Traitor's Blade (The Greatcoats)

by de Castell, Sebastien

  ‘I am indeed your subject, my Lord, and have paid my taxes every year,’ I said with humility.

  ‘Indeed? Well, that makes you the exception, my good lad.’

  He and his men had a good laugh at that, and I started to feel almost safe. I could handle this. I could keep my mouth shut and bow and curtsy and whatever else they wanted if it would get them off my land.

  ‘But who’s this now?’ asked Yered, and I turned and saw Aline closing the gate that one of the Duke’s men had left open in order to keep the goats from wandering out.

  ‘That is my wife, my Lord,’ I answered.

  ‘Damn fine woman you have there, boy. Come here now, girl, let your Duke have a look at you.’

  ‘It’s getting late, Yered, and I’m getting hungry for something that wasn’t picked up off the floor this morning.’ King Greggor sounded irritated and bored – a good sign, I prayed.

  Yered laughed. ‘I too am hungry for something different, your Majesty. Pray, give me a moment to ensure my proper rights are observed.’

  Greggor waved him away. ‘Please yourself.’

  Yered stood up before me. He was slightly shorter than I was, so I tried hard to stoop and not let him be offended by my height.

  ‘Now, boy, you tell me you’ve paid all your taxes?’

  ‘Yes, my Lord.’

  ‘All? Are you quite sure?’

  ‘Yes, my Lord. We paid seven pieces last season, and eight this one. I have a note of receipt from the sheriff. I could go find it for you if you—’

  ‘Enough! Don’t bray at me like some sheep. Have a spine in you, boy.’

  The Duke turned to his men. ‘You see this? This is the stock I have to go to war with. It’s a wonder the damned barbarians haven’t overrun us yet.’

  He picked up his wine goblet and handed it to me. ‘Here, you drink this piss. Perhaps it’ll put some grit on your bones, eh?’

  I drank it, seeing as it was my wine anyway.

  ‘Now, back to the issue of the taxes. You paid taxes on your land?’

  ‘Yes, Lord, four pieces to the sheriff, Lord.’

  ‘Good, good. And now, you also paid taxes on those goats?’

  ‘Yes, Lord, two pieces.’

  ‘And on your, ah, chickens?’

  ‘Yes, Lord, two for them.’

  The Duke counted off on his fingers. ‘Well now, that’s eight pieces, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, Lord; eight pieces this season, as I said, Lord.’

  The Duke’s men were chuckling. They had heard this joke before.

  ‘Well now, you’ve paid for your goats and for your chickens, but what about the rest of your livestock?’

  I shook my head, pretending not to get the joke. ‘I’m sorry, Lord? I don’t under—’

  ‘Your cow, man!’ he said, pointing at Aline. ‘When are you going to pay the taxes on your cow?’

  There was a great roar of laughter – or perhaps just a little laughter, but a great roaring in my ears.

  ‘I’m sorry, my Lord, I didn’t realise. I will pay whatever price is due.’

  Now I noticed several of the men winking at each other. In my effort to placate the man and hide my anger, I had walked right into the meat of his joke.

  ‘Ah, pay the tax you will, boy,’ the Duke said amiably. ‘But keep your little silver pieces. In this case, it’s the cow that pays the tax!’

  Another round of laughter, and now one of the Duke’s soldiers who obviously knew how this joke ended came forward and took Aline’s arm. That was strange. All of a sudden there was a stick in my hand, and it was pointed at the soldier’s eye.

  But before even the Duke could act, Aline shook off the soldier’s grip and slapped me hard across the face. I dropped the stick in shock. ‘Stupid boy,’ she said. ‘Don’t ever stand in the way of my happiness!’

  The Duke laughed and waved down his archers and I realised she had just saved my life. ‘Look there, the little harlot thinks she can be my wife!’

  Everyone was laughing, even Aline. The Duke bellowed something about the wine and one of his men began digging through our meagre supply. Aline grabbed my head with both hands and spoke into my ear. ‘Don’t you dare, Falcio,’ she whispered fiercely. ‘I know you love me, and I know you would fight for me, but not here, not now. I will do this thing, and I will pay the price for both of us. I will not scratch or claw or scream, but I will instead make this tiny man feel like a giant. It’s well known the Duke only beds any woman once. And when he does, he will leave us and go with his filthy men and his filthy King, and you and I will grow old together and laugh at the day these silly birds came to rest in our fields.’

  She pushed me away and walked towards our cottage, beckoning the Duke to follow her. At the front door she turned back and called to the Duke’s men, ‘Be gentle with him, will you? I hate it when he cries at night.’

  The Duke’s men laughed, and even King Greggor chuckled as he spat out a piece of the lamb we had planned on eating for supper. And I waited and prayed and I hated myself even as I thanked Love for giving me a wife as wise and brave as the one who was even now being raped by a man I would kneel before and thank in a few minutes.

  True to her word, she had him grunting and moaning, and in a few minutes, he gave out a great bellow and stopped. For a moment, I feared Aline had put a knife in his genitals, but the chuckling of his soldiers told me this was the Duke’s way.

  Aline came out first, hair flying free and doing up her blouse. ‘Gods bless you, my Lord. I am a new woman!’

  The Duke came out of the cottage. His clothes were carefully done, but his hair was dishevelled, and he was red-faced and still sweating like a pig.

  ‘Saints smile on you, boy. You’re a rich man indeed. I should up your taxes next year!’

  I swallowed my pride and my honour and whatever other forms of dignity I had left to me and knelt down on one knee and said, ‘I am grateful to you, Lord, for your generosity and protection.’

  ‘And for finally satisfying that woman of yours, eh?’ The Duke laughed in the grunting way pigs do right before you cut their throats.

  ‘Yes, my Lord, and for doing what I myself have been quite unable to do.’

  ‘Hah!’ the Duke shouted. ‘You’re a toad, boy, a rank little toad. But you know your place, and that’s the best we can hope for in a peasant. Don’t worry; we’ll leave, and I’ll tell my men not to put your cottage to the torch.’

  The thought hadn’t even occurred to me before then, but I bowed and scraped gratefully regardless. The King and Duke mounted their horses and their men followed suit – all except one, a tall man with a great scar running from his forehead down past his lips. He carried a war-axe on his back. ‘My Lord Duke,’ he said, looking straight at me, ‘should we not bring the woman, in case you happen to be hungry again later on? The fare is unlikely to be so sweet at the inn where we stay tonight.’

  The Duke barely turned his head. ‘What’s that you’re blathering about, Fost? You know very well no woman satisfies the Duke twice.’

  ‘Yes, my Lord, but wouldn’t you say this one was different? She seems an especially fine cow to be left to a boy who can’t properly milk her.’

  The Duke was about to wave him away, but King Greggor spoke up. ‘Hells, Yered, just bring the damned girl. Your men have had to listen to you grunt away enough times – perhaps they see something in her that you don’t.’

  As much as I despised the Duke with all my being, I believe he would have left us, had it not been for the King’s rebuke. But he was stung by the comment. ‘I have no further use for her, Majesty – but Fost, since you seem so keen on her, you bring her. She can entertain the men while I’m “grunting” with finer fare.’

  Fost never took his eyes from me, and he never stopped smiling, the scar on his face crinkling in response. He motioned to his men and two of them took Aline while two more aimed arrows at my chest. Then he mounted his horse and followed his men down the road while I stood and stared like a pe
asant. Like a toad. Like a boy who knew his place.

  Aline was a good girl, and she was wise too, but even she had the limits the Gods place on our sanity, and so by the time I had walked to the next town and found her on the floor of the tavern, she was two days dead. She had fought, my brave girl, and there were bits of skin under her fingernails and bruises on her arms, and her beautiful face was cleaved in two, as if by a great war-axe.

  *

  I felt very strange. I seemed to be in the caravan market of Solat, standing over the axeman, who appeared to have gone and died of something. It looked as if what he died from was having swords thrust into both of his eyes and into his neck. I wondered for a moment who would do something like that and then noticed that I was shaking. Kest pulled me away from the man.

  Feltock’s hand was on his weapon and the girl Trin was crying into his shoulder.

  ‘Damn, Falcio,’ Brasti said, looking at the corpse. ‘You were only supposed to wound him.’

  ‘Shut up, Brasti,’ Kest said. I thought that was very funny, and so I laughed out loud, but for some reason no one else thought it was funny. I also noticed that my face was wet. Oddly, that only made me laugh more.

  ‘All right, so he had to kill him, but why did he have to draw that scar down the man’s face after he was already dead?’

  ‘Speak again, and I’ll put you down,’ Kest said. Kest was a very scary man when he said things like that, and it made even me stop laughing. He was rubbing my arms, which was pleasant but seemed somewhat inappropriate.

  ‘Do you remember Aline?’ I asked him. My voice sounded strange – creaky, like when I was a boy. ‘I don’t know why, but I just started thinking about her.’

  Kest put his hand on my face, just for a moment. Then he motioned for Brasti to come and watch over me and stood in front of the carriage. The caravan captain stepped in his way and put a warning hand on his chest, but Kest ignored him. ‘We have our deal. One man dead and one injured. I mark that one-and-a-half men’s pay for the work of three.’

  ‘My rigger’s not going to be good for much with a broken leg, Trattari,’ the captain said. ‘Just be off and pray I don’t get the constables on—’

  ‘One man dead and one man useless,’ I heard the woman in the carriage say, her voice cutting through the noise. ‘I mark you one man paid and three men fed.’

  Kest looked over at me, but I was still looking at the bloody gash I had put down the axeman’s face.

  ‘Marked,’ Kest said. ‘One man paid and three men fed.’ Then he turned to the other caravan guards. ‘And mark you all: any man wants revenge for one of these best remember that it was five men to one, and Falcio was injured at the time.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Brasti said, ‘and he wasn’t even very angry yet.’

  A couple of the men I’d fought grunted and muttered under their breath, but no one looked us in the eye except for Blondie, who looked to me and said, ‘Fair fight’s a fair fight. Besides, no one ever liked this big bugger anyway.’

  ‘Trin, go and file our papers with the market clerk,’ Feltock said, handing a small leather packet to the handmaiden. Then he kicked the axeman’s body. ‘And tell them Kreff lost in a duel, fairly fought. I doubt anyone’ll care.’

  She nodded and left us, and the crew readied the caravan for travel. Minutes later, we were on our horses and headed out the Market Gate. I don’t know if the constables were still looking for us or if they knew we were part of a caravan now and didn’t want to deal with all the problems of jurisdiction posed by the market laws; either way, we encountered no resistance, and for the first time that day, it looked as if we might be moving in the right direction.

  ‘We’re going in the wrong direction,’ Kest said.

  I looked ahead. The caravan captain was leading the wagons towards the bridge. We trotted ahead up the ranks to the lead wagon. ‘You’re going the wrong way,’ I said. ‘The bridge takes us up the Spear – to the northern trade route.’

  Feltock said, ‘Her Ladyship has her own reasons for wanting people to think we’re going to Baern, but this caravan is headed north, for her Saintly mother’s home of Hervor.’

  ‘But that’s almost three hundred miles north – and five hundred miles out of our way!’

  ‘No, it’s not, it’s right on your way,’ the captain said. ‘After all, you marked your deal. You’re part of this caravan now, and where it goes – well, that’s where you go. Unless you three want to break market law and be marked false. I reckon that wouldn’t be good for Trattari now, would it?’

  Being marked false would be a death sentence for us. Trattari couldn’t be prosecuted for prior crimes, but we had no protection under the law, either. Unless we were employed by someone with power and influence, we were targets for anyone who wanted to make a name for himself. And now we were being dragged in the wrong direction in a caravan of people who hated us, in the employ of a woman we knew nothing about and who had reason to hide her travels.

  Brasti and Kest gave me sour looks as our horses wandered slowly towards the bridge. ‘Fine,’ I said at last. ‘Go ahead and say it.’

  Brasti shook his head in disgust, but Kest took me literally. ‘There’s an excellent chance that you’ve just got us killed, Falcio,’ he said.

  THE GAME OF CUFFS

  Other than the Lady, who ignored us, and Trin, who was reasonably friendly with us, the emotions we elicited from most of the caravan crew during our first week ranged from outright hatred to whatever it is that’s much, much worse than outright hatred. It made the first part of the journey a lot like – well, a lot like everything else we did.

  After an awkward first night of repeated references to ‘the dead tyrant’ we had served, the ‘whore’s sons’ that formed our order and the ‘tattered, stinking rags’ that were our greatcoats, we nearly came to knives with our fellow guards, so I decided it would be best if we spent most of our evenings by ourselves, on watch for the caravan and on watch for our own backs.

  Trin came by, after the others had eaten, with food – I suppose it was a logical thing to do, since otherwise I’m certain we would have been accused of taking more than our share, but I still thought it was remarkably decent of her. She was pretty, with long dark hair and lightly tanned skin. Her eyes, when you could see them, were the colour of stream water. She even sat with us for a while, listening to our stories and asking questions about the old laws, giving her shy smile when one of us threw in a joke here or there.

  She told us very little about the Lady she’d served her whole life, other than that she was a noble daughter of a great house. Trin had been first a playmate, when they were children and Trin’s mother was the Lady’s nanny, then later a companion for her lessons. Now she was the Lady’s handmaiden. I wondered what that must have been like, to start as a child, a playmate, and then every passing year become less and less an equal and more and more a servant. Trin appeared to think it was the most natural thing in the world, though, and laughed at Brasti when he suggested she could always steal the Lady’s best dress, run away to a southern city and claim to be a princess since she looked just like one.

  ‘Saints of my mother, no,’ Trin said. ‘That wouldn’t work at all!’

  ‘And why not?’ Brasti asked. ‘You’re certainly pretty enough.’

  Trin looked down and laughed. ‘With hands like these?’ she said, holding up hands that were nicely shaped, but with the telltale calluses of a servant.

  ‘Let me see here,’ Brasti said, catching her hand and inspecting it closely. ‘As I suspected, as smooth as lake water and bright as gemstones. Now, as to taste—’ Then he leaned in to kiss the back of her hand.

  ‘Brasti?’ I said, a placid smile on my face.

  ‘Yes, Falcio?’ he asked, turning to give me one of those pouty, angry looks of his.

  ‘I was just thinking how long it’s been since we practised our feather-parries. Shall we get some work in tonight during first watch?’

  ‘Feather-parries? Why in hells
would I want to do that?’

  A feather-parry uses the back of the hand to deflect a blade. It’s sometimes necessary when your blade is already engaged, but it’s not pleasant – that’s why no one ever really wants to practise feather-parries. You come away with hands that sting for hours.

  I kept smiling. ‘Because it might save your life one day. Perhaps today, even.’

  Brasti let go of Trin’s hand.

  ‘Bowmen don’t practise feather-parries. We need our hands to have precision and control.’

  Trin looked at him quizzically. ‘But don’t swordsmen need the same qualities?’

  Brasti scoffed. ‘Them? Nah, it’s all just swinging and poking with swordsmen. Just “put the pointy end in the other fellow first” or whatever. An archer – now, an archer needs real skill.’

  I rolled my eyes at Kest. We’d heard this lecture many times before, but Trin hadn’t, so she stepped right into it.

  ‘Is it really so hard?’ she asked.

  ‘My dear, not one man in a hundred can be a proper archer. And not one in ten thousand can become a master.’

  ‘And you are one? A master archer, I mean?’

  Brasti smiled and contemplated the nails of his right hand. ‘One might fairly say so, I believe.’

  ‘One says so frequently,’ I observed.

  ‘But how did you become a master archer? Is it something you’re born with? Did you have a teacher?’

  ‘I did.’ He said the words as if they were full of secrets.

  ‘Well,’ Trin asked, ‘what was his name?’

  ‘No idea.’ Brasti looked solemn. ‘We never talked about it.’

  ‘You never talked about your own names? You studied archery from this man, but he never told you his name?’

  ‘It just never came up. I was poaching rabbits on the Duke’s land one day, barely old enough to be away from my mother’s skirts, and he just stepped out from behind a tree.’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘Tall – very tall. He had long grey hair down to his shoulders in what we call archer fashion.’