A Violent Man ( the story of Thomas Flynn )

by Michael Siddall

  Thomas had heard and remembered the old stories well. Years ago, the Nottingham city dwellers had welcomed the baron to their community with open arms, giving him a huge tract of land in the south so that he could grow crops and build a herd of cattle. However, he had demanded ever more land, and as the years passed and his group grew in numbers he dammed the rivers, bringing drought to the rest of the community. And when representatives tried to mediate, urging him to reconsider, he tortured them personally, skinned them alive and beat them to death with a hammer. Later on, Ozhan’s powerful mercenaries had sacked the city, destroying it utterly and completely. Thomas even remembered the last line of a chilling poem from the book of ‘Arrow and Sword': ‘Ozhan is coming while you sleep in your bed, all will be slaughtered – all will be dead’.

  He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. Twice now he had encountered Ozhan’s forces, vanquishing them, but fortune always seemed to smile on the man himself – for both times he was nowhere to be found at the time of the killings.

  What Thomas usually needed was nothing more than a good horse, some supplies and a handful of gold coins to make his way through life, but everything had changed now with the strike of a single knife blade to his friend’s heart. Somehow he had to get inside the baron's mansion. Somehow he had to breach his gates.

  Anger flared once more causing his hands to tremble. In the old days he would have simply thrown caution to the wind, paid Ozhan a visit and knocked his door down – but times change and so had he. Now he was more careful, considering his options before employing rash actions. Now he needed a key to open a door rather than a hammer to knock it down.

  Leaving the balcony, he strode down to the kitchen, filled a goblet full of water and drank. Then a loud knock came at the back door startling him, causing him to jump; spilling some of the water. Silently he made his way to the observation hole and slid it open. Whoever was outside had their back to the door, so it was hard for him to tell whether it was a male or female caller. All he knew was that the person was tall and slim with dark hair. He opened the door. ‘Good afternoon to you friend,’ he said, his voice deep. ‘How may I be of service to you?’

  The caller swung around.

  Thomas’ eyes widened. ‘What are you doing here Nelan?’ he asked as her keen blue eyes met his unyielding gaze.

  ‘I’ve come to settle a score,’ she said, her own gaze unblinking.

  Thomas flashed a broad smile, laughing without humour. ‘It’s always a displeasure to see you, milady,’ he said, tapping the leather-bound hilts of his swords.

  She was dressed in a long grey coat, beneath which she wore a stylish tunic of oiled leather bearing golden swirls, dark leggings and calf-length boots. Her swords were hung beneath the folds of her coat and she didn't attempt to reveal them.

  ‘Good to see you too, Thomas,’ she said in a mocking tone, ‘but I’m not here for a fight.’

  Of all of the feelings he had ever known, this was probably the most intense. In his young life he had summoned strengths that seemed joyous and raucous in battle and in peace, but now he had the uncontrollable urge to attack swiftly and without mercy. Ozhan had killed his friend and she was his ally.

  ‘Are you frightened Nelan?’ he asked.

  She gave a weak smile. ‘Not at all. Should I be?’ she countered.

  ‘You take a great chance coming here, milady,’ he told her. ‘God’s teeth, my instincts are to strike you dead after what has happened here.’

  ‘And I wouldn’t blame you for it,’ she said trying to defuse the situation, ‘but it would be folly to fight each other for the wrong reasons. Besides, we have bigger fish to fry – fish with sharp bones that stick in your craw too.’

  He gave her a questioning look, swinging away from the door. She however, could sense his utter contempt for her. Calmly she stepped forward, laying a hand on his shoulder, drawing him back. ‘I didn't come here to fight. I came to offer my help against the tyrant Ozhan,’ she said, ‘but if necessary I will fight just to prove my sincerity.’

  He looked at her quizzically. ‘Why would you switch sides in the middle of a war?’ he snapped with a hard edge to his voice.

  ‘Because I've learned that the baron is an insane tyrant,’ she snapped back.

  ‘Oh, of course, how stupid of me to forget,’ said Thomas. ‘I suppose you overlooked that fact when he offered you gold to terrorise and murder innocent people.’

  She shook her head. ‘No. I offered my services as a means to an end, because I knew he wanted you dead and I thought I did. However, I've been following your progress and have seen you help this community and its people without payment.' She looked at him admiringly. ‘I therefore came to the conclusion that you are a good man and would not have killed Master Gallus intentionally. I have for that reason renounced my oath to kill you.’

  He stood stock-still, speechless, his mind racing, wandering back to the day an angry mob had dragged his father kicking and screaming to the gallows to hang him. He and his brother had watched in horror from an upper balcony window across from the tavern his mother and father frequented. ‘My father was a good man,’ he said suddenly, coming back to reality, ‘but he killed my mother while in a drunken stupor and was hanged for it. I killed Master Gallus accidentally, trying to prove a point and probably should have hanged for it.’ His voice was thick with emotion, his eyes misted.

  Just then, the stairwell door swung open and Dardo stood there holding his head, backlit by a single lantern. The baron hit me with a lump of wood,’ he complained, ‘but how did I get to bed?’

  ‘I carried you,’ said Thomas, ‘I thought you were drunk.’

  ‘I was just about drunk when Ozhan and his men came bursting through the back door and then the lights went out,’ said Dardo rubbing his wound.

  ‘You’re not the sharpest arrow in the quiver sometimes, are you?’ chastised Thomas.

  ‘Where's Cyrano?’ asked Dardo. ‘Did they knock him senseless too?’

  Thomas could feel the blood-lust growing within him again as he looked into his friends hurt face, and he seethed with anger. ‘No, they butchered him and burnt his face off,’ he whispered in an icy guttural tone. 'I've laid him out in his bedroom and covered him over, ready for burial.'

  Dardo reached up again, rubbing his unmanageable curly blond hair. His fingers came away bloody. ‘I wish it was only his head that hurt like mine,’ he said looking sad and bewildered as he fought to focus on Thomas’ face. Suddenly dizziness swamped him and he stumbled, falling to the floor.

  There was a great buzzing in his ears as the woman-warrior stepped forward, helping him back to his feet. ‘The blows you’ve taken must have blurred your senses,’ she said helping him to a chair.

  ‘You are… you are the warrior Nelan, aren’t you?’ he asked, looking up at the newcomer. ‘I saw you fight that duel in London two years ago. I 'm right aren’t I?’

  She nodded. ‘You are indeed. I tried to disarm the mercenary but he attacked, slashing my face and I had to defend myself. It was a shame. He was drunk and out of order, but I didn’t want to kill him.’

  ‘Are you here to help us?’ Dardo asked, amiably.

  ‘If you both think you can use my help.’

  ‘Thomas shrugged. ‘Why not? There was a time when I would have said no, but a fool falls before his pride.’

  ‘Age and pride makes fools of us all,’ she said smiling kindly.

  ‘That’s the sort of thing I’d expect an old person to say,’ Thomas countered, looking superior. ‘In fact, Cyrano, God bless him might have said that very same thing.’

  ‘Don’t be so smug. I’m only trying to be of service. I might not have your reputation, but every acorn has the makings of a great oak,’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘Even so, no-one wants to hear about the acorn.

  ‘You pompous, self-indulgent, self-righteous…’ she cursed.

  ‘Enough!’ he snapped, smiling. ‘I was joking! We would be proud to have you help
us.’

  The loud toll of the distant Nottingham bell brought their bickering to a sudden halt, and all three stood stock-still, deep in thought, listening to its resounding tones. Down long ages, the old Abbey had stood for harmony and peace, bringing good will and refuge to all. Now each of them looked to the other and smiled, shaking hands. ‘I’m hungry, anybody else want something to eat?’ asked Thomas with the best grace he could muster under the circumstances.

  *

  Much later that evening, after Thomas had been back to Tobin’s farm and told Lira and her father the terrible news of Cyrano’s murder, he opened the Dog and Duck in honour of their late friend’s memory. He sat at his usual table with his back to the wall and the blind harpist played more serious, sombre music than usual. Dardo picked up a pitcher of ale and poured, filling three goblets, and Nelan made a toast to their departed friend, but the tavern was full and she could hardly hear herself speak over the hubbub. Thomas remained silent, his expression thoughtful. What am I doing? A good friend is dead – murdered – and I’m sat drinking, a voice whispered inside his head.

  ‘What now?’ asked Nelan, the question cutting through his thoughts, ‘Have you a plan?’

  Thomas shook his head. ‘No,’ he said looking as grim as a corpse hanging from the gibbet. ‘I need to get inside Ozhan’s mansion, but it’s built like a fortress. He’d see me coming whichever way I approach from.’ His face was thin and drawn; his cheeks covered in black stubble, eyes dark-rimmed and weary. Looking up into her bright blue eyes he gave a tired smile.

  ‘Do you realise the impossibility of what you’re planning?’ said Dardo sitting down beside Thomas, enjoying the wine.

  ‘That entirely depends on the manner in which we approach the problem,’ said Nelan. ‘Nothing's impossible and subtlety is usually a much better approach than brute force. It’s better to be invited in, rather than to have to break down the door. What if I went back to the baron and told him that you were now willing to join forces with him? I think he would grab the chance to fight alongside of you, rather than to have to try and kill you.’

  ‘You're right. I was looking for a key to unlock Ozhan’s door and you are the key, he trusts you,’ said Thomas. He smiled at her and then stared at Dardo with a look of revelation in his eyes.

  Dardo tapped his nose. ‘I get it,’ he said trying to mask his ignorance.

  The reality struck Thomas like a thunderbolt and he sprang to his feet. ‘If we approach the baron’s mansion from the woodland side together, he will send out an armed guard to see who is coming. He may even ride out himself as he's a curious man – and just three incoming riders won’t cause him too much alarm.’

  As the hour grew late, they made plans for Ozhan’s demise. Dardo was very drunk by this time and stared gloomily at his empty goblet. ‘What drives you Thomas?’ he suddenly asked as he forced himself upright in his chair. He hiccupped loudly, burping in his friend's face.

  Thomas wafted the air in front of him. ‘Hells teeth man, how many drinks have you had tonight?’

  Dardo’s eyes crossed for a moment and he hiccupped again. ‘Just enough to dull my senses and rid myself of the thought of dying very soon,’ he countered.

  Thomas turned his head slowly and deliberately to fix his friends gaze. ‘I was five years old when a monster came and ate my world. It swallowed my mother and father whole, leaving my brother and me alone. Now it’s here again in a different guise, but now I’m older and more importantly – I’m bigger and stronger. I won’t let it happen again. I will kill the baron before he kills all of us, I promise,’ he said with a steely glint in his eyes and a tone of finality in his voice.

  Dardo rose to his feet, hauling himself upright. He staggered over to a leather couch, falling heavily onto it and then turned, opening a window. Cold air struck him full in the face as he leaned over a rail staring out into the courtyard. ‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ he said leaning further and further out of the window.

  A strong hand grabbed him, dragging him back into the room. ‘I think it’s time for you to go to bed my friend, before you fall on your head,’ said Thomas with a half-smile.

  Dardo’s eyes rolled in their sockets and the ceiling seemed to spin wildly as something horrible was happening in his stomach. Moaning and groaning he wretched violently and then passed out. Thomas caught him before he hit the floor and carried him off to bed, bidding Nelan goodnight.

  *

  As the sun’s first rays flung wide the gates of dawn, Ozhan was girding himself for war. Some of his mercenaries were sharpening their weapons under his critical eyes, while others were scuttling around his Great Hall collecting ropes to make torches ready to light. He had press-ganged most of them into his service by giving each one of them a savage beating – and all lived in fear of their lives.

  Dozens of candles burned low in their sconces around the hall and the distinct smell of coal oil filled the air, when suddenly and without warning the baron stormed headlong into his new recruits, lashing out wildly with his big fists, bowling them left, right and centre using his great strength. Baring his teeth, his eyes seemed to glow. ‘I want Thomas Flynn dead,’ he snapped. ‘I want his friends dead, his horse dead, in fact everyone and everything to do with the swordsman dead. I want his memory erased forever and then I never want to hear his name mentioned again.’

  At lightning speed the big man’s sword flashed clear of its scabbard, and in a fit of pure rage he sliced off one man’s ear and then the tip of another’s nose. ‘You’re all greedy for plunder and booty and can have anything you desire, provided that I get Thomas Flynn’s head,’ he snapped, his voice echoing eerily throughout the mansion.

  The group of men fell back, scattering in disorder. Ozhan threw back his head roaring with laughter. ‘No guts eh? Well you better get some, because soon you’ll be in a real fight,’ he announced as the two injured men scurried away backwards, bleeding, with his angry words ringing in their ears. They dashed off, bumping clumsily into each other in panic, trying to get through a door together.

  The baron had gathered over fifty new recruits, mainly gutter-scum, but with a good scattering of seasoned mercenaries, and those press-ganged by his savage beatings, coupled with threats of a painful death were always the ones he made an example of in front of the others. It was his way of keeping them all in line. Fear shone in their eyes and none of them doubted that he would spit roast them in their own juices if they crossed the line.

  ‘Read them the articles of allegiance,’ the baron snapped to a silver-eyed giant as he himself swaggered back and forth reciting them from memory under his breath.

  ‘You're in the service of Master Ozhan now. So, if you fail to do your sworn duty or desert, you'll join the Master’s Choir,’ the giant blustered after reading the articles. ‘I take orders from Oz, and you lot take orders from me. Remember that and we’ll all get along fine. Disobey and die.’

  The baron smiled, nodding his approval, sheathing his sword and then silence hung upon the air while he and the giant man had a whispered conversation. Ozhan looked a fearsome figure with his powerful broad shoulders, fierce scarred face and savage manner. He was dressed in black oilskins, matching boots and his hooded cloak flitted in a light breeze that swept through the hall. The giant man was dressed the same, but without the cloak.

  And the one thing that Ozhan’s men now knew for sure was that he had no natural sense of fairness, no perception of wrongdoing and never felt guilty about his rude or harsh manner. In fact, they now knew he had no conscience at all. The world to him was full of men with little or no imagination, men who failed to recognise his genuine genius, but in reality, the one thing no one could fail to recognise was his megalomania, which produced his delusions of grandeur and fits of rage.

  ‘Why are there so many fools and weaklings in the world?’ he had once asked his father.

  ‘Boy, the world is ruled by weaklings and fools so that we may prosper,’ his father had answered.


  How true that one simple fact had turned out to be in the baron's eyes. He thought he had no equal and so trusted no one, not even the silver-eyed giant. He had climbed steadily up the ladder of power alone until he stood expectantly on the top rung looking down upon his lesser men – and he did consider himself a god. Moreover, he didn’t have to make excuses about anything or answer to anyone as he thought he could do no wrong.

  Ozhan spun to face his men. ‘Do you understand the rules, you gutter-scum?’ he shouted. ‘You work for me, and if I say jump – you jump. If I say bleed – you bleed. If I say die – you die for me. That’s it, no questions asked. Are we understood?’

  The whole group nodded sheepishly, slinking back into ranks because he looked so fierce, all except for one lone man. The baron swaggered forward, taking on a threatening posture and his eyes searched the man’s face balefully. ‘Do you want to dispute my authority?’ he asked, tapping his fingers restlessly on the hilt of his sword.

  The man had a steely glint in his eyes. ‘Listen, you don’t scare me,’ he said kicking over a chair. ‘I’ll do your dirty work and even die for you because I’m a paid mercenary, but don’t think you can treat me like these other rowdy gutter-scum, because you can’t.’

  Ozhan drew his sword, laughing feverishly, and as the echoes died around the room, his face went grim. The other men backed away, watching him shake with fury. ‘You're young and headstrong my friend,’ he said as he launched himself at the man with a snarl. ‘Are you ambitious too?’ He was actually in mid-air still when his blunt fist knocked the man flat and he lay stunned, staring up at the ugly face of the man standing over him. ‘Think yourself lucky it was my fist and not my blade that took you from your feet,’ he said with a snarl. ‘Maybe you thought a big strong warrior like you could deal with an older man like me? Well you were wrong. As a child I lacked love and attention, so I beat people up just for the hell of it,' he sneered turning on his heel.

  He stamped his way out of the Great Hall, followed by the silver-eyed giant, then stopped and turned. His icy voice echoed down the long hallway. ‘Don’t make the mistake of not taking me seriously just because I let you live. I'll need you all tomorrow, and you'll beg on your knees for a quick death if you don't perform well. Also, I'll make your torture long, lingering and loud before you die if you betray my articles of allegiance.’