The seat had alw ays fascinated Calard, and, as a child, he had occasionally sneaked into the room to test it, his legs dangling above the ground. It w as a beautiful, ancient piece of furniture, its high back carved w ith miniature scenes that recreated the tw elve great battles of the founder of Bretonnia, Gilles the Uniter. It w as a source of pride that Gilles had been borne of Bastonne, just as his ow n family was, though his step-mother, Lady Calisse, held closer ties to his direct lineage than had Calard's ow n mother. A feeling of melancholy descended on Calard as he looked at the throne, w ondering how long it w ould be before he w ould sit there as the lord of Garamont. He knew he was not ready for such a heavy burden of responsibility, and he whispered a silent prayer to the Lady for his father's good health.
Courtiers, advisors and knights were slowly filtering into the chamber through side doors and partitions. The chamberlain sent servants scurrying in all directions, and the room w as filled with a gentle murmur of speculation.
'Who do you think it is?' whispered Bertelis. Calard shrugged in response. 'Please let it be an emissary from the king announcing a new errant war,' said Bertelis.
The room hushed, as the black and gold door in the back w all of the audience chamber w as opened and a rotund, bearded man, dressed in the red and yellow of Lutheure's livery stepped forth.
A blare of horns echoed deafeningly through the chamber, causing the doves roosting in the upper beams of the lofty expanse above to take flight.
'The Lord and Lady Garamont,' bellow ed the rotund crier.
As one, the gathered knights and nobles dropped to one knee, their heads bow ed, and the ladies of the court dipped low in delicate curtsies.
Lord Lutheure, resplendent in a fashionable tunic and robe that w ould have cost more than a peasant could hope to see in a lifetime, walked across the dais with his w ife on his arm. Lutheure wore his coat of arms embroidered upon his chest, but he w as far outshone by his w ife, wearing a velvet dress of deepest crimson that trailed behind her. Her fair hair was hidden beneath her velvet headdress, over which she w ore a glittering circlet of silver. Lutheure led his wife to her luxuriously padded chair, before taking his own seat upon his massive throne. He did well to hide his illness, though, to Calard's eyes, it w as obvious that his gaunt frame no longer filled the throne as once it had.
The lord of Garamont nodded regally to his chamberlain, who signalled the men-at-arms at the door.
They stepped back, uncrossing their long ceremonial weapons, and the doors w ere throw n open.
Having hurried across the room to the doors, his face red with the exertion, the rotund court crier announced the newcomer.
'Sigibold of Bordeleaux, Knight of the Realm and Equerry of Duke Alberic of Bordeleaux,' he thundered.
'Not from the king then,' muttered Bertelis, for w hich he received a sharp glare from the chamberlain, Folcard.
There was muttering as the knight entered the court, striding purposefully tow ards the seated lord of Garamont. He w as fully armoured, and his cloak was tattered and w orn. He carried his helm beneath his left arm, and his hair was wet with sweat and plastered across his head. He tracked mud and dirt into the audience chamber, and there w as tutting amongst the gathered nobles.
Reaching the dais, the knight dropped to one knee and bow ed his head.
'The Duke of Bordeleaux sends his warmest regards,' replied the knight. Lutheure bow ed his head, accepting the courtesy.
'You honour my household w ith your presence, sir knight. Can I have a room readied for you? You have the look of one w ho has travelled far, and you may, if you w ish, refresh yourself before we address the purpose of your visit.'
'Alas no,' replied the knight with a bow , 'time does not permit me to accept your noble offer.'
'No? Speak then,' said Lutheure.
'My lord, I bring grim new s. The south-eastern lands of Bordeleaux are overrun. I come to seek your aid in its retaking.'
The court erupted in gasps and muttering. Calard flashed a glance at his brother, his eyes lighting up. A slight smile touched Bertelis's lips. Lutheure lifted a hand for silence, his rings of office gleaming and the hubbub died aw ay.
'This is grim news indeed,' agreed Lutheure. 'What enemy besieges his fair lands?'
'Greenskins,' replied the knight bitterly. This w as met with curses and dark mutterings, w hich Lutheure allowed to continue for a moment before he lifted a hand again for silence. The castellan thought on this for a moment, a deep frow n upon his face.
His eyes turned skyw ards, as if seeking divine communion, staring up tow ards the high arched windows replete with stained glass, where images of his ancestors stared dow n at him. The courtiers looked expectantly to their lord. There was no particular love betw een the people of Bastonne and Bordeleaux, but in times of strife they had alw ays united against a mutual foe. At last, he low ered his gaze, and looked again at the knight aw aiting his answer.
'You have already sought the aid of other knights of Bastonne?' he asked.
'I have, my lord. I have received pledges of more than two thousand knights of your most esteemed land.'
'You have already spoken to the lord of Sangasse, a days ride to the w est?' asked the castellan, his eyes glittering. At mention of the name, Calard stiffened. The Sangasses had been the mortal rivals of Garamont for nine generations.
'I have, my lord,' said the knight, oblivious to the tension in the room. 'The noble lord of Sangasse has pledged his knights. They are to be led by Maloric, his son, the young Earl of Sangasse.' Calard scow led.
The castellan's expression was unreadable as he digested this information. At last, he turned his eyes in Calard's direction, and there was a silent communication betw een them.
'Bertelis, Calard,' said the lord of Garamont, 'come forw ard.'
Bertelis ascended the steps of the dais, his head held high. Calard followed, his heart hammering. They took up positions on either side of their father, standing alongside his throne.
'Sir Sigibold, these are my sons and my rightful heirs. They will ride for Bordeleaux, to aid your duke's knights against the hated enemy. The knights of my household will ride at their side.'
Calard could not help but let the joy he felt erupt in a broad smile that he saw w as mirrored on Bertelis's face.
'The Duke of Bordeleaux w ill be honoured by their presence,' replied the knight, 'and I convey his thanks for your commitment to his cause.'
Lutheure rose from his throne, and Calard tw itched as he saw his father wobble slightly. Still, he did not step forward to give his father support, knowing that to do so w ould be to emphasise his father's w eakness in front of his court. Recovering the lord castellan steadied himself and addressed the gathered nobles.
'Let the w ord be spread, that the sons of Garamont w ill ride for Bordeleaux on the morn. Tonight the lord of Garamont shall host a banquet, w ishing them victory and glory on the fields of battle.'
A cheer rose from those gathered below the dais.
'Sigibold, w ill you do us the honour of dining with us this evening?' asked Lutheure.
'Alas, I cannot, noble lord,' replied the knight. 'I must be on my w ay to secure more knights for the duke's cause.'
Lutheure nodded.
'My lords and ladies,' he said, 'w e prepare for war.'
CHAPTER THREE
'LET US DRINK to my sons! Let the Lady guide their lances, and let them return to my side in glory and triumph!'
There was a cheer around the assembled revellers, and Calard and Bertelis clinked their goblets heavily together. They each took a long swig of wine. Their cheeks were already glow ing, and their bellies were full of food.
The detritus of the vanquished meal lay before the gathered nobles, strewn across the spraw ling expanse of tables in the banquet room. Bones w ere thrown onto the straw-covered floor, w here they were fought over by Lutheure's hunting dogs, and, when no one w as looking, the peasant servers. Carcasses of roasted boar and deer, stuffed w ith herb
s, garlic and sweetmeats lay stripped of flesh upon giant platters, and the bony remains of quail and hare lay discarded on plates of lead and silver, swimming in thick, creamy sauces of mushroom and cheese. Extravagant dishes, upon which had lain the grilled forms of the large carnivorous fish that swam the River Grismerie to the north, lay cast aside. Only the luminous w hite bones and massive gaping jaw s of the creatures w ere left, with the remnants of w hite wine sauce sw illing around them.
The w ine was flowing freely, for the lord castellan had opened up his cellar, wishing to toast his sons off to w ar in style. The nobles supped at the exquisite fare of Bordeleaux and Aquitaine, extolling their various virtues as they sw irled them around their goblets and sniffed at their aromas. Calard and his brother, knowing little of fine w ine, swigged exorbitantly expensive, hundred-year-old vintages as if they w ere w ater.
Bertelis grinned, feeling content, full of food and well on the way to drunkenness. He looked across the tables to his father, who w as smiling proudly at him, and he raised his goblet in response, smiling. Folcard stood behind Lutheure, looking for all the w orld like a fierce bird of prey. His thin shoulders were slightly hunched, though he stood taller than any knight present, and his hooked nose protruded sharply from his gaunt face. As if feeling Bertelis's gaze, the chamberlain turned his cold, dark eyes tow ards his lord's younger son. Even after all these years, the chamberlain still made him feel like a naughty child, and Bertelis quickly looked away.
His eyes darted to his mother, w ho sat deep in conversation with Tanebourc, a tall, ginger-haired knight who w as one of his mother's favourites. He saw the light touch that his mother laid upon the knight's forearm, and frowned, but w as instantly distracted as an army of servants descended on the banquet room at a clap from the castle's chamberlain. He leant politely out of the w ay as a serving girl bent over him to collect his plate, exposing a not inconsiderable amount of her bosom as she did so.
'Sir Bertelis, I think you might be dribbling,' someone teased, and he turned sheepishly to face Lady Elisabet of Carlemont. An attractive young noblewoman with a delightfully devilish gleam in her eye, she sat beside a doting Calard. She wore a stunning dress of deepest purple, and a shimmering, diaphanous shawl was wrapped around her pale shoulders. The eye was draw n to her cleavage by a large, star-shaped pendant that hung low around her neck. Calard was beaming at her side, no doubt at least partly due to that cleavage. They made a good couple, Bertelis thought, and he w as certain that one day they w ould wed, for their affection for one another w as w ell known and easy to see. His brother w as distressingly loyal to her, refusing to lie w ith any of the servants, claiming that Elisabet w as the only one for him. She w as certainly a desirable woman, but sometimes he just did not understand his brother.
'I fear you may be correct, my lady,' he replied, theatrically w iping at his chin and flicking his hand tow ards the ground. 'I am but a knight of w eak morals, easily won over by a pretty face and a bounteous bosom. Not like noble Calard at your side. He is girded of firmer stuff.'
'I should hope so,' said Elisabet, turning her seductive dark eyes tow ards the older of the brothers, giving him a playful pout. Calard blushed, making both Elisabet and Bertelis laugh.
'Brother,' declared Bertelis, indicating to a servant for more w ine, 'a toast.'
With their goblets filled, the brothers raised them.
'To glory and honour!' said Bertelis.
'To glory and honour,' said Calard, and the pair clinked their goblets together once more.
'And to conquests in the bedroom as w ell as on the field of battle!' added Bertelis as Calard w ent to drink. The older sibling snorted, the ruby-coloured w ine spilling from his nose and mouth.
Elisabet burst into very unseemly and unladylike laughter. The dour-faced w ife of one of Lutheure's knights shushed her, as the lord castellan lifted his goblet high.
Calard held his hand to Elisabet's mouth, as she looked fit to explode into further giggles.
'To Bertelis,' their father declared, 'w ho I am sure is destined to become one of the finest knights of Bastonne.' This was met w ith cheers, and the sound of Elisabet's contagious giggling made Bertelis smile. The lord castellan's face turned serious.
'Bertelis, you are the finest son a knight could wish for. Come back alive.'
People w ere unsure if that w as a toast or not, and continued to hold their glasses in the air.
'Honour and glory!' shouted Bertelis to break the unease, lifting his goblet high. His w ords w ere echoed around the room, and everyone drank and went back to their conversations. He noticed vaguely that Elisabet w as no longer laughing, and that his brother's face w as dark.
Regardless, Bertelis clinked goblets w ith his brother, and again they drank, tension evaporating. Jesters came out to entertain the crowd, tall gangly jugglers and capering dw arfs, and Bertelis laughed loudly at their somersaults and antics.
Castellan Lutheure took his leave, retiring to his bedchamber w ith his wife and, with the official duties concluded, the real drinking began.
CHAMBERLAIN FOLCARD STOOD motionless in the shadows beneath the archway, haw k-like eyes glinting fiercely. He receded further back into the darkness as he spied a hooded figure turn into the corridor, a shuttered lantern in hand. The figure moved softly dow n the cold hallway, casting a conspiratorial glance behind it. In that moment, the light caught on the figure's face, and Folcard saw the Lady Calisse's proud features.
The lady slipped through the doorway opposite the chamberlain's concealment, closing the door softly behind her. Folcard ignored the discomfort in his arthritic joints as he felt the cold seeping into his body. He did not have to w ait long.
Less than tw o minutes after the lady of the household's appearance, a second figure entered the hallway, striding purposefully down the corridor. He made no attempt to conceal his appearance, and Folcard felt his anger rise at the man's arrogance.
Tanebourc smiled as he paused briefly outside the door through which Lady Calisse had entered, and then he knocked softly. A moment later, he pushed the door lightly open and slipped within.
Folcard shifted position, his anger simmering.
He loved Garamont fiercely, and he chafed at the shame being done to his noble lord.
He knew the castle better than anyone, and his eyes and his ears saw and heard all that occurred w ithin its walls. He alone knew of all the secret passages that riddled the fastness, ones that even the Lord Garamont and his sons were unaware of.
He w aited no more than five minutes before the door opened and the Lady Calisse slipped out into the corridor once more, pulling her hood up over her head. At least she had enough respect to conceal her appearance. After she had been gone for some minutes, the door opened again, and Tanebourc emerged. He was flushed, and Folcard saw frustration and impatience etched on his face. Good, he thought. His carnal urges had clearly been unsatisfied. That w ould work to his advantage.
'Tanebourc,' said the chamberlain, slipping out of the concealing darkness. He took perverse pleasure in the way the knight paled at his sudden appearance.
'Lady above!' gasped Tanebourc, his eyes wide and fearful. 'I thought you w ere an apparition!'
'I bear a message from the lady of the house,' said the chamberlain, his voice deep and sepulchral.
Recovering, Tanebourc's gaze flashed down the hallway, though Calisse was long gone. 'Oh?' he said, feigning disinterest.
'She w ants you to know that she would be best pleased if the boy did not return to Garamont from this endeavour. You know of w hom I speak.'
Tanebourc's eyes w idened as he absorbed w hat the chamberlain was saying.
'What? She never said-'
'The lady w ould favour any w ho achieved this task. She would freely give him that w hich he desired, if he but did this small thing for her,' said Folcard, his eyes boring into the ginger-haired knight.
'It is no small thing-' began Tanebourc, but Folcard interrupted him again.
'Su
ch are the lady's terms,' said the chamberlain. He saw the lust in the man's eyes, and knew that he had him.
'Think on it,' he added, before turning away.
CALARD WOKE WITH a groan. The pounding on the door of his chamber w as incessant, and he rolled over, trying to ignore it. It felt like someone was smashing a hammer into his head, over and over, and his mouth felt like some foul creature had craw led in there and died while he slept. The pounding on his door continued unabated, giving him no peace.
'I'm aw ake!' he shouted. 'Go aw ay!'
He closed his eyes in relief as he heard whoever it was move aw ay, though he heard the banging begin anew further down the corridor. His brother's door, he realised.
With a moan, he rolled over on his pallet, and lifted himself to a sitting position.
Sw inging his legs to the flagstones, he realised that he was still wearing his high leather boots. Indeed, he was wearing the entire outfit he had worn the previous night. He had no memory of getting to bed, though he had a vague recollection of being helped up the tw isting stone stairs to the eastern wing of the castle to his chambers. He groaned again and rose unsteadily to his feet, moving to the w indow.
He poured a jug of ice cold w ater into the stone basin there, and washed his face. He drank deeply.
Looking out of the w indow, blinking against the painful light, it took him a moment to register that the sun w as high in the sky. He swore colourfully, his language more fit for ribald commoners than for the son of a noble castellan. He tore his shirt from his muscled body and pulled on a freshly laundered tunic.
Sw earing never to drink again, he pulled open his door and stepped into the corridor.
He saw a flustered servant banging on Bertelis's door. With another self-pitying groan, he began staggering dow n the hallway. The man tried to say something to him, but he w aved him aw ay as if he was an irritating insect.
Without ceremony, Calard pushed Bertelis's door open. It caught on something on the floor, and he looked down. It w as a w oman's dress, a simple piece of clothing with little ornamentation. He gave the door a more solid push and w alked into the room.
Warhammer - Knight Errant Page 4