Thrall's Wine

by Hausladen, Blake;

  “Rotting kid,” I cursed and hurried to finish strapping on the leggings. I checked the thirty-star upon my breast, tucked my helmet under my arm, and made my way out.

  I thought to go looking for a bottle of my own, but there wasn’t one chance in fifty that the swineherd left even a drop anywhere nearby.

  Haton and a number of my officers were waiting in what proved to be the dingy common room of a fair-sized inn that overlooked a wealthy-seeming mining town. Tin, if I recalled.

  Everyone looked startled to see me. The push of the morning air across my face let me know that I’d gotten a shave and my hair had been cut. The lad was standing right there, too, offering me another knuckle-worth of wine as he gestured for Haton to lead the way.

  I didn’t get ahold of the glass until we were all out and marching down the poorly-cobbled street.

  My greencoats had set themselves up below, inside a walled fort of some size. It seemed home to the town’s church, as well. The place had fallen to us without a fight.

  I was annoyed when we entered the gates and turned toward the church.

  “You have something already negotiated?” I asked Haton.

  “No,” he replied. “Not without you.”

  “Then why the church? Priests are only needed for a signing.”

  “They insisted.”

  “I bet they did,” I said with a scoff and tried to get close enough to the swineherd to take the decanter, but he stepped inside.

  The round assembly space was packed with men. On the riser at its center, a dozen priests stood around a single low table. The surviving Raydau brother sat opposite the Cynt cousins. The lesser landed men of both families stood behind them. The Cynt side of the room was cheerful; the Raydau were attending a funeral.

  I started in, and the clatter of my leggings drew every eye and silenced every man.

  The church’s design was identical to every other house of Bayen I’d ever been in. The sharp spire that stabbed toward the sun above the assembly room was supported by a dozen tall columns, pine in this case. A fair bit of the rising sides of the spire were made of glass. None of it was stained red or orange, so the warming light that flooded the space was plain old yellow. The robes the priests wore were quite faded.

  “Thank you,” I said to them, “for allowing us the use of this space. You will wait outside until we have concluded today’s business.”

  “You dismiss us?” the senior man asked and leaned the red band of his round hat toward me. “I think your love for wine has made you confused. You are a guest here. This negotiation is the providence of Bayen’s church in the Oreol. You will kindly withdraw yourself to the seat provided for you.”

  “This is not a negotiation. This is the surrender of rebels to their rightful lord, Barok Yentif, upon lands under the care of Chief Prelate Avinda Dooma in Urnedi—to whom you owe your obedience. We act at their direction, and it is your duty to support us. I therefore direct you to remove yourselves until a witness to the agreement is required.”

  “I’ll have you upon a pyre by day’s end for sedition if you continue to speak in my house.”

  I stepped toward him. “Disand is a very long way away, and the last time I saw him was the day he blessed the sword I used to coronate Lord Vall. Strange, though, I do not recall Disand or anyone else wearing robes being present when the Pqrista surrendered to me. If you’d like to debate the point further, I can have you taken to Urnedi so you can discuss it with your Chief Prelate.”

  “To Urnedi? I’d rather die than abandon my stewardship of this anointed ground.”

  “Are you disputing the Yentif claim to these lands?”

  The priest’s mouth slowly shut. He was sweating in the bright light. I waited for him—hoping he would declare himself a rebel before such a large audience.

  “No,” he said.

  “Then you are subject to the will of Enhedu’s Chief Prelate.” I softened my tone. “It is clear you are just now hearing this. So, Your Grace, I will allow you one more chance to depart before you say something that is beyond my power to remedy.”

  The room watched with practiced expressions—church faces, every one of them. All were hiding smiles. The priests of the Oreol might have sway with its people, but the nobles they’d been preying upon were gleeful at their demise.

  Still the priests stood in place, unable to see their defeat. I stepped closer and whispered to them, “I am general to a son of the Exaltier, and I pledge to you that I will kill you where you stand if you say so much as one more word. Leave now.”

  They moved, and I followed them out. To the senior sergeant at the doors, I said, “Escort them to their apartments. Do not let anyone speak to them, and arrest them if they try to leave the grounds.”

  He and his troop got after them, and I went back inside.

  Haton and my captains had taken the priests’ place, and the large crowd was chatting low amongst themselves. A glass of wine waited on an open chair, but there was no other sign of the swineherd.

  I waved Haton on as I sat down and drank. It was a fantastic heavy grape, sweet on the tongue and warm through my nose. It washed my angry belly with the kisses and happy hands of a lover.

  Haton wasted no time, but I gave him little of my attention. The day-to-day rules of the Oreol once we were gone did not concern me just then. I glanced for a time at the map of the Oreol Barok had sent. Haton had brushed in a number of details. It was also a bit rumpled and wine-stained in one corner. Not sure when that happened. From it, I learned what I needed of Haton’s plans for the Oreol—a sectioning of it into districts with a reeve for each that would together constitute a local council that would report to Urnedi. Workable, I suppose.

  A chorus of boos issued from the Cynt, undoubtedly at some reference to the Raydau’s recent crimes.

  “You whore’s son,” Olum said. “You’ve been delivering untold standards worth of wine to Parsatayn. Our tin, rope, and leather are a pittance in comparison.”

  I was confused by this exchange. Haton seemed somehow to be trying to negotiate a surrender. Feuds do not end with peaceful surrenders.

  Cassin rose laboriously, waving quiet the rest of the Cynt. He asked, “So what is it you are offering us here? I hear only of reparations. What of the lands the Raydau will surrender to us. What exactly do you suggest for us?”

  Haton did not make it halfway through his explanation before boos from all quarters drowned him out.

  I looked across at him, annoyed at the result as much as the slow drying of my guts. I’d expected more from him. Haton had failed. I pointed him to a chair and stood.

  Cassin looked ready to keep talking. I fixed my gaze upon him, and he sat down. Haton had not. He tried talking over me, but the swineherd stood on his toe and tipped him into a chair.

  I studied the audience of pretend noblemen. They were a miserable collection of greedy children—weaklings who had been installed by Parsatayn so they could be easily fleeced.

  I decided to rob them of everything. “What you just heard is the solution the Yentif prefer.”

  “Vall wrote it?” Olum asked nervously.

  “The author is irrelevant. Your reaction to it is what I expected from family men like yourselves. Barok has the option to propose a different settlement, but only if you are all willing to set aside all land agreements presently in force, forgive all harms done, and negotiate with him as equals.”

  Haton nearly fell out of his chair, and the rest were struck mute. Yentif never deal with anyone as equals—least not since I watched Vall do it to those he had conquered. The Cynt and the Raydau straightened their clothes and their posture.

  “What would he propose?” Cassin asked with the only skeptical face in the crowd.

  I might have been quoting Vall directly other than the change of family names.

  “To each son or cousin of a Raydau or Cynt man in this room who crosses the border and marries a daughter or niece from the other family, Barok will gift a hereditary leas
e of 200 hides of land, and upon the successful production of each heir, the offspring will be given title to two hides of that tract.”

  “Title?” Olum asked and stood. “My grandsons would own land before the eyes of Lord Vall and the Sten?”

  “Yes. The accord Barok proposes would provide your families what they have always deserved: title to the land—not the fakery of your leases with the Pormes. You are tenants in the eyes of Bayen’s Laws—a word you must all despise. The deal is for title to two hides per child born of a union of Raydau and Cynt. The Yentif drawing of districts is insulting but might serve as an example for you. In a single generation, you could set your mark upon this land for all time.”

  The silence that followed knew only the creak of greencoat armor. Cassin remained the only man with a skeptical face, but clearly he wanted to believe me.

  I waved on the question that knocked upon his lips.

  “What rent would your prince require on lands leased this way?”

  “The same rent he required of the tracts leased in Enhedu: two silver standards per acre each spring and autumn. Half what the Pormes charged, if I am not mistaken.”

  The room remained quiet. It was a tremendously generous deal on its face—not what they expected—not what Haton expected. His look of surprise was the best argument for me in the room.

  “What else is he offering?” Olum asked, his greed so great.

  My empty stomach asked me to kill him and go find the swineherd’s decanter. I was held in place, though, by how very little these men knew of history. I nearly laughed out loud but managed, instead, to pantomime a man struggling to hold onto the last of his reserves. I made a show of my reluctance, and with the humblest tone I could manage, I offered to them that which would destroy them.

  “Barok is also willing to grant outright title to one hide of land in Enhedu to any man in the Oreol capable of serving in his army.”

  This had little effect upon the senior men in the room, but every junior man and distant cousin gasped. Several nodded as though I’d quoted a prophet. They did not see the cliff. They were moments away from allowing every man fit to fight in the Oreol to become citizens of Enhedu. The armies of the Cynt and Raydau would disappear.

  One of them asked, “Any? To whom does this opportunity fall, exactly?”

  “Anyone, including yourself, sir. If you could make muster in my army, you would earn title to one hide of land. No rent. No tithe. Just one man who can make muster. Your families can work it as they see fit and maintain themselves and you with what they produce.”

  “For what term of service?” he asked me.

  “For the rest of your life. And when you die, your heir must take on the same responsibility.” I said to him, made fists with my hands, and rose up as if I were delivering a fiery sermon. “And any man who can stand with us and give his life to the service of Enhedu will purchase for himself and his son a place upon this earth that no one may trespass upon without summoning the wrath of us all!”

  I had no idea where the last had come from. The room leaned forward as though I’d offered them eternal life.

  Haton looked ready to stand and object. I pointed at him and said, “Sit down, sir. Lord Vall will have his way if I fail, but you will sit there and be quiet until these men refuse me. Are we clear?”

  He sat and folded his arms angrily. He’d had something else worked out.

  What’s your game, Haton?

  The senior men took a turn voicing their displeasure, but they were the kind who could complain about good weather. The swineherd set another glass on the table in front of me, and I waved on Cassin.

  He asked, “And what about the surrender of the Raydau? What will they give their conquerors?”

  “Osburth has been pillaged and burned. Their best harbor is in tatters and their men bloodied. I judge the score to be even between your families, and I will hear nothing further on the topic. This deal relies upon a clear understanding of forgiveness of all wrongs done by both families before this day—all things forgiven.”

  I picked up the glass and hugged it with my hands. I said to them, “It is time for you to choose, gentlemen. This deal requires the agreement of every one of you. If I do not get it, I will withdraw and you can take your chances with Vall’s man.”

  They looked to Haton and frowned. I let this sink in for a moment before I called the vote. “All in favor, say eyy.”

  “Eyy!” they screamed loud enough to rattle the windows.

  “All opposed?”

  Silence.

  I straightened my uniform and drank down the glass in one luscious gulp. My belly sang magic at me, and I let that silence linger. None of them, even those who stood to lose the most, could stand against so much want. Their chance to resist me passed, and I closed the lid of the coffin upon them.

  “Then it is agreed. I will have all the details drafted presently for your review and signature. Any man who withdraws from this room before the accord is signed loses all rights to participate. It will include a three days’ span with which you may decide amongst yourselves which of your sons and daughters, nieces and nephews will marry. Deliver to my lieutenant the details of the tracts of land that each couple will manage. All of the useful lands of the Oreol will end up in this accord so do not play games with it. Organize the tracts around the land you hold most dear—the land you were born on and want your grandsons to own. Your time will be best spent matchmaking, and I encourage you to begin it at once.”

  “What of us?” asked a senior man of the Cynt, who was perhaps looking out a few short days to his irrelevance.

  I nearly counseled him to look to his retirement. I said, instead, “Matchmaking is usually done for a fee.”

  He grinned and began to search the crowd.

  Someone else shouted, “My son will not marry a Cynt girl!”

  “Then he will get no land,” I said.

  The man looked around for support, but his fellows had already started matchmaking.

  The lieutenant brought me another taste of wine. He whispered, “Not a very good deal for Barok.”

  “Lord Sol Yentif did it to the men of Urmand, and his son Vall did it to the nobles of Berm and Heneur. And you will help me do it here.”

  “You expect this to work?”

  “It already has.”

  “But you have given them ownership of tremendous quantities of land. They will pick the best for themselves.”

  I was not in the mood to explain but took a long drink and asked, “Which two hides in Enhedu would you claim for your son?”

  “The apple orchard in Ojesti.”

  “How large is the orchard?”

  “Five or six hides, I suppose,” he said and arrived finally at the heart of it. “They will still have to pay rent on the rest of the hides of the tract—including the rest of the orchard.”

  “Correct. Rarely is the best of an area confined to a pair of hides. And they will have to pay rent on the rest regardless of how they use it. Now, get out amongst them and start collecting the details of the marriages. I am going to write down what Barok has promised.” He went, and I grabbed brush and vellum and wrote the accord in one go.

  A decanter appeared next to me when I was finished. It was almost empty but was enough for one long chug before I read through the copy.

  An Accord

  Signed in absence of duress on this the 38th Day of Spring, 1196, witnessed by the noble families Cynt and Raydau, and the senior prelate of Osburth, between Arilas Barok Yentif of Enhedu (the lessor), the below signed male members of the Cynt and Raydau families (the signatories), the direct descendants of the signatories (the lessees), and all the men the signatories and lessee collectively command (the auxiliary candidates): Who all agree that in the lands known as the Oreol, no contract or claim previously made upon the Oreol shall stand, and further, that the lessor owns all said lands outright and without the objection of any man who lives upon it.

  Each lessee, in exchange fo
r a hereditary lease of 200 hides of land, agrees to each of the below clauses. Failure to satisfy these terms will result in the surrender of all rights and title described herein.

  * * *

  Clause one ~ Marry until death a blood member of the other family, Raydau to Cynt or Cynt to Raydau

  Clause two ~ The lessee agrees to pay to the lessor each spring and autumn, two silver standards per acre leased, regardless of condition

  Clause three ~ The lessee swears allegiance to the lessor and will submit to the inspection of any lawful representative

  Clause four ~ Upon each successful production of a child by the union described in clause one, hereditary title to two hides of the leased land will be deeded to that child

  Clause five ~ Any auxiliary candidate, regardless of previous commitments of services or fealty, may choose during the twenty days following the signing of this accord to step away from all previous claims to their person and enter into martial service of the lessor. Upon making greencoat muster, said man will be given hereditary title to one unoccupied hide of land of his choosing within the northern third of Enhedu. Title to said land will remain free and clear of all tax and tithe so long as: 1) he or a member of his family makes muster; and 2) the stewardship of the land can be demonstrated by the proper production of a house book.

  The master sergeant quietly entered, made eye contact, and came to attention as if nothing at all was the matter. Except that there was no reason at all for him to do so. I made my way across.

  “The priests are trying to leave,” he said.

  “Leave the Oreol? How would they do that?”

  “Up through the pass would be my guess,” he said. “They’ve packed up all their belongings and are heading for the gates. They have a dozen men with pack horses gathered just outside.”

  “Good enough. Ambush these servants of Bayen on this side of Irdsay and bury them deep.”

  He wrinkled his nose once at the smell of my breath and looked over my shoulder. The swineherd stood there as if it was his place.

  “You have something to say, Lieutenant Kennculli?”