He lit the house on fire, to announce to Saxnor that a worthy warrior was coming, and then strode away south, toward the river and home.
-Interlude XI-
Bodden
Summer 960 MC
The room was quiet for some time. Gerald sipped at his ale; there was a feeling of gloom hanging over the room.
“It is the burden of the commoners to bear the brunt of war, I’m afraid,” said the baron at last. “I wish it were not so.”
“I had no idea the Norlanders claimed the Mercerian throne,” said Hayley.
“Oh yes,” offered Anna. “It all dates back to the year 520.”
“Why, what happened in 520?” asked Beverly.
Anna smiled, pleased that her knowledge would once again prove useful this evening, “In that year the King of Merceria was King Talran. He had two sons, Talburn and Talrith. Talburn disagreed with his father's rule and tried to take the throne for himself.”
“Why would he do that?” asked Beverly. “All he had to do was wait till his father died.”
“I don’t know why, but he raised an army and marched on Kingsford, that was the capital back then. He was defeated at the Battle of the Hills, and fled north with the remainder of his followers.”
“Why didn’t they track him down?” asked Hayley.
“They tried, but the crown had taken heavy losses in the battle. Talburn managed to get away, and we now know he made it to Norland. His brother Talrith became king in his place when their father finally died.”
“It's called the sundering,” offered the baron. “It’s not something they like to talk about in the capital these days.”
“I can see why” offered Anna. “It wouldn’t look good to have someone survive an attempt to take the throne.”
“The Norlanders have been trouble ever since,” offered Albreda. “Though anyone outside of the border region wouldn’t know it. They’ve harassed the Whitewood for generations.”
“Well,” interrupted the baron, “I suppose we should bring this little get together to an end. It’s getting late, and we all have things to do tomorrow.”
“Just one more tale?” requested Anna.
“We’ve all told a story,” Gerald reminded the princess.
“Then I’ll tell one,” said Anna, a determined look on her face.
“Very well, Your Highness,” said Fitz, “feel free to share your tale.”
“Well,” she started, “it’s the story of Tempus. He was a mighty warrior dog who grew up in Merceria.”
Albreda rose, moving over the large beast, gently laying her hands on his forehead. He looked up at her, his tail wagging slightly. “I don’t think he grew up in Merceria,” she commented.
“What do you mean? Of course, he grew up in Merceria, I’ve known him for years.”
“Yes, but he was full grown when you met him,” Albreda reminded her.
“Wait,” said Anna, “are you saying you can talk to him?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say talk exactly, but yes, I can communicate with him.”
Anna was enthralled, “What does he say?”
Albreda smiled, “I think it’s quite evident that he loves you very much.”
Anna beamed, “And I love him too, you can tell him that.”
“Oh, he knows that already. Do you want to know how he came to be your dog?”
“Yes,” she replied, “I mean, I know the king sent him to Uxley, but I don’t know much more than that.”
“I’m afraid it isn’t the nicest of stories, are you sure you want to hear?”
“Yes,” Anna said, solemnly, “now I need to know the truth.”
“Very well,” said Albreda, “I will reveal his story, though you must remember it is seen through the eyes of a dog.”
“How does it begin?” asked Anna.
“Much like Gerald's tale,” offered Albreda. “With water…”
A Dog’s Tale: Part I
Somewhere on the Coast of Westland
Year Unknown
“Our tale starts at sea,” began Albreda, “though I cannot fathom how long ago it was. There was a great storm that struck a ship, near the shores of Westland.”
The ship shuddered as the great wave crashed against the hull. The Captain, long used to sea travel, tried to brush it off, but the look in his eyes told his crew this was a storm of the Gods. Onward the ship ploughed, rising on the crest of one wave only to fall into the deep valley formed by the trough. The bow drove down, biting deep into the water while the next wave swamped over the deck, sending men scrambling for safety. Another great heave of the ocean carried the wooden vessel soaring up, but as it plummeted down again, the ship gave out a mighty groan as the hull began to split.
Beneath the deck water sluiced upon the kennels that held mighty Kurathian Mastiffs, bred for war, each capable of tearing the legs from under a galloping horse. It was an expensive cargo; these creatures had been bred for generations to be the epitome of the fighting dog.
In one kennel, a tiny pup tried to stand, but the rocking ship skittered the young hound across the floor to bang up against the bars of his cage. It let out a yelp, and its mother, out of concern, sniffed the air. There was a loud cracking noise, then the planks of the hull split, and water starting pouring in. Yelling and screaming could be heard above the roar of the storm, and the young pup saw Humans scuttling past. The water level began to rise, and then the ship lurched as if striking some great beast. Everything pitched violently forward and the cages, held in place with rope, collapsed, their metal frames bending as they piled in on each other.
The pup, in wild-eyed panic, pushed itself through the bent bars, desperate to escape the water. It turned to see its mother lying lifeless within. Pawing at the bars, it would have stayed till the end, but someone, in their bid to escape the hold, opened the upper hatch and a flood of water rushed in, carrying the tiny dog toward the back of the ship.
As the water rose, the creature paddled as best it could, desperate to keep its head above water. There was a mighty crash, and suddenly the ship disintegrated. He was thrown into the maelstrom, swirled around by the currents, and he struggled to swim through waves that tossed him about wildly. He watched the ship sink, seeing its masts disappearing below the waves like felled trees.
A tremendous swell broke, thundering down on him, driving him deep into the water where his descent to the depths was only stopped when he struck sand. The current scraped him onward, throwing him ashore upon a sandy beach. Bits of debris came hurtling along after him as the God's fury dragged the remnants of the ship from the sea. He struggled to survive the lashing of the wind and rain, crawling under cover of whatever he could find. Finally, beneath the debris, he cowered, until, at last, sleep came.
* * *
“Miriam, don’t go far!” the man yelled. Off to the south, he watched his young daughter running across the sand. It had been a terrible storm, and now they combed the beach, looking for anything useful the sea might have washed ashore. At the very least, some driftwood would prove helpful. The farm was always in need of firewood, and gathering driftwood was far less work than cutting down trees.
There was a lot of debris, and he couldn’t help but feel sorry for whatever ship had been destroyed. There were deck planks and tarred ropes in abundance, along with barrels and such. With any luck, they might find a lantern or two that he could resell in the city.
“It’s a ship, Papa,” the young girl proclaimed excitedly. “I bet it’s got treasure!”
“Careful now,” he called out, “I don’t want you getting hurt. There's bound to be sharp edges and splinters.”
The young girl poked her way through the wreckage with a stick. “There’s cloth over here,” she yelled, “come have a look.”
The man made his way over in anticipation. This was luck indeed, for a ship's sailcloth would prove most useful. There was a larger section of debris, with the sail, tattered and torn as it was, draping over it. The father started pull
ing out timbers of a manageable size while his daughter poked around some more with her stick.
“It’s moving,” she called, “come quick.”
He dropped the beam he was trying to shift to run over to her. Half expecting the wind to be playing tricks, he was surprised to see movement beneath the linen sail.
“Stand back,” he warned. “It’s probably just a crab or something, but we must be careful.” He took the stick from her, using its tip to gently lift the edge of the sail. There was movement beneath, something with light brown hair, definitely not a crab! He put the stick under the material, using both hands to flip up the sailcloth.
“It’s a puppy,” the girl yelled. “Oh, look, do you think it’s hurt?”
The father had been searching the beach all his life, but never had he seen such a sight. He crouched down near the tiny dog, placing his hand upon it. “He’s still breathing,” he said. “The poor creature must have been on the ship. Come on, let’s take him home with us.”
The little girl smiled, “Is he ours now, Papa?”
Her father smiled back, “Malin himself has seen fit to have him survive last night's tempest and bring him to us. Yes, I believe he is meant to be ours.”
“Tempus?”
“No, tempest. It’s a big storm, you understand?”
“Yes, Papa. A Tempus is a very big storm.”
The man chuckled, “Very well, what do you think we should call this creature?”
“Tempus,” she declared.
“You mean Tempest?”
“Yes,” she repeated, “Tempus.”
He cradled the poor creature as they made their way back to the farm.
* * *
“Life was good for young Tempus,” continued Albreda, “for he had a loving family. He was well fed and guarded the farm for them, but sadly, all good things must come to an end.”
* * *
Tempus lay on the floor as feet shuffled past. Today the house was quiet, despite the number of people present. They talked in hushed tones and the little girl, her face wet with tears, was taken into her father's room. She emerged, moments later, her face buried in her mother's dress.
Later in the morning, they brought the father out. He was laid in a wooden box; its top sealed. The sound of the hammer, driving the nails into the wood sounded ominous, as if warning the Afterlife that someone was coming.
Tempus watched, saddened by the look on the face of the little girl who had loved her father so deeply. Her mother, robed in black, followed the procession as it left the house, the little girl following meekly, her hand held in that of her mother. The beast stirred, rising to his feet, no longer the tiny puppy of a time gone by. He was tall now, his head resting at the level of most people's waists. He turned his wrinkled countenance to watch as the visitors filed out the door into the field beyond. Following along behind them, he heard wailing and turned to see a man in blue robes raising his hands above his head, with a staff in one hand. From his throat issued forth the clear notes of a song and soon the others joined in, the harmonies melding to form a lament.
Tempus howled, the sound blending with the soulful tones of the others. Soon, the hymn finished, and they gathered around a hole where the father, within his box, was gently lowered into the ground. More words were said, and then a single voice rang out as the little girl serenaded her father with one last song.
The crowd dispersed, saying their farewells while three men began to fill in the hole. He trotted over, sniffing the ground as they dug; this was the smell of death. His name was called, and he turned to see the little girl, beckoning him. No longer would he hear his master call his name, no longer would the father be there to look after his little girl. I must guard her now, he thought, it is what he would have wanted.
* * *
Sometime later he sat watching as the last of the belongings were put into a wagon. The farm had proven too much for the mother, and she was taking her daughter away from this place. He leaped into the back of the wagon and soon the rhythmic steps of the horse commenced. He watched as the house that had been his home disappeared into the distance while they trundled down the road.
For most of his short life, he had lived on the farm, remembering little of his experiences before. The future was unknown, but as they travelled the road, he caught a whiff of new scents, heard new sounds and thought he was on a great adventure.
Later in the day the smells changed, no longer did the fresh air of the country cross his nose, now he detected a foul odour as if the land was covered in excrement. The road turned bumpy, and soon the horse's hooves clattered loudly as their feet struck a hard surface. It was jarring, the change, and Tempus looked over the back of the wagon to see small stones, tightly fitted together. He looked up to see towering structures, much larger than the farm that had been his home for so long.
The wagon stopped, and the mother climbed down from the cart, helped by the fellow in charge of the horses. She knocked on a door, and soon a rough looking man with an unkempt beard appeared. Coins changed hands, and the man placed a key into her palm. She walked down two more entranceways and unlocked the door; this was to be their new home.
Tempus dropped to the ground and trotted over while the driver started unloading the wagon. The mother had called over the little girl, and they stepped inside, their faithful dog behind them. The smell of the place caused him to wrinkle his nose; the stench of the city permeated it. The walls were filthy, the rooms empty, with a threadbare cloth hanging limply in the only window, its shutters twisted and warped.
The mother turned to the child, and he watched her weep openly. Was this their future now?
* * *
They had only been in their new home for a couple of days when the trouble began. The rough looking man appeared at the door, a wooden stick in his hand. There was an argument, and he struck the woman, forcing his way in. Tempus rose from his place, but the woman bid him stay. He watched, confused, as the intruder berated her, felt her hair, then placed his face close to hers, all the while talking in threatening tones. Tempus growled at the wretch, who turned, pointed the stick at him, yelling, before finally leaving their home.
From then on, whenever the rough man visited, Tempus would be ordered to sit in the kitchen with the child, while grunts and shrieks erupted from the mother's room. Each time he would return to see her sitting, shattered, crouched in the corner holding her knees to her chest. Soon, the scoundrel began spending more time at the home. He would push the woman out the door in the mornings, and later, after it was dark, she would return, worn out and ragged, to deposit coins in his hands. Tempus hated the man, and his hackles would rise when he smelled the gin-soaked fiend approaching.
It finally came to a head one day. The woman had been pushed out the door, and the young girl was dressing while Tempus lay on the floor. The door flung open, and the brute stepped through the doorway to leer at the girl. He grabbed her roughly by the arm, and she screamed. Tempus sprang into action, leaping on him. Surprised by the sudden burst of speed, the man let go, tumbling to the floor, and then the huge dog was upon him, clamping his teeth down on the man's forearm; how dare he threaten his mistress!
Blood spurted from the man's arm, and he yelled out in pain. He kicked Tempus, but the great beast easily absorbed the blows. Down bit his powerful jaws and Tempus felt bones crushing between his teeth. There was a thud to the side of his head, and he released his grip. The man had grabbed a chair with his other hand and brought it crashing down on his opponent. The scoundrel scrambled to the door, his blood leaving a slimy trail upon the floor. Tempus leaped after him, but he was too slow as the door closed on him. He sat, listening to the man dragging himself away, calling for help. Fearful for his mistress' safety, he turned to see her shrunken into the corner, her eyes wild with fear. He tried to calm her, but the closer he got to her, the more fearful she looked.
He turned back to the doorway, determined to guard her with his life. It didn’t take long for re
tribution to come. There was yelling outside, and then a group of men entered the house. The door to the girl's room opened and half a dozen men stood ready with sticks and spears, the injured man safely behind them. In they came and the fight was on.
Tempus lunged out, sinking his teeth into a calf, the man screaming in agony, and then a flurry of blows descended on the dog as the room flooded with men. They looped a rope around his neck, and then pulled him from his feet, binding his legs. Despite his struggles, he was soon subdued, unable to move as they dragged him from the room. Someone grabbed his mistress. He heard her screams, and then the rough man held her tightly by the upper arm. A different man with long stringy hair stooped to look down at Tempus, nodding as he sized the beast up. He stood, depositing some coins in the rough man's hands, and then the group of them dragged the dog out of the house.
Outside there was a small, two-wheeled cart with a cage on the back. Four men lifted him up, locking him in the cage and then they began to move down the street. Tempus, helpless in his bondage, could only look on in despair as the house disappeared from view while the distant screams of his mistress echoed behind him.
* * *
They rode down the narrow, cobbled streets, the uneven stones rocking the cart as it made its way through the stench. There was blood here, smelled Tempus, blood and death. The wagon halted, and then men came and dragged him from his cage through a large open door of a two-storey wooden building. Inside, he saw many crates and barrels as he was pulled along, the smell of saltwater fresh in the air. He heard the sound of water somewhere; the gentle sloshing of tiny waves upon stone.
They hauled him past a sunken pit in a cleared space near the middle of the building. Around this were seats, empty at this moment. Daylight leaked in through some shutters near the roof, reminding Tempus of the ship from so long ago, yet this structure was larger and didn’t move.
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