by Robert Adams
“Leave them here, Martuhn, in this fortress, and if you’re still worried that I may be acting in bad faith, leave Wolf or Nahseer to guard them. I’m no mean swordsman myself, but I’d think twice before I drew steel to go against either of those two.”
* * *
Arrived back at Pirates’ Folly, Tcharlz threw himself into a whirl of activities. Ensconced in his private office, he kept messengers scurrying in and out, while five or six scribes hunched over their portable tables, trying hard to keep up with his staccato dictations of messages, and the chief scribe sat at another table with a goodly supply of melted sealing wax, ribbons and the weighty ducal seal.
Noblemen, gentry officers and their retainers only just sent home upon Duke Alex’s precipitate cessation of hostilities and withdrawal to his own, now hotly embattled lands needs must be recalled with haste; supplies and transport must be arranged for; small, speedy ships must be dispatched up both rivers to try to seek out unemployed mercenaries (if, with a civil war in Mehmfiz and another war building up between the traditional rivals, Ehvinzburk and Tehrawt, there were any to be found, at any price).
He knew that he also must find time to arrange a meeting with the council of merchants and the council of shipowners. For to pay whatever mercenaries his agents might scrape up, he would have to float a loan on next year’s taxes, and he well knew that those two packs of skinflints were the only ones who could quickly raise the sum he had in mind. But he did not relish the thought of asking the rich, supercilious commoner-bastards and arrogant foreigners for anything; he had avoided doing so in the campaigns against Mehmfiz and Traderstown, but this new calamity found a treasury virtually drained of fluid resources.
Such was Tcharlz’s dislike of what he knew he must do that he briefly flirted with the idea — actually, it was his prerogative to do so, if in his opinion (and who else’s?) the good of the duchy required so radical a step being taken — of marching into Pahdookahport with all the armed men he could quickly gather and seizing the members of the two councils. Then he could either squeeze the monies out of them with threats of torture, mutilation and death, or hold them for ransom to be scraped up by their peers.
But that would be killing the goose, he reflected; the last river lord who had tried that stratagem had gotten every ounce of gold that he needed for that particular project, but while he was otherwise engaged, the merchants and shipowners had loaded their families and portable possessions onto their ships and set sail for healthier ports. Some of his Pahdookahport shippers and merchants were, in fact, a portion of that very exodus.
If he could only lay hands to as little as a hundred pounds of gold . . . But the duchy was bled white, legally, and this distasteful business seemed the only way.
The merchants’ council was the first group to come to the castle, and, although their rates were as steep as he had known that they would be, they Seemed to know just how far they could push him and did not venture beyond that point; and, save one, all were in favor of extending the duke the sizable loan. The one dissenter was Urbahnos, the self-styled “Lord,” though the man held no title that any ruler along the Ohyoh River would recognize and honor.
The duke wondered if it was his imagination working upon the open secret of the Ehleen’s terrible mutilation that made him think to hear a higher tone to the unfortunate man’s voice.
“Your grace is quick to come to us when he needs assistance — and very expensive assistance at that — but when is he willing to assist us, eh?”
Old Gaib Fai, senior of the council in age, wealth and standing, spoke in his usual whining voice, constantly rubbing together hands that looked as fleshless as the feet of a bird. “Urbahnos, yer outa place to tawk to the duke lak thet. Duke Tcharlz, he’s allus bin a good’un, not oncet has he evun thawt ’bout doing suthin’ to his honest, law-’biding merchants and factors and shippers, lak a puling pocket-king I kin recawl done to me and sum others, oncet.”
Urbahnos’ lips twisted in a mirthless smile. “I’d lay long odds, old man, that Duke Tcharlz has, indeed, thought about doing that very thing . . . and more than once; but he knows better than to commit Such a folly.
“No, the only nomads who interest me are my two dear little adopted sons, illegally held for many long months by the infamous Count Martuhn at the citadel in Twocityport Baron Lapkin himself pled my case before your grace many weeks past, and your grace at that time did promise the return of my two sweet sons — although your grace refused to force this ducal officer to pay blood price for my two valued and loyal retainers slain by this officer’s troops; nor would your grace even make the effort to bring to justice my escaped slave, Nahseer — a ruthless, sadistic and highly dangerous man, who injured and robbed me before escaping.
“As for those nomads across the river, I have no fear of them for I am leaving Pahdookahport immediately your grace makes good his sworn word and returns to my loving arms my two small sons, Bahb and Djoh. My house is sold, and my animals, slaves and bulkier effects, but I refuse to be a party to this loan, not to a single bent copper of it. Do you all hear? This trouble is not my affair and I’ll not be involved in it.”
Tcharlz inwardly squirmed for a few moments, then the perfect solution to the problem occurred to him. “Master Urbahnos, I have expended time and resources in attempting to obtain those boys for you, as I promised you I would; I still would be so engaged, had not this nomad threat arisen, so do not try to throw the lie in my teeth, Ehleen.
“Count Martuhn is a very stubborn man — every bit as stubborn as am I — and it is his desire to adopt those boys himself, nor does he trust you. He thinks that your plan is to get the boys out of my sphere of influence and then sell them as slaves. Do you have this intent, Master Urbahnos?”
Dark blood suffused the Ehleen’s features and his black eyes blazed with what appeared to be anger. “Of course not, your grace! The concept is outrageous, ridiculous. I . . . I . . .”
“If you’ll hold your temper and your tongue for a few moments, Master Urbahnos,” Tcharlz admonished, “I’ll tell you and these other men — in strictest confidence, understand; if one word of it comes back to me from whatever source, my operatives will surely trace it back and excise the loose, flapping tongue — of how you may lay hands on the nomad boys.
“In all legal matters, masters, possession is now and has always been nine-tenths of the law, which is why I had to resort to using diplomacy against Count Martuhn. But if you, Master Urbahnos, were in possession of the boys and a-ship for points east . . . d’you get my drift?”
“I should just ride a coach into that citadel, I suppose, big as brass, and say, ‘Lord count, I have come for my sons.’ Is that it, your grace? Fagh, the man would let that savage, Nahseer, kill me . . . if he did not do it himself!” Urbahnos answered hotly.
Tcharlz shook his head patiently. “Within ten days — less than that, I hope — both I and Count Martuhn will be on the other side of the river and neither of us will be able to return quickly; the boys will be alone in the citadel with a bare handful of guards, if that. Hire you some tough men, ride to Twocityport and retake what is legally yours, man. That’s what I’d do, in your boots.”
* * *
The next day, as he was on his way to his conference with the council of shipowners, a few of whom were also on the council of merchants, he was approached by one of his host of bastards, Sir Huhmfree Gawlin, and three other gentlemen.
“Huhmfree, lad!” Grinning, he clasped the young man’s hand in his own big paw and clapped him on the back affectionately. “Have you, then, raised your lances so soon? Now, here’s an obedient subject for you, gentlemen — never one to dawdle when his duty calls.”
“Your grace,” said Huhmfree, “my force and I shall be in the appointed place at the appointed hour. However, these gentlemen and I, we have a matter most urgent which we must discuss with your grace . . . in private, if it be your pleasure.”
The duke frowned, then shook his head vehemently. �
�However important or urgent, Huhmfree, it will just have to wait until I’ve driven off those damned Horseclanners, over the river yonder. At this very moment, in fact, I’m due to grovel before a pack of commoner swine for a few pounds of gold to buy me troops and horses and supplies.”
“Your grace . . . Tcharlee?” The eldest of the group of gentlemen, a venerable, white-haired and -bearded figure with the still-erect bearing, the movements and the stance of an old soldier, stepped from the knot and extended a veined and bony hand to touch the duke’s arm.
His every feature radiating true and unabashed pleasure, the duke half turned to embrace the ancient warmly. “My steel, but it’s good to clap my eyes on you again, Uncle Peetu. You frequent my court far too seldom, in recent years, and I find myself often yearning for the sight of you, for the sound of your voice.”
“You know why I am so infrequently in public, Tcharlee . . . ah, your grace,” answered the old man softly, his faded-blue eyes misting slightly.
Tcharlz nodded once, stiffly; his lips became a thin line. “And you know that I, that we all, grieve with you, uncle, though perhaps not so broodingly as you. Were you ever able to determine just what happened, what was the exact fate of your granddaughter?”
The aged man nodded his grim-faced head, his eyes hard and frosty as arctic ice. “I but recently learned, thanks to Sir Huhmfree’s invaluable assistance, who bore sweet Mahrtha away, to where and at what powerful man’s order, and I learned how and by whose hand she was murdered. I come to you seeking justice, Tcharlee, although were I a younger man or were my sons still living, I’d handle the matter myself.”
The duke pursed his lips. “Is this the matter of great urgency of which Huhmfree spoke, uncle?”
“A part of it, Tcharlee,” replied the old man.
“Well, then, I’ll just have to make the time,” stated the duke baldly. Turning to his chamberlain, he ordered, “Sir Rahdjuh, have a keg of the dark beer and a few decanters of brandy — my private stock, mind you, man — taken to the shipowners and make your apology that I keep them waiting. Don’t go into any details with them . . . affairs of state, et cetera; you know it all, man, you’ve alibied me often enough.”
“But, your grace . . .” the chamberlain began, until a curt gesture of the duke’s hand cut him off.
“Not a word. Sir Rahdjuh! I feel the press of time as keenly as do you, but here’s a man I cannot deny. Before you were born, was Sir Peetuh Bohwlz risking his life and truly beggaring himself to help me consolidate lands and power. His five brave sons died while fighting under my banner, and his daughter’s husband suffered such grievous wounds that he has not walked again in thirty years.
“But never has Sir Peetuh been willing to accept a single acre or one ounce of silver from me in return for all his and his house’s sacrifices. Now he comes asking an hour or so of my time. How can I refuse him, Sir Rahdjuh?”
“But, your grace . . .”
“I said, not one word. Sir Rahdjuh. I have given you a task to perform elsewhere. Do your duty, sirrah!”
The chamberlain knew better than to argue with his master when his voice acquired such a tone.
* * *
As soon as most of the foot soldiers had been called up and assembled in and around Twocityport, Martuhn scraped together enough mounts, of a sort, to place almost a hundred of his own mercenary infantry in saddles and sent them into the countryside by squads, each in command of a veteran officer or sergeant or, at least, a corporal. Their task to flush out any sound, sturdy beggars or vagabonds and bring them back for impressment into the ranks, to recruit among the uncommitted farmers and villagers and to chivvy along supplies due but not yet delivered to the marshaling point.
Because the heavy horse was to embark first, Martuhn kept his infantry units camped at a short distance from the city, leaving the closer campgrounds vacant for the imminent arrival of the cavalry, the only exceptions being his own company, the garrison archers and crossbowmen and the citadel engineers, whom he suffered to remain in the citadel.
Tirelessly, he threw himself and his staff into the tasks of organizing the minutiae of the call-up and movement of above ten thousand warm bodies; inspecting weapons and equipment and repairing or replacing, where necessary; sending home any who chanced to be seriously ill or diseased, especially if their ills were of a contagious nature; ruling upon the pleas for exemption, and these were many for many of these men were but bare weeks returned home from the last campaign when summoned again; receiving and inspecting supply shipments, then apportioning them, marking them for the various units and for their shipping times.
Whenever he was not in the citadel courtyard, which was now become a supply dump, or in one or another of the far-flung camps, he could be found on the cable docks, attending to the embarkment of supplies, remounts and replacements for the lancers and dragoons of Duke Tcharlz’s force already engaged against the nomads . . . and suffering as badly as had the men of Duke Alex, if the steady stream of casualties said anything. Nor was this intelligence unknown or unnoticed by the marshaled troops; desertions or attempted desertions rose afresh with each arrival of a bargeload of maimed, mutilated and demoralized lancers and dragoons from the fierce fighting on the west bank.
All that Martuhn could do was to order larger and stronger camp-security details posted on a twenty-four-hour basis and to supplement them with roving patrols of mule-mounted men from his own company of professionals. That, and hope that Duke Tcharlz and his heavy horse arrived on time or, best of all, ahead of schedule, that he might the quicker embark his foot.
* * *
The “hour” was now approaching three hours, since Tcharlz had closeted himself with Sir Peetuh, Sir Huhmfree and the other gentlemen of their entourage. He had pored over the entire “testimony” of the madam, Yohahna, twice and then reread portions a third time. The chamberlain had intruded three times; he was ordered out twice, and the third time Tcharlz had thrown his belt dagger at him.
Finally, he slumped back in his chair. “Uncle, Huhmfree, gentlemen, had you or anyone else lodged such charges against some of these men, unsupported, I’d have adjudged you madmen. But how to discount such lengthy and detailed testimony . . . ?”
“I am only sorry that there is no way I can be around to see these malefactors dragged here to Pirates’ Folly and fitted with fetters and lodged on the lower levels to contemplate until they can be brought to trial. The witness, this female monster, she still lives?”
Sir Huhmfree answered, “Oh, yes, your grace, we . . . I . . . have taken exceeding care in her regard. Those nursing and guarding her are all my good and unceasingly faithful folk.”
“Beware she doesn’t bribe them, boy,” growled Tcharlz. “After all in which she and these other scoundrels have been involved over the years — and not one single cent of taxes paid to me out of their nefarious enterprises, I’ll wager you! — she must be richer than Duke Alex, over yonder.”
Sir Huhmfree smiled like a cat with a mouse between his paws. “She already tried that, your grace, and the folk she would’ve bribed came directly to me. I bade them behave with her as if she’d bought them, but to demand at least a part of the bribe in advance. They did my bidding, and thus I was able to get my hands’ on her hidden store of gold . . . all of it. And that, your grace, is how I have, this day, delivered to Sir Shawn Bailee, your treasurer, two hundred and six pounds of pure gold, about half in the form of various coin, the rest in two-, three- or five-pound sandmold bars.”
At this, Duke Tcharlz beamed beatifically on his bastard, Sir Peetuh and the others. “Sir Rahdjuh!” he roared. “I know damned well you’re out there. To me, immediately!”
When the chamberlain had edged warily into the room (he knew that the duke did not have another dagger, but all five of these knights had at least one), Tcharlz, appearing to be in a rare good humor, told him, “Chase those parsimonious, beer- and brandy-swilling swine of shipowners out of the castle. We no longer need them or their l
ousy monies.
“Wait, before you do that, send me my chief scribe; tell him to bring two more scribes, wax, ribbons and the seal. I’ll be issuing some arrest warrants for immediate service, so have Baron Hahrvee Sheeld stand by, and alert Master Kahks, down belowstairs, that we’ll need a good dozen of his lowest, dankest, slimiest cells, plus that many sets of the heaviest fetters to be fitted and riveted.”
The chamberlain nodded, rapidly making notes as the orders were given. Then he looked up and asked, “Your grace, if you will be issuing warrants, perhaps Baron Lapkin might be of an assistance? He has just ridden up from Pahdookahport and now waits in the anteroom of your audience chamber.”
At his words, the chamberlain was deeply shocked to hear a snarled string of foul curses and epithets issue from the aged lips of Sir Peetuh Bohwlz, from whom he never could recall having heard a single harsh or off-color word.
Softly, but firmly, Tcharlz said, “Hold your place, and your temper, just a bit longer, Uncle Peetuh. You’ll have every last gram of your vengeance soon enough. But this is a duchy of law and things must be done legally.
“Sir Rahdjuh, courteously request that the learned and most honorable Baron Lapkin join us . . . oh, and I’ll have six of my foot guards outside the door to this chamber, at once.”
Baron Sir Yzik Lapkin, ducal deputy for, and high judge of, the city and environs of Pahdookahport, strode solemnly into the small chamber. When he removed his flat cap of plum velvet and cloth-of-gold, his bald scalp reflected the light of the lamps as fully as did his exposed teeth and dark eyes.
Bobbing the shortest bow permissible, he nodded, “Your grace.” Then his smile, which at no time went beyond his mouth, was turned toward the others. “Ah, young Sir Huhmfree and . . . why, my word, is it truly you then. Sir Peetuh? Why, I’ve not seen you in . . . How long is it? Years, anyway. We two old ones should get together more often, you know.