by Jodhan Ford
Germanus ran fingers along his left side and winced about halfway down. “Broken rib, definitely need a few stitches, and I might have cracked a bone in my right forearm.” He then muttered something about the luck of youth under his breath.
“What was that, my lord?”
“Nothing. It’s been a long night.”
“Are you able to walk back?” Dareus asked. Germanus shook his head. “Stay here for a moment and let me retrieve my horse, and then I’ll take a look at you.”
The Inquisitor nodded silently as Dareus hurried off. He stood in the steady cold downpour, staring numbly at nothing in particular. He released pent-up breath through pursed lips and closed his eyes.
One of these days, my arrogance will get the better of me.
He knew it was dangerous to contend with fallen spirits alone.
Germanus leaned heavily, hands on his knees as his gaze followed the trail of splitters and planks littered across the muddy field back to the mill and its broken wall. He whistled softly and both eyebrows shot up as he eyed the destruction for the first time. He marvelled at the magnitude of it. The Inquisitor chuckled darkly, noting that he should be much worse off than the minor wounds he had sustained.
“That,” he said with a raised finger, “was a stout wall.”
“What’s that, my Lord?” Dareus asked as he approached.
“The wall there,” Germanus indicated with some pride. “I was noting the stoutness of it.”
Dareus looked to the broken wall and back to his Lord. “You mean it threw you…through the wall?” Dareus raised his eyebrows.
Germanus rubbed at his ribs and chuckled ruefully. “It actually kicked me through it. I’m most definitely going to feel it in the morning!” He pressed his hand to his side with a prayer and the pain receded. For reasons that prayer never answered, the Lord never took away all the pain.
“My Lord, meaning no disrespect… but could you not have picked a fight with the beast outside and not risked damaging our shelter for the night? If the whole thing had come down around your ears, I’d be sleeping in the rain,” Dareus said, a smile playing at his lips.
“Bah, silence you!” the Inquisitor said in mock indignation. “Now help this old man. We need to get the body out of the weather.”
“I will do that after I get you inside near the fire.”
“Well, be quick about it then.”
“Right away, old man… I mean, my Lord.” Dareus looked at the wall once again as he hefted the Inquisitor into the saddle. “Perhaps the wall is not so stout, look at the decay! Surely a wall truly sound would hold up even against ribs as redoubtable as yours?”
“That mouth of yours will get you smote!” Germanus said, seating himself gingerly in the saddle.
“I’d like to see you try,” Dareus whispered.
“What was that, Dareus!” the Inquisitor said in a threatening voice.
“Nothing at all, my Lord. I am merely admiring the…stoutness of yonder wall.” Dareus kept well out of reach of his lord’s threatening foot. He gathered the reins and walked the horse carefully up the hill to spare further discomfort to his master.
In short order, they were huddled next to the fire. Germanus made not a sound as Dareus ran catgut stitching into the wounds and drew the edges tight. Exhaustion—more than fortitude—kept the Inquisitor staring resolutely ahead.
While his master slept, Dareus prepared a poultice in a cooking pot. He then went and stood near the broken wall and stared out into the deep darkness of the night—a hand on his rosary and a quiet prayer on his lips. He looked at the indistinct form of the goat thing, then back into the windmill at the body of the young girl… Charlotte. Yes, that was the child’s name.
He shook his head in admiration of his lord’s resoluteness. Or was this the Inquisitor’s pride and arrogance, railing against his superiors? Perhaps if he left before the dawn, Dareus could be well away before the church soldiers caught up with them. He could claim ignorance on his part and duplicity on the part of Germanus. Smiling grimly at the notion, he knew his loyalties were not that frail. He would stand with his lord come the dawn.
The war dog walked over and butted Dareus’ knee. Dareus absently lowered a hand to scratch the dog’s ear. “Keep watch tonight, Dis, old friend. I’ll need my rest.” Turning back, Dareus left the dog to its duty.
Righting the table and replacing the disturbed items, he stirred the broth for the poultice and ladled the aromatic liquid over a number of mostly-clean rags. Dareus tied them over Germanus’ ribs and wounds. Knowing that they would need all the help they could get on the morrow, he breathed a silent prayer and hoped that God would answer.
Dareus did not have his lord’s faith. He was a simple farmer’s son, not a learned man filled with wisdom and experience. How many trials and long years had Germanus walked God’s path? Dareus was often awed at the old man’s nigh-blind faith. He wished to possess his lord’s unswerving and towering conviction. But Dareus knew his place; he thought of himself as a simple squire, a man-at-arms, no one special or noble.
Dareus checked on the horses, untied the satchel from his saddle and prepared some dried meat, potatoes, and carrots so they could break their fast. Dareus inspected their weapons, first his long sword and shield, then his lord’s mace and short sword. He did not touch his masters pistols. Lastly, he arranged their armour upright on the grinding mill so as to make it easier to dress. He double-checked the horses and put their tack aside for easy access. Finally, when he had seen to everything, he lay down next to his lord and fell almost instantly into a heavy, dreamless slumber.
Dis woke him at the false dawn with a playful tug at his foot. Dareus woke with a start and a hand on his dagger. He relaxed quickly and stretched. Glancing over, he noticed his lord’s bedroll was empty. He stood and scrubbed at his face with open palms. He saw Germanus kneeling over to one side in prayer; he also noted the delicious aroma of the morning’s quick fry-up. Better than gruel any day, he thought to himself. He served out two bowls and laid the second one at Germanus’ side before kneeling to join him in their matins.
After they had finished their devotions, the two men ate their meal then washed in water collected from the rain.
“I’ll scout abroad, my lord.”
“Makes sense, as I have to bury the child. Let’s get you armed and ready.”
With practiced ease, Germanus helped gird his squire and place his mount’s tack.
“It should be done by the time you return. Be swift,” Germanus said with a pat on the horse’s neck.
As Dareus rode off into the morning haze, Germanus turned back to the ground in front of him.
He gripped the shovel in both hands, raised the haft to his chest, and prayed.
“Lord, grant Charlotte rest. Grant her the peace in death that I could not give her in life.”
The shovel blade slammed down into the earth, cutting deep. Germanus pulled it free.
“Lord, forgive me for failing in my duties. Do not let my sins pass to the child. Take her into your arms and release her from her earthly travails.”
Again the shovel slammed into the earth. Germanus set his foot against the wedge of the shovel and pressed down. He pulled back and the shovel came free with the gritty hiss of dirt and scrabble.
A gust of wind caught the folds of the binding cloth and pulled the material back. A faint and weak ray of light brushed Charlotte’s face, sliding over her cheek.
Germanus pressed his lips together and watched the sun gently bless the child.
An hour later, the Inquisitor was tamping down the earth as Dareus rode up the hill, his horse already lathered.
“My lord, the soldiers approach; they are not far behind me. Hurry, let’s get you suited up,” Dareus said as he dismounted.
As the soldiers surrounded the mill, Inquisitor Germanus and Squire Dareus strode out to meet them. The Inquisitor raised his visor as a captain, smartly dressed in a rain-and-mud-spotted uniform, moved forward.
“By order of his holiness, the Bishop of Falx, you are to surrender yourself to the Church’s authority…or die.” The captain spoke in a clear voice, but his face betrayed his unease.
Germanus faced the man with stony silence.
“Who are you to address an Inquisitor of the Church thusly?” Dareus said with impertinence.
“Captain Gregore, son of Callinicus, Baron of Falx—”
Dareus flicked the corner his soiled cape at the captain’s face, cutting off the other man’s introduction.
“Baron Callinicus of Falx, you say.” Dareus spoke with a high, nasal, aristocratic, pompous voice. “Thin, balding, weak chin, with a long nose and a pronounced limp in his left leg?”
“How dare you!” the captain said, finding his courage.
“An ill-favoured wastrel of a man and notorious whore-monger!” Dareus declared with a sneer. “You say you are a captain, and were sent to fetch the Inquisitor… the Inquisitor is insulted to say the least. What say you, my lord, should I run off this…whoreson?” Dareus said without a look to his lord.
Germanus gave a reproving glance to his squire but said nothing. The captain stood sputtering but took no action.
“What say you, Whoreson?” Dareus said, addressing the captain directly and loosening his sword in its scabbard. “Are you man enough to challenge my Lord Germanus and I? Or do you and your men wish to withdraw behind your mother’s upraised skirts?”
The captain’s face scrunched and turned a blotchy red. He choked helplessly on his words as he flailed his hands.
“Hmmm. I’ll take the ten on the right, you get the fifteen on the left,” Dareus said, not deigning to acknowledge the captain.
“You’re younger, you take the fifteen and I’ll take the ten!” Inquisitor Germanus said.
“Of course, my lord.” Dareus’ voice turned steely as he drew his sword. He whistled sharply and a horse at the rear of the party squealed, suddenly in agony, before it fell over and unceremoniously dumped its rider in the mire of the road. Dis vaulted the horse and fell upon the hapless soldier, ravaging the man.
As the soldiers turned back to see what the commotion was, Dareus, his cloak flaring as he spun about, raised his shield and bore down on the startled soldiers. Germanus drew his weapons and glared balefully at the captain before he swung his mace.
“What—” Whatever it was that the captain was about to ask was interrupted as Germanus and Dareus struck first. The captain was hurled bodily to the ground as the other soldiers brandished their pikes and attacked.
Facing away from each other, Germanus and Dareus set to, carving up the enemy. The church soldiers, with their mediocre training, were no match for trained knights. Germanus methodically shivered their pikes and the attack started to take away the church soldiers’ advantage of reach and forced the men to draw swords and close with him. He could hear Dareus adopting a similar tactic behind him. He never turned, trusting his squire to give warning if one of his opponents broke past. Without the advantage of their reach to aid them, the soldiers’ now-dwindling numbers diminished their bravado.
“Sard!” Dareus cursed as a particular lopsided lunge got past his guard.
While Germanus worked silently and methodically, Dareus mocked and taunted his enemies, commenting mercilessly as he dispatched them
A severed arm landed with a wet sound near Germanus’ foot.
“My apologies! Here, let me even you out.” Dareus said, and another arm landed near the first.
Twenty men lay dead while a half a dozen fled into the distance. Germanus’ lips were a thin line of dejection. Both men sheathed their weapons and walked back up to the mill.
“There is a second shovel inside. Let’s get these men buried.”
“After that, my lord?”
“We cannot go home, and if we stay in the protectorates we could be identified.”
“We could go west to the Pala region, or north to the Scythians? I would prefer to not enter Egypt, as the heat disagrees with me. Perhaps we could take ship and head for Gaul, the land of fine women and finer wine?” Dareus had a mocking lilt in his voice.
“And why would two pious knights go to a land of debauchery?”
“Because no one would expect us to be there—well, you at any rate! We could then go north into the tri-states of Cambria, Caledonia and Hibernia, or if you prefer, south to Hispania? I do enjoy Porto over wine.”
“That plan has merit. Let’s gather our things and move out before reinforcements arrive.”
“There are a few villages on the way to the coast. We can gather a few provisions along the way.”
“Don’t you think that might attract too much attention?” Germanus asked.
“The church is looking for a rogue knight; they aren’t looking for two mercenaries. If we stash our formal armour and go with leather and mail, we’ll seem like militia or mercenaries and attract less notice.”
“That is a good plan. But why aren’t they looking for you?”
Dareus grinned like a madman. “I left a dead man wearing my formal armour lying in a burned house not far from Falx. I made sure everyone took notice of my attire, before switching armour and tossing the body.”
“Did you murder the man?”
“No, the mistress of the house did that.”
In the midst of straightening his horse’s tack, the Inquisitor turned to regard his squire. “I am assuming there is a story behind this?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Do I have to drag out every word of it? You usually are more verbose than this.”
“If I tell you the whole tale now, we’ll have naught but the weather to discuss on our way. And, frankly, there is only so much one can say about rain.” Dareus finished with his horse and began to clear the cook fire and camp gear. “Also, I would prefer to make confession far from here.”
Germanus wished he had his squire’s gift of gab and a flippant wit. “Yes, that sounds fine. I have a tale to share as well.”
“Is there a maiden in your story, and perhaps some fireworks?” Dareus asked mockingly.
“Both. The kegs of whiskey exploding into the night were quite spectacular.” Inquisitor Germanus pressed his tongue and a finger to the long, ancient scar that ran from the corner of his mouth down under his chin.
Dareus rubbed his hands together, showing his relish of a good tale. Dis gamboled about, clearly eager to move on. The two men mounted their horses and, with the war dog leading, rode off down the long winding road.
“So… A woman?” Dareus asked.
This is not the end of the tale…
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jodhan Ford studied creative writing at Concordia University. He owes his love of books to his mother, who kept reading book after book after book to him until she read the Hobbit; after that she gave up reading to him. She handed over the Fellowship of the Ring at age ten and told her son to read for himself. Jodhan Ford’s current whereabouts are undisclosed due to the writer’s protection program.
Charlotte’s Last Dance is his first published work of fiction.
You can learn more about Jodhan Ford and the Rule of the Gods universe here:
http://www.jodhanford.com/