The Dread Wyrm

by Miles Cameron

  But despite this admonition, men and women were roused as the column entered camp. Blanche was surprised at how orderly was the apparent chaos. Sukey, who she had thought ere this to be a decorative camp follower or possibly the Red Knight’s lover, stood by the palisaded gate with two pages at her shoulders with torches and read off tent assignments. When Tom Lachlan rode up, Blanche was close behind. Too close.

  Sukey graced him with a pleasant smile.

  “Not my tent, Ser Tom,” she said.

  He grimaced.

  “You’ll find Donald Dhu and all the beeves he has yet unsold just a long bowshot to the west, by the river,” she said.

  “And if I don’t want to ride any further, woman?” he asked.

  She tossed her hair. “There’s space in the ditch outside,” she said. “Next!”

  She put the Queen in the captain’s pavilion, on his feather bed, and she was waiting when the Queen’s woman—the tall blonde—came out of the pavilion with an armload of smelly linen.

  “I have a bed for ye, if you’ll sleep. Give all that to one of my drudges. Come.” Sukey walked off towards the cook fires.

  The same men—and a few women—who had bitched about fighting and riding all day were now sitting at fires drinking wine and re-telling it all. A dozen knights of the Order were listening to Ser Michael’s account of the ambush. Two nuns were brushing out Sister Amicia’s hair.

  Prior Wishart, who Sukey knew from two days in camp, was deep in conversation with the captain, who gave her the “not now” sign. So she pushed past, Blanche at her heels, and took her around the fire that had become the hub of conversation—and thus, no work could be done—to the main fire line. There, despite the hour, twenty women and a few men were heating water, cooking, washing…

  “Anne Banks! Get your nose out of his business and come over here,” Sukey yelled. A young woman who had been kissing a young man came, in a sulky, put-upon way.

  “Annie’s a scullery and she’ll do as she’s told most o’ the time,” Sukey said. “Annie, this is Blanche, the Queen’s—friend. She has a mort of linen needs cleaning.”

  Anne was prone to be difficult. Blanche knew her kind well enough. She smiled and kissed the younger woman’s cheek. “For the baby, Miss Anne. I don’t expect you to do my things.” She laughed. “Except I don’t have any things.”

  Annie nodded. “For the baby?” She took the whole armload without demur. “For—the King?” she said.

  “His shit is just as shitty as any other baby’s,” Sukey noted. “Anne Banks, if you lie down with that boy and get a baby in you, you’ll end a common harlot.”

  “Which they gets paid a damn sight better than sculleries. An’ the work is restful,” Annie said in a tone aimed to infuriate her officer.

  Sukey smacked the girl with her open hand. “Don’t be a fool,” she said. “You want to hear about being a whore, talk to Sauce. I’m sorry, Lady Blanche.”

  “I’m no lady,” Blanche said. “They just call me that.”

  Sukey was now clutching Anne to her chest. “I’m sorry, Annie. But you ain’t got a mama to teach you, so all you get is me.”

  “You hit me!” Anne wailed.

  Sukey winked at Blanche. Over Anne’s head, she said, “You and I are of a size. Want some clothes?”

  Blanche contemplated refusal, but it seemed stupid. “Yes,” she said. “I can’t pay.”

  Sukey smiled. It was an odd smile, as if she knew something that Blanche didn’t know. Which she probably did.

  Back towards the gate, a voice called, “Sukey!” like the sounding of a great horn.

  “Damn the man,” Sukey said. “Anne, wash those linens and bring them to…” She looked at Blanche. “I guess you’re casa 24-R2.”

  “What’s that?” Blanche asked. Anne picked up the linens without another sniff and curtsied as if Blanche was indeed a lady. Blanche responded—it was a little like the laundry at home.

  “24-R2 is the twenty-fourth tent of the second corporal of the red band,” Sukey said, already underway. “Look, I’ll show you.”

  “Sukey!” called the deep voice.

  “I’ll kill him. You know, he went off and lay with another girl at the Inn of Dorling, and now he thinks he can walk back in here—”

  “Suuu-key!”

  Blanche, always everyone’s confidante, giggled. “That’s Bad Tom?” she asked.

  “Aye,” Sukey said. “That’s Bad Tom.”

  “He’s very handsome.” Blanche hadn’t thought it aloud before that. But Tom’s sheer size was—remarkable.

  “Aye he is, and he knows it, the devil.” Sukey was walking fast through a darkened camp. “See the captain’s pavilion? No, there. See? Red flags.”

  “I see it,” Blanche allowed.

  “All the lances of his household camp in a line behind—knights at the head of the camp, then men-at-arms and pages and then servants. See? R2 is Ser Francis, and a nicer gentleman you’ll never meet. Twenty-four is just a spare at the back of camp. I walked all the way around so you’d see the how and the why. See? And see the cook fires?”

  Blanche swallowed heavily. “Yes,” she admitted. “So many tents!”

  Sukey laughed. “Honey, wait until you see whole company—that’s nearly five hundred tents. An army! Christ and all his saints, you can get lost walking around looking for a spot to piss.”

  “Suuk-keeyy!”

  “He’ll make a fool o’ himself,” Sukey said. She seemed perfectly well pleased. “Come to my tent and I’ll gi’ you a gown and a couple of shifts.”

  “You’ll want to get to sleep,” Blanche said.

  Sukey laughed and licked her lips. “I doubt Tom has sleep in mind. He’s been fightin’.” She grinned. “Fightin’ makes him think o’ just one thing. Come on—I don’t mind makin’ him wait.”

  Back, by some incomprehensible path through the endless rows of white wedges in the moonlight, like a monster’s teeth, like headstones in a churchyard. Blanche was instantly lost as soon as she couldn’t see the captain’s two red tent banners.

  Then they emerged into a cross street, as broad as half a bowshot.

  “Officer’s line,” Sukey said. “See, there’s the cap’n’s tent again. Got your bearings?”

  Blanche shook her head.

  “Well, never mind. Here’s my little home.”

  Sukey’s home was a wagon with a tent on the wagon box. She lit a taper with magick, as easy as kissing her own thumb.

  “I don’t ha’ my mother’s talent, but I can do a thing or two,” she said.

  By candlelight, Blanche could see Sukey better. She was beautiful, with rich black hair, a pert nose and freckles and light eyes that were improbable in her face—large and full of humour, at odds with her nose and mouth. She wore a fine kirtle with the skirts pulled high enough to show a fair amount of leg, and the front cut low enough to advertise her figure, which was as good as Blanche’s own.

  The two women eyed each other.

  “I think you’ll fit me to a T,” Sukey said. She opened a chest in the wagon box. “Red?”

  “I daren’t,” Blanche said.

  “Cap’n won’t care. It’s his favourite colour,” Sukey said.

  “I serve the Queen,” Blanche said. “Red’s the King’s colour.”

  “Oh, aye,” Sukey said, as if the notion had no interest for her. “A nice dark brown?”

  She held up a kirtle with side lacing and a low neck.

  Blanche whistled. “That’s fine cloth.”

  “Aye, my mother made it for me in Morea,” Sukey said. She put her hands around Blanche’s waist. “Oh, you’re as little as me in the tummy. Take the brown—I never wear it. It makes me look poor. You ha’ the hair for it.”

  She took down two shifts from a basket. “I can spare you two. I’ve no stockings—I’m barefoot myself until we reach Albinkirk.”

  Blanche took the other woman and kissed her. “You’re a true friend.”

  “Sister, women i
n this lot need to be friends.” Sukey laughed. “Besides, soon eno’ I’ll need favours of you.”

  “Su-key!” came a roar, almost outside the wagon.

  “Get a room!” came an angry call from the tent lines.

  Blanche took her prize wardrobe and dropped off the wagon box to the ground. “Thanks!” she said.

  “I’m right here, you great ox,” Sukey said.

  “I brought you something,” Bad Tom said.

  “A couple of your doxies to do my scut work?” Sukey shot back.

  “Don’t be like that, woman,” he said.

  Blanche covered her ears and giggled.

  “Like what? Spiteful? Mad as a cat in water?” Sukey asked.

  Tom laughed. “You’re jus’ play-acting.”

  “Try me, Tom,” she said.

  “You? Dare me?” Tom said, and roared his laugh.

  Blanche lengthened her stride.

  She ran far enough to escape the sounds, and stopped to catch her breath.

  She’d come the wrong way—or perhaps not. As she spun, she gradually got her bearings—the captain’s banners, the pavilion, the cook fires near at hand.

  She was ravenous. She came to the fire where so many had been gathered a quarter of an hour before. Now there were only a handful of men. Sister Amicia and her nuns were gone.

  Toby was with the captain. “I’d need help to bed them all down,” Toby was saying.

  Ser Gabriel shook his head. “I can’t order men out of their straw,” he said.

  Blanche stepped up boldly. “There’s pages awake at the cook fires,” she said.

  Toby shrugged. “They’ll be all the lackwits and awkward sods—”

  Ser Gabriel put a hand on his shoulder. “You need me?” he asked.

  Toby backed away hurriedly. “No—no, my lord. Go to bed.”

  Ser Gabriel nodded to her.

  “Can I help?” she asked.

  “We captured horses at the tournament and more at the end of the fight today. They don’t belong to anyone yet, so they’re all just milling about at the end of the horse lines. Toby is too professional to leave them, and too tired to do anything about it.” He looked at her. “What do you have there?” he asked. He handed her his cup, which was full of sweet wine.

  She drank it off before she thought about it.

  “Damn, you did it again,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, my lord. Sukey took care of me, and gave me a kirtle and some linen.” She paused. “Women’s prattle.”

  “I like women,” he said. “I especially like Sukey, who gets more work out of fewer people than anyone I’ve ever known. Sukey has a list for every occasion.” He smiled. “Did Tom find her?”

  “When she was ready for him,” Blanche said. Then she winced.

  But Ser Gabriel laughed. His right hand found a bottle, and he re-filled his cup. “I’m going to be un-gallant,” he said, “and have some of this before you get it.”

  Blanche smiled at him. “You should go to bed, my lord,” she said.

  He kicked his feet in front of him, sat with his back against his war saddle and handed her the cup. He indicated his cloak, a great red cloak she’d seen tied behind his saddle. “This is my bed,” he said, a little sharply. “Sukey gave my tent to the Queen and her baby, and now she’s off playing with Tom.”

  “I have a tent,” Blanche said. She almost bit her lip in vexation.

  The silence went on far too long—ten heartbeats or so.

  “I’m not sure just how I want to answer that,” he said. But then, without further hesitation, he was kissing her. She never got clear in her mind how she came to be kneeling by him to be kissed.

  Blanche had been kissed before, and she didn’t melt. But she was ashamed of all the things that went through her mind before she let it float away on the kiss. Some of them were very practical.

  Then she had both of his hands and she was kissing him. It made her want to laugh.

  A log popped in the fire, and Toby cleared his throat very softly.

  “Gelfred, my lord,” he whispered. In one motion, he flipped the captain’s red cloak open and threw it over Blanche even as Ser Gabriel flowed to his feet.

  Blanche lay smothered in red wool, her heart beating fast as the hooves of a galloping horse strummed the earth.

  “Road’s clear all the way back to Second Bridge,” Ser Gelfred said. “We picked up a herald on the road, who claims he’s been sent to you from de Vrailly. I blindfolded him.”

  “Nicely done. Send him to Lord Corcy in the morning, Gelfred. De Vrailly will want Du Corse.” He laughed. “Do you think they’re related? Du Corse, and Corcy?”

  “Never gave it a thought,” Gelfred said. “I saw Alcaeus out by the gate. He’ll be wanting you, too.”

  Blanche writhed inwardly. Her mind was spinning. Drink? How much had he drunk? He couldn’t really want her. He’d want the Queen—that’s how these things played out. Like with like. Aristo with aristo.

  But it had been a spectacular kiss.

  Gabriel was acutely conscious of the young woman under his cloak ten feet away in the flickering firelight. He gave Toby a look.

  Toby walked off.

  What was I thinking? She’s hardly a light o’ love.

  Is that what I want? Or is it just what Tom wants for me?

  There was the unmistakable sound of horse’s hooves. Gelfred put a hand on his long sword hilt.

  Gabriel knew the man by his seat—shorter stirrups, the Morean style. “Alcaeus!” he called. “I haven’t seen you in two days and it’s like being blind.”

  The Morean knight—dressed in a simple cote and long boots, like any messenger—threw a leg over his light saddle and dropped to the ground. His little mare simply dropped her head and started eating. She was clearly done in.

  Toby appeared with Nell, who looked as mad as a viper. Between them they were carrying a ghost—no, it was a stack of linen sheets.

  “Make me fucking work in the middle of the night—” She was spitting when she saw her captain and stopped.

  “You weren’t exactly working,” Toby shot back.

  Alcaeus seized the proffered wine cup and drained it. “Some prefer a company of infantry, and some love the sight of ships, and some love a troops of horse,” he said in Archaic. “But the thing I love is good intelligence.”

  “I don’t think that’s quite what Sappho had in mind,” Gabriel said, and laughed.

  “You ready?” Alcaeus said. “It’s all gone to hell.”

  To the Morean knight’s right, Toby and Nell put up a folding frame and began to drape it with sheets.

  Alcaeus looked at them with interest. “Do they really do your laundry in the middle of the night?” he asked. “And how is the sweet lady laundress? What a beauty.”

  “What a mouth,” Gabriel said, hoping to head him off.

  Alcaeus laughed. “She has wit. I fancy her. Bah—at any rate. I have birds and birds—message on message. But first, from our dear friend in Harndon.”

  He handed Gabriel a folded scrap of parchment, and Gabriel flipped it open and held it to the flames for light. It was Kronmir’s hand.

  The city is ours when we wish it. The archbishop employs a potent sorcerer, Master Gilles. Say the word and I can dispose of him. I am now the chief of intelligence for his eminence. There is word that the Galles have suffered a terrible defeat against some Wild opponent in Arelat. The Etruscan and Hoek merchants are in panic.

  I believe that his eminence is in contact with our other foe.

  A factor here has told me that the Emperor is planning to take the field in person.

  I await orders. A very sticky, but fascinating problem, is it not?

  Gabriel sipped his wine. “You’ve read it,” he said.

  “Ten times,” Alcaeus said. “You trust him?”

  “Yes,” Gabriel said.

  Alcaeus made a motion of the lips that suggested that his captain was naive, and perhaps shouldn’t be trusted out alo
ne after dark.

  Toby appeared. “It’s getting chilly,” he said, and laid the captain’s red cloak over his shoulders.

  Gabriel got the message. Boy, you are the finest squire who has ever lived, he thought.

  He breathed in, hoping her scent would be on his cloak, but in truth, he smelled only horse sweat and wood smoke.

  I want her.

  Mother would be so proud. Damn her.

  The pang—he still forgot that she was dead for whole minutes at a time—came back like a fist in the stomach.

  “What’s wrong?” Alcaeus asked.

  Gabriel shrugged. “I trust him because I’ve given him scope to play a bigger game. The biggest.”

  Alcaeus nodded. “You read men well,” he said.

  “The Emperor?” Gabriel asked. He was very tired.

  “The Emperor has left his daughter Irene at Liviapolis with a skeleton guard, and he and Ser Milus are marching past Middleburg.” Alcaeus took the cup from Gabriel and drank.

  Not long ago, it was Blanche drinking from that cup.

  Oh, Amicia, am I so fickle?

  But you said no. So often.

  I know you don’t mean it.

  Or that you do.

  “So—we can take Harndon behind de Vrailly.”

  “I don’t think de Vrailly is in command,” Alcaeus said. Toby opened a folding stool behind him, and he sat. The ground by his side was empty, the sheets gone. Nell put a second stool behind Gelfred.

  “I think the archbishop is now in command. De Vrailly is—not himself.” Alcaeus shrugged. “At any rate, the archbishop has summoned the levies of the whole of Jarsay, the Albin and the Brogat. He’s sitting at Second Bridge and fortifying his camp.”

  Gelfred nodded. “That goes with what my people tell me. We picked up a deserter who says that he ordered Corcy’s sons hanged, but de Vrailly cancelled it.”

  Gabriel’s pulse quickened. “Would de Vrailly change sides?”

  Alcaeus shook his head. “If Kronmir could do it in person—perhaps. It would take a delicate touch and a great deal of—how do Albans put it?—sugar. The man is a monster. But no. Not where we are now.” He held up a hand. “It is the north to which we must see.”

  He and Gelfred held the corners of a map—more a sketch.