by Peter Kenson
“Alcanzar. Never met him myself. Why is he pursuing you?”
“He thinks we’ve got some sort of special boy travelling with us. We haven’t of course; it’s absolute nonsense. But he sent troops to round up all the boys in our village and take them for… ‘testing’ he called it. We managed to get the boys back but the Duke lost a few troops in the process. So we decided to get out of Paelis and now he’s sending more troops to punish us. If he catches us on his territory, it will be a massacre. We need to get through your city and into Keldis.”
“I see. But I still don’t think I can help you. Maxten will never open those gates.”
“We weren’t actually proposing to ask him,” Kemon said.
“Oh! My information is that you left the city this afternoon. You never did tell me exactly how you got back into the city tonight.”
“You don’t want to know. And if you don’t know, you can’t be forced to tell. You can deny all involvement.”
“No, no, no. This is impossible. I can’t help you. There’s nothing I can do for you. You have to leave.”
“Benson, you owe me,” Foxley stated firmly. “And I’m calling in the favour. We don’t need much. You need have no direct involvement in this.”
Benson thought for a minute. “What is it you need?”
It was Kemon who answered. “You have a warehouse down by the city walls. We need the keys to the warehouse and we need you to keep your servants out of there until midday tomorrow.”
“Absolutely impossible. It can’t be done. You ask too much.”
“Do I have to remind you exactly how much you owe me, old friend?” Foxley paused for a moment. “And I may be able to throw a sweetener into the pot for you.”
“What sort of sweetener?”
“An exclusive trade contract.”
“Go on.”
“With your information network, you must have heard by now where we are heading.”
“I’ve heard some wild rumours about you going to retake Marmoros. Throw out the warlord and retake the city.”
“They are not wild rumours, old friend. That is precisely what we are going to do.”
“You’ll be slaughtered. You might as well die outside the walls here.”
“You haven’t met our new prince. Be at the palace tomorrow and you will. He’s quite something. And we have an army at our command. Make no mistake about it, old friend, we are going to retake Marmoros. And when we do, we will have to re-establish our old trading networks. That is what I am offering you. Exclusivity on the trading route between Highport and Marmoros.”
“You really believe you can do this?”
“I do. We all do. We have a visionary leader and we have an army. We can and we will retake Marmoros.”
“I think I would like to meet this prince of yours.”
“Then be at the palace tomorrow. He is coming to pay a state visit to the High Warden along with his lady mother, the Queen Regent. But before that, we still need your help, old friend.”
“The lady Falaise. I should like to meet her again as well. But if you’re caught in the warehouse, I shall deny all knowledge of how you got there.”
“Absolutely.”
“I shall send a servant with you to unlock the warehouse and bring the keys back. The warehouse must have been left unlocked all night. I will probably have to have a servant flogged for that… if you’re caught.”
“We will try to spare your servant the pain. And thank you old friend. We will meet again.”
***
Feynor signalled a halt and dropped into a crouch as the larger of the two moons sailed out from behind a cloud. It did not provide much illumination but he was taking no chances. The smaller and brighter of the moons had already set and there were enough clouds in the sky to pretty much guarantee that this moon would be covered again in a few minutes.
As with Kemon’s group earlier, they had dismounted before they reached the edge of the trees and left their horses to be taken back to the column. They heard the sound of the tocsin as they waited at the edge of the trees and Feynor worried that Kemon and the others had been detected. But then he spotted a faint cherry red glow from behind the city walls and, in one of the short moonlit spells, a plume of black smoke could clearly be seen.
They had waited a while longer until the glow and the smoke began to diminish and Feynor decided that, whatever was going on inside the city, the only thing they could do was press on and trust that Kemon would be up there on the walls at the appointed time. So now they crouched down amongst the undergrowth about half way across the cleared space to the city wall, waiting for the comforting shadow of the clouds to resume.
In the hasty preparations earlier in the evening, they had arranged that Kemon would use a shaded lantern to mark the exact spot where the rope would be. When the cloud cover resumed, Feynor sent the men on ahead with instructions to stay tight to the base of the wall once they reached it while he stayed in position to watch for the signal. He glanced quickly towards the east but there was nothing there yet; not even the faint lightening of the sky that precedes the dawn.
When the signal came, a single flash of light, it was about thirty paces to the left of his group’s position. He hurried across the intervening ground and directed the group around the base of the wall towards the rope. He gave a swift tug on the rope to say that they were there and then sent one of the archers up first to help look out for approaching patrols.
Two of the swordsmen went up next and then Feynor bundled together all the remaining weapons and they were hauled up on the end of the rope. The swordsmen took the weapons down into the warehouse as the rope was dropped back down for the next man to climb. There were fourteen men in the attack group and all but Feynor and two others made it to the top before the lookout reported an approaching patrol at two hundred paces.
The last but one man already had a grip on the rope and was beginning to climb when Kemon and one of the others grabbed the rope and pulled it up, hauling the somewhat surprised swordsman to the top in unceremonious fashion. The two men left behind saw the rope disappearing and flattened themselves against the wall, guessing what was going on above.
There was no proper opening in the warehouse roof. Inside the warehouse, Kemon and the others had added to a stack of crates until they could climb up and push some of the thatch aside to make a hole. Most of the men had already climbed down through the hole into the warehouse with the weapons and Kemon now sent everybody else down off the wall. He was the last one down and balanced himself on the top of the stack of crates to pull the thatch back roughly into position.
He waited quietly as the footsteps approached above him and then started to recede before he moved the thatch again and stuck his head out. The patrol had obviously not noticed anything amiss and were strolling slowly towards the western end of the wall. Kemon looked to the east where the sky now was starting to lighten. The western end of the wall was only about three hundred paces away but if they waited until the patrol turned and came back, it would be very close to sunrise.
There was nothing for it but to take a chance. He dashed across the width of the wall and dropped the rope again. There was an immediate answering tug from below. He had no time to secure the top end of the rope so he wrapped it round his shoulders and braced himself against the parapet as the climber started up. As soon as the man reached the top of the wall, he took a hold on the rope as well and between them they hauled Feynor to the top. They clasped hands briefly and looked along to where the patrol, dimly visible now, had almost reached the end of the wall.
“Let’s get below,” Feynor whispered. “All we can do now is wait.”
Chapter 17
They did make an impressive show as they approached the city gates. David rode at the head of the column with Baltur alongside him. Falaise’s ladies had made him a splendid doublet, quartered in red and gold with gold puffed sleeves and the Lyenar arms emblazoned ov
er his heart. He wore this over a pair of cream trousers made from the softest kid and tucked into riding boots that gleamed in the midday sun. Beside him Baltur looked only slightly less impressive in a green velvet doublet, embroidered in gold thread with a lion rampant.
Behind them, Jorgen and three of his men rode in twos ahead of the coach, resplendent in their new red cloaks and carrying their spears in the upright position. From the top of Jorgen’s spear a pennant in the Lyenar colours of silver, green and blue, fluttered in the light breeze. Matching livery had been found for two more of Jorgen’s men sitting on the driving seat of the coach and there were a further six cloaked riders bringing up the rear of the column.
The coach itself positively radiated. Every inch of available woodwork had been covered in gold paint with the Lyenar arms emblazoned on both doors and with red velvet drapes partially covering the windows. The coach was drawn by a team of four greys, as closely matching as could be found amongst the horse stock of the entire village and brushed and combed until their coats shone.
In front of the gates, which had been firmly shut and barred as soon as they had come into view, David raised a gloved hand and signalled the column to halt. Ignoring Jeren’s wishes regarding the use of titles, he hailed the gate.
“Open the gates for His Royal Highness Prince Jeren of Marmoros and Lady Falaise, the Queen Regent.”
Inside the coach, Jeren cringed and swore furiously under his breath. Falaise tapped him on the knee and raised a warning finger. “Sit up and be quiet,” she whispered.
Outside a helmeted head appeared at one of the embrasures. “The gates are closed on the orders of the High Warden. You can’t come in.”
“My name is Lord Held, Herald of Arms of the Lyenar people and this is Sir Baltur, principal equerry to his royal highness. Prince Jeren and his lady mother wish to pay their respects to Lord Maxten, High Warden of Highport. Now open the gates and let us pass.”
“I can’t do that, my lord. My orders are that none of the Lyenar people are to pass through this gate.”
“Don’t be stupid, sergeant. My prince is not one of the people. He is the hereditary ruler of the Lyenar and, as such, he holds a higher rank than your High Warden. He has powerful friends at the court of the High King and is a personal friend of Duke Theron of Keldis. Rulings applying to the common people have no relevance to my prince. Now open the gate and let us through.”
“I am not a sergeant, my lord. My name is Captain Walbend and my orders are that you are not to pass.”
“You may be a captain today, Walbend. Tomorrow you will be lucky to be a sergeant… and that is only if your head is still attached to your shoulders. Your orders were obviously issued before the High Warden was aware that the royal Lyenar family were arriving. I suggest that you inform the High Warden that my prince is here to pay his respects and seek clarification of your orders before this diplomatic incident escalates into an insult, the consequences of which do not bear imagining. And be quick about it; my prince does not like to be kept waiting.”
The head disappeared from view. David and the honour guard remained motionless in front of the gates, sweating slightly in the autumn sun and grateful that it was not full summer. Twenty minutes passed and David was beginning to think that he had misjudged the situation when the postern gate opened and an officer stepped through followed by half a dozen nervous looking pikemen. The officer approached David at the head of the column and made a formal salute.
“Lord Held, the High Warden sends his apologies for this misunderstanding. He was, as you say, unaware of the nature and purpose of this visit and has no wish to cause offence. Lord Maxten says that Prince Jeren and the Queen Regent are welcome to enter the city but you and your soldiers must remain outside the gate.”
“This is outrageous. You would deny entry to me, a Herald of Arms and to his royal highness’ principal equerry? This is an insult beyond belief. The High King will hear of this. Come, we are leaving.”
He started to turn his horse when an anguished cry came from behind him.
“Wait, wait, my lord. No insult was intended. Under the circumstances, I believe I may anticipate my lord’s wishes and permit you and Sir Baltur here to accompany the prince. But the soldiers stay outside the gates.”
David wheeled his horse back to face the captain who was now sweating profusely.
“You expect my prince to present himself to your High Warden without an honour guard? You deny him honour?” he raised his voice to a shout. “Who do you think you are dealing with here?”
“I’m sorry, my lord, but my orders are absolutely clear on this point. No soldiers are to enter.”
David was silent for a full minute, appearing to think on this.
“These men are among the finest fighters in any of the three dukedoms and the surrounding regions. They are fierce warriors who have sworn to defend the lives of the royal family. I can see how the presence in the city of such a formidable force might cause some unease in the minds of the people. Nevertheless, I must be conscious of my prince’s honour. He cannot parade through the streets of your city without honour.”
“Uh, if I might suggest, my lord. Perhaps my own men might form a suitable honour guard for the prince.”
David paused again to consider the offer.
“Perhaps, captain,” he admitted grudgingly. “Perhaps that may be acceptable to his highness. We would need ten of your finest guardsmen, in full dress uniform of course and under your personal command, to accompany his royal highness.”
“Of course, my lord. If you would please convey to your prince, the most sincere apologies of the High Warden for a few moments more delay, I will make the necessary arrangements.”
The captain turned and hurried back through the postern leaving the pikemen looking increasingly nervous. Without taking their eyes off David and the honour guard, they shuffled backwards until they hit the gate and then disappeared inside with remarkable speed and agility. As soon as the last man was through, the postern was slammed shut and David could hear the bars being dropped into place behind it. He wheeled his horse and rode back alongside Jorgen.
“They seem a little nervous,” David remarked. “When Feynor opens the gates for you, the sight of red cloaks inside the walls will cause some panic. Without the captain there, they will hopefully either surrender or run. Try not to let them get back to the palace to raise the alarm but also try not to kill too many of them. I don’t want to upset Lord Maxten too much and we may need his guardsmen alive to slam the gates in the face of Duke Henry’s men when they get here.”
“I’ve issued all the men with clubs,” Jorgen replied. “Hidden under their cloaks. We may break a few heads but hopefully that’ll be all.”
David nodded and rode on to the coach, bending low in the saddle to speak quietly through the window. “You heard all that? We’ll be inside in just a few minutes now.”
“Was the use of that title strictly necessary, Lord Held?” Jeren enquired through tight lips.
“Lord Maxten is a man who is impressed by titles, your royal highness. That puts him at a disadvantage in any negotiations. He has a strong position, whether he knows it or not, but he is a weak man. In diplomatic battles, rank and titles are as much weapons as swords are on a battlefield. In order to win, I will use every weapon that is at my disposal and so must you, my prince.”
Further discussion was interrupted by the sound of bars being lifted behind the gates and David returned to the head of the column as the main gates were dragged open. Pikemen, more this time, poured out through the gates and lined the sides of the road, weapons pointing nervously at the mounted red cloaks. David and the honour guard sat impassively as Captain Walbend, mounted now on a jet black stallion, rode slowly through the gates. Behind him, David could see two files of guardsmen drawn up with space between them for the coach to drive.
“Lord Held, if your prince is ready,” Walbend announced, “my men and I would be p
leased to escort him to the High Warden’s palace.”
“Honour guard to the rear,” David ordered and Jorgen and the other three spearmen at the front, wheeled their horses and trotted to the rear of the column as the coach started to roll slowly forward.
“Please follow me,” Walbend said and turned to lead the way through the gates.
As they rolled slowly under the gatehouse, the honour guard fell into step alongside the coach. The pikemen who had been left outside the walls, backed carefully in through the gates which were hastily dragged shut and barred behind them.
The crowd ahead of them scattered to the sides of the street as the procession moved slowly towards the river, down a wide thoroughfare lined with shops of every description. David was careful to keep looking straight in front of him but as they passed an inn not far from the gate, he caught sight of someone out of the corner of his eye, who looked suspiciously like Feynor, involved in a noisy game of dice. There was obviously a large sum of money on the table because the crowd around the game were shouting encouragement to the players and especially to the one with the dice in his hands. No-one even looked up as the procession went past.
The next throw of the dice did not produce a conclusive result and there were groans from the crowd. More coins appeared on the table and money changed hands among the watchers around the game. The caster threw again, a losing throw this time and a cheer went up around the table and the pile of coins in the centre was quickly divided up. A large proportion of the coins found their way into Feynor’s purse as he stood up from the table. There were shouts of disappointment and anger from the players who had lost money but Feynor shook his head and pressed a couple of coins into the potman’s hand, to fetch a round of drinks for his new found ‘friends’.
Feynor looked casually up and down the thoroughfare. The procession had reached the end of the street and was now heading across the square by the public stocks. The crowd had closed behind them and business in the shops was returning to its normal level. The honour guard was marching in strict formation alongside the coach which would soon be crossing the river and turning towards the palace. As a precaution, he had placed a man at the far end of the street, armed with a handcart loaded with root vegetables and orders to overturn it in the street if the guards heard the alarm and came hurrying back.