"Your recommendation?"
"Suh?" said a startled Gillespie, drawn out of his imaginings. He glanced to the General and saw a new look there. The man looked...tired. Is that it, then? Is this over with? Dare I hope? He thought with his mind racing.
"What recommendation do you have?" A flash of anger covered the General's face and he slapped his desk with an open hand, the smack loud in the office. Gillespie blinked at the noise.
"Suh, I..." he started, not sure what he could say. The days of frustration and futility had exhausted him and he simply wanted it over. He would do anything to have this over with. He had already contemplated having one of his men killed and framed for the murder of the two other men but that option was soon abandoned. Gillespie didn't think he could pull off another murder while the General was so distrusting. It was too risky. Perhaps now we can move on toward Jaipers and continue this damn mission, he thought. And then I can get back to Munsten and my promotion and my new wealth. "Suh, I think we have done all we can. We have stretched the city resources thin and I am now trying to convince the garrison and magistrate to continue the search on our behalf. They are no longer willing. They say the men are gone and we should put them behind us. They said they would send word to us if they are found. Dead or alive. Plus, the men are tired of Jergen and want to return to the mission. Suh."
The General leaned back in his seat. The wood creaked under him and he placed his hands palm down on the desk and extended his arms out straight. He remained like that looking down at the desk for a couple of minutes. Gillespie ran what he had said through his head a couple of times and could find no fault in it. Everything he had said was true. Under any other normal disappearance of men the search would have ended after a couple of days and a bulletin issued to all the garrisons in the Realm to be on the lookout for them. What they had been forced to do here in Jergen went beyond the normal. No one looked for missing men this long. They simply weren't worth the expense. Plus, the General had overstayed his welcome in Jergen. The mayor now inquired daily as to his intended departure date. The garrison men were pissed at the extra work they were forced to do and were saying it was too disruptive and it was time for them to move on.
The General finally looked up at Gillespie and he seemed defeated. "Major, prepare the men to depart tomorrow. Full inspection on the garrison parade ground at sunrise. We will breakfast in the mess hall and be on the road before ten hundred hours. Dismissed."
He couldn't help it. A grin broke across Gillespie's face at the orders but faltered when fury replaced the defeated look on the General's face. The General leaped out of his seat and leaned across the table.
"You, Major, are a disgrace to the officer's uniform you wear. YOU are responsible for the loss of those two men. I know it. You know it. I have no doubt those men are dead and gone. Now get the fuck out of my sight. YOU DISGUST ME!"
The last words came out as a roar and spittle sprayed across Gillespie's face. He remained standing at attention and glared across the desk at the General. For a brief moment, he thought of drawing out his sword and running the bastard through, but as quickly as the thought appeared he suppressed it. The scenario would not end well for either of them. A major simply did not run generals through no matter how much they deserved it. And if I'm honest with myself, I wouldn't win. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to deliver a crisp salute before smartly turning ninety degrees to the left and moving toward the door. As his hand touched the doorknob the General whispered to his back. "I still want you here at noon for inspection, Major. Do not be late."
Gillespie paused a moment and then twisted the knob hard and yanked the door open. "Aye, suh. Noon sharp."
Gillespie exited the office and slammed the door shut behind him. He lifted his boot and looked for the mud. There was nothing there. His boots were spotless. Fuck, he cursed to himself. He strode out of the building and went straight to the stables. Sergeant Henson waited there for him.
"Henson, we leave tomorrow. Inspection at first light on the parade square. Make sure the men are ready to leave. We are finally getting the fuck out of here."
Henson nodded and wrung his hands. Gillespie raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Sir, I've just heard from the captain. The men have been switched out."
"Switched out? What do you mean?"
"Men, from Munsten. Just arrived late last night. Replacements they said."
"Replacements for who?"
"Us, sir. They are replacements for us!"
Gillespie turned in place back toward the offices, a look of horror and anger fighting for dominance on his face. "Fuck!"
Captain Dixon knocked on the door to the General's office right after Major Gillespie left the building. He had waited around the corner and smiled when the door was banged shut by the clearly frustrated major. He heard a muffled "enter" and opened the door, strode in and saluted the General, who sat behind his desk.
"Sir!"
"At ease, Captain Dixon. Close the door, pull up a chair and have a seat beside me."
"Sir, yes, sir!" Dixon closed the door and grabbed a spare chair and set it down near the General. He watched as the General pulled out a piece of parchment and laid it on the desk before leaning back and raising an eyebrow at him. "Sir, the new men are comfortable in the inn. They will be ready tomorrow morning. Good men. All handpicked by your brother, it seems."
"James, call me Brent, we're alone in here."
"Aye, sir, I mean Brent. Sorry. Habit."
"A good habit, don't apologise. I want the men kept apart. I don't want Gillespie to have any opportunities to fuck this over. He'll be here at noon today. That should keep him on his toes at least for now. We will see him off tomorrow morning. We'll leave the day after. This evening I want guards posted."
"Yes, all arranged. They know to look out for Gillespie's men. They know them. Know their reputations. They'll stay clear."
"Great. They made good time getting here. Better than I had hoped. It was getting harder to keep ourselves planted here. This morning Gillespie thought about trying to run me through, I think. The man couldn't play cards to save his life. Everything he thinks is right there on his face to read. He's an idiot."
"Of the first order."
Brent nodded and chuckled and then grew quiet. "Now, James. Tell me. Have you any answers?"
"Yes, I'm afraid so. It appears Gillespie had the men killed and tossed to sea. I found a prostitute that worked down by the docks. She had just finished with a client and was heading back to her home by way of the alleys. She said she heard a strange noise from a shed down by where they gut the fish for market during the day. She saw a light through a window and snuck a look into the shed down there. Said she didn't see much but she was certain it looked like a couple of our men were chopping up a body. Another body lay nearby and she's pretty sure it was David."
Brent grimaced. "How was she sure?"
"She said she could see through the window that the man on the ground had his same hair and she described the rash he had from the poison oak. It's enough, Brent. It was them."
"Will she give witness?"
"Not a chance and even if she would she's a whore, Brent. No magistrate will take the testimony of a whore."
"I see. Did she recognise the men doing the deed? Could she pick them out?"
"No, sir. Said she could only see that they wore the Munsten uniform. It's enough that we know. It will be enough, later, when we return to Munsten. We can prosecute them in military court. I hate them and want them dead, but justice must prevail."
"Hmm. I agree, but we need to make it back first to do that, don't we?"
"We will. The new men know what's up. Your brother briefed them personally. We can trust them. I know most of them myself. They're led by Captain Marcel Mayer. I know the man. He's trustworthy. Stalwart."
"Stalwart? Where'd you learn that big word, James?"
"Ha! You should talk!"
"Piss off, you cheeky bugger! I'm a Gene
ral, show some respect!"
James laughed and clapped Brent on the shoulder. It was an act he could not have imagined doing mere weeks ago. The past month had proven to the two men they were alike in many ways. Once James got past the high rank he had relaxed and realised he had a good friend in the General. He was glad for both of them. Brent had been pretty stressed. He had been alone on a road with a group of the worst soldiers Belkin had to offer. At first, they had talked of horses, and then careers and then of truths. Friendship had just kind of followed.
James now knew the history of the brothers and the truth of Bill Redgrave and their mission. It was surreal. But he believed. All that seemed to matter now was getting to Jaipers and back in one piece. What came next would be anyone's guess, but, for now, James was content he had an honourable mission and with a man he would gladly give up his own life to protect. He had said as much to Brent's brother back in Munsten. He had said the words then but, now, he meant them.
"Brent, I have nothing but respect. Anything for me?"
"Yes, keep an eye on Gillespie. He will do something rash now. He has little to lose. Watch yourself, too. You're in danger, you see that I hope?"
"Aye, I do. I'll tell you this, the day that sorry excuse for an officer gets the better of me is the day I swim out to sea as far as I can go and then swim straight down."
"Pfft. Do you know how to swim?"
"No, not a stroke. That's kind of the point."
"Ass."
"Wipe."
The men grinned at one another. James rose, saluted, and turned to leave the General to his letter to his brother. He moved to the door but stopped and looked back just as Brent pulled out the inkpot and quill. He looked up at James and arched an eyebrow.
"What?"
"The ladies have asked for our presence again this evening."
Brent smiled. "Of course, they have. Please extend an invitation to dine with us at my accommodations, say at six?"
"As you command, sir," replied James and a grin came easily to his face. "Do you want food ordered?"
"No, last time it was just left untouched, wasn't it?"
James laughed and left Brent to his writing.
Thirty-Five
Jergen Cathedral, 900 A.C.
BRENT ENTERED THE cathedral through the normal sized door inset within the massive double front doors. He closed the door behind him and the sounds of the streets of Jergen were shut off. The cool air inside the narthex was a balm and he quickly pulled off the brown cloak he had used to cover himself. He moved over to the cloakroom and hung his garment on one of the wooden pegs on the wall. His was the only cloak and he shook his head sadly.
Gone are the days when a man can follow his faith without fear of recrimination, he thought and he moved to the entrance to the nave. His eyes were already adjusted and looking around the inside of the cathedral. It was a marvel of modern architecture. The stonework and the lighting were spectacular. The eyes were drawn along exquisite lines of artwork carved into every exposed piece of stone until you took in the serene beauty of the transept and chancel. Sitting on the chancel was the altar: a massive stonework rising above the rows of wooden pews. Rising above the altar was the Icon of the Lord. There for all to behold and worship. Brent remained standing there until he felt worthy to enter this holy place of worship.
He knelt, quickly unfastened his boots and placed them in the bin near the entrance to the nave. The soft carpet on the floor felt wonderful to his sore feet as he started the long walk down the centre of the nave toward the altar. He could almost hear music in his ears as he approached the altar and he smiled. He couldn't explain it, but the cathedral felt so right to him. He had spent many hours here over the past days and he was loathe to depart its quiet serenity for the road and Jaipers and who knew what else beyond that. I feel a pull here, a need to be here and witness, he thought.
He stopped at the foot of the carpeted stairs leading up to the altar and fell to his knees and placed his hands together in front of him, lowered his head, closed his eyes, and prayed.
Lord, I'm in that place again, on my knees, laying my life out before You. I want to live forever in Your grace. So I ask now for Your forgiveness for the wrongs that I have done and the things that I have neglected. I ask for Your forgiveness for the people I have hurt along the way and for those who I have failed to love as You love. I ask for Your forgiveness and ask that you provide resolve in my heart and that with Your strength I determine not to make these errors again. Teach me how to walk away from everything I know to be wrong and embrace everything I know about You. For the kingdom, the power and the glory are always and forever Yours. So mote it be.
Brent remained kneeling and thought long and hard on his words. He meant every one of them. There was a time he searched for signs while searching for proof of God's existence. This was a realm where believing in God was ridiculed and worshippers were attacked in the open. There was a time when a sign from God would have gone a long way to making him feel stronger about his faith. One day, without warning, he stopped searching. He realised he didn't need or want proof. It was enough he had faith. It carried him through good times and bad. It was enough.
After a time, his knees began to complain despite the woven carpet. He rose with a groan and moved over to sit in the closest pew to the altar. This morning had been difficult. He had gathered Gillespie and the men and then dismissed them back to Munsten. The fury in Gillespie's eyes had been a sight to behold. Captain Dixon had stepped forward and drew his sword by an inch. The sound had stilled the square and Gillespie had looked from Dixon to his men and then to Brent. He had seen the thought there plain for all to see. He wanted nothing more than to strike them both down. It had been tense and Brent recalled actually hoping the idiot would follow through with it. Then he rode off with his men trailing behind in a ragged band, he thought. But he isn't done with me. Gillespie and I will have a reckoning if God wills it.
He leant back, dismissed his worry and closed his eyes and fell asleep almost at once. When he opened his eyes, he could tell by the slant of the sun through the stained-glass windows that perhaps an hour had passed. A sense of shame quickly came and went. He was tired and the church gave him such incredible peace of mind. He felt safe here and closer to God. There was no shame.
He suddenly felt the presence of someone near him. Turning his head, he was surprised to see an older man reclining at the other end of his pew. He wore plain clothes over an ample stomach and carried a close-trimmed, white beard. He had his legs stretched straight out and crossed in front of him and Brent could see he wore plain, brown leather sandals. The man looked over at him and nodded once.
"Good day, sir," said Brent in greeting. "Well met." He smiled and tried not to look too intimidating. Most commoners were afraid of military men. It is always best to be polite lest they panic and do something stupid, thought Brent.
"Aye, well met," replied the man with an oddly resonant voice. Almost like two voices in one. The acoustics in here are terrific, thought Brent and he looked around at the vaulted ceiling towering tens of yards above him. The man looked up to the same ceiling and then back to Brent.
"It's not often I meet someone of faith," probed Brent a bit openly. You couldn't be too careful, he thought. Any crazy could be in here. A follower of the Word looking for trouble. It happened often enough in Munsten, he knew, although here the reverse seemed to be true. In Munsten, the Guard was always tracking down people for the Archbishop. It was almost a daily event. They would look for followers of the Word camping out near churches and they would find actual people of faith instead. Brent wasn't certain, but it seemed the Church was gaining favour in the land once again. It paid to be prudent, thought Brent. One wrong word to the wrong person and your whole life could change and for the worse. But I sense something positive about this man.
"True," replied the man. "I think faith is what carries those who believe when others would falter."
Brent nodded slowly a
t the words. "Often that has been my experience," he said cautiously and looked the man over a little more carefully. His clothes were clean and not dusted from the streets outside. His sandals were immaculate as well. He must work here in the Cathedral and change his clothes here as well. His feet were, oddly, in very good shape for the feet of an old man. He looked to the man's hands and was surprised to see hands unworn by age or hardship. He looked to the man's face and found him smiling back at him with perfect white teeth and deep blue eyes. Brent's eyes went wide.
"Hello, Brent. Welcome to My Church."
On hearing his name, Brent scrambled out of the pew, reaching for a sword he didn't wear. He stood a few feet away, looked to the exit, and stared at the man. A ghost of fear crossed his nerves.
"Relax, Brent. Relax. Calm down."
Brent calmed himself and settled back down in the front pew, twisted in the seat to keep his eye on the man and the exit. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"
"I am the Dean here at the Cathedral. I watched you ride in. It's not often the General of the Lord Protector's Guard rides into Jergen."
Brent stared dumbly at the man and waited for him to say something else. He merely sat there and smiled back at him.
"And you recognised me? Here in Jergen?"
The man laughed a rich hearty laugh and Brent found himself smiling. "No. Sorry. Although, the uniform is a dead giveaway. And the large number of military men travelling with you. No, my son, word came ahead of you from the church in Munsten you frequent. Reverend Taylor sent word you would be stopping by."
Brent relaxed. Reverend Taylor Martin was a good friend and trusted. He confided in him often. I never had a chance to tell him I was heading this way. He was a smart man though — perhaps he figured it out. The man had given him a fright. For a moment, I thought... but Brent refused to finish the thought. I need to be careful. I'm still not sure I can trust this stranger. "Reverend Taylor is a good man. His son is his spitting image."
Leaf and Branch (New Druids Series Vol 1 & 2) Page 57