand side of his face is battered and bruised. His cheekbone looks as if it has been shattered, and his lip is split, blood running in runnels through his beard.
Over the Scotsman’s left hand shoulder everything is red, a deep, bloody red that is so dark as to be almost black. They are in a church, but one more ornate, more grand, than anything he has ever seen. There are carved columns throughout. Gargoyles and green men leer and posture from every crevice. The strange, unfamiliar fruit that is carved lovingly into the stone looks almost edible.
As his sight runs the length of the church he sees that there is a high altar at the far end. Four dark Others are congregated around that altar, all wearing long black robes that fall all the way to the floor, all with cowls covering their faces. When they part he sees the golden chalice that sits there—a chalice that has something black and bloody inside it. He wants to look more closely, but the sight won’t allow it. It takes him to the open gates of the chapel, high blood-red gates of thick iron.
It is night outside, but he blinks, and it is suddenly daylight. He looks back, at an empty chapel behind him, then the sight leads him away. He is taken high above the chapel. Far away over to his left he sees a high dark castle on a rock, but the sight takes him south over a huge unkempt graveyard...down a heavily wooded glen where he sees a ruined castle on a hilltop...along the side of a meandering river running through grassland where he sees another ruin, four or five stone buildings in a semi-circle...and up a hillside, then over the top to where two bedraggled figures stand by the side of a footpath. He realises with a shock that he is looking at himself. He blinks again...
…and looked into Campbell’s uninjured face. “I’ve seen that expression before, laddie. Don’t tell me,” the Scotsman said. “I don’t want to know.”
The Watchers Trilogy: Omnibus Edition Page 34