David Gemmell - Rigante 4 - Stormrider 1.0

by Stormrider [lit]

  Mulgrave gazed around the ruined building. One wall had been blasted away by cannon shell, and fire had raged through the whole house. Here, in the rear hall, there was still part of a ceiling, which allowed some shelter from the swirling snowstorm outside. A fire was blazing in the undamaged hearth.

  There were several chairs in the room. Mulgrave took one of these and reversed it, sitting down and resting his forearms on the high back. Gaise turned towards him. 'What kind of a fool would offer a duel at such a time?' he asked.

  Mulgrave shrugged. 'It is surprising, right enough,' he said. 'Did you call him a coward?'

  'You know me well enough, my friend. Does it seem likely?'

  Mulgrave shook his head. 'What did you say?'

  'I asked why he had not led his heavy cavalry into the battle. The enemy were retreating in bad order. One major charge and they would have been routed. Yet he did not make it. And so another battle ended in a stalemate.'

  'What did he reply?'

  'He said he would not take criticism from a glory-seeking popinjay,' answered Gaise. He smiled as he said it, his good humour flowing back. 'What on earth is a popinjay, Mulgrave?'

  'A brightly coloured bird from the southern continents, sir. And how did you respond?'

  'I pointed out that had my riders followed his example, and refrained from charging, the battle would have been lost.'

  'Ah, then you did - in a manner of speaking - suggest he lacked nerve.'

  'By heaven, Mulgrave, of course he lacks nerve. There's not an officer in the king's army who doesn't know that.'

  'Yet he had the nerve to challenge you.'

  'Aye, but not immediately. The challenge came the following day. We are due to meet on open ground at midday tomorrow. With pistols, if you please.'

  'You have chosen pistols, sir?' asked Mulgrave, surprised. 'I would have thought swords more . . . suitable.'

  'As would I. But his second informed me that Lord Person has an injured shoulder. He asked if I would object to pistols. It is all a nonsense,' said Gaise. 'Luden Macks will chuckle when he hears of it.' Gaise Macon drew up a chair, then dragged off his knee length riding boots. One of his socks boasted a huge hole, through which his toes could be seen. 'Popinjay, eh?' he said. 'By heaven, there are crofters back home with better clothes than mine.' He looked into Mulgrave's pale eyes. 'Will you be my second, my friend?'

  'Of course, sir. I would urge you, however, to avoid any gallant gestures.'

  'Such as what?'

  'Do not try to wound him. Take him through the heart.'

  Gaise sighed. 'I have no desire to kill him, Mulgrave.'

  'It is not your desire that concerns me, sir. A wounded man is still dangerous, and I would far sooner see him below the earth than you.' Mulgrave fell silent. Gaise tugged on his boots and returned to the fire, adding fuel.

  'Do you not find it puzzling, Mulgrave?' he asked.

  'What, sir?'

  'That a known coward should challenge me - and request pistols? Had it been swords I could have wounded him and honour might have been satisfied. Pistols are another matter entirely. As you can testify, my friend, even a shallow wound can corrupt and become mortal. Then there is the question of Winterbourne.'

  'Winter bourne?'

  'Aye, he is Person's second. Did I not mention that?'

  'No, sir. I did not realize that Lord Person was so closely connected to the Redeemers.'

  'Nor I - until now.'

  Mulgrave rose from his chair and crossed the ruined room to the shattered north wall. Snow was falling outside, and the wind was chill. The open land beyond was lit by hundreds of camp fires. Mulgrave shivered. He had seen too many of these camps in the last four years. He scratched at his white hair and moved away from the wind. Kneeling by the fire he added a log. Gaise was right, the duel made no sense. And why would a cold-blooded killer like Winterbourne befriend a coward like Person? Mulgrave turned the events over and over in his mind. If Person was so aggrieved why had he not instantly issued a challenge? Why wait a day? His thoughts swung to the Earl of Winterbourne. Mulgrave detested the man, regarding him with a deep and perfect loathing. The acts of Winterbourne's Redeemers were unspeakable. Worse, by being unpunished and unchecked, they were condoned by the king. Mulgrave hated killing, but at least he had believed he was fighting on the side of right. Not so now. In this war there was no balance between right and wrong, good and evil. Both sides had committed atrocities.

  'How is your shoulder now?' asked Gaise.

  'Healed, sir.'

  'That is good. I have missed you, Mulgrave. It is good to have you back.'

  Mulgrave stayed silent. He wanted to tell his friend that he would be leaving soon for the north, but now that the moment was upon him he could not find the words.

  An uneasy silence developed, and then Gaise spoke again. 'I think Winterbourne is behind the duel. I think he pressured Person into making the challenge.'

  'For what purpose, sir?'

  'I wish I knew. We do not see eye to eye on certain matters, but we both have the same objective, the defeat of Luden Macks and the Covenanters.'

  'You stood against him after Ballest, sir. You refused to hand over those villagers.'

  'Women and children, Mulgrave. They were not Covenanters. They were merely scavenging for food.'

  'I agree with you, sir, and it does you credit that you fed them. Winterbourne would have killed them all. We both know that.'

  'Aye, he is a hard, cruel man,' admitted Gaise. 'But that was a year ago and a small matter even then. He ought to have forgotten it by now.'

  'Perhaps he has, sir. Might be safer, though, to assume that he has not.'

  Gaise Macon chuckled. 'Were you always so suspicious of your fellow men, Mulgrave? Did you never learn the joys of forgiving and forgetting?'

  'Indeed I have, sir,' answered Mulgrave, with a smile. 'I knew a man once - a gentle man. He took it upon himself to help a former convict rebuild his life. He took the man in, gave him the freedom of his home.'

  'I can guess the end,' said Gaise. 'The convict killed him or robbed him.'

  'No, sir. The convict became a carpenter, and worked very hard. He even repaired the good man's roof. He did this for no payment, in gratitude for all that the man had done for him.'

  'Then what is the point of this story?' asked Gaise.

  'He wasn't a very good carpenter. One day the roof caved in and killed the good man.'

  Gaise Macon's laughter rang out. 'Now the moral of that story is worth debating. Another time, though. I must see if our supplies have arrived. Ride with me, Mulgrave.' Swinging his grey coat around his shoulders, he walked from the room.

  With a sigh Mulgrave followed him.

  Ice crunched under their horses' hooves as they negotiated the treacherous trail, their mounts slithering and sliding on the steep paths. Mulgrave's hands and feet were bitterly cold as he rode alongside the young general, and the winter wind stung like needles upon his face. It made him feel even colder to see that Gaise wore no gloves or hat, though his body was well protected by a long, sheepskin-lined cloak. Mulgrave glanced up at the sky. The snow clouds were clearing now, the stars shining brightly. It would grow colder yet before the dawn. His horse stumbled, then righted itself.

  Ahead was a small slope, leading down to where the Eldacre Company had made camp. Gaise led the way, allowing his grey gelding to pick its own path through the mud and the ice.

  A middle-aged soldier, wearing a hooded cloak, approached them and saluted. Gaise stepped down from the saddle and the soldier took hold of the grey's reins. 'Are the supplies in, Lanfer?' asked Gaise.

  'Aye, my lord,' replied Lanfer Gosten. 'Less than half of what was promised. Even on short rations there's not enough to last a week. Four wagons was all we got.'

  'Gather ten men and follow me to the quartermaster general,' ordered Gaise. Swinging into the saddle he touched heels to the grey and rode through the camp. Mulgrave followed, drawing alongside the angry youn
g man.

  'Are you planning something rash, sir?'

  Gaise said nothing for a moment. 'Did Ermal like my gift?' he asked suddenly.

  The question took Mulgrave by surprise. He recalled the little priest's delight at the bottle of apple brandy. They had sat on the last night staring at it, wondering how two whole apples could have been inserted through such a narrow neck. Then they had pulled the cork and filled their glasses. The liquor was sweet and warming.

  'He was most grateful, sir,' said Mulgrave, 'though perplexed.'

  Gaise grinned. 'As was I when first I saw them. Did he think magic was used?'

  'At first he did. But by the time we had finished the bottle he had an answer.'

  'What was it?'

  'He thought the bottle must have been tied to the branches of an apple tree, with twig and blossom inserted into the neck. The apples would have grown within the glass. After they were ripe the twig was snipped and the brandy added.'

  'The man is such a delight!' said Gaise happily. 'A fine mind.'

  'What do you intend to do when we reach the quartermaster?'

  'Find the wagons I paid for and see them delivered. I'll not have my men going hungry again. And not a word more about rashness, my friend. There is nothing you can say that I do not already know.'

  Mulgrave knew this was the truth. They had discussed the problem many times during the past year. The quartermaster general, a rich merchant named Cordley Lowen, had friends at court. Those friends were well paid by him from the huge profits he made from supplying food, gunpowder and weapons to the king's army. Not content with the fortune he was amassing from this - barely - legitimate enterprise Lowen was also engaged in reselling supplies to merchants from outlying towns: supplies already purchased by officers commanding private companies. The scandal was tolerated on two counts. First, Lowen shared his profits with the king's closest advisers. In addition, his list of contacts in the merchant community was second to none, which meant that Lowen could find supplies anywhere and at any time. A more honest quartermaster general would experience enormous difficulty supplying one tenth of the amount Lowen could provide. All of which made the man's position virtually unassailable.

  Once before the Eldacre Company had received smaller shipments than had been paid for. Gaise had sent Lanfer Gosten to investigate. The sergeant had returned frustrated and angry. Order forms had been misplaced, ledgers had apparently been lost, and no-one could find details of the original supply orders. Gaise had written to Cordley Lowen, and received no reply.

  Mulgrave rode on beside the silent Gaise Macon. It was after midnight now. The warehouses would probably be locked and guarded. There would be no stable hands or wagons ready.

  The small town was full of soldiers, many of them drunk. Food might be scarce, but liquor was still plentiful. Gaise and Mulgrave rode slowly along the cobbled streets, cutting through the old market square, and on towards the merchant district. Three soldiers staggered across the street, singing a bawdy marching song. Two women approached the soldiers from the shadows, drawing them towards a darkened doorway.

  The merchant district was quieter. Four musketeers stood guarding the warehouse gates. Gaise Macon rode past them, dismounting before a large terraced house, fronted with marble pillars. Trailing the grey's reins he called Mulgrave to him. 'High risk for high stakes, my friend,' he said. Taking a leather gauntlet from his saddle bag he tucked it into his belt.

  'High risks indeed,' said Mulgrave.

  Gaise smiled. 'Remain behind after I have seen Lowen. Speak to the man with comforting words. He will not want to die. He is a merchant, soft and spineless.'

  Mulgrave sighed. 'A merchant with many friends in high places.'

  Gaise Macon clapped him on the shoulder. 'It will all end well, Mulgrave,' he said. 'I will have my supplies.'

  He walked to the front door and rapped at the bronze knocker. Moments passed, and finally the door swung open, to reveal an elderly servant in a nightrobe, a heavy cloak wrapped around his shoulders. He was carrying a lantern.

  'What do you want?' he asked.

  Gaise moved past him, gesturing Mulgrave to follow. Then he walked into the darkened, circular reception room, removing his cloak and draping it over a gilded chair.

  'You can't come in here,' wailed the servant, holding aloft the lantern in a trembling hand. 'The general is asleep.'

  'Best you wake him,' said Gaise, softly. 'Or I shall.'

  'What is going on here?' came a woman's voice. Mulgrave swung round to see a dark-haired young woman coming down the curving staircase. She was wearing a robe of green velvet, but no shoes. She also carried a lit lantern, and even by its harsh and unflattering light Mulgrave could see that she was beautiful.

  Gaise bowed deeply. 'My apologies for disturbing your rest, my lady. But I have urgent business with the general.'

  'So urgent that it cannot wait for a civilized hour?' she responded, moving into the reception room and placing the lantern on a circular table.

  'Indeed so, my lady, for I have hungry men to feed; men who risk their lives daily for the king; men forced to sleep in squalid tents on cold ground.'

  'I think you should leave now and return in the morning,' she said, coldly.

  Gaise turned to the servant. 'Wake your master, or I shall do it myself.'

  'Did you not hear me?' demanded the woman. 'I asked you to leave.'

  Gaise ignored her and swung towards Mulgrave. 'Go and wake the general,' he ordered. Mulgrave took a deep breath and moved towards the stairs.

  'How dare you disobey me?' stormed the woman.

  'How dare I?' replied Gaise, his voice angry. 'I dare because I have earned the right to dare. I fight for the king. I risk my life alongside my men. Aye, and I have to pay for that right with my own coin. I have to do that so that doxies like you can wear velvet robes and live in fine, stolen houses.'

  Mulgrave winced as he heard the exchange, then started up the stairs.

  'Stop!' ordered the woman. Her tone was commanding and Mulgrave paused and glanced back. She turned to the servant. 'Broadley, go and wake the general. Then get dressed and fetch the captain of the guard.'

  'Yes, my lady,' said the old man. He scurried past Mulgrave without a glance.

  'What is your name?' the woman asked Gaise.

  'Gaise Macon, commander of the Eldacre Company.'

  'Well, Gaise Macon, I shall see you humbled for your rudeness. The king shall hear of this unwarranted invasion.'

  She moved away to the far wall, took a taper from a brass holder, lit it from her lantern, then walked to Mulgrave, who had descended the stairs. 'Be so good as to light more lanterns,' she told him. Mulgrave bowed, took the taper and obeyed her instructions, touching the flame to each of the five wall sconces. He glanced across at Gaise. The normally confident young general seemed ill at ease now, even nervous. Had the situation not been so fraught with future peril Mulgrave would have found it amusing. He had known Gaise Macon as both pupil and friend for almost six years. In that time he had been impressed by the young man's many skills; his confidence bordering on arrogance, and his endless good humour. But the one area in which the young general lacked all social skills came in the company of women. Mulgrave considered this to be a result of being raised by a widowed father. The boy had no sisters and no motherly influence. With women Gaise became either self-conscious, or, as in this case, haughty. How could he have called her a doxy, wondered Mulgrave? Would a whore or a courtesan have issued such orders? Cordley Lowen's wife was living in a luxurious palace far south in Varingas. This girl was obviously his daughter.

  With the lanterns lit Mulgrave stood silently by the far wall. Gaise Macon, studiously avoiding the beautiful girl in the green velvet robe, pretended to examine the many paintings on display. Ill at ease as he was he seemed much younger, his face boyish in the yellow light.

  A tall man appeared at the top of the stairs, and began to descend. His hair was fashionably long, grey shot with streaks of
black. His face was heavy set, the eyes deep beneath shaggy brows. He was fully dressed in black leggings and boots, and a braided red coat, with a general's yellow sash across it. As he reached the foot of the stairs he gestured to the woman. 'You may go to your room now, Cordelia,' he said. 'I shall deal with this.' His voice was firm, the tone cold, his anger barely suppressed.

  'Yes, Father,' she said, offering him a curtsey.

  Casting an angry glance at Gaise Macon she gathered the hem of her robe and climbed the stairs. Her departure brought a sense of relief to Mulgrave. It was also a tactical error from the quartermaster general. With the girl present Gaise would have remained uncertain, even defensive. Now Mulgrave could see the young man's confidence returning.

  'Your explanation for this intrusion had better be good,' said Cordley Lowen.

  'I am Gaise Macon, commander of the Eldacre Company.'

  'I know who you are, young man,' snapped Lowen. 'I have heard the name - and the ridiculous' nickname you have acquired. The Grey Ghost, is it not? What do you want?'

  'I like a man who speaks his mind, general,' said Gaise smoothly. 'It makes matters so much more simple. I paid you for ten wagons of supplies. I received four. Last month I paid for twelve and received seven. At twelve pounds in gold coin per wagon that makes one hundred and thirty-two pounds you owe me. Or eleven wagons of supplies. I will take either. And I will take either now.'