The Lance Thrower cc-8

by Jack Whyte

  Some gross misfortune had befallen him since I had last seen him, however, for his entire body was twisted upon itself, gnarled and malformed. Whatever injuries he had sustained, they had left him incapable of walking as other men walked. Both legs were misshapen, cruelly skewed, his right hand was clawed, useless, at his breast, and he propelled himself in a lurching, ungainly stagger, dragging his left leg. His mouth was as loud and profane as it had ever been, however, for as he drew near he berated everyone in sight, and his status evidently remained secure enough that they paid heed to him and drew back slightly to allow him to approach us.

  He peered up at Ursus, selecting him over me as the elder, bearded man. “Down, whoreson,” he snarled. “Off that horse now or you die. Who in—?”

  “Shame, Clodio,” I said, interrupting his tirade. “Is that the way guests are welcomed to Benwick nowadays?”

  He stopped dead, keeping his eyes on Ursus and refusing to turn and look at me, but then he answered me in a snarling voice I had never heard him use before. “Aye, these days, it is.” He turned slowly then to glower up at me. “Who are you, that you know my name and speak to me direct? I don’t know you.”

  “Yes you do, Clodio. You’ve told me many tales and shared your rations with me more than once, when I was small. It’s me, Clothar.”

  “Clothar?” He stiffened and blinked his eyes several times, as though attempting to adjust to some profound revelation. “Clothar? But … How come you here? You should be in the north somewhere, with Germanus.”

  “I was, but my time there is done now and they sent me home, bearing letters from Germanus to King Ban.” I swung down from my horse and walked to where he stood, and no one moved to hinder me. When I reached him he stretched out his left hand and touched my face, peering at me in that strange way common to people who see things poorly at a distance.

  “Clothar. It is you. You’ve become a man. I never thought to see that, you’ve been gone so long.”

  I smiled at him. “I’ve been trying to become one, Clodio, learning to be a soldier, among other things. But more important, old friend, what happened to you?”

  He glanced down at himself, and I noticed that he looked first at the clawed right hand that was drawn up beside his right breast. “Ah,” he said, as if noticing it for the first time. “This.” He looked back at me then, gazing straight into my eyes. “Runaway wagon. Five years ago. I jumped off, but one foot was tangled in the reins, so I got dragged. Thrown around, run over by the wheel a few times. It was downhill. Steep grade. Killed two horses.”

  The expression “Well, at least you’re alive” was on the tip of my tongue, but I managed to bite it back because it was very obvious that Clodio was not altogether pleased with that situation. I nodded my head instead. “Forgive me, Clodio, I did not know.”

  “Forgive? Hah! How could you know? You weren’t here, were you?” He suddenly became aware that we were at the center of a ring of curious onlookers and he rounded on them, cursing them for a lazy batch of layabouts and then telling them my name, pretending as always that I was the King’s own youngest son and making sure they knew exactly who they had been poised to attack and kill when he arrived. He conveniently forgot, in doing so, that he himself had been prepared to flay the skin from us before I spoke to him, but that was typical of the Clodio I remembered so fondly. The men he was haranguing stared at me in something approaching awe, and I acknowledged them with a courteous nod before Clodio sent them scuttling back to their duties.

  We watched them until the last of them had rounded the edge of the curtain wall, and as soon as we were alone, I introduced Clodio to Ursus. The two men nodded to each other cautiously, neither one quite prepared yet to accept the other without suspicion.

  “Where is everyone, Clodio, and why is the guard so lax?”

  He glowered. “What do you mean?”

  I thrust up my hand to cut his protestations short before they could be uttered. “Come, man, look at where we are. We’re across the bridge, Clodio, on this side—the wrong side. We came across at the gallop, two of us, unopposed. We might as easily have been half a score. Had we been enemies, we could have cut the ropes and destroyed or damaged the windlasses, making the bridge unraisable before anyone reached us. There were guards up there, above the gate, but they were not even looking out over the battlements. I don’t know what they were doing, but they were not keeping watch. We sat on the brow of the hill over there, less than two hundred paces away, for nigh on a quarter hour in broad daylight and no one even glanced in our direction.”

  “But—”

  “No, no buts, my friend. There’s no excuse for dereliction of duty. Who is in command here?”

  Clodio sniffed, a loud, long, disdainful snort. “I am, I suppose, so I’m the one you’ll have to hang or flog, if you think that’s called for. Lord Gunthar rode out yesterday to bring home your mother, the Lady Vivienne, from Vervenna. She has a young friend there … well, the young wife of an old friend, in truth, Lord Ingomer. He was newly wed a year ago to a young wife, Lady Anne. She was brought to childbed there a sevennight ago. Lady Vivienne went there before that to assist with the birthing, so she has been gone for ten days now, since the day after the King rode out to the west against the Alamanni. Lord Brach accompanied his mother with a score of men.”

  Lord Ingomer, our closest neighbor, had always been one of Ban’s staunchest allies and supporters, and Vervenna was the name he had given to his lands, which bordered on Ban’s own. Ingomer’s house, a small, heavily fortified castle, was no more than five miles from where we stood. Nevertheless I found myself frowning.

  “Why would Gunthar ride out to bring my mother home when she already has an escort? Brach is with her, isn’t that what you said?”

  “Aye, but yesterday, when the word came that King Ban had been wounded—” Clodio cut himself short, appalled that he might have committed a gaffe. “Did you know that? The King was shot down by an assassin’s arrow … .”

  “Aye, we know that, but you say the word arrived only yesterday?”

  “Aye, about the middle of the afternoon. I was up on the walls and saw the messenger come over the hill there.”

  “Sweet Jesu, he took his time in getting here! Four days, to cover a distance we consumed in one?” I was speaking to Ursus, but he frowned and jerked his head in a clear negative, and so I turned back to Clodio, wondering what I had said that Ursus did not like. “Go on, Clodio, what happened when the word arrived?”

  “Lord Gunthar grew massy concerned about his mother’s health when once she heard the news, and so he rode to pass the tidings on to her himself, for fear she heard them unexpectedly from some other source.”

  “What other source? There is no other source. Are you saying Gunthar rode off alone?”

  “No, he took a strong party with him—his own mounted guards. Three score of them in two thirty-man squadrons.”

  “And he simply left you alone in charge of the fortress?”

  “Nay, not he. Gunthar accords nothing to lesser men than he … men below his station, I should say, since he believes all men are lesser than he is. He left the fortress in the charge of your brother Theuderic.”

  “So where is Theuderic?”

  “With the others now, wherever they are—Vervenna or elsewhere by now. I know not. He was away when word of the King arrived, patrolling the eastern boundaries against Alamanni raiding parties, so he knew nothing of it until he returned, about midway through the afternoon. Mind you, he was expected. Gunthar knew he was coming in person to pick up supplies, hoping the King might have returned from his patrol of the west side and would be able to spare him some more men for the eastern patrol.”

  “So this was after Gunthar had left for Vervenna?”

  “Aye. They missed each other by less than an hour.”

  “What happened then? Come on, tell me, Clodio, don’t make me squeeze every word out of you.”

  “I’m telling you, damnation! I just can’t
talk as fast as you can think. When Theuderic heard about the King and then found out that Gunthar had gone a-hunting for Queen Vivienne, he was angry—wild angry. Next thing I knew he had reassembled all his men—they were already dismissed and scattered by then, you understand, not expecting to be riding out again that day—plus every other able-bodied soldier in the place, and went thundering off to Vervenna at the head of a mixed force, forty horsemen and the last half century of infantry. As he rode off across the bridge he shouted to me that I was to be in charge until he returned. That was the last I saw of him.”

  “And you have heard nothing from any of them since? That was yesterday.”

  “Not a word. And I know well when it was.”

  I looked about me, seething with frustration. “I cannot believe they left you here with no more than a holding crew. Even so, why is the bridge down? Doesn’t that strike you as being unwise?”

  Clodio flushed, and his deformed torso writhed in what amounted to a shrug. “Aye, but I didn’t know how to raise it.”

  I blinked at him in astonishment. “You didn’t know how to raise it? You pull it up and lock it in place, Clodio. It is not difficult to raise a bridge.”

  “Mayhap not.” Clodio was beginning to sound resentful now. “I’m not a fool, Clothar. But that bridge is new and it’s Gunthar’s pride and joy. He was there, hovering over it like a crow over a dead rat at every stage of its building and he was very jealous about protecting the secrets of its construction and its operation. No one has been allowed to touch it or operate it other than his men since it was built. From what they told us, it has all kinds of new and wondrous bits and parts to it and only people trained to handle it are allowed close to the workings. I’ve never seen the machinery being used and neither has anyone else who is left here in the castle, so I didn’t want to take the risk of breaking or damaging something and earning Gunthar’s wrath for my troubles. That’s too easy to do at the best of times. And so I decided to leave the whoreson as it was. Besides, I was expecting everyone to return at any moment. They’re only supposed to be five miles away.”

  I bit down hard on the angry response that was filling my mouth and forced myself to count silently from one to ten, aware that from Clodio’s viewpoint he had done nothing wrong and reminding myself that we had had no real indication, thus far, that anything was wrong in any way. Finally I sighed.

  “Damnation, Clodio, there is no great difficulty in turning a windlass, no matter how newly built it is. All it requires is brute strength, shoulders on a crossbar, and muscled legs to push the thing around. Call back eight of those people you just dismissed and we’ll raise the bridge right now. Then we’ll go inside and see what remains to be done there.”

  Almost before I finished speaking, Clodio was waving to the wall-top guards, who were now all watching us very closely, and I heard voices raised up there as someone relayed the orders Clodio had shouted up to them. As soon as he turned back to me, I laid my hand on his shoulder to soften the impact of my next words, should he decide to object to them.

  “As of this moment, Clodio, I am relieving you of duty and responsibility for the safety of the fortress.”

  He grunted and nodded his head, once. “Good. I wish you joy of it. Leave me in peace to do what I must do, that’s all I ask. I’ll die protecting people in my care if I have to, but I have no love for bidding others die at my orders. Apart from the women and children—and God knows we have more than enough of those—there are less than forty men left in the entire place and none of them are fit to fight. Not a man of them. They’re all like me, cripples and old men. All the fighting men are out, most of them with the King and Chulderic and Samson. Another group, almost as big, is on the eastern borders, under Theuderic and Ingomer. Then there’s a score more with Brach and the Lady Vivienne, the remaining cavalry squadrons with Gunthar, and the last of the garrison with Theuderic.”

  “So what does the full garrison strength stand at nowadays?”

  Again I recognized Clodio’s malformed version of a shrug. “Couldn’t tell you,” he said. “Not off the top of my head. Not my responsibility to know things like that. But let’s see. The King and Chulderic took nigh on five hundred with them on the western sweep, and Theuderic took almost as many to the east, although his men were joined by Lord Ingomer’s people and by another contingent, mainly infantry, raised from among the chiefs of the eastern marches. So Theuderic would have more than a thousand at his beck in the east, for it’s a bigger territory with fewer people but more ground to cover than the western borders … but of that thousand, say he had between four and five hundreds from here in Genava. Then Gunthar had his guards—three score of them here, another three score out with Theuderic but under the command of Chlodomer, Gunthar’s right-hand man. The people Theuderic brought back with him are already counted, but then he took away the remaining foot soldiers from the garrison, say forty of those. So what does that give us? Nigh on eleven hundred … more than a thousand men, give or take a score or two. That’s about the right of it.” I nodded, smiling. “An impressive estimate, my friend, for one whose responsibilities have no connection with such things.”

  “Aye, right.” He inclined his head, acknowledging my praise. “But where does that leave us?”

  I glanced at Ursus. “It leaves us with a bridge down that ought to be up. Let’s change that, for a start.”

  Clodio began shouting orders to the men he had ordered down from the battlements above, and while he was instructing them, Ursus turned to me, nodding toward the bridge. “That is excellent,” he said, “and all very well. Raise the bridge and keep the wicked ones out. Excellent precaution. But it has flaws. What about Beddoc?”

  “What about him?”

  “He’ll be here soon, probably within the hour.” He saw from my expression that I had no notion of what he was suggesting, and so he continued. “You want to keep him outside the gates and away from Gunthar? That’s understandable, except that Gunthar is out there as well, on the far side of the bridge.”

  I stared at him, hearing his words and understanding what he was saying, but completely incapable of responding. He spoke on, ignoring my open-mouthed silence. “So, will you keep Beddoc outside the gates to wait for Gunthar’s arrival, or let him inside, knowing that he is Gunthar’s man and therefore your enemy?”

  “And knowing, too, that once he is inside we have no one here to withstand him or to influence his behavior,” I added, finally finding my voice.

  “Exactly.” Ursus looked at me, one eyebrow raised, and almost, but not quite smiling. “You catch up quickly, no matter how far you lag behind at the outset. I think you’ve grasped the gist of the problem.”

  I nodded, slowly. “Aye, but not the solution.”

  “There may not be one.” He turned around in a wide arc, gazing at the layout of the castle’s defenses. “Certes, if you raise the bridge no one comes in, but we shut out our friends as well as our enemies. We’ll hold Gunthar and his ambitions at bay, safe outside the walls, but Queen Vivienne will be out there with him, as will your two other brothers and the men who ride with them. And then will come the arrival of Samson and Chulderic. An entire carnival, with good and evil ranged on opposing sides, and all on the lands outside your gates. Do you enjoy the thought of that?”

  “No, Ursus, I do not—most particularly since these are not my gates. They are the Queen’s gates, now, for she is Ban’s legal regent until Samson can assume the kingship.”

  “Think not on that, lad. As long as you control the bridge the gates are yours. All we can do is hope to have the time and opportunity to open them to the Queen and her men.”

  “Aye, but there are too many unknown factors here and I do not enjoy having that responsibility, Ursus.”

  “No more do I, but there must be an answer for us somewhere, even though I cannot see it yet … . Was your uncle Ban a drinking man?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did he drink beer, or wine? Would he k
eep any of such things available for his use?”

  “Aye,” I concurred, remembering. “He always had beer to hand.”

  “Good, then let’s raise this whoreson bridge and find some of his beer. In the drinking of fine beer, many weighty problems are easily solved and frequently come to naught.”

  Half an hour later, secure behind a raised drawbridge, Ursus and I sat with Clodio, holding foaming tankards and discussing our situation. Clodio said nothing, content to leave, at least outwardly, the thinking to Ursus and myself.

  For my part, I disliked the taste of the beer but I was willing to think, to make the effort of thinking. Unfortunately, I lacked both the capacity and the experience to be aware of what I should be thinking about at such a time, and so I, too, said nothing.

  Ursus sat silently and sipped his beer with grave deliberation, gazing with tranquil, uncreased brow into the middle distance.

  “So,” I asked him when I could bear his apparent equanimity no longer, “what think you, Ursus?”

  He turned to gaze at me and raised his upper lip to bare his teeth, not in a snarl but in the approximation of a smile. “About where we sit?” he asked. “What would you like to know first?”