The Eaorl (The Casere Book 2)

by Michael O'Neill

  Driscol looked suddenly tired. ‘Taransay, are you staying long? There will be a Witan soon; an official heir has to be nominated and Alduni may not be seventeen before I pass – so we will have to appoint a Regent.’

  Conn thought for a moment. ‘May I make a suggestion?’

  Driscol smiled, ‘I’d be more surprised if you didn’t.’

  ‘Aerlene is my nomination.’

  ‘Aerlene? Why Aerlene?’

  ‘Because we can all trust her. Susa is now one of the richest demesnes in Moetia, the most powerful and she is Alduni’s aunt. And there is no one else on the Witan who I would be confident will do what is required.’

  ‘What you say is sound. I will give it some thought. I must rest now – will you join us for dinner?’

  As Conn left to leave, one of the keep bocere reported that they were having trouble getting Alfvir out of his cell. He almost killed the wiga that went in to remove him so that the room could be cleaned.

  ‘He is a truly stubborn man that one.’ Conn responded. ‘I’ll help.’ Conn followed the wiga down to the dungeon and found Alfvir in his cell surrounded by wiga, some with bows.

  Conn directed that they open the cell door and he walked in.

  ‘Alfvir, we can do this the hard way or the easy way; do what these nice men say or I’ll be forced to not be nice.’

  Alfvir acted rather than answering, charging at Conn, who sidestepped in the blink of an eye and threw him on to his back. He stood back; allowing Alfvir to stand up. He attacked again, and again, all with the same outcome, until he was battered and bruised. Conn had the wiga come in and hold him as Conn searched his clothing, finally retrieving the haligdom from a small secret pocket in his vest. They dragged him up and sat him on a chair.

  Conn dangled the pendant in front of him. ‘Is this important?’

  Although there was fear on his face, Alfvir refused to speak, so Conn had a hammer brought to him. He placed the necklace on the floor, and was about to hit it with the hammer when the Ancuman finally spoke.

  ‘Yes, it is important; sentimental reasons. PLEASE don’t destroy it.’ He added the ‘please’ with emphasis.

  ‘Very well then.’ Conn stood, ordered that Alfvir be released, and handed the pendant back to him. ‘Next time you want to misbehave, nothing will stop the hammer. Have I made myself clear?’

  He nodded. ‘I understand. If I may ask, what are you going to do with me?’

  ‘You will remain a prisoner until they pay your ransom.’

  ‘You are going to ransom me?’

  ‘You sound surprised, but the Healdend and I have come to the understanding that someone needs to pay for the needless death of an Aebeling and his wiga. We will send a ransom demand to Rakia today for the appropriate wergild of an Aebeling and some fifteen wiga. The demand will be for three hundred thousand Ryals. Who should we send the demand to? Who is the senior Ancuman in Rakia?’

  Alfvir was silent again.

  Conn continued. ‘If you can’t name someone else, we will just send the request to Fallon, Healdend.’ As Conn walked out of the cell, he looked back. ‘Remember my warning.’

  When Conn finally arrived back at the Great Hall in the evening, it was clear that Aerlene had been doing some serious shopping – everyone was wearing new clothes – even Fainche; who for the first time had combined her usual black with smatterings of red. Tabiti did like red clothing.

  Conn searched for Ana. Aerlene informed him that she would be there soon, and he was talking to Finnrun when he received a tap on his shoulder. Behind him stood Ana with Doneele, Driscol’s bedda, and two people he didn’t recognize; one was a young man, a Silekian and the other was a girl who he immediately knew he should know – she had blue eyes.

  Doneele did the introductions; ‘Taransay, I’d like you to meet Rheda. Her mother is Ranait il Dahae, former bedda of Oran il Asaak.’

  Conn had a flashback to the very interesting times he had with Ranait in the Cirice in Lykiak – some eight years ago. He had no idea she had gotten pregnant – though he did know that she had died from illness.

  Conn bowed. ‘Hello, Rheda, I am so pleased to meet you.’ She bowed back shyly at a father she had never met.

  ‘And this,’ Doneele continued, ‘is Eirnin il Tegeste. His father was the Eaorl of Tegeste; and he is heir to his father.’

  Conn was doubly surprised. ‘Tegeste? In Silekia? Who is Eaorl now?’

  The young man nodded. ‘My uncle Mundy. I believe he murdered my father and his father.’

  ‘Now that is very interesting.’

  Conn invited them to sit – Doneele left to join her bedda at the main table – and he asked Eirnin how he ended up in Moetia.

  It transpired that Eirnin’s grandfather died in 855, in some kind of fishing accident – his boat disappeared; and then he father became Eaorl at the age of twenty five. A couple of years later his Mundy returns from Rakia where he had been living with his mother – a Rakian. When Eirnin was five, his father also dies – again, his boat disappears at sea. Mundy then declares himself Regent and invited Rakians in to act as his security and advisers.

  Eirnin’s mother, fearful of the potential fate of her son, escapes by boat to Sabrata, and then travels to Dahae, the home of her ancestors.

  Eirnin concluded his story. ‘I have spent the last ten years in Dahae, and it was there that I met Ranait, and then Rheda. We both met Doneele when she visited last week, and she insisted that Rheda and I come to Moetiak with her. We arrived yesterday with our family.’

  ‘You have had quite a journey, Eirnin. Have you both lived with the Eaorl of Dahae?’ He looked at Rheda as well when he asked the question.

  They both shook their heads. ‘No, we both lived with Eostan and his family.’

  ‘Eostan is not an Eaorl…’

  ‘No – he is the Thane of Radma. His bedda is Ranait’s sister.’

  ‘And is he here? I would like to thank him.’

  Eirnin looked embarrassed. ‘No – he couldn’t come in – there wasn’t room for him.’

  Conn looked across the table at Finnrun – who suddenly decided to look elsewhere. He had been following the discussion.

  ‘Finnrun…’

  ‘Yes Eaorl?’ He feigned ignorance.

  ‘The family that raised my daughter for eight years wasn’t given a table here tonight – can you sort that please?’

  Finnrun protested, ‘You know I don’t work here anymore? I’m a merchant…’

  ‘So remind me, where do you get all your merchandise from?’

  Finnrun stood as if struck by lightning. ‘But I’ll see what I can do.’

  As he turned, Conn added ‘And make sure that they are suitably attired. I would hate them to feel embarrassed.’

  ‘But the shops will…’

  Conn looked at him.

  ‘… of course open if I ask nicely.’

  ‘I have a squad of wiga at the Inn that can help if you need it. War has been declared for less…’

  ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’ He rushed off.

  Within ten minutes, tables were moved around to provide an extra table next to Conn’s and any complaints were met with ‘ask Taransay’; complaints stopped. Within the hour, a very embarrassed but respectfully dressed couple were ushered into the hall and given seats at the table next to Conn. Servants then made sure that they had the best of anything.

  Doneele saw them arrive and came over. She apologized to Conn. ‘I did ask but I was told it was impossible…it seems that you have greater authority in this donjon than me.’

  ‘Did you threaten to send a squad of Silekian wiga in to reorganize the tables?’

  She laughed. ‘No, I didn’t.’

  Conn smiled. ‘Doneele; that was your mistake. Are you able to introduce the Thane to the Healdend for me?’

  ‘That I can do.’

  Driscol joined them towards the end of the night. The children had left and Conn sat with the Thane – Eostan, Finnrun and Aerlene.


  Conn had a question for him. ‘So, Healdend, do you have any Eaorldoms spare?’

  Driscol was surprised. “Eaorldoms? No… don’t you already have enough land?’

  ‘Not for me – for Eostan.’ Conn waved away his protestations. ‘I guess he will just have to be a Baron then. Do you think we can get that done?’

  The Healdend shrugged. ‘I’ve already had another request for a Thane in Farah to be so elevated. What about the other issue – the Regent.’

  ‘Did you speak with Alduni?’

  ‘I did – he thinks that it is a great idea. What about the Eaorls?’

  Conn played a straight face. ‘I had a chat to each one this evening – they all think it is a great idea as well. There will not be a single opposing voice at the witan.’

  ‘I’m not going to ask how you can be so sure.’

  Conn agreed ‘That would be wise.’

  Every Eaorl that wouldn’t agree with the proposal owed the Meshech Finance and Insurance Company considerable amounts of money – because they all like to live beyond their means – and calling in the loans would cause more anguish than any rewards for being Regent. They were made aware.

  Conn continued. ‘I also have a solution to the Rakian problem.’

  ‘That was quick. Does it involves anything I’m not going to approve of?’

  ‘I’m not sure… did you meet Eirnin il Tegeste?’

  Driscol nodded absently. ‘Yes I did – nice boy.’ Then it suddenly dawned on him. ‘Tegeste is in Silekia isn’t it?’

  ‘It is…’

  ‘I don’t think I wanted to know that.’

  Chapter 18

  The Witan was held a few days later and Conn as Baron of Barek was present at the Witan for the first time as a voting member. The two proposals were passed without opposition – that Alduni be nominated as heir of Moesia was assured, but that that Aerlene be raised to Regent during his primacy, should he need one, was not a typical decision. Aerlene then had to nominate a Regent for her daughter Bermia while she was unable to perform as the Eaorl of Susa. The two new Barons were proclaimed – including the Baron of Radma. Conn proposal to widen participation in decision making by creating an Assembly was mentioned by Conn as an example of what was being done in Trokia – Conn didn’t want to push things too far too quickly.

  With the official Witan functions, including the many feasts, out of the way, Conn returned to planning his “invasion” of Silekia. He wasn’t invading so much as helping Eirnin regain his demesne – he had several others within his fyrd who would also benefit by having their demesne’s returned – including Wilga il Melnik, Uileog of Azali, and Godfred il Jader. Uileog and Godfred had joined his fyrd prior to the Trokian campaign and had worked their way up from Corporal to Major during the campaign.

  Conn’s planning was only limited to the number of ships and pigeons he had. Luckily he had a pretty simple message structure. Years previously, Conn had sat down and worked out nearly everything that he could imagine he might request, and wrote it in a book – of which there were only as many copies as he needed – one to each of his demesne. He wrote the books himself, and Njil had hand delivered them.

  The message carried by pigeon to Haran had three numbers: 2-15-38 and the pages translated to something like ‘This is not a drill, raise the Fyrd, sent to Arbela.’ Different messages went to Kadash, Cyme, Susa and Atrak – but the underlining message was to mobilize the full resources of Conn’s military machine.

  Most of the fyrd were already in place – of the wiga that marched towards Trokia, over half had retired with the generous severance pay that they had received, and of those that remained, half had been sent back to Lycia to his barracks in Hama, while the rest had stayed with him – he had taken three companies of Sagittari with him during his ‘conquest’ of Kuita. Of the three, two were already now back in Atrak training new recruits.

  He had raised another three companies from Kadash and Susa and with those sent for training in Lykia, he had in place over two thousand wiga for his campaign to free Tegeste from Rakian control.

  By the end of spring, Conn was ready to depart Moetia, and Njil had returned to collect him. When he could, he ate dinner with Driscol; he had the feeling that he might not see the Healdend again.

  Driscol was concerned. ‘And you are confident that this plan of yours will work?’

  ‘It has to be done – we need to rid Silekia of the Rakians. Tegeste was the missing piece – I didn’t know how to solve the problem without creating a “real” war between Lykia and Rakia. Eirnin raising a fyrd to reclaim his demesne doesn’t problem anyone.’

  ‘Notwithstanding the fact that the fyrd is beyond the financial and logistical means of a sixteen year old…’

  ‘That notwithstanding – by the time they argue the finer detail it will all be over.’

  ‘And after Tegeste…?’

  ‘All the other heirs have raised fyrds as well. Coincidental really – but we will have the momentum to completely rid Rakia of Ancuman influence. And the Wealdend will ride out from Silekiak.’

  ‘And you are sure that will not be the end of it?’

  Conn shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think so – this is just the beginning. I’m just trying to buy time. Do you remember our discussions about Goibniu, the last Casere?’

  Driscol did.

  ‘Well, I’m convinced that is what he did – by resigning and giving the Aebelings what they wanted; he bought time. In fact, he bought three hundred years.’

  ‘How much will your actions buy?’

  ‘Nothing like that – if I can get a ten years, I’ll be happy. Oh, there is something else. I want to take Alduni with me. I think that is the best for Moetia; he will get a better idea of what is happening if he sees the world.’

  Driscol looked at Aerlene as she ate with them.

  ‘You know about this?

  ‘I do – he is also taking Ana and Rheda.’

  Driscol shook his head. ‘No wonder I’m so ill; you keep saying things like that to me; you are taking my grandson to invade a large fortified demesne like Tegeste; protected by a large number of Ratakian forces – and you say don’t worry.’ He looked to Aerlene again. ‘You are happy about it?’

  ‘I don’t know where he could be safer. His mother is happy. He nearly died in our care…’

  ‘True enough. Alright, you have my approval as well.’

  A few days later, Njil guided the large schooner out of Moetiak and headed for Atrak. Aerlene and Driscol and the entire castle staff stood on the dock to farewell the young Aebeling. Driscol had given him several extra hugs before he left. They would probably never see each other again.

  Conn’s final act in Moetia had been to award service and bravery medals to those that fought with him against the Rakian bandits – including the Valkeri who protected the Healdend. He saluted them, gave Driscol an extra salute, and boarded the ship; standing with his two daughters as tears streamed down their faces.

  The children were not the only passengers; Conn had brought Alfvir with him, and Fainche joined them at the last moment. Driscol said that she could stay in Moesiak, but she was still very unsettled – she still couldn’t go home, and wasn’t sure if she actually wanted to anyway.

  It was a six day sail to Atrak on the topsail; they passed dozens of other vessels heading in the same direction – his junks and the smaller schooners. All along the coast were the new lighthouses that Conn had constructed to allow the fleet to keep sailing at speed at night.

  The morning they arrived in Atrak, the only person who was not surprised was Njil. Everyone else was stunned into silence – such as was the visual splendour of the harbor of Atrak. It was a stone castle that projected pure power and prestige – albeit that the power was superficial. The stone construction was more decorative than defensive against a real sea attack – it was nothing like the star castle that the stonemasons trained in Atrak were now building in Gatina. Visually, however, there was no castle thi
ng like it anywhere in Meshech, and only the former underwater town of Kadash matched it for uniqueness. That being said, Halla was turning Cyme into something very special as well.

  The entry to the harbour was guarded by huge towers; one on each side; on top of which were lighthouses at night and sentries during the day. There was stone and tiles everywhere; whereas once the warehouses had thatch roofs, they had all been replaced with slate – slate was readily available in Trokia, in Mendah in particular, and trade was booming between the two towns. Whitewash was also in favour, and the harbor gleamed – everything seemed to have been painted except for the roofs.

  As the schooner carefully docked, a large crowd of people waited for them. Everyone noticed the ten girls waiting, standing with Valkeri. As he watched them wave to him, and as he waved back, Conn realized with sadness that two of them he had never met – Sileas was pregnant when he left for Moesiak five years ago, and the rest he hardly knew. He walked down the plank and two of the girls, his eldest, came forward and hugged him. He wasn’t sure if it was affection or protocol.

  Elwyne and Alana, were both ten, tall and beautiful. The blue eyes gleamed amidst the long dark hair and dark olive complexions. The next to greet him were Cordelia and Leola; also children of Annisa. They were eight years old. The six remaining were all Sileas’s girls; Alfrysa, Osgytha, Davan, Rowena, Oslynne, and Eldwen. They were all two years apart, nine, seven, and five.

  Alana spoke first. ‘Welcome home, Father.’

  ‘It is good to be back, and very nice to see you all again. I have some people I’d like to meet.’ He called over the three youngsters; Ana didn’t have any siblings last winter – now she had eleven. Not so shy now, the girls quickly gathered their new siblings and rushed off back to the donjon to show them around, their bodyguards in hot pursuit.

  Sileas stood by Conn as they watched them race off. Sileas then hugged him and introduced him to Osbert, her bedda. She and Conn had “divorced” and she had become bedda to Osbert, a merchant from Silekia that Sebbi had sent down to be his manager in Atrak.