Incursions and raids from Tsard made his job all the more difficult and so he understood why he was being taken to Gull's Ford. But he'd seen it all before and he expected to neither hear nor see anything new this time around.
Jhered was riding with six of his people and fifty of Atreska's soldiers. The cavalry detachment was heavily armed and armoured and surely uncomfortable in the heat of the day. Lances were held upright with pennants fluttering from their tips. Bows were across backs and swords in scabbards. Polished greaves, vambraces, helms and cuirasses shone in the sun. Wagons were with them, bringing emergency supplies, a mobile forge and tent canvas for those rendered homeless. It was a show of support, strength and intent for any that cared to see. Thomal Yuran, Marshal Defender of Atreska, was a proud national and Jhered would have expected nothing less from him.
The two men rode at the head of the column, along the main highway from Haroq City to Tsard. Built for the armies of the Conquord, it ran close to Gull's Ford. Parched dense shrub land rolled away on both sides and the land rose gently ahead of them towards a shimmering horizon that was smudged with smoke to the left of the road. They were close to the small settlement now.
'It's a very peaceful place,' said Yuran abruptly, following a long period of silence. His voice, gruff and deep, was a little muffled by his helmet, which was tied too tightly under his chin, restricting his jaw movement.
Jhered looked across at him, riding bolt upright, brown eyes fixed ahead, and with sweat running down from underneath his plumed helmet. He respected Yuran for his loyalty to his people but was endlessly frustrated by his refusal to understand the effects Atreska's civil disturbance had on the wider Conquord. He had questioned Yuran's appointment exactly because of this introspection, this desire to remain apart from the empire. His fears had been overruled by the senate in Estorea, though he was certain the Advocate herself had her doubts. Shame.
'I am sure it is,' responded Jhered evenly. 'I still doubt the wisdom of bringing me here, Marshal Yuran. My visit is for three days only, during which time you have my ear for all your concerns. We will be spending two days on the road and throughout this one, you have barely spoken with me. Am I to understand this unfortunate township is your sole concern?'
Yuran turned to him, eyes narrowed.
'As always, I fear your puffed-up image of your own importance will stop you listening to the problems Atreska faces.'
Jhered kept his face impassive, letting Yuran give vent to his anxiety.
'I am bringing you to Gull's Ford because I believe that seeing how the Conquord is failing us will open your mind. Words you can ignore. Images you cannot.'
'I have seen the effects of raids and bandits more times than I care to, Thomal. I have fought more battles than you have seen years on God's earth. Like me, you must learn to accept such events as unfortunate steps on the difficult road to peace and stability.'
Yuran barked a short, bitter laugh. 'I would respect you if you were in any way an individual. Let your heart feel what we feel. Let your mouth respond with honesty, not with trite statements scratched by the quills of Advocacy clerks and politicians. Those people have never seen destruction. They have never seen war. They cannot understand our troubles. You have the capacity to help. It pains me that in the years I have known you, you have never exercised it.'
'Everything I say, I believe,' replied Jhered. 'And I work for what I believe. I am an agent of the Estorean Conquord and its Advocate. My work is unpopular with everyone but I have to live with that.' He shrugged. 'I'm a tax collector and so no one likes me. But it is nevertheless to the benefit of everyone that I do my work. Even those citizens of Gull's Ford. Even at a time like this.'
'You ask why I chose not to speak to you today? Perhaps you have your answer.'
'In that case, Marshal, I shall respect your desire for silence.'
Gull's Ford straddled the flat bottom and gentle slopes of a valley through which the River Gull ran north to south. It rose in the lakes region in the south of Gosland and emptied into the Tirronean Sea. The ford around which the township grew up was at the southern end of the settlement and had taken the principal trading route across the Gull east and west. With the arrival of the Estorean Conquord and the campaigns in Tsard, the river had been bridged with stone further downstream, providing surer and more direct access to the base of operations in enemy territory.
Gull's Ford had still managed to prosper in recent years, as Conquord armies bought supplies wholesale and traded booty from Tsard on a regular basis. Gull's Ford traders were linked to the markets in Haroq and were able to provide competitive pricing or trade goods that sold at a premium in the capital. But its good name had surely led to its targeting by the Tsardon.
Two days after the raid, responding to a messenger who had ridden an exhausted horse into Yuran's castle courtyard, the Atreskans and Jhered's people looked down on a ruined township. The destruction in Gull's Ford was widespread. Across the valley sides and beyond, cropland was blackened and destroyed. Villas stood in smouldering ruins, smoke rising into the clear blue sky. In the town itself, the path of the raiders was picked out by burned buildings, dark stains on the cobbles and a scattering of broken possessions: clothing, pottery, furniture. Some houses and streets had been completely ignored, the raiders concentrating on the main thoroughfares and the farmland. Barely an animal grazed. The air stank of ash and damp.
The town was quiet. Jhered could see people moving about the settlement, engaged in clearing up where they could. Any bodies had already been removed and presumably buried. There were a host of new flags outside the House of Masks, testament to the death that had visited so recently and so violently. He made a mental note to pray and turn earth at the House before he left.
Jhered rode into the township, acutely aware of his appearance. In contrast to the sparkling armour of the Atreskan cavalry, he and his people rode in clothes fitting for long periods on the road. His light chainmail shirt was worn over a leather undershirt, his trousers were in-sewn with leather and his cloak designed only to keep out the chill of clear nights. In his saddle bags he carried his seal and orders of office. At his waist was strapped a scabbarded Estorean gladius.
None of that would necessarily identify him but embroidered on the back of his cloak, on the sash he wore across his torso, and embossed on the round shields of his people was the sign of the Gatherers; arms encircling the crest of the Estorean Conquord and the family Del Aglios. The crest on its own was enough to engender mistrust in Atreska. For it to be encircled turned that mistrust to hostility in places like this.
Clear-up work was ceasing as the sight and sound of the column deflected attention from grim tasks. People started to gather. Yuran led them into the town's forum, dismounting and ordering his men do the same. Jhered and his charges followed suit. The Gatherers were cautious, grouping around their commander to protect him should that prove necessary. Jhered watched the citizens gather. There was no aggressive intent behind the move. They wanted to hear news. They wanted help and Marshal Defender Yuran was there to offer it. But there were no smiles of greeting and no gratitude on any of the grimy, exhausted faces. All they displayed with any clarity were loss, confusion and shock.
A middle-aged woman came forward. She rubbed ash-stained hands on a dress that had once been a deep green but which was now streaked and stained black. Her grey hair was tied back with a red and white headscarf. The lines on her face were mired with soot and her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. She took Yuran's outstretched hand and linked fingers in the traditional Atreskan greeting.
'Marshal Defender Yuran, your presence is welcome.' She spared a disgusted glance for Jhered.
'Yet two days late. I salute your dead, Praetor Gorsal and will pray with your Reader at the House of Masks later. For now, tell me what you need of me.'
Gorsal's shoulders slumped. 'Where do I begin? We have had our houses, crops and businesses burned. We have had our people taken and our livestock driven o
ff. We had no capacity to defend ourselves against the Tsardon. We were overwhelmed. Grown men and women were forced to turn and run from their homes. Our bravest have been slaughtered. Marshal, some of them have been burned to ashes and their cycles are finished. No more will they walk God's earth. There is such anger here. These were not murderers. They were innocents under the supposed protection of the Conquord.'
A murmur ran around the crowd. Jhered estimated over a hundred people had gathered. He made a small hand gesture, encouraging his people to relax. The mood was bitter and angry. It was a display Yuran seemed happy to encourage.
'I understand your frustrations, Lena,' said Yuran. 'I too was assured our borders were secure. All the forces I can spare are in our border forts. I am doing absolutely everything in my power to ensure the safety of all Atreskan people. But you understand the pressures I am under financially. Most of our standing legions are gone. You know how many Atreskans are even now on campaign deep inside Tsard. We debated it at council just ten days ago.'
'So what am I supposed to tell my people? That we must rise every day and hope the raiders don't return because if they do we are helpless to stop them? That the Conquord will not protect us? That our own rulers in Haroq City sit by, unable to provide us with the means to defend ourselves?'
The praetor's voice was rising and cracking, her desperation showing through. Behind her, the crowd shifted, muttering unhappily. Jhered caught the odd shouted insult. He cleared his throat. Yuran turned briefly.
'Are you certain you are achieving what you wish?' asked Jhered quietly. He clasped his hands across his chest.
‘I am hearing my people,' said Yuran. 'Have respect.'
Jhered moved closer to Yuran pitching his voice to ensure the crowd could not hear him ‘I mean no disrespect but to stir up anger is counterproductive. Better to inspect the damage with the praetor. Assess what must be done and then hear the town governors in the basilica. In accordance with protocol. Night will soon fall and I will not answer questions in front of a mob.'
'It is your ruinous taxation that has left us open to this attack,' hissed Gorsal. 'You are directly responsible for the deaths here.'
Jhered raised his chin, aware he loomed over both Yuran and the praetor. He raised one black-gloved finger and ticked it once at Gorsal.
'Such allegations will require substantiation. Fortunately, I have here experts to examine your books and point out errors and inefficiencies in your local economy. You may have had more opportunity for profit than you thought. But first things first, I am on a tour of your town and would see the damage first-hand and the effects it will have on the level of taxation we expect from you next half year.
'Should you wish to accuse me and the wider Conquord of any impropriety, do so within the confines of the basilica. We are at war. All must provide for its success. Now, I suggest we set our respective workforces to tasks more constructive than listening to our tiresome voices.'
He knew they would not defy him. You could only push the Gatherers so far, particularly their leader. Somewhere within their anger, they were impressed by his presence. Few enough people got to see Paul Jhered in the flesh, much less speak to him one to one. He had been the leader of the Gatherers for seventeen years now and at forty-seven was still a young man in the job. He had heard all the rumours about him and the one he played to most, his towering height, was also the one most given to outrageous exaggeration. One thing he wasn't was taller than a house. Sometimes, he wished he were.
He turned to his people, four men and two women. Five at the junior rank of addos, one recently promoted to appros. All relatively new to journeying to outlying settlements and suitably nervous.
'I will walk the town alone,' he said. 'All of you, begin examining the accounts and books. Undoubtedly you will hear tales of woe and hardship. Keep yourselves to the facts. Maintain vigilance and look for embellishment in the ledgers. Note down anything you suspect. What I want from you is an honest assessment of the level of taxation levied here and whether it really left them without the means to purchase defence.
'I will bring back my thoughts on the cost of rebuilding Gull's Ford, replanting and restocking. We can at least leave them with some supportive news about their levy for this half year, can we not?
'Any questions?' Heads shook. 'Good. Appros Harin, you know where my seal and orders are. Make sure you present them before asking for information. Do not bear arms. Go.'
'Sir.'
He watched them for a moment. Decent students, all of them. Harin was a man with the potential for high office should he last the exhausting pace of the Gatherer's life. Swinging away, Jhered took in the town from the viewpoint of the forum. He would need to tour the two central streets, both of which led into the forum. A visit to a villa on the valley side and the House of Masks would also be necessary. The work of two hours, no more. Then a long night listening to the wailings of people with no idea how the Conquord operated.
Jhered set off across the forum, gesturing people from his path and assuming Yuran and Gorsal would fall into step with him. Never a bad thing to have the local leaders trot to catch up. The good people of Gull's Ford might respect them but it was right they understood who was the real voice of authority. Atreska was a proud and powerful nation but it was foremost a servant of the Estorean Conquord.
He walked down the centre of a once neat cobbled street. Pavements and gutter were choked with debris, drains were clogged and the stains where blood had dried were cloaked by flies. Left and right, dark holes where windows had been were framed by smoke-blackened walls. Roofing tiles had cracked and tumbled in the heat of the fires that had ravaged building upon building along the terrace of shops and businesses.
The smells were as acrid and bitter as the mood of the citizenry. Pacing deliberately along the street, his metal-shod boots ringing on the cobbles, Jhered could call to mind the terror that had blown through Gull's Ford. These people were not soldiers. A most unfortunate event. By no means the first that had afflicted Atreska during the Tsardon campaign and certainly not the last.
'We are almost a hundred miles from the Tsardon border,' said Gorsal, reading his thoughts. 'We are only a day from Haroq. Yet they attacked us in broad daylight. The Tsardon were our friends. Your war has made them unnecessary enemies. I had people killed by those with whom they used to trade and drink. You know why they do it, don't you? And you know why they have said they will return.'
'Because they are desperate. It is a common enough tactic among those losing a war. Atreska employed it too. You are relatively new members of the Conquord. The scars of the wars that led to your annexation by Estorea are fresh in the minds of many. And they feel that they can undermine your faith in the Conquord by such actions.'
'With some success,' said Gorsal shortly, glancing up at Jhered and meeting his firm gaze. 'You felt the mood. What are we supposed to think? What are we supposed to do? Your hawks will find that the tax levied on us left us with no proper funds to maintain our militia. We relied on volunteers and rusting weapons. The results are all around you.'
Jhered was silent for a short time. ‘I expect you to agree that you have never been more prosperous. That the Conquord has given you economic stability and a better potential to improve yourselves should that be your desire. And I expect you to believe that the Conquord will bring you peace and security.'
'When? I see no prosperity. And what good is it anyway to those burned to ashes?' Gorsal gestured at the ruins of the street. 'How many more times will we be chased from our homes, helpless to defend ourselves?'
Jhered stopped walking and faced her.
'I was brought up in a border state. I lived in a village that suffered raids. And like you, nobody asked me or my people whether we wanted to be a member of the Conquord. We were defeated in war, just as you and all the provinces of Atreska have been. Like me, you have to live with the reality and know that your futures are assured under the Conquord in a way they would never be with your h
aphazard trade and treaties with Tsard.
'The Conquord will provide. Until then, I regret your losses and those you may still suffer. Staffing border forts is not the only way to ensure safety. Mind that your ruler is genuinely giving you all the protection he can. That is his responsibility.'
Yuran choked, or sounded like it. Jhered gazed down at him, unwavering.
'You have something to say, Marshal?'
'Exchequer Jhered, I find your implication offensive.' Yuran's face was red in sunlight that was beginning to fade towards evening. 'My people know I do everything I can. I grieve for every one of them that dies on behalf of the Conquord while those that would defend them are pressed into campaign service in Tsard. Your attempts to sow suspicion are beneath contempt.'
Jhered smiled, a bleak expression. 'I merely want to ensure everyone receives that to which they are entitled. The Exchequer is an easy target for blame. I have simply asked that all angles be considered.'
They walked on, Jhered's experienced eye assessing damage and cost, his mind calculating, storing information. Perhaps this visit wasn't such a waste after all. This town had been hit hard, very hard for one so far from the border. It would suffer in the short term.
Yuran stalked just behind him, the waves of outrage washing from him. Praetor Gorsal walked to his left, a distance between them. She was tight-lipped, clearly not trusting herself to speak further.
A few yards ahead of them, a man shambled out into the street from a broken doorway. He was unshaven, filthy. His hair was lank and his face held a despair that touched Jhered's heart. He saw them, took them all in. His eyes settled on Jhered. His expression changed, darkened. He grabbed a piece of broken pottery and rushed at the Gatherer.
Gorsal froze, a cry stifled on her lips. Jhered swayed inside the intended blow and blocked hard with his left arm. The pottery shard flew away to shatter against the far wall. Jhered grabbed the man by his upper arms, holding him away. Phlegm sprayed into Jhered's face with every wailing word.
Cry of the Newborn Page 6