Cooper’s eyes went wide, but he said nothing as Martin led his men into the town.
Ten minutes later Martin followed Fitz and Cooper into the dark empty inn. It was obvious that the place had been used since the battle, but it had not been cleaned, and trestles were strewn on the floor. Half-empty flagons of stale ale lay everywhere, and several mice scattered across the floor as the men approached.
“I’m sorry, Sire,” Cooper said, “but what with getting the Watch back in order, and repairing the defenses I haven’t had the time for...”
Martin stopped him with a wave of his hand.
“’Tis of no consequence. We have a happy circumstance…it seems we have an inn that needs an innkeeper...and an innkeeper that needs an inn.”
He turned to Fitz.
“What say you, friend...can you make this place a tavern to be proud of?”
The bald sailor looked flabbergasted.
“Megan and I cannot afford it. We lost everything back in Far Sawrey and I have little more than the clothes I stand up in.”
Martin interrupted him.
“This will cost nothing,” Martin said. “Old Menzies is owed a debt by this town. It falls to me as his Thane and his executor to repay it. “I can think of no better memorial for him...this is Milecastle’s gift. It is a gift to a man that has shown care and affection to its Thane, its Doctor, and the Captain of its Watch. Now tell me...will you have it? Or must I get Nat here to find another man for the job?”
A broad smile broke across Fitz’s face.
“Then I thank you for a favor we will never be able to repay properly. I will give you an inn that will be the talk of the whole country,” he said. “The stone walls are more forbidding than I’d like, but a good fire and a few drapes will make the place more inviting. Now forgive me, Sire...I must fetch Megan. We have a party to prepare for.”
After the visit to the inn Cooper led Martin on an inspection of the wall.
“You have been busy,” Martin said. “The wall is fully restored.”
“Aye. Men came from other forts along the line. We have manned four out of the twelve, and we are trying to keep a watch going. But until it is confirmed that the Boy-King is back across the wall, we are concentrating on protecting the towns themselves.”
“Just what I would have done,” Martin said. “And the bulb is fresh.”
“But there is little of it left,” Cooper said. “We must hope the dark army does not pass this way again, for we will be sore pushed to repel an attack.”
“The Boy-King is heading north once more,” Martin said. “But he seems to have lost his taste for battle.”
Martin told Cooper everything that had happened since they left the town. The big man’s eyes went wide when Martin spoke of the siege of Derby, and there were tears in his eyes as he heard of Menzies’ passing.
The tale of the use of the smith’s bellows put him back in better humor.
“I have been in the smithy at least four times in the past week...and it never occurred to me to use the bellows. There is a fine set there sitting and gathering dust.”
“Get Toby and Edward Hillman to ready them,” Martin said. “Young Hillman has shown an aptitude for construction…we should nurture it. And send men along the wall both east and west. We must have news of the Boy- King.”
“And how long will you stay?”
“This will be our base,” Martin replied. “We must send out search parties all across the north. The Protector must have knowledge of the Others before he sends Cumberland over the wall. I will ride out in the morning.” “Then let us hope the innkeeper is as good as his word,” Cooper said. “For your people want to celebrate your safe homecoming before you are away on your travels once more.”
“Tell them there will be a party in the inn this evening,” Martin said. “We have a new innkeeper to welcome.”
Martin went alone into the Great Hall. The place lay dark and quiet. The fireplace was cold, and no torches were lit.
I will bring the joy back to this place, Martin vowed. And we will restore the Protector’s law in the north.
There was a wavering in the shadows by the throne of Hadrian, and for a second it was as if the old Thane sat there, smiling. But when Martin blinked he was alone in the dark, with only the soft cooing of a pigeon in the rafters to disturb the quiet.
He closed the doors softly as he left. To do otherwise would have felt like desecration of a tomb.
In contrast, the inn was full to bursting point. Apart from the Watchmen who were on duty, everyone else was crammed into the room. Ale flowed freely, cold pork pies were laid out in small piles on all the trestles, a pig roasted slowly on a great spit over a roaring fire, and there was bread and cheese for all.
“We found the hidey-hole where the innkeeper had stored his stock not long after you left,” Nat Cooper said. “He must have been a prudent man. I believe we have enough ale to last the winter.”
“Aye,” Fitz said. He was walking past, carrying four flagons of beer in his hand. “And we’ll have the spring batch brewing soon enough...there’s malt and mash aplenty, and I found a sack of good Worcestershire hops out back. There is even a hogshead of strong Devon cider in the cellar. I would have liked to have met your innkeeper...he knew his ales.”
“Aye,” Martin said. “He took pride in them. He would be happy to know that his inn, and his beer, was in good hands.”
“I will try to live up to his standards,” Fitz said.
“Standards, is it?” Megan said as she pushed past them, her arms full with loaves and cheeses. “You’ll be telling me next that you’ll be needing a bath.”
“What…is it March already?” Fitz called after her, and everyone in earshot laughed loudly.
“We’ll make you an inn that will be famous across the whole of the north,” Fitz said, and Martin saw something in the man’s eyes that told him he should believe it.
“And have you decided on a cellar-man?” Nat said.
Martin saw the dark thoughts that passed over the innkeeper’s face, but someone else spoke before he could say anything.
“That he has.”
Martin turned to see old Barr standing behind him. The old man had a pipe in one hand and a flagon of ale in the other. It looked like it was his most natural position.
“I looked after the beer at the White Horse in Witcham and the Black Bull in Haltwhistle before you young pups were even thought of,” the old man said. “And Fitz and I agree on the way beer should be.”
“Strong, dark and heady…I like my beer the way I like my women.” Fitz said. “Old Barr here has agreed to be in my employ—if the Thane can spare him?”
Martin smiled.
“An old officer of the Watch is welcome to do whatever he wishes in my town.”
Barr bowed from the waist, taking care not to spill any ale.
“Then I will give you another lesson, young sir. Give respect to your elders...but never too much. Some of us have learned cunning enough over the years to take advantage of the good will of the young.”
Martin laughed.
“I can see you and Fitz will be well matched...he will charm the customers while you pick their pockets.”
“Shush,” Fitz said in mock indignation. “Do not give away all our secrets on our first night.”
The ale continued to flow, and music started up. The smith’s man with the squeezebox was joined by a harpist, a drummer and a flautist. Jigs and reels, laments and ballads were sung with gusto by most of the company as the smith’s men and the men of Milecastle traded songs and tales.
Nat Cooper, who possessed a deep bass singing voice that reverberated around the room, started a bawdy song about “The Virgin’s Chastity”.
The virgin and her partner
Went to bed to dance
Be careful sir, the virgin cried
You cannot use your lance
It had so many verses that the big man needed his flagon replenished twice durin
g the rendition.
“Hey, Nat, We have never heard that one afore,” Martin called out. The big man blushed and mumbled something under his breath.
It is his own composition, Sire!” one of the Milecastle women shouted. “The town has a new bard as well as a new innkeeper.”
She went up to Cooper and planted a huge wet kiss on his lips.
“You can use your lance on me anytime, my fine Constable,” she said.
Cooper lifted her high in the air and swung her down into a seat beside him.
“I have a woman back in Garstang,” he said.
The woman cackled. “And I have a husband… somewhere in Ireland, I think. What does that matter? I am here, and I am warm.”
“Don’t fight too hard, Nat!” Megan cried out. “She might change her mind.”
When the big man sat down Martin heard a commotion on the far side of the room, and turned to see Harold Hillman being pushed towards the musicians. He saw the boy talk to the man with the squeezebox. His heart sank as Harold started to sing “The Lay of the Thane”.
Harold had added a new verse, about a triumphant return to Milecastle. Martin thought the whole thing mawkish and embarrassing. But the people of the town loved it, and demanded three repetitions while Martin blushed increasingly red. Soon renditions of the song were breaking out spontaneously among the gathering.
“A speech!” a voice shouted. “A speech from the slayer of the Dark Lord!”
Martin tried to dissuade them, but the clamor got louder until the men were pounding on the tables.
“Speech! Speech!” they called, until Martin climbed on one of the tables. The room went quiet when he lifted his arms.
“This is my home,” he said, “and I welcome all my new companions. I hope you like our hospitality.”
The throng cheered too loudly—some of the men were already very drunk.
Martin continued.
“Once we had many times like this in this room. And we will have them again, when we have driven the Others from these shores.”
Again the crowd cheered, and Martin had to shout to make himself heard.
“And to ensure that we have more nights like this, Milecastle needs a new innkeeper. I have found you the man for it...Fitz, get up here and let them all see you.” “They have all seen him already, Sire!” Cooper shouted. “He has taken payment from every man here.”
“Aye. But ale does not come for free. I only take enough to make more ale!” Fitz called out.
“Then the inn will thrive!” Martin shouted above the noise. “Let the party start...the next round of ale is from the Thane.”
There was a huge cheer, and as Martin sat down the musicians started up “The Lay of the Thane” once more.
Megan came and sat next to the Thane. The townspeople whistled loudly as she hugged him to her and planted a wet kiss on his mouth.
“I thank you,” she said. “For the gift of this fine inn...and for the joy it brings to my old man.”
More ale flowed, and dancing started. Martin found himself being whirled around the room in a reel so fast that his head spun and his legs threatened to give way underneath him.
At some point in the evening Martin found a quiet corner and tried to make himself inconspicuous.
I miss Old Menzies.
The old doctor would have loved a night like this…with the ale flowing and the talk free. Looking around Martin saw that there was little sign of the agony that had befallen the town so few days before. Part of him felt that the town should be mourning…for the Thane, for Menzies, for all those that had died.
To you, Father, he thought, and raised his flagon in salute. He drained it in one, feeling the warmth course through him.
“Another ale, young master?” old Barr said from his right. The old man was carrying a large pitcher in his arms, cradling it as if it were a babe.
Martin put his flagon in front of him and paired it with another from across the table.
“Take the weight off your legs, old man,” Martin said, “and sit yourself down. I would drink with an Officer of the Watch.”
The old man spat a wad of tobacco on the floor.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Barr said. “Don’t mind at all.”
The old man sat beside Martin and lit up a foul-smelling pipe while Martin poured their ales.
The impromptu band had fallen silent while they quenched their thirsts, so the men were able to talk in a near conversational tone.
“It is good to be back on the wall,” old Barr said. “It is too long since I left.”
Martin knew from the years of experience with old Menzies that there was a story coming and he wasn’t disappointed.
“I walked the wall thirty years, man and boy,” the old man started. “And I never saw an Other until last week in Derby. We kept the wall, we drank beer, and we made children. It was enough for me. But my wife had other ideas. She had dreams…of a house of her own, of a garden, of a shop where she could buy frills and lace.
“So when the Watch had done with me…just when I thought I might get some peace…she had me up sticks. It was just her luck that we ended in Derby.”
The old man took a long pull from his beer, and Martin thought there would be no more, but after a puff of the pipe that sent a thick gray fog into the air around them, he started again.
“I had a daughter, you know. The sweetest thing you ever saw. After the lad took to the Wall she was the apple of the wife’s eye. And when she married a doctor I thought my wife was fit to burst. It was because of her we moved to Derby. The doctor had a big house just inside the city walls, and we had a cottage just down the same road…and a garden. I do believe my wife was really happy. As for me…well, a city has many inns, and an officer of the Watch can scrounge many flagons of ale on a story of the night when he ‘nearly’ saw an Other.”
The old man stopped to relight his pipe. A new cloud of gray smoke swam about his head for a second, as if his hair was on fire. Martin saw that the man’s eyes had taken on that far-away look typical of people lost in a story’s memory.
“And so it went on. My retirement continued apace, and my daughter was heavy with child. My wife was busy making enough clothing for an army of newborns, and the garden bloomed. Then, a couple of weeks ago, rumors began to spread, of trouble on the Wall and a Threat from the far North.
“I wanted to report to the wall and my wife wanted to go south to Bath, but the thing that sealed it was my daughter. She was too far gone to travel, so we stayed, while the town filled with soldiers and the rumors from the north grew wilder, yet more true.”
Suddenly Martin did not want to hear anymore. The old man looked grim, his teeth clamped hard on the pipe, his knuckles white where he gripped his flagon. Martin put a hand on the man’s shoulder.
“If the telling is too sore…” he began.
“No, young sir,” Barr replied. “It is sore. But I need to tell someone.”
There was pleading in the man’s eyes, a need that Martin could not refuse. He realized that Barr had reverted to his Watch training, bringing a trouble to his senior officer. He was wondering if the old man even realized it when Barr started talking again.
“The lad came to visit. That was all the wife could think of, may God bless her…her boy was home. Never mind that the Boy-King and his army were rattling at the gates. Her boy was home and all was right with the world. Her small part of it, at least.
“The drums of war started to beat louder, and the town started filling up with soldiers. Rumors came from the north, of the falling of the Wall and the end of the Watch. I would have gone to man the walls, but the doctor took me aside, and asked me to look after the womenfolk…not just my wife and daughter, but other wives, other daughters. It was a kindness he did me…he knew I was too old for the barricades, yet he gave me a duty I could respect.
“I took the womenfolk to an old church near the south wall. By the time the battle started there were more than thirty of us…thirty
women and children, and me…an officer of the Watch in his cups. “Oh yes. I was drinking…drinking for my lost youth, my lost pride…drinking to dull the noise of the preparations for the battle to come and the sound of chattering women and mewling babes.”
Barr looked into his flagon, and made to push it away, then thought better of it and swallowed a deep gulp from it before continuing.
“I ran out of ale,” he said. “’Tis strange how such a small thing can irretrievably change a man’s life.
“I was only gone for ten minutes…just long enough to fill an ewer in a nearby inn and sample a pint of Winter Porter while waiting. But while I was gone all the joy left my soul for the remainder of my miserable life.
“The church was like a scene from hell. In my absence the south wall of the city had fallen, and the Others seemed to know instinctively where the weak and vulnerable would be found…and they had no compunction about desecrating the Lord’s house.
“By the time I opened the church door there must have been twenty of them in there. They were rampaging through the women and children like a fox through a chicken run. I saw immediately that I was too late….there was to be no helping those poor souls.
“I smashed my ewer over the head of the nearest Other and shut them inside. The last thing I saw was my missus, an Other feeding from her neck, her eyes pleading for my help even as her life faded.
“Part of me…a large part of me…wanted to throw myself into the fight, to drag her away from the black bastards who dared to violate her. But I knew my duty. God help me, I always knew my duty. And I knew where the pitch was stored. “It took long minutes for me to round up some military help and get the pitch to the church. By this time Cumberland had repaired the breach in the wall, and I was able to recruit five men to help me set the fire. We had brands and stakes at the ready, and made to enter the church.
“But when we opened the door, there was naught there but the dead and the bitten. An officer, a short, fat, sweaty man, went to close the doors. Just then Jinny, my daughter, staggered forward out of the darkness. She was bitten in three places…but that was not what concerned her.
The Watchers Trilogy: Omnibus Edition Page 51