The Dog of the North

by Tim Stretton

  ‘That is called diplomacy,’ said Eilla. ‘It means you have to marry a man you have never met to keep happy another man you have never met.’

  Arren frowned. ‘Conceivably so, although Master Guiles does not represent it in that way.’

  ‘There is no diplomacy involved in my marrying Chandry, nor in Clottie doing so, for that matter,’ said Eilla. ‘No one will fight a war because I refuse to marry a cousin who reeks of cow. I shall choose my own husband, or have none at all. Such is the privilege of peasantry, and I would not change places with Lady Siedra if you gave me the city of Glount as my dowry.’

  ‘Come, have a mushroom,’ said Clottie. ‘We are both agog to hear how you came by the wound on your head, and how many Northmen you slew.’

  Arren’s anecdotes stretched into the late afternoon, and the sun made a tentative attempt to force its rays under the canopy of branches. Eventually a glowering Chandry was sent to find them, for his mother required the mushrooms for the evening’s stew.

  ‘I should have thought a great warrior had better things to do than waste the afternoon boasting to girls,’ he said, his underlip drooping sullenly.

  Arren had noticed that warriors as renowned as Sir Langlan appeared to do little else, but in this case jealousy was clearly at work. Did Chandry prefer Eilla or Clottie? he wondered. He did not appear promising husband material, but in this opinions might differ – although not in the case of his cousins.

  ‘I must return to the castle,’ said Arren. ‘Chandry, I am sure you can see your cousins safely back to the farm.’

  Chandry shot him a look of detestation. Arren could understand it: the limit of Chandry’s ambitions would be to marry one of these girls and inherit the farm, while before him stood a lad his own age in Lord Thaume’s livery who had been to war and could keep the girls on tenterhooks. Arren felt a flash of guilt for his condescension, but Chandry would not meet his eye, and the opportunity for cordiality was past.

  4

  By the time Arren returned to the castle, he was late for dinner. Lord Thaume had deferred his plans to host a banquet for the city’s worthies, and the smaller group he invited instead, comprising little more than his household, rattled in the Great Hall like peas in a bladder. An atmosphere of pervasive gloom filled the remainder of the space. An artist had been at work rapidly, and pride of place on the wall was given to a martial scene entitled ‘The Triumph of Lord Thaume’, but Thaume paid it no mind and his guests followed his lead. ‘You are late,’ said Lord Thaume as Arren sneaked into the place reserved for him between Oricien and Siedra.

  ‘I am sorry, my lord. I was in the countryside and did not notice the time.’

  Lord Thaume frowned. ‘The countryside?’

  ‘I think he was visiting Master Jandille,’ said Pinch quietly. An immediate tension went around the great table. Lady Jilka, at the far end, looked magisterially ahead.

  After a pause Lord Thaume said: ‘Yes, commendable, Arren. How did you find him?’

  Arren swallowed. There was no safe answer to this. ‘In truth, sir, his mood was not high. His hand—’ Arren paused. ‘Recent events have weighed upon his spirit.’

  Lord Thaume nodded. ‘Understandable. The man was a fine mason. I would do something for him.’

  ‘My lord, I would be inclined to wait awhile. His present disposition—’

  Darrien interjected: ‘Do not contradict Lord Thaume, Arren.’

  ‘This is not to be borne!’ cried Lady Jilka. ‘To have every raggle-taggle boy telling his lord how to rule his own realm.’

  Lord Thaume pushed his bowl aside. ‘Jilka, it is you who go too far. Arren is giving me honest counsel; counsel which would not have been necessary if you had not acted so precipitately. And he is a boy no longer.’

  Lady Jilka’s jaw dropped. ‘My lord—’

  ‘Silence! You have said more than enough for today.’

  Guigot, opposite Siedra, smirked. Arren looked guiltily into his soup.

  Master Guiles rose from his seat. ‘My lord, if I might be permitted to raise a toast to the safe return of you and your troops, the proud victory you have achieved, and the memory of those sons of Croad who have not returned.’

  ‘Hear hear!’ called Sir Langlan, his words echoing around the hall. Hear hear, hear hear.

  ‘Well spoken,’ said Darrien.

  Arren had never previously appreciated the use of a Master of Etiquette, but on this occasion he had saved the day. Guiles raised his goblet and led the others in a toast.

  Lord Thaume rose and bowed. ‘I thank you, sir. Tonight we have an empty place at the table, that of the good Sir Artingaume. Let us keep him in mind.’

  The meal was correspondingly sombre throughout. Arren would normally have enjoyed the soup prepared from Paladrian tomatoes grown under glass, but tonight he scarcely tasted it. The prime calf that had been slaughtered for the occasion went largely unappreciated, although Guigot did not stint himself.

  ‘How is Viator Dince, my lord?’ asked Guigot as they waited for the pears in brandy to arrive for the final course. ‘When I observed the skin flayed from his back, his condition appeared unpromising.’

  Lord Thaume frowned. ‘This is not a matter for the dinner table, Guigot. There are ladies present.’

  ‘I merely expressed concern for his welfare. He is an old man, and frail.’ His face was as unreadable as a snake’s.

  ‘Your solicitude does you credit, Lord Guigot,’ said Master Guiles. ‘However, in the circumstances the matter should perhaps not be pursued. If you remain concerned for him tomorrow, I am sure he would welcome a visit in his quarters.’

  ‘I understand that he is not in his quarters, but the infirmary,’ said Guigot. ‘The apothecary mentioned the possibility of gangrene.’

  ‘Guigot!’ thundered Lord Thaume. ‘Did I not command your silence?’

  ‘My apologies, sir.’

  ‘My lord,’ said Lady Jilka, ‘your punishment can only have been just and merited. Surely you do not scruple to discuss it?’

  ‘I am surprised that you prolong discussion of the unpleasant matter in the circumstances.’

  Jilka gave a half-smile. ‘Presumably you acted as you did for edification rather than punishment. I for one did not fully understand the lesson, since Viator Dince simply pronounced on the Way of Harmony, as is his trust.’

  ‘Jilka, you insist on provoking me. We will hear no more of the subject tonight. If you require spiritual guidance, I suggest you commune with Viator Sleech after dinner.’

  At the end of the meal, Lord Thaume set down his napkin and spoke with deliberation. ‘For various reasons, this has not been the homecoming that I anticipated. It is also to be shorter than I had originally intended,’ he said.

  ‘How so, my lord?’ asked Sir Langlan.

  Lord Thaume reached out a letter. ‘I have an invitation from Duke Panarre to visit Glount,’ he said. ‘I do not feel it prudent to refuse the request of my overlord.’

  Sir Langlan snorted. ‘This is the man who declined to send a single man to defend the city. He does not deserve our attention.’

  ‘I understand your sentiments, Langlan; but I have neglected to secure the Duke’s good opinion, and we have all suffered as a result. We shall be leaving for Glount the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘“We”?’ asked Lady Jilka softly.

  ‘It is time that Oricien and Siedra were seen abroad. Oricien is a fine warrior, and soon I must present him at Emmen itself; while Siedra is not too young to command attention.’

  ‘And who will rule in your absence, my lord?’ asked Darrien, his eyes straying towards Jilka.

  ‘Arrangements during my last absence were not satisfactory in every respect,’ said Lord Thaume. ‘Nonetheless, Lady Jilka retains my full confidence.’

  ‘My lord—’ began Viator Sleech.

  ‘However,’ continued Lord Thaume, ‘my lady’s presence is essential in Glount to introduce Siedra into society. The regency should have fallen to Sir Artin
gaume. On this occasion I will ask Sir Langlan to rule with my voice.’

  ‘Will you not need me in Glount, my lord?’

  ‘I need you more here, Langlan. I propose to take only a small retinue. Guigot, you too shall come with us. There may be many opportunities for a lad of your birth and spirit.’

  Guigot’s expression was midway between a smirk and a sneer. If Thaume noticed, he affected ignorance.

  ‘Master Guiles, your presence will be invaluable, and Lady Cerisa, you will act as a companion for my wife and daughter.’

  ‘What of Arren, sir?’ asked Oricien.

  Lord Thaume rubbed his chin. ‘Ah, yes, Arren. His mother would like to see him, no doubt, Darrien?’

  Guigot and Siedra giggled.

  ‘He is in your household now, my lord,’ said Darrien.

  ‘Oricien, if you would like to take Arren as a companion, you may do so.’

  ‘Thank you, father.’

  And so Arren’s destiny was settled without his being put to the inconvenience of expressing an opinion. Since he had never seen the sea, he was not disposed to complain.

  The day after next, Lord Thaume rode again out of the city, once more at the head of the column. This time Lady Jilka rode beside him, dressed in her martial clothing. If cordiality existed between them it was disguised, perhaps for reasons of protocol. Mounted on a fine strider was Oricien, with Siedra and Guigot immediately behind them. Arren was further back, riding alongside Coppercake, who was a native of Glount, and whose mathematical skills Lord Thaume felt likely to be necessary. Master Pinch was not present: in the way of thaumaturges, he had slipped off into the night, to return at his own convenience.

  The journey south, through the rolling hills of the Duchy of Lynnoc, was uneventful, and a week later they rode into the city of Glount, the seat of Duke Panarre.

  5

  Glount had been the seat of the Dukes of Lynnoc for a thousand years. One of the oldest cities of Mondia, squeezed between the Penitent Hills and the sea, it had long been a centre of commerce. If Croad was a poor cousin to Emmen, Glount was an older uncle, steeped in every vice and abomination concealed under a veneer of urbanity. The Dukes of Lynnoc embodied the essence of their city, and could trace their lineage back to its foundation with only a minimum of creative genealogy. A powerful independent city for six centuries until its fall to the first King Jehan, it had taken its absorption into the Emmenrule with scarcely a blink. Things went on as they had always done, and while the King away in Emmen might wield a nominal authority, to the folk and rulers of Glount, matters went on as they had always done.

  These matters included the homage of the Lords of Croad, for Lynnoc had long held sway to the North. The Duke of Lynnoc’s claim to be the overlord of Croad was recognized in Emmen, and at irregular intervals the Lord of Croad must present himself in the city to swear fealty for his lands.

  It was this which brought Lord Thaume south only weeks after his victory at Jehan’s Steppe. Duke Panarre had learned that Thaume intended to exact ransoms from the captured nobility of Mettingloom, and summoned him south that a suitable tribute to himself might be negotiated. Lord Thaume, who normally would have ignored such a demand, felt bound to accede on this occasion as the price of introducing his children into the court at Glount. The time approached when a marriage would need to be arranged for Siedra: ideally to Panarre’s eldest son Trevarre, although other expedients might be necessary. Panarre would be likely to raise the question of uniting his lackwitted daughter Klaera with Oricien, a prospect which could only be resisted most strongly. It was not out of the question that Guigot could be offered in this context, although Thaume could already hear the imprecations from his nephew should he raise the topic.

  Arren had heard much of Glount, and expected anticlimax, but he was impressed in spite of himself at his first sight of the city. It was hidden away behind three hills, each topped by a castle – La Bastia, Castella and Fortessa – and appeared cramped against the shore from the high perspective of the traveller looking down. Ships teemed in the sheltered horseshoe of the bay, some the distinctive cogs of the North, more galleys from Garganet and Gammerling. Even from this distance, the place teemed with a visible vitality. Away to the east, the River Lynnoc bustled down to the sea, with the palace of Duke Panarre set against it.

  Coppercake was riding alongside Arren. ‘Glount. I hope you are prepared.’

  ‘How could it be otherwise, Master Coppercake? All I have heard for the past week are your tales of how the citizens spend their days mulcting each other of coin, and their nights engaged in debauchery of every dye.’

  Coppercake chuckled. ‘I may have exaggerated a little, or at least glossed over the mundanities. But if you wonder at my facility with mathematics, it is because you learn it early in Glount, or you are rooked.’

  ‘We will not be visiting the city, at least not immediately,’ said Lady Cerisa. ‘Lord Thaume intends us to proceed directly to the palace.’

  ‘Perhaps for the best,’ said Arren. ‘I do not care to be rooked on my first day.’

  ‘I am keen to visit the Molo,’ said Lady Cerisa. ‘It is where The Masque of Louison and Eleanora reaches its tragic conclusion.’

  Arren had found The Masque – a tale of lovers thwarted by destiny, improbable coincidence and a large measure of their own stupidity – a vapid experience, but Lady Cerisa had insisted they spend a tedious two weeks watching and discussing the play. He had no desire to explore the matter further during his sojourn in Glount. Conceivably Siedra could be persuaded to accompany Lady Cerisa on her visit to the Molo.

  Master Guiles rode back from the head of the column. ‘We are approaching the gate. Full decorum is in order. You may find the folk of Glount somewhat haughty. Do not bridle at their inspection; they will take it as a sign of low breeding, and mock you the more. At the palace matters should proceed with greater punctilio.’

  ‘I would add my own advice,’ said Coppercake. ‘Do not part with coin under any circumstances. You can be assured that the seeming bargain is not. If you are offered a house for a single florin, you may guarantee it is haunted, cursed, or worse. You should not undertake any transaction without my guidance.’

  The party drew up outside the eastern gate of the city. The walls reached high above them, the towers grasping for the sky above. Glount had only once fallen to invasion, and that through treachery rather than assault.

  Lord Thaume dismounted from his strider and approached the gate on foot. With the hilt of his sword he banged three times on the great doors. ‘I am Thaume of Croad,’ he called. ‘I am come at the command of my overlord, good Duke Panarre of Lynnoc. May I gain admittance?’

  From the gatehouse issued a squadron of ten or so soldiers, immaculately attired in uniforms of forest green, the sleeves slashed to reveal a lighter green which also coloured their four-cornered hats.

  ‘You are welcome to our city, my lord. I will call upon the seneschal.’

  One of the guards returned to the gatehouse, returning with a man of late maturity, his sober black coat and breeches given life by a scarlet neckcloth and hat.

  ‘Lord Thaume, you are welcome. It has been too long since you were in our city.’

  ‘Seneschal Tourmi, I am of course delighted to be here. I confess myself surprised that Duke Panarre is not here to take my obeisance.’

  ‘Regrettably the Duke is otherwise occupied. Many affairs of state press upon him. He will greet you at the banquet in your honour tonight. Now, please enter our city. The Cavalieres will escort you to the palace.’

  Lord Thaume remounted his strider and rode into the city, followed in precise order by Lady Jilka, Oricien, Siedra and Guigot. The other members of the party followed in a more random configuration.

  Some twenty Cavalieres, in the same green uniforms as their comrades, led Lord Thaume’s entourage through the streets. Master Guiles sniffed as he rode alongside Arren. ‘Things go ill here,’ he said. ‘There are two clear breaches of protocol
already.’

  ‘How so?’ asked Arren. These matters were generally tedious, but he was coming to realize that much lay below the surface of such niceties. If he was to be insulted, it would be useful at least to know it.

  ‘First,’ said Master Guiles with a didactic nod, ‘Duke Panarre did not greet us himself. In certain circumstances this is permissible, but he should at least have sent a member of his family in his stead. Tourmi would only have been appropriate had our party been led by Sir Langlan or a person of similar stature. Second, a guard of twenty Cavalieres is disparagingly small. The Lord of a great city such as Croad should command a hundred, or even more.’

  ‘What does Duke Panarre mean by such discourtesy?’ asked Lady Cerisa. ‘Lord Thaume is coming to make good homage.’

  Coppercake laughed. ‘Panarre may be a grand lord,’ he said, ‘but he has the blood of Glount running in his veins. He is concerned to ensure financial advantage over Thaume.’

  ‘I fail to understand,’ said Arren.

  ‘Panarre wishes to take a share of the ransoms Thaume will gain from Jehan’s Steppe. He intends to put him in his place from the outset. If rumours are to be believed, he also wishes to marry a daughter to Oricien or Guigot: in this case he will wish to minimize the dowry he has to pay.’

  Lady Cerisa frowned. ‘Should not a duke be too proud to dicker in this way?’

  ‘You have much to learn about Glount, my lady,’ said Coppercake. ‘In the eyes of his people Panarre gains merit by such ploys. You cannot imagine that Lord Thaume has brought me to the city for my conversation or my red hair: I am here to count his fingers to ensure none has been purloined.’

  6

  The evening saw the promised banquet in Duke Panarre’s palace, an imposing structure of marble chased with gold; gardens and grounds rolling over many acres. Arren could hear the sea crashing against the shore in the background, and the air had a fresh crispness he had never known in Croad.

  The diners were arrayed over two tables. At the intricately carved Ducal Table, spread with rich damask, sat Duke Panarre and his lady Fourette beside Lord Thaume and Lady Jilka. In the places of honour next to them were their various connections: Panarre’s sons Trevarre and Dinarre and his daughters Helisette, Genevieva and the lackwitted Klaera, plus Oricien, Siedra and Guigot. To his surprise, Arren was placed at the same table, even if at its foot.