by Robert Adams
The finished footwear was fine by any standards. Soles were compounded of no less than four thicknesses of shaggy-bull hide, triple-stitched with heaviest sinew and sandwiching thick coatings of fish glue. She had even made provision for easily attaching the high, horn-sheathed wooden heels of her felt boots when she took to horseback in the spring.
The uppers, which came to midthigh, were of two thicknesses of soft, pliable deerskin, with a layer of her felt quilted between them. She had found in rechinking the walls a small leather bag containing a double handful of the discs of gold, silver and copper that dirtmen used in trading, and these, plus discs of horn and bone, had gone to decorate her new boots.
But boots were not all that she fashioned or improved upon that winter. By the time that the winter ice began to weaken, then crack apart to be swept downstream on the high-surging waters of the river, she was well clothed and equipped for however far she might have to travel to find her clan.
* * *
Following the receipt of a shattering message, and a hurriedly concluded conference with Duke Tcharlz — which had included some highly painful concessions, among them a document conferring full ownership of the transriverine cable and all its appurtenances to the Duchy of the East Bank (which was Tcharlz’s newest title for his holdings) — Duke Alex was allowed to make use of the cable barges to ferry his decimated and dispirited army back across the river to his own domain. For his lands were now threatened by a horde of prairie nomads, who had overrun three of his border forts and were presently playing merry hob in the croplands and raiding to within sight of the very walls of Traderstown.
* * *
Besides his guard of hard-faced cavalrymen, Duke Tcharlz brought with him to the citadel a large, fattened ox, a wagon-load of other eatables and a wain the sole lading of which was a full hogshead of splithead cider — a very potent variety of tipple, so called because of the aftereffects of imbibing too deeply of it.
After he had reviewed the garrison, the duke first praised them, then thanked them in blunt, simple terms for their help. Then, in view of every man jack of the assembled troops, he formally invested their captain to be the count of the city and of a broad swath of farmland and pastures and forests round about it. When the men had cheered themselves hoarse, they were dismissed to gather about the massive hogshead and the beer barrels, with empty but expectant jacks, cans and buckets. And Martuhn led his overlord up the stairs to his tower chambers.
While they awaited the serving of their meal, prepared by ducal cooks brought along for the purpose, and of course far more elaborate than the simple roast ox, cabbage and potatoes the garrison would soon enjoy, Martuhn described in detail the farcical investment of the citadel by the inept or unlucky Duke Alex.
The duke, draining off flagon after flagon of beer, was clearly in a rare good humor throughout, but at one point he threw back his leonine head and rocked the very stones of the tower with his deep laughter.
“So after burning up all their stores and a good part of that traitorous city, as well, your engineers threw your garbage, by the bushel, into the palace square? Ah, Martuhn, Martuhn, I’ve always said it, you’re a man after my own heart. Had I but an hundred like you, I’d be master of every acre from the Great River to the Eastern Sea.
“I’ve but just come from the palace, you know, stopped there on my way here from Pirates’ Folly. The court of the duchess is much reduced and she and they are no longer at all popular among the commoners and lesser gentry of the Upper Town. The palace itself is a bit charred in places; the north wing is mostly roofless and may have to be torn down entirely.
“I was cheered when I rode through the gates of that city up there, Martuhn; cheered, do you hear, by folk who’ve hated my guts for as long as I can recall!”
A smile flitted across the captain’s scarred face. “I know the feeling, your grace. For all the death and destruction and terrible suffering I hurled upon them, whilst Duke Alex the Feckless squatted with them, yet did they seem most fond of me when my guards and I visited the Upper Town yesterday.”
The duke just nodded. “And well they should, Martuhn. Your holding of this citadel gave them all a salutary, if painful, lesson. They learned just how spineless and fickle is their formerly esteemed duchess and just how little she really cares for them and their welfare. They also learned that, with friends and allies like Alex and his minions, they will never have need of enemies.
“They now love you because you were the first to fight against the man who quickly became their oppressor and exploiter. And it is well that love you they do, for you must rule over them for the rest of your life.”
He allowed Martuhn to refill his flagon yet again, then went on, flinging the beads of moisture from his drooping mustachios with a hard, browned hand, the back of which bore a fairly new scar, broad and jagged.
While the duke talked on of his own campaigns, both the southern one and the eminently successful guerrilla war he had waged in his own lands against Duke Alex’s cavalry — while the beasts still were war horses, rather than siege-beef — and in the swift, merciless raids on the supply trains, Martuhn noted to himself that his grace had seldom looked better.
Gone was any trace of surplus flesh at waist, hips, or jawline. Duke Tcharlz once more was the hard, weather-browned, intensely masculine fighting lord who had first hired Martuhn and his ragtag company on ten years agone. Gone were the dark half circles and pouches from under his eyes, and those eyes were once again clear and piercing; gone were most of the showy rings from fingers no longer chubby, but ridged with hard callus, with nails square-cut and neither buffed nor polished.
Moreover, it was obvious to Martuhn’s experienced eye that the duke still did not stick at risking his own skin, for the quillions of the plain, heavy saber he had hung on the sword rack before he sat down showed the nicks and dents of many a close and vicious combat.
At length, the duke said, “I saw her grace, of course. Most contrite, she would appear, and weighing less than she has in at least twenty years. Still plug ugly, of course — that’s one thing fasting can’t cure — but shapely enough now to look beddable.” He chuckled. “Being a man, I thought of it, naturally. I thought me of closing my eyes or of decently hiding that caricature of a face in a pillowcase or a bean sack. But all along I knew I’d not touch the bitch, for I want me no spawn out of such a graceless, demented creature. I’ll name one of my flock of bastards my heir, if it comes to that . . . but I’d rather leave my lands and cities and folk in better hands, in the hands of a man who thinks like me, a man of proven worth and valor and perception, a man of honor who will rule by love and respect, not by brutality and fear. And such men are an exceedingly rare breed. Martuhn, I thought me for long and long that I’d never find one of them.
“Is there any honey wine in this place, Martuhn? I’ve swilled me enough beer, for the nonce.
“Now, where was I? Oh, yes. How old are you, Martuhn, do you know?”
“The winter just past was my thirty-eighth, your grace.”
The duke frowned. “Hmmph, you look older than that, but you’ve no reason to lie, and you’ve led a harder life than do most men, that could account for it.
“Well, Martuhn, my boy, I’m old enough to be your father, more than, considering the tender age at which I started swiving serving maids, peasant girls and suchlike. Last winter was my fifty-fifth, and few are the men, even of our class, who see more than threescore winters.”
The first courses of the expertly prepared repast had long since been served, but the duke talked on between mouthfuls, motioning Martuhn to do likewise.
“Now, my boy, we two have soldiered together for the best part of ten years, and I think that I probably know you as well as I know myself. Furthermore, I’ve always held that a man should only be allowed to assume high rank or office when he is at least forty years old, with a sound mind and body, and no stranger to warfare, women, men and horses . . . not necessarily in that order, you understa
nd.” He grinned, then ripped most of the meat from a chop with his strong teeth and tossed the bone over his shoulder to his waiting wolfhound, who nabbed it in midair, crunched a couple of times, then swallowed and continued to sit, an expectant gleam in his yellowish-brown eyes.
“Now, true, my boy, we two differ in some small ways. For one thing, you’re far less lecherous than am I, but for all that, I know you’re no sodomite.” His eyes twinkled. “Oh, yes, my dear Martuhn, there are others who watch you when I cannot . . . and they all report back to me. So I know of the Lady Behti — fat as a lard sow or as my wife used to be, but most skilled, ’tis said, in some rather esoteric modes of mattress play.
“I know, too, of the black-haired Dohlohres, in Pahdookahport; talk about contrasting taste, man, she’s skinny as the scarecrows in the Upper Town. How is it that you never ruptured yourself on those protuberant bones, Martuhn?” He chuckled again.
Then all trace of humor flew from his voice and demeanor. “Martuhn. you’re a perceptive and a highly intelligent man, and I’ve not the slightest doubt that you know in advance just what I’ve been building up to these past few hours.”
Martuhn did know, he had read it all in the duke’s surface thoughts, and it had almost stunned him. “But my lord cannot mean to . . . but, your grace, I am so unworthy.”
The duke smiled again, this time most warmly. “Yes, my boy . . . my son, I mean precisely that. And I — whose word is law in these, our lands — I say that there is none more worthy from one end of the Great River to the other.”
The duke withdrew a flat leather case from his belt pouch and from it extracted a cigar. Piercing one end with the point of his tableknife, he dunked it into his brandy, then puffed it to life over the flame of a candle. Waving to disperse the thick cloud of bluish smoke, he added a few more words.
“Think on the matter, Martuhn. I believe we can spare a few weeks. Mehmfiz will not be bothering anyone until they get their own house back in order, and Alex will certainly have no idle hands with which to meddle in the affairs of others, not with western nomads over his borders. Things are winding down to normal again. Well talk this over at another time, but I wanted you to know my mind, my boy.”
In his mental confusion, Martuhn completely forgot to ask about the written evidence of full freedom for Nahseer or of a formal document of adoption of Bahb and Djoh Steevuhnz for himself. There was no time the next morning either, for the duke rose with the sun, quaffed a hurried stirrup cup and then thundered out the gate and across the bridge at the head of his horseguards.
* * *
“Son Martuhn,” began the letter that arrived ten days later, “you are reputed to have presently among your garrison three escaped slaves: a Zahrtohgahn castrate of some thirty-five years, one Nahseer Something-or-other; and two nomad boys, a twelve-year-old, Bahb Steevuhnz, and a ten-year-old, Djoh Steevuhnz. These three were the property of Urbahnos of Karaleenos, a merchant/factor of Pahdookahport, and they all escaped from him sometime last fall, partially burning my serai and lifting five horses, the property of a band of plains traders.
“Now, my boy, since informants assure me that the castrate Zahrtohgahn was once an officer of the Kaliphate and proved himself quite useful to our arms in the course of the late unpleasantness to the point at which you saw fit to rank him among your officers, I consider him to have earned his freedom and the attached document proclaims that fact to all the world hereabouts; this Nahseer is now his own man, or yours, if you so wish it. I respectfully advise that you keep him on and if his asking price is more than you can just now afford, I’ll be pleased to advance it to you.
“Despite their tender years, the minor boys are said to be superlative archers, known to have slain two, possibly three grown men during their escape and four after enlisting in our forces, so I would free them as well, save that their former master, this Urbahnos, has already done so. Furthermore, he has legally adopted both of them, the adoption (copies of the orders included herein) having been enacted by my sworn surrogate, His Honor Judge Baron Yzik Lapkin of Pahdookahport, shortly after Duke Alex’s precipitate withdrawal. Therefore, these boys must be returned to their adoptive father.
“The last document should not be taken seriously; it is included merely for your amusement, my boy.
“Insofar as the claims of the plains traders are concerned, Master Hwahruhn, their leader, is not pressing them very hard, so ignore them; I am so doing. Portuh and his losses are another dish of oats. Although I am his silent partner, at the times of his losses, you were unofficially his overlord; his taxes would have been paid to the county not the duchy, so I leave his claims to your capable hands to settle as you think best.
“In that comical fourth document, you will see that this Urbahnos — a sly and oily bastard if one was ever born! — lays claim to everything from a shirt of chain mail and a sword supposedly valued at ten pounds of silver — and, my dear Martuhn, you and I both know that there aren’t any three swords in the duchy worth that much, nor would any man arm a slave with such a prize! — down to and including the cotton drawers that this Nahseer was wearing on the night of the escape.
“I have instigated some preliminary investigations of this Ehleen. He’s too wealthy for my liking, but his tax records appear to be in order, and he will soon be sailing upriver back to his homeland. This is why it is imperative that the adopted boys be returned without undue delay, that they, his wife and the children of his loins may be ready to accompany him east.
“With a true paternal regard for your welfare,
“Tcharlz, Duke of the Duchy of the East Bank.”
And near the bottom of the last page, below the ornate, beribboned seal, “This by the hand of Ken Kohtz, Scribe to His Grace Duke Tcharlz.”
Among the documents was a folded square of extra-fine vellum, all of its folds and edges sealed with a layer of wax and in two or three areas impressed with the duke’s thumb ring. Inside, in Tcharlz’s own, sprawling script was a short note.
“As regards this adoption business, Martuhn, I too was suspicious at the first, but now I can see his reasoning. Although he has added no suffering price to his overlong list of claims against the Zahrtohgahn, the knowledge is fairly well disseminated that, ere he took his leave, this Nahseer overpowered Urbahnos, stripped him, bound him to a bed and had out both his stones, then packed the empty bag with glowing charcoal.
“Both his sons by his wife are puny, unsound little things, the eldest afflicted with the falling sickness, to boot. So, since he can never again sire sons, I suppose he feels that these nomad boys, already proven warriors, will carry the name of his house well and honorably.
“Baron Lapkin avers that the Ehleen provides well, if not lavishly, for his family. The baron also swears that Urbahnos is an honest businessman, but this statement I must take with a grain — nay, a double handful! — of salt, for I’ve never seen or even heard of an honest Ehleen.
“Tcharlz.”
When he had skimmed over the letter and the note and glanced through the various documents, Martuhn bade the messenger, one of Tcharlz’s bastards, Sir Huhmfree Gawlin, bide the night in the citadel and ride with his reply on the morrow. Then he sent for Wolf, Nahseer, Bahb and Djoh.
The duke’s next letter was shorter.
“Son Martuhn, your accusations against this Ehleen seem, on the evidence available to me, to be pure and unfounded libels. Baron Lapkin solemnly avows that Urbahnos of Karaleenos truly and deeply loves his wife and his children. Yes, before his maiming last fall, he was often seen in the brothel district of Pahdookahport, but I, for one, do not consider such peccadillos in any way reprehensible even in a married man, perhaps especially in a married man.
“The only man I have thus far found who supports even a portion of your allegations is one of the plains traders who captured the boys and sold them to Urbahnos, one Master Trader Hwahruhn. And even his testimony may be tainted more than a little by the fact that Urbahnos has filed a suit against this
Hwahruhn for a refund of the purchase price on some complicated legal ground understood by Judge Baron Lapkin, but certainly not by me.
“Martuhn, my dear boy, you know that I have great plans for you, for us and our duchy. You know that I deeply respect you, and therefore I would much dislike being compelled to order you to accede to my request. But I have many things to consider, and Baron Lapkin and his minions are at me night and day in regard to this matter of the nomad boys. Please send them to me or to him or directly to Urbahnos, that this troublesome baron will grant me a few days of peace.
“No, there is no legal way — and here I am bound by my own laws, states the judge baron — in which I may set aside the Ehleen’s adoption of the boys in favor of your own. I would that all this turmoil could be so easily settled. You are yet a young man, with all your parts still in place and in good working order, I presume, so you can sire your own heirs on women of good bloodstock. You can rear them to be as brave, as honorable and as dutiful to superiors as are you, my boy.
“Paternally, Tcharlz.”
Martuhn put down the letter and sighed gustily.
Young Sir Huhmfree asked politely, “Will it take my lord count long to draft an answer this time? I would doubt that his grace expects me back much before tomorrow, so my lord need not make haste.”
Martuhn had heard much of Sir Huhmfree’s previous visit to the garrison’s officers’ mess. This particular ducal bastard was said to be affable, to hold his liquor well and to be possessed of a good singing voice and skill on several musical instruments, so he had a host of admirers among the younger officers.
He forced a half-smile. “My hospitality and that of my officers is always yours for the asking, young sir. Stay you the night, if you wish. But my answer in the morning will be verbal and no whit different than what I now say.
“Pray inform his grace that my answer to this letter and the reasons therefor are contained in my letter replying to his first one. Pray inform his grace, also, that although I truly respect and honor him in all ways, I have come to love these sturdy little boys as sons and I shall willingly forsake all that I might ever possess, sacrifice anything to which I may ever aspire, rather than accede to the delivery of Bahb and Djoh Steevuhnz to a man who will subject them to lives of pain and shameful degradation.”