The Dog of the North

by Tim Stretton

  ‘Now, let us begin: Lord Guigot, which parts of the body are most important to a swordsman?’

  ‘The head and the feet, sir. The feet must be nimble and the head still. All else follows from this.’

  ‘Good, you remember the lesson. Today we are moving on to the rapier, where the Dictum of Head and Feet is most important of all. Lord Oricien, why do we learn the rapier when the broadsword is the weapon of war?’

  Oricien furrowed his brow and looked at the ground before his eyes brightened.

  ‘The rapier is the gentleman’s weapon, sir. We use it for duels and other contests of honour.’

  ‘In addition,’ said Arren, ‘if the rapier requires the most skill to master, other weapons will be simpler to learn.’

  ‘Excellent, Arren. You and Oricien will fight first today. Oricien and Guigot must cool their resentments awhile.’

  Guigot leaned against the wall and scowled. ‘Why can Arren fight and I must watch? I am of higher birth than Arren and it is imperative that I learn immediate mastery of the gentleman’s weapon.’

  ‘Again, Lord Guigot, your sentiments do you no credit. All of you are taught alike, and Arren receives a gentleman’s education as much as you. In addition, you can learn a great deal from observation.’

  With that, Sir Langlan tossed Arren and Oricien wooden rapiers and made occasional comments as they lunged at each other. ‘Arren, move your feet! You are a sitting target. Oricien, you must do more than parry!’

  Arren surged forward with abandon, and Oricien was forced to give ground. But as he moved in to touch Oricien on the chest, he found his quarry gone, and felt a tap at his own ribs.

  ‘Excellent, Oricien!’ called Sir Langlan. ‘Arren, you move only in a straight line. By using his feet, Oricien is able to step aside and in a single movement catch you. Why? Because your movements are predictable. Again, this time with Lord Guigot.’

  Guigot presented Arren with a different challenge. He leaped into the attack from the outset, arms flailing and feet stamping. A year older and taller than Arren, his longer reach also presented problems. It was all Arren could do to keep him at bay.

  The Dictum of Head and Feet, thought Arren. Guigot’s feet may be moving, but so is his head. Arren essayed a sidestep as Oricien had done. Guigot continued his lunge, and as he attempted to pull back, overbalanced and fell to the ground. Arren placed his foot on Guigot’s chest and his wooden rapier at his throat. ‘You must yield, Lord Guigot.’

  Guigot rolled aside and jumped up. He brushed the mud from his breeches with a disdainful hand. ‘You were lucky that I fell over, boy.’

  Sir Langlan said: ‘On the contrary, Lord Guigot. Your head moved in circles. It is no wonder your balance is questionable. Arren showed a modicum of foot movement, and this was sufficient to topple you.’

  Guigot scowled back at Sir Langlan and spat in the mud.

  ‘Allow me to observe, Lord Guigot, that you exhibit a belligerent disposition. I am not Viator Sleech, to explain how this blocks your path to Harmony: but as your combat instructor, I will observe that those of contentious dispositions are more likely to find themselves duelling than those of milder temper. You, more than others, should therefore take care to ensure that your swordplay is beyond reproach.’

  4

  Once their lesson had finished, Siedra joined the boys, carrying herself with fastidious precision. Guigot was still sullen and uncommunicative, although Sir Langlan observed that his head had become more stable.

  ‘Tonight we have a rare experience ahead,’ said Sir Langlan as Arren looked on in anticipation. The knight was elegant in mustard pantaloons and shirt offset by a red cloak, his neat blond beard trimmed and perfumed. ‘We shall be visiting a tavern, which should in itself prove educational, even before we take into account the display of the wondrous Illara.’

  Arren was not convinced that Lord Thaume would view a visit to a bawdy tavern with approbation. He himself harboured no such concerns, and he ran on ahead with the others to reach the tavern in good time.

  There were three taverns in Croad, and Arren wondered why Sir Langlan chose to take them to The Hanged Raider, which was not regarded as the best of them. As Sir Langlan pushed through the door, Arren looked into the gloom within while his nostrils recoiled from the sour smell of spirits.

  ‘Oh!’ cried Siedra. ‘Why have we come here? The room smells poorly and there are rogues within.’

  Guigot grinned. Oricien looked around with no obvious emotion.

  ‘Sir Langlan!’ said Bardo, the innkeep. ‘Your custom is always welcome, particularly when you bring in new patrons. Beer for you, is it?’

  ‘A long pint for me, small beer for the lady and gentlemen. Their palates require a little coarsening. We are not too late for Illara, I hope?’

  Bardo poured the mugs of beer. ‘Just in time, as it happens. She is loosening up out the back.’

  ‘Is “loosening” the right word, Bardo?’ said Sir Langlan, taking a long pull of his beer. ‘Bring me a jug to top this up over to the corner table, and a jug of small beer too.’

  Sir Langlan moved over to the corner table with a smooth motion, nodding and exchanging a few words with the other patrons as he did so. Arren could hear whispering as they walked past ‘—young Lord Oricien—’ ‘—would Lord Thaume say—?’ ‘—should know how his people live—’

  Once in the gloom of the corner, attention soon left them. The table had an undefined stickiness and Arren was glad the dark precluded closer inspection. After a few minutes his nose became accustomed to the smells of the tavern. The ‘small beer’ tasted foul, however, and he made note never to move on to ‘large beer’. Siedra had fastidiously set her mug aside after a single sip, while Guigot grimaced as he quaffed his mug in two gulps. ‘Trenchant!’ he announced. Oricien sipped his beer with visible distaste, but continued to drink it nonetheless.

  Shortly after, Bardo scrambled on top of the bar: not a straightforward procedure, since he was not a lithe figure. ‘May I have your attention please!’ he called. ‘I may say, without exaggeration, “lords, ladies and gentlemen”, since we have all in attendance in addition to our normal clientele. Tonight I am honoured to present a remarkable spectacle for your delectation – one indeed suitable to set before any lord or lady of the city, or indeed King Arren himself!’

  Arren felt himself an expert on the King’s tastes by virtue of their shared name, and was sceptical that the venue would be likely to earn the King’s favour.

  ‘I set before you,’ continued Bardo, inching dangerously close to the edge of the bar, ‘Illara and her Dancing Bravos!’

  Applause met the announcement, and even stamping on the boards from one corner of the room. From a room in the back of the tavern, four men in black pantaloons, loose white shirts and red sashes issued forth. Rapiers hung at their waists. These could only be the ‘Dancing Bravos’. Then, after a suitable pause, appeared a woman in similar attire, although somewhat tighter at the haunch, waist and breast. Her red hair was confined in a fillet on top of her head. The hooting that went up from the crowd confirmed that this was Illara. Guigot attempted a wolf-whistle, but emitted only a squeak.

  From beside the bar a musician began a jig on the fanfarillo. The Dancing Bravos pulled their rapiers from their sheaths and began to swirl them in complex patterns: Illara herself waved her arms and swayed in a dreamy rhythm. Imperceptibly she moved in towards the swords, seemingly oblivious. Arren became concerned that she might be endangering herself, but as he opened his mouth to call a warning, Oricien nudged him in the ribs. ‘It’s part of the act,’ he hissed.

  Soon Illara was leaping with abandon as the swords crisscrossed above, behind, below. How could anyone move with such precision? wondered Arren.

  Faster and faster the fanfarillo played; faster and faster the rapiers whirled, and closer and closer to the leaping Illara. Then the music began to slow; Illara too slowed to match the rhythm. Eventually the fanfarillo ceased altogether. Illara came to a h
alt, bowed low to the ground, and threw her arms wide to the audience.

  The crowd burst into applause, whistles and bellows of approval. Arren noticed that Sir Langlan raised his mug high towards Illara before tossing back its contents. Illara bowed again – seemingly directly to Sir Langlan – before skipping from the room, followed by the Dancing Bravos.

  ‘Well, my lads – and Lady Siedra – what did you make of that?’ asked Sir Langlan with a beam.

  ‘Most decorative,’ exclaimed Guigot with a leer. ‘When I am older I shall take a lady like Illara as my mistress.’

  Sir Langlan raised his eyebrows. ‘You are young for such thoughts,’ he said eventually. ‘In truth Illara would be a poor consort for one of your pedigree.’

  ‘You appeared to take great pleasure in her performance,’ said Guigot.

  ‘I would not recommend you to follow my conduct or morals. Oricien, Arren, I would hope your observations are more elevated.’

  Oricien rubbed his chin in a gesture reminiscent of his father. ‘I enjoyed the music of the fanfarillo,’ he said. ‘The dance was also exciting. I will recommend to my father that she be invited to play in his hall.’

  Sir Langlan paused in refilling his mug. ‘I am not sure the entertainment is entirely to Lord Thaume’s approval. He is a broad-minded man, but Lady Jilka is less flexible. But come now, we have seen enough for the evening, and I must return you to Mistress Eulalia or risk her tongue.’

  ‘No! Let us stay a little longer,’ said Siedra. ‘I am not sure of Illara’s breeding but the dancing was surely worth our attention – and look, she is returning for an encore.’

  ‘We have seen enough for tonight. We have all enjoyed the performance and there will be much to discuss at tomorrow’s lesson for the young gentlemen.’

  Guigot chuckled.

  Siedra narrowed her eyes. ‘I doubt that my father has given his consent to our excursion.’ Her eyes reflected the light from the wall sconces. ‘Were he to learn that you had taken us to a low tavern, drunk copious beer and even forced it upon us, it would surely go ill with you, Sir Langlan. I think we will stay to watch Illara’s encore.’

  Sir Langlan’s mouth gaped like a fish. He waved a hand in dismissal. ‘As you will, Lady Siedra. Do not blame me if the encore is not to your liking.’

  Siedra sat back, her arms folded in satisfaction, and tossed her hair. Illara once again gyrated to an air from the fanfarillo, this time in slower measure. To Arren’s amazement she divested herself of her sash, then pulled at her belt, causing her pantaloons to fall away; before pulling her shirt back and thrusting her chest out.

  Illara was in her underclothes, although they did not closely resemble the ones Arren had seen on his sisters. Releasing her hair from its fillet, and holding out her arms, she advanced towards Sir Langlan, soon to sit in his lap, before removing her final garments with a dextrous gesture.

  Arren was at once thrilled and horrified. He turned his head away while continuing to peer out of the corner of his eye. Guigot scurried under the table as Illara reached forward to stroke his cheek. Oricien sat rapt, staring at Illara’s breasts, less than a foot in front of him.

  Laughing, Illara sprang to her feet and drifted to another table. Siedra shrieked ‘Harlot!’ and ran for the door. ‘My father will hear of this!’

  Sir Langlan sat back in his seat with a heavy movement, mechanically draining his mug.

  ‘Come, lads,’ he said, rising swiftly if unsteadily to his feet. ‘We had best ensure that Lady Siedra has not come to mishap. We will discuss the value of tonight’s lesson tomorrow. Lord Guigot, you may emerge and join us.’

  5

  The first lesson the next day was ‘Preparation for Combat’ with Sir Langlan. Siedra was not present – instead she had extra ‘Etiquette and Deportment’ with Master Guiles – which Arren could not help but think was for the best.

  Sir Langlan’s complexion was pale as he met the three boys on the courtyard. ‘Well, gentlemen: I hope you found last night’s display educational.’

  ‘Yes, Sir Langlan,’ said Arren. ‘Although I am not clear as to your purpose in taking us.’

  ‘Oricien? Guigot? Are you more perceptive than Arren?’

  After a pause Guigot said: ‘We must all learn to drink beer and assess a woman in due course. I assume you intended our education to begin last night.’

  ‘Incorrect,’ snapped Sir Langlan. ‘The visit was directly relevant to your combat studies. How do you think Illara managed to avoid injury in the sword dance?’

  ‘Head and feet!’ exclaimed Oricien. ‘Her head was still but her feet were nimble.’

  ‘Just so,’ said Sir Langlan with a broad smile. ‘The event was not entirely wasted. Illara would no doubt prove indifferent with the rapier, but her footwork puts the three of you to shame. Lord Guigot, would you care to share the point you have just made to Arren?’

  ‘I merely remarked that Illara would not prove indifferent to my rapier, Sir Langlan.’

  ‘Your attempt at wit is misconceived, and sits poorly with your timidity when she approached you last night. If you wish to talk like a man, you must also act like one.’

  From the centre of the courtyard boomed a voice: ‘How very well said, Sir Langlan.’

  Arren looked in dismay to see Lady Jilka, wife to Lord Thaume and mother of Oricien, advancing towards them. She was red of hair and keen of nose, and Arren knew that the fear she struck into him was not unique. Sir Langlan was in for a difficult engagement, and his footwork would be unlikely to save him, unless he used it to take to his heels.

  ‘Lady Siedra has informed me of last night’s unauthorized expedition. Lord Thaume is keen to hear your explanation, as am I.’

  Sir Langlan gave a tight grin. Arren could see guards around the courtyard watching. ‘I thought to provide the children with a memorable lesson. The boys – in particular Guigot and Arren – are deficient in their footwork. I looked to provide them with a powerful example of the value of smoothly moving feet.’

  Lady Jilka paused a moment to pick the hem of her cream charmeuse dress from the mud of the courtyard. ‘Your “powerful example” was a visit to a bordello?’

  ‘The Hanged Raider is not the most elevated of establishments, my lady, but I would not characterize it as a bordello. As it happens, the lads witnessed a rare display of virtuosity and Lord Oricien in particular readily absorbed the lesson.’

  ‘This does not explain,’ said Lady Jilka with a touch of ice, ‘how not only the boys but my daughter were exposed to a vulgar flaunting of the private parts, or compelled to drink beer.’

  ‘Aha, my lady—’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I acceded to Lady Siedra’s wish to enjoy more of Illara’s artistry, and no one was as surprised as me as to the scope of her accomplishments. As to the beer, the tavern was hot and I did not wish the children to go thirsty. I ensured that none of them drank to excess.’

  Lady Jilka pursed her lips. ‘They may not: but you, not for the first time, surely did. You can be sure that Lord Thaume will hear of this. In the meantime, you will all accompany me – yes, you as well, Arren! – as we go to the marketplace.’

  Some ten minutes later Arren stood with the others at the front of a large crowd which had assembled. A crude set of stocks had been brought out, and Arren saw to his dismay that Illara had been fixed within, her hands above her head and her nimble feet also pinioned. She was stripped to the waist, with a placard on her torso proclaiming ‘Shameless, Brazen, Immoral’. Lady Jilka nodded with evident satisfaction. Arren was confused as to why the display of her breasts was praiseworthy in this context, when it had been so reprehensible the previous night; but he forbore from raising the topic with Lady Jilka.

  ‘Sir Langlan!’ said Lady Jilka. ‘Let the lads observe the lesson for a while, and then return them to their studies. I myself have business at the Viatory, but we will speak later.’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  On Lady Jilka’s departure Sir
Langlan walked up to Illara. Arren could not hear what he said, but Illara’s oath in reply was clearly discernible, as was the spittle she launched to accompany it. Sir Langlan returned to his charges. ‘Come, lads, we have much to do today.’

  As the boys trudged through the drizzle back to the castle, Arren felt a tug on his sleeve. ‘Arren! Wait there!’

  He looked around. ‘Eilla! What are you doing here?’

  ‘It is market day. I am getting goods for my mother.’

  Arren inspected Eilla more closely. It was several months since he had seen her, and in the excitement and bustle of his new life he had scarcely given her a thought. She had grown, he thought. Now she was nearly as tall as him, and her dark hair hung longer to her shoulders. She was beginning to look feminine, or perhaps the sight of Illara had made such things more obvious.

  He hung back from the group as they walked on ahead.

  ‘Are you allowed out?’ she asked. ‘Surely you cannot stay in the castle all the time.’

  ‘We have lessons every day,’ he said. ‘But Viator Sleech allows us to go to the Viatory when we choose, because Lady Jilka says accomplishments are worthless if our feet are not on the Way of Harmony. I don’t go often because Viator Goor who takes the services is tedious and smells badly. But we are allowed to go to the Viatory by ourselves.’

  Eilla’s eyes lit up. ‘So could you slip out to the Viatory and then not go?’

  ‘I suppose I could,’ said Arren, sucking in his lip.

  ‘We go to the Temple of the Wheel,’ said Eilla, her eyes shining with something of her old self. ‘My father says the viators are wicked parasites. I don’t care about the viators or the Wheel, but I am allowed to go to the Temple when I choose. Can you get out on Dinksday evening?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Arren.

  ‘Good! Meet me by the North Gate at six bells,’ she said. ‘I have much to tell you . . .’