Arwhon knew a lot of the drivers and passengers in the passing wagons, as he had dealt with them while working with his father at the Trading house. News of Bryan’s death had already spread among the extended community in the hinterland around Trugor and Arwhon found himself growing tired of hearing people say how sorry they were. It wasn’t really their fault but every time he heard the condolences it brought another reminder of his father’s death and an accompanying pang of sorrow.
The first evening of his journey, ever mindful of his money, Arwhon paid a farmer he knew a few coppers to buy a little food for Tansy and himself. It was a meagre ration for both of them but adequate. As a bonus, probably because he was Bryan’s son, the farmer allowed Arwhon the use of his barn to sleep in.
That first night, with his backside reminding him of his day in the saddle, Arwhon sought sleep in the sweet smelling hay, listening to Tansy chomp her way through some of her bedding. He dreamt strange dreams involving fantastical flying beasts and dark formless figures which pursued him endlessly through bizarre landscapes as he tossed and turned in uneasy sleep.
The following morning, as Arwhon ate a cold breakfast of bread and cheese with the memory of those dreams still haunting his waking thoughts, he decided to leave the main highway and skirt around any villages he came across, travelling through the fields if necessary to keep out of sight and avoid meeting people on the road. He felt more comfortable being anonymous, although why it should be so was beyond his ken.
The second day of his journey passed without incident as Arwhon travelled narrow dirt lanes running parallel to the main road. That evening he cold camped in a small copse, tying Tansy to a tree with a long rope so she could graze. He had to rise twice to untangle her.
It was now Arwhon’s third day out from Trugor. Early in the morning, just as he left the shelter of the copse, the wind changed, swinging to the west, blowing straight inland from the Western Ocean bringing rain with it. The bright, clear blue above Arwhon rapidly disappeared behind a dull sheet of steely grey as the clouds built up, sailing ever further inland until the sky became overcast from the mountains to the sea. The temperature dropped and before long a steady, light rain began to fall.
After weeks of dry weather, moisture seemed to get in everywhere and Arwhon felt cold and damp under his cloak. The padding he wore beneath the heavy chain mail rubbed his upper body, particularly over those places bearing most of the weight of the rusting steel of the old hauberk. His skin already felt chafed and uncomfortable. By necessity he was now on foot, trudging through the sloppy mud, his stockings already wet inside his boots. Tansy, unfit from lack of use and feeling her years, twenty two of them at least, was not really in any condition for the long trip and had started to tire late this morning, slowing her pace and dropping her head. Arwhon, rather than risking lameness, had been forced to reduce her burden and move back to the less muddy main road, choosing to walk beside her for the last few hours.
Luckily, not many folk were abroad in the wet.
Tansy had improved somewhat without his weight aboard but much too slowly for his liking. Arwhon turned his head to inspect her load. His bedding roll, containing a few belongings and spare clothes, lay tied behind the cantle of the saddle while fully packed canvas saddle bags bulging with provisions, bulked below the bedroll on both sides. There really was no room to tie the bulky mail hauberk up there on top of the bedroll if he took it off, plus it would mean extra weight for Tansy to carry. Arwhon sighed and leaning forward into the light rain, holding his cloak tightly about his neck, plodded resignedly on. The old sword, pushed through a loop of his belt, swung awkwardly at his hip with each step, banging his leg more often than not.
To each side of the highway, rolling over mile after mile of the newly ploughed undulating farmland, recently sprouted wheat bowed before the blustery weather, its fine green feathering brushing the brown dirt. Arwhon could smell the rich loam on the probing wind as well as the aroma of composting dung and straw from the winter stock-barns used to fertilise it. Occasionally, when the rain let up for a short while, villages could be seen off in the far distance, smoke from their chimneys trailing on wayward currents of air. The light was starting to grow dimmer now as the day drew to a close and Arwhon realised he would soon need to find shelter. Looking up from the muddy, rutted road he gazed ahead and spotted a light, shining brightly through the dusk.
A beacon for a tired traveller.
Eyes straining through the gloaming, he now recognised exactly where he was. This was the farm of Artur Stimson who owned a considerable stretch of land both sides of the road and produced a lot of grain each year, along with some passable red wine. Artur had always Traded favourably with Arwhon’s father Bryan and was well disposed toward the Tsalk family. With any luck there would be a space in Stimson’s barn for him tonight.
Arwhon trudged into the empty yard and tied Tansy up to the hitching rail at a water trough near the well before stepping up onto the large porch and knocking on the farmhouse door. Voices could be heard inside before the door was thrown open by a huge bear of a man with a big red nose and a bushy salt and pepper beard.
“Who’s there at this time of the night? Step forward into the light. Careful like, I’ve got a cudgel.”
Arwhon shuffled forward.
“It’s me Artur, Arwhon nari Tsalk.”
The large man’s demeanour changed instantly and he stepped forward to peer closely at Arwhon before clasping him in a huge bear hug.
“Aye lad, it is you. Sorry to hear about yer father. Right strange goin’s on that were. What brings you ‘ere?”
“Er, I was hoping to shelter Tansy in your barn for the night and camp there with her if that’s alright with you.”
“You, camp in me barn. I’ll not hear o’ that. You’ll come dine wi’ us and sleep in a bed lad. It be the least I can do. Come, let’s get yer ‘orse settled first.”
They walked companionably over to Tansy who’d by now drunk her fill and Arwhon untied the reins to follow Artur over to the barn. Before the farmer could open the barn door they heard, off in the distance, the drumming sound of hard ridden horses drawing closer to Artur’s farm. As the riders approached, the dull muffled pounding of hooves on the muddy road grew louder. Artur looked visibly alarmed and thrust open the barn door, quickly ushering Arwhon and Tansy inside the barn.
“Stay in there and keep quiet, don’t come out ‘til I say.”
With that he pulled the door to and dropped the bar across it. Arwhon found a knothole to peer through. Just in time, as two riders appeared out of the gloaming and thundered into the farmer’s yard, cloaks flying behind them and skidded to a halt. One of the men, riding a big black mare was attired in grey pants and a rich blue jacket bearing a coat of arms, all beneath a blue cloak. The other man, more foppish looking, wore tight black pants under a loose fitting red overcoat. His black cloak settled onto the back of his large, dark grey horse as it came to a standstill.
It was he who spoke.
“You, farmer! In the name of the King. I’m looking for a young man with blond hair travelling east from Trugor. We were informed he would be on this road by now. Have you seen him?”
Artur stood stroking his voluminous beard for a moment while Arwhon held his breath, hand on Tansy’s nose to quiet her.
“Nah. Can’t say as I ‘ave. Bin nobut on the road. Baint the weather for travel.”
The Dandy looked annoyed.
“How far to the next village then?” he asked.
“Way you folk push yer ‘orses, ‘bout two hours,” replied the worthy farmer.
The man on the black mare cursed an oath and swung his horse around, kicking her soundly in the ribs. The Dandy grunted and heaved on the reins to wheel his horse around also but it balked and at that very moment, so it seemed to Arwhon, the big grey looked him straight in the eye, right through the knothole, before it turned and galloped off after the black. He heard the hoofbeats fading in the distance as Artur opened the barn door and c
ame to help him unsaddle Tansy and make her comfortable. The redoubtable farmer couldn’t contain himself as he automatically cleaned and checked her feet.
“In the name of the King be fucked. A jumped up girly Prince is all Jerome is. That whore’s son in Encarill will never be ‘alf the man his father was. Rickard, now there was a King to look to. Here, let’s get Tansy settled. You give ‘er a brush while I fetch ‘er some grain then we can go and get oursels a feed.”
After dinner, while Blessing, Artur’s wife, cleared the table and put oats in to soak for breakfast, Artur took the time to talk with Arwhon about a few of life’s basics, things he saw the lad wasn’t really aware of. He explained that wearing a sword meant you were prepared to use it and suggested that the old blade be wrapped in the pack behind the saddle until such times as the road became much less trodden and presented a real danger. The farmer also suggested Arwhon should keep wearing the uncomfortable mail though, as protection against any surprise or untoward attack. Artur had no idea who the men were who came looking for Arwhon but cautioned the lad to travel carefully and discretely, keeping out of sight whenever possible.
Early next morning the rain had diminished to showery, blustery weather and after profusely thanking Artur and his formidable wife yet again, Arwhon left them to continue on with his journey. Mounted now on a well fed and rested Tansy, he decided to take Artur’s advice and travel by the smaller lanes and byways running parallel to the main road wherever possible. It seemed more than sensible to keep out of sight and try to escape detection by possible pursuers. Although why anyone should want to pursue him, Arwhon had no idea but those two men who came looking for him last night had been informed of his movements by someone.
Somehow.
The previous evening’s event at Artur’s place set the trend for his eastward travel across Myseline as Arwhon headed toward Mehgrin’s Wall and the only pass through it into Cumbrisia. Each day, after a quick breakfast, Arwhon would ride or walk, leading Tansy until the late afternoon before casting about for a place to overnight. Pulling in to the yard of the first farmhouse he came to, he would offer to pay for a cheap meal and asked for shelter in the barn. If that didn’t work he would rough it and sleep out under a hedge or in a copse or sometimes an occasional haystack, eating a cold meal from his ever decreasing provisions before wrapping himself in his cloak and blanket and trying to sleep.
Arwhon had travelled with his father once on a buying trip but Bryan didn’t camp out very often, preferring to stay at inns along the way where he would conduct business with whomever and whenever the chance arose. In reality, Arwhon had never received instruction on the art of making camp and had no idea of how to set one up. As to constructing a rudimentary shelter……
For the next ten days, not a trace of blue was to be seen in the dreary, overcast sky which weighed more and more heavily on Arwhon’s spirits as the days passed. Farms were fewer in number now and more spread out, carved out of tracts of woodland. The main road ran for mile after mile through wooded country and as the smaller lanes had all but disappeared, Arwhon took to riding the highway again, figuring he could always pull over and hide under the trees if he heard hoofbeats. In these more sparsely populated areas, the farmers he met were less friendly and more taciturn than those living nearer the coast. None out here knew him and Arwhon was treated with suspicion and more often than not refused shelter in a farmer’s barn. As a result, he spent many nights out in the open, sheltering from the rain and drizzle however he could. The glamour of life on the road rapidly paled as his level of discomfort increased day by day.
After a particularly trying night, with heavy rain dripping right through the blanket he had strung up to shelter beneath and Tansy standing dejectedly with her head hung low, rear end turned to the biting westerly wind, Arwhon resolved to stay at an inn the next evening. Somewhere dry where both he and Tansy could rest comfortably.
That is, if one presented itself.
Around midday, with the hood of his cloak pulled up against the continual drizzle, Arwhon rode into a small village straddling the main road and stopped at its only store to enquire about lodgings for he and his horse. After he’d purchased a few small items the shopkeeper became less suspicious and more loquacious. Arwhon learned he was well past the half way mark to Durhain’s Pass and accommodation would be available for him and Tansy a few hours ride further east along the road he was on.
Bentwood, he was informed by the now chatty storekeeper, was built at a crossroads where the north-south road, between Encarill, five hundred miles to the south and Potswood, many miles to the north, was crossed by the highway heading from Trugor in the west up to Cumbrisia and places beyond. Arwhon’s path, the storekeeper said, lay straight ahead, up and over the mountains to the east. It would take him through Bentwood which was known to have a number of establishments catering for weary travellers. As he left the store, Arwhon thought to himself a bath would be welcome, and a fire to dry his clothes. Maybe even a feed of good grain for Tansy.
It would perk her up a bit.
Later, as the daylight finally died and Arwhon was starting to shiver from exhaustion and the pervading damp cold, the old horse and its young master plodded wearily over a rise and he spotted the town’s lights ahead, down in the valley.
Bentwood was home to three inns, all as different as could be. Unfortunately, the one Arwhon preferred was full to capacity with merchants from Encarill, come north up the King’s highway in the hope of buying food to sell at a profit when they returned. So, it was stay at the most expensive inn, ‘The Princely Spot’ or in a mouldy dive where rats fought over scraps on the taproom floor. The choice was obvious but the overnight price for he and his horse in the best inn was a small gold, more than Arwhon had spent in total since leaving Trugor. Still, both he and Tansy desperately needed to dry out and eat some nutritious food before a good night’s sleep, so there really was no choice.
Tansy was led away by a stablehand as Arwhon paid the innkeeper for his overnight stay and was then led upstairs by a clean and attractive, uniformed serving girl who ushered him into a large, brightly lit room with window glass and a small fire glowing in the hearth. The wood bucket was full and the furniture and hangings in the room spoke of the sort of luxury Arwhon had only heard about. The serving girl curtsied and left him with a coy smile.
Arwhon stood right where she left him, mouth agape, looking around the room, taking in its opulence and extravagance until a knock on the door broke his reverie. He opened it to find a middle age man in uniform carrying the bedroll and saddlebags unloaded from Tansy down in the stables.
“The evening meal begins at six, Sir. Or you may have it brought to your room. Behind that door over there in the corner is a private privy.”
The Houseman looked Arwhon up and down as he entered the room.
“Would you like a bath drawn?” he asked, before carefully placing Arwhon’s belongings in a tidy pile on a small area of bare floor near the door, wrinkling his nose slightly with distaste.
“Yes, a bath would be fine, thank you.” Arwhon replied.
He had never met this level of comfort and service before and did not quite know how to comport himself. He felt embarrassed about appearing in front of any of the other guests.
“Then I would like the evening meal in my room please,” he added.
“Very good, Sir. Beef or chicken?”
“Pardon”.
The Houseman smiled. “Would you like to eat beef or chicken, Sir?”
“Oh. Anything but fish is fine. You choose for me.”
“Very good Sir. We could also wash and dry your clothes for a small fee if you wish.”
Arwhon considered his response for a moment, thinking of the cost as he looked down his chainmail to the state of his trews and sniffed the air. It had been a while.
“Yes, thank you. You can take them when I bathe.”
The Houseman left the room with a smile on his face, amused at the eager but out of d
epth young man.
Obviously from the coast.
The bath was deep, hot and long. Arwhon washed his hair in real scented soap before stretching out and soaking for a while. He was the only patron in the bath house and found a measure of peace lying quietly stretched out in the tub as the steam rose from its surface. It contributed to a feeling of lassitude which a large and sumptuous meal, waiting for him in his room, went a long way toward completing. It turned out to be beef. Later, sated, Arwhon sat in a comfortable chair in front of the fire in his own room, dressed in his shabby, spare set of dry clothes. Slowly nodding off to the sound of rain on the roof, his eyes suddenly snapped open.
“What an inconsiderate adventurer I’ve been. I should have checked on Tansy ages ago,” he muttered to himself as he rose and took up his now dry cloak from in front of the fire and headed out of the door.
Although it wasn’t late, Arwhon had no desire to converse with strangers or even meet them, dressed as he was in his worn old working clothes, so, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, he crept silently down the back stairs of the inn to exit through a rear door into the courtyard. He saw no one as he made his way over the cobbled yard to the stables and let himself in.
It was warm inside, and dry. The sound of relaxed horses munching, their filled bellies rumbling, gave a sense of peace. Dim light coming from a lantern at the far end of the stables was bright enough to light his way as he walked down the aisle, checking the horse boxes each side for Tansy. As he passed one stall midway down the row, a strange tingling in his scalp made him look up. The large grey stallion in the box was in far too poor a condition for its size and obviously still growing. Although it was skinnier than it had been ten days ago, Arwhon recognised it as the horse the Dandy had ridden into Artur Stimson’s farmyard. He felt an unexplained pang of sorrow as he quickly turned away from it to continue his search for Tansy, finding her down near the end of the row. He let himself into her box and checked the feed bin. Evidence of a solid meal remained in its corners and fresh, sweet meadow hay hung, half eaten, in a net in the corner.
The Ring Of Truth Page 3