Firing arrows as fast as he could Joseph aimed at the chests of the approaching enemies. Bodies began to pile up some twenty feet from him. Out of arrows, he took up his sword and readied for more. Behind him, Hezekiah lunged forward with great dexterity with the long, thin blade he carried, piercing the enemy hearts through in one thrust, directing the forward movement of the barbarians to move them harmlessly to one side. In contrast Dunner swung his mace overhead in almost reckless abandon, bringing it down onto the heads of his enemy, then using a short sword to finish them off. His warlike shouts almost rivaled the barbarian’s as he swung the mace around his head, making it whistle menacingly in the night air.
Fleeing from the archers’ arrows, the barbarians that were left saw the ring of flaming tents, the dead laying all over the ground, the madman with the mace screaming at them by the tall, strong warrior with the flashing sword--and the other assassin--standing unmovable in the center of their camp. Everywhere they ran they encountered were arrows, fire, bodies... or the men with swords. Attempting to run through the flames some were burned to death; those that made it through were shot by one of the groups of Joseph’s men.
Suddenly the chaos turned quiet. Here and there a barbarian moaned, but no more enemies moved in the camp. Hezekiah and Dunner slowly searched each tent, looking for survivors. Turning, Joseph looked out over the bay and caught a glimpse of the ships, through the drifting smoke. Taking a last pitch arrow he lit it on a piece of flaming tent and fired it upwards, out of the smoke, into the night sky. A few tense moments passed and then a flaming arrow was shot up first from one dark ship, then from the other. Joseph smiled. The success of his plan brought relief to his face like the cold, night air. His two fellow warriors came back, their faces barely recognizable under the soot and blood spatters. The archers--having seen the arrow shoot up--came cautiously into the smoldering camp, looking with a mixture of horror and wonderment at the amount of dead.
“It is done,” Hezekiah said, carefully wiping his sword on a cloth. “Such days make one look forward to old age.”
Calling to his men Joseph gathered them together. He felt further relieved that all were alive and unscathed. Feeling moved to utter a brief prayer of thanks, Joseph bowed his head and thanked the Lord for their victory. Hezekiah and Dunner both gave a resounding “amen” when the prayer ended. Preparing for more work Joseph sent out four of the archers to scout the area and keep the first watch.
“Send a runner back here if you see anything,” Joseph instructed them. Directing his men, Joseph had them pile up the dead and burn the bodies. As his orders were being carried out Joseph stood outside the camp by the beach, looking out at the ships.
The morning dawned. Having slept little Joseph watched the sky lighten from black to gray then change to rosy tones. Mist formed over the bay and in the valley, but it lifted in slow moving spires as the sun rose further. Dunner tromped over to him, offering Joseph a thick slice of a heavy kind of bread; it was stale but good.
In the empty encampment one of Joseph’s men came running, from the meadow.
“We spotted a caravan; a fine carriage leads it!” the young soldier said, breathlessly. “A supply wagon follows; it left the highway and is heading this direction.”
“A carriage?” Dunner said, glancing at Hezekiah.
“Are there seals or crests?” Joseph asked the runner as the soldier sat down. “Flags?”
“Too far away to tell, sir,” was the reply. “But, it looked fine; matched horses, too.”
“A caravan,” Joseph repeated, looking around the ruined encampment. “Soldiers?
“None that I could see, sir.”
“Who would come here without a military escort?” Joseph wondered aloud.
“I’ll wager it was whoever gave them our ships,” Dunner retorted.
“It may be supplies,” Joseph said, pacing a few steps forward. “We won’t know unless we let them come. I say... we should greet them.”
The younger soldiers--breaking their fast on the beach--looked up at their lieutenant in puzzlement.
“What do you mean, sir?” one of them asked, politely. Since last night, there was a marked difference in how the men reacted to his orders. Dunner stepped up.
“Look here, boy,” he instructed gruffly; he disappeared into one of the remaining barbarian tents. When he emerged from it, he was dressed in a barbarian helmet, a fur doublet and skin cloak; he snarled up his face and prowled back over to the beach--brandishing a club--making Joseph’s men laugh.
“He looks like a pagan!” one said, pointing.
By the time the mysterious wagon rolled down over the hill--and across the meadow--the camp looked somewhat re-assembled, with far fewer tents. Joseph’s men sat around a small fire in the center--dressed in various articles of barbarian costume--their swords hidden by their feet. The carriage rolled right up to the tents and stopped. Out stepped a thin man in a long, crimson robe, a high, gold stitched hat on his head. He seemed somewhat angry at the poor reception.
“What is the meaning of this?!” the priest demanded, stepping from the carriage.
Only three guards accompanied him, one driving the supply wagon behind. “Where is the gold ore?” the priest continued, tersely. “I brought the clothes, coins and the town names you are to go to. Where is the gold ore?”
As he spoke, the priest stepped gingerly forward. His eye rested on the large pile of ashes, some yards away and the torn hide tents. Burn marks were visible on the ground still and the men around the fire did not look at him. Turning, the priest made haste to get back into his carriage.
“Something is not right here,” he told his driver, stepping inside. “Get me back to the highway, as fast as you can.” At that moment, the driver toppled over, two arrows in his chest. The other guard was shot as he stood up to grab the reins. Dunner stepped up to the carriage door, jerked it open and drew it’s occupant out into the open again.
“I’ll have you hanged!” the priest screamed, writhing in Dunner’s firm grip. The sailor looked amused but kept hold of his prisoner. “Your entrails will be scattered to the wind! Unhand me!”
“Ithykor, is that any way for such a well-bred priest to speak?”, Hezekiah said, coming around the side of the carriage. Joseph and the soldiers had divested themselves of their borrowed clothes and grouped around Dunner and the priest.
Calming down immediately, the priest stared at Hezekiah.
“General Walters,” the priest said, his dark eyes narrowing. “You are interfering with the men of the church.”
“Do you mean church business?” Joseph put in, his voice grim. “It is unlawful to conduct trades with the barbarians. You have led them into the King’s land... endangered the King’s soldiers and citizens! You will journey with us to face questioning at Fort Rabak. Bind him and put him in the ship’s brig,” he said, aside to his men.
“What about my carriage and horses?” Ithykor interjected; his voice rose as the soldiers bound his hands behind his back.
“They belong to the King.” Joseph replied, coolly. “As does everything in the Kingdom.” The soldiers led the now silent priest down to one of the skiffs on the beach.
As the priest was led away, Dunner rummaged around in the carriage, throwing out a fine cloak and a few bottles of wine.
“Here!” he exclaimed, emerging holding message pouches and a scroll. He handed the scroll and the pouches to Joseph; lighting his pipe, he sat down on a nearby stone, his gnarled face alight with some inner glee. Tucking the documents inside his knapsack, Joseph walked over to the supply wagon; it did indeed contain piles of farming and townsfolk clothing, as well as food, provisions and many barrels of wine.
Taking a barrel, Joseph uncorked it and tipped it over on the ground; he turned to his men.” Take the food and clothes to the ships,” he ordered, “And dump out that wine.”
The horses flatly refused to go in the skiffs; Joseph had four of his men hitch all the horses to the carriage and wagon an
d drive them to the highway and on to Fort Rabak. The remaining soldiers were split between the two ships; less than half of them had any sailing experience and Dunner was in his element instructing the other crew. Hezekiah placed himself as one captain and Dunner and Joseph went in the other. The captured ships, back again in Kingdom hands, sailed out with the tide, one following the other.
EIGHT
The captain’s cabin proved small and cramped. After clearing out the former occupant’s rubbish, Joseph offered it to Dunner.
After commenting that it might be better to burn the cabin out first, the surly sailor accepted. Joseph took up residence below decks, ten feet from the tiny brig.
Hezekiah volunteered to keep the first watch over the prisoner, but the young lieutenant insisted. There were questions--in Joseph’s mind--that only the sullen priest behind the barred door could answer. Ithykor’s prison seemed just large enough for him to lie down, but he preferred to sit straight and glare at the floor; he did not look up as Joseph laid out his blanket to sit on. Lighting a few candles, he tipped them slightly, letting the wax drip onto the floor, and then pushed each candle base firmly into the hardening wax. The silence in the small, swaying hold was broken only by the sounds of Joseph’s slumbering men and the creaking ship timbers.
Despite the sturdy iron bars--holding the traitor in--Joseph did not take his eyes from the still figure. He took advantage of the rare opportunity to study a priest so close at hand. The man looked to be in his fifties and his skin did not often see sunlight. His gray-speckled beard looked meticulously trimmed. The crimson robe of his religious order bore fine gold thread embroidery at its borders; here and there a small gemstone sparkled in the candlelight. Ocean water still damped the robe’s hem, as well as the man’s fine leather shoes. The hues of his robes brought back--in the Joseph’s mind--the image of four priests searching his father’s dead form for the king’s message, many years ago.
Repressing a welling feeling of ire within him, Joseph stretched and leaned back against a sack of dried corn.
“You seem to be a good leader,” came the priest’s voice. Joseph closed his eyes and pretended he hadn’t heard the man. “I am Ithykor,” the voice continued, “Head Bishop over Velan Province.”
Joseph did not reply. He rolled up his brown cloak and used it to cushion his back. Slowly, he drew his sword from its scabbard. He studied the sword in the light for a moment and then began scrubbing off some of the dried speckles of blood that he’d missed earlier. The prisoner watched him, blinking rapidly. He cleared his throat after a few moments.
“May I know the name of the leader of this... fine detachment of King’s soldiers?” he asked, at length. The priest’s condescending tone irritated Joseph.
“You may not,” he said, coolly.
“Ah,” Ithykor said, bringing his hands in front of his face, fingertips touching. “I should have expected a sullen defiance in one so young.” Polishing the blade, Joseph still did not look at the priest.
“Your fellow priests will likely forgive your lack of discernment,” he returned, studying his sword closely. “Though, perhaps not being fooled by such a young, sullen soldier as I.”The prisoner did not reply to this. He sat quietly in the dark. After a few moments, one of Joseph’s soldiers came down the steps leading to the deck.
“Lieutenant Asher?” he called, squinting in the dim light.
“Here,” Joseph called out.
“Captain Dunner asks if you want the prisoner keel-hauled,” the soldier stated. The priest could not repress a shudder. Joseph smiled at the suggestion, but shook his head and sent the soldier back up top.
“Your name,” the priest said, recovering. “Asher... hmm. That name is not unknown to me.”
“Nor to me,” Joseph said, coolly. Ithykor smiled at his comment.
“As well it should be,” he returned.
“One should know his own name well. I was referring to a lieutenant--that I once heard of--a man whose entire patrol unit was slain on a routine mission by an small, village uprising. John Asher... that was the man. I believe he lived in Rishown. Are you of relation to him? Were you, I should say...”
Joseph paused in his work; he looked at the prisoner and sat up.
“I knew of him also,” Joseph returned, matching the priest’s gaze. “To my knowledge, he died... many years ago.” “Oh, did he?” Ithykor asked, head to one side. “How unfortunate.” Joseph went back to cleaning his sword. “In some ways it is just,” the priest continued, watching the lieutenant with keen eyes. “I know I would not be able to live with myself, having let a few rouge villagers kill so many of my men... abandoning them like a coward.”
“The murderers were not villagers,” Joseph put in, sheathing the sword again. He took out a dagger and began cleaning it vigorously with the cloth.
“Of course they were,” Ithykor said, smiling. “They had to put off such barbaric behavior when they came, to settled down in a good land. They never would have known such prosperity in their native country... but the unfortunate others in the village, now that was a pity.”
Joseph’s face darkened at these words; he stood, dagger in hand and took a step closer to the brig.
“The King’s decrees are clear...” he stated, “but in defiance, you have been trading with these barbarians. What secret pact did you strike? And for what purpose did they come here, pretending to be kings folk?”
The priest’s calm demeanor vanished as the lieutenant spoke; he blinked rapidly and cleared his throat.
“Lies!” he declared, vehemently. “You wish to advance yourself by starting rumors!” The man calmed himself down, slightly. “No one will believe it... you know nothing of Church business.”
Narrowing his gaze, Joseph turned around.
“Disobeying the King’s orders is treason.” he stated, staring at his pack. “Perhaps the papers we found with you can explain what you will not.”
Grabbing his satchel Joseph dug in it and extricated the parcel of documents Dunner had taken from Ithykor’s carriage. He unfolded them, letting the parchments rustle noisily. Concern flickering in Ithykor’s eyes momentarily, but soon his face relaxed again. He made a great show of leaning back comfortably against the wall of his cell.
“One would have to be a great scholar to read those,” he said, quietly. “Is the army teaching common soldiers Latin along with how to sharpen blades?” Joseph glanced down at the document.
“No,” he said, locking his eyes back on the priest. “This is not Latin, but Greek.”
Ithykor’s smile vanished.
“You must not read church documents!” he screamed out, startling his captor. The prisoner stood and pounded the bars of the brig with his fists. “Have you no regard for the holy things of the church!? You desecrate the sacred writings!” Joseph stood as well, his face flushed with anger.
“Do not call this betrayal holy!” he shouted back. He loomed tall over the priest and for a moment the prisoner cowered. “You have blemished your office,” Joseph told him, his hand on his sword. “I could kill you here and now,and toss your body to the fish and be completely justified in my actions!” He let out a long breath and stepped back. “The king will want to question you, I am certain. He does not brook rebellion. Know that this cannibal nation you conspire with--to overrun his land--will be conquered. It is fitting that you live to see your plans come to naught, and all these efforts useless.”
At Joseph’s words Ithykor stood once more, glaring defiantly at the young man.
“You are dung!” he hissed, his eyes snapping. “You have no idea of what I can do to you! You cannot imagine the horrible death I will plan for you!”
Shrugging, Joseph looked at the papers in his hand and went back to his seat amidst the dried corn.
“Then these must be well worth the reading,” he said, sitting down. He read in silence as the fuming prisoner muttered and cursed to himself in the shadow-filled cell.
Nearly two days after setting out
from the bay, the re-captured ships sailed into the northerly harbor of Fort Rabak. The nearby city sat in the middle of the northern coastline of the Kingdom; it housed the largest fleet of naval frigates and galleons in the North Seas. The city, itself, spread around the harbor, its outer reaches up into the snow-peaked mountains behind.
Standing on the deck of the lead ship Joseph saw the harbor was dotted with naval vessels, anchored in various states of supply and rigging, their flags waving in the cold wind. There were no flags to be found aboard during their short voyage; Joseph fully expected to be boarded by any of the naval ships and searched. As they drew further into the bay, a crisp, new galleon sailed near and sent up a boarding flag. One young soldier--standing near to Joseph--saw the flag rise.
“Sir, what does the blue and white flag mean?” he asked, regarding the impressive fighting vessel with an awestruck face.
“It means we are about to be boarded and questioned,” Joseph replied. His calm manner seemed to comforting his underling a little. “Tell the others to assemble themselves on deck.” The young man saluted anxiously and hurried below decks.
Dunner emerged from below decks, and walked up to the rail next to Joseph. Looking over at him Joseph took an involuntary step back. The old sailor looked completely different, arrayed in a captain’s dress uniform, complete with shiny gold buttons, a dark blue coat and a theatrically-plumed hat. He nodded, once, at Joseph; the young lieutenant returned the gesture, unable to help a the grin from spreading over his face. Together they looked over at the galleon’s main deck. The officers and sailors thereon stared back at Dunner. The aging captain saluted the men at the rail; they saluted him smartly. One of the officers called over:”Follow us to the docks!” Dunner nodded in reply and turned away, strolling along the deck as if he were aboard his own vessel.
The Road To The King (Book 1) Page 12