Century of the Soldier: The Collected Monarchies of God (Volume Two) (88 page)

He pursed his lips. "Abrusio has a garrison of some six thousand men left to her. The marines went with the fleet, as did all the great ships. All we have left are despatch-runners and a few gunboats. There are small garrisons in Imerdon and up on the border with Fulk, but they are weeks away."

"There are the mole-forts," Isolla said. "In the Civil War they held up Abeleyn's fleet for days."

"These things," Hawkwood said slowly, "can fly."

"What were they, Captain?" Golophin asked. Even at a time like this, he seemed more curious than appalled.

"I saw one once before, in the jungle of the Western Continent. I believe they were men at one time, but they have been warped beyond humanity. They are like great bats with tails, and the talons of a raptor. And they number many thousands. There is a fleet out there also, mostly composed of lesser ships, and on board it are black-armoured warriors with pincers for hands and a carapace like that of a beetle. They swarm like veritable cockroaches in any case. The city cannot stand against that. Her best men died off North Cape and her citizens, from what you tell me, are in no mood to stand and fight."

"Abrusio is doomed, then," Isolla murmured.

Golophin's face was a demonic mask. "I believe so. Hebrion, at least, must accept Aruan's terms, or see bloodshed that will make the Civil War pale into insignificance."

"He wants the nobles handed over too," Hawkwood reminded him. "He intends to extinguish the aristocracy of the whole kingdom."

Both men looked at Isolla. She smiled bitterly. "I care not. My husband and my brother are both dead. I may as well join them."

Golophin took her hand. "My Queen, you have been like a daughter to me, one of the few folk I have trusted in this long, absurd life of mine. This man here is another such, though he has not always known it. Abeleyn your husband was the third, and Bardolin of Carreirida was the fourth. Now only you and Hawkwood remain." As she hung her head he gripped her fingers more tightly. "I speak to you now as a Royal advisor, but also as a friend. You must leave Hebrion. You must take ship with a few of the household whom you in your turn can trust, and sail from these shores. And you must go soon, within the day."

Isolla looked shaken. "Where shall I go?"

It was Hawkwood who answered. "King Corfe still rules in Torunna, and his army is the greatest in the world. You should go to Torunn, lady. You will be safe there."

"No. My place is here."

"Hawkwood is right," Golophin said fiercely. "If Aruan captures you then all hope for the future is lost. The people must have some continuity in the times to come. And you must go by sea; the land route to the east is closed." He raised a hand. "Let us hear no more on this matter. I have already spoken to the Master of Ships down in Admiral's Tower. A state xebec awaits you as we speak. Hawkwood here will captain it. You ought to leave, I am told, with a certain combination of tides, the - the -"

"The ebb tide," Hawkwood told him. "It happens at the sixth hour after noon. The xebec is a good choice. She's lateen-rigged, and with this westerly she'll have a beam wind to work with to get out of the harbour - precious little leeway, mind. But you'll find some other skipper. I'm staying here."

Isolla and Golophin both glared at him.

"I survived my King, my Admiral and my ship - despite being her captain," Hawkwood said simply. "I'm not running away again."

"Bloody fool," Golophin said. "And what service will you render here in Hebrion apart from having that stiff neck of yours chopped through?"

"I might make the same point to you. You're staying, it seems - and for what?"

"I can be in Torunn in the blink of an eye if I so choose."

"You look as though a child could knock you over with a willow-wand."

"He's right, Golophin," Isolla said quickly. "Are your powers in need of recuperation? You do not look well." She appeared momentarily exasperated by her own timidity. Hawkwood saw her jaw harden. But then Golophin, ignoring her, was poking him in the chest with a bony forefinger.

"Aruan told you his forbearance is at an end. Twice now he's let you live, to suit his own ends. He will not do so again. Plus, this ship needs an experienced navigator. You will be travelling the entire length of three seas to reach Torunn.. You are going, Captain. And you, lady - even if I were not your friend I would insist, that as Hebrion's reigning Queen, you must go. And you will, if I have to have you bundled up in a sack. Hawkwood, I charge you with her protection. Now let us hear no more about it. As it happens, I have a reason for staying, and you have given me reason to believe Aruan will not have me slain out of hand. Nor am I defenceless, so rest your minds from that selfless worry and start preparing for your voyage. There are tunnels under the palace that lead almost to the waterfront; Abeleyn had them dug ten years ago, so you will be able to leave without creating even more of a panic than already exists. Isolla knows where they are. You will leave by them as soon as you possibly can."

"I can't do that - I must speak to the nobility before I go. I can't just sneak away," Isolla protested.

Golophin finally let slip the leash on his temper. "
You can and you will!"
A cold light blazed up in his eyes. They burned like white flames and the fury in them made Isolla retreat a step. "By Ramusio's beard, I thought you had better sense. Do you think you can give a cheery little speech to the nobles and then expect to trip lightly away? This kingdom is about to go enter a dark age that none of us can imagine, and the storm of its wings is almost upon us. I have no more time to sit here and wrangle with stiffnecked fools and silly little girls
. You will both do as I say
."

The light in his eyes faded. In a more human voice he said, "Hawkwood, a word with you outside."

The mage and the mariner left the shocked Queen behind and stood outside her door. Hawkwood watched Golophin warily, and the old wizard grinned.

"What do you think - did I put the fear of God into her?"

"You old bastard! And into me too."

"Good. The eyes were a nice touch, I think. Listen, Richard, you must get her down to that damned ship by midafternoon at the latest. Your vessel is called the
Seahare
, and is berthed in the Royal yards at the very foot of Admiral's Tower. Do not ask how I purloined her; I would blush to tell you. But she is yours, and all the paperwork is..." He grinned again. "Irrelevant. Everything is ready or almost so. They're lading her with extra stores but she's a flyer, not a fighter - so they tell me - and if I start sending marines aboard it'll arouse suspicion. The current captain is on shore leave, no doubt dipping his wick in some bawdy-house. I have spoken to the harbourmaster, and you are expected, but your passengers are anonymous nobles, no more."

"Nobles? So who are the others?" Hawkwood asked.

"I'm not yet sure there will be others. That is what I am going to find out now. Just get Isolla down to that ship. And - and look after her, Richard. Quite apart from being Queen, she's a fine woman."

"I know. Listen, Golophin, I haven't thanked you -"

"Don't bother. I need you as much as you needed me. Now I must be gone." Golophin gripped his arm. "I will see you again, Captain, of that you may be sure."

Then he was off, striding down the passageway like a much younger man, albeit one who looked as though he had not eaten in a month.

A
FLURRY OF
packing - and Hawkwood conscripted into the process by dark little Brienne, Isolla's Astaran maid, who had been with her since childhood. Isolla white-faced and silent, still believing Golophin's rage to be genuine. And then a subterranean journey, the little trio hurrying and stumbling by torchlight, weighed down with bags and even a small trunk. From the palace to Admiral's Tower was the better part of half a league, and the first third of the way was a steep-stepped descent of dripping stone, the Queen leading the way with a guttering torch, Hawkwood and Brienne following, unable to see their own feet for the burdens they carried. Hawkwood stepped once on the wriggling softness of a rat, and stumbled. At once, Isolla's strong hand was at his elbow, helping him to his feet. The Queen's face was invisible under a hooded cloak, but she was as tall as a man, and up to the burden. Hawkwood found himself admiring her quick, sure gait, and the slender fingers that held aloft the torch. Her perfume drifted back to him as they laboured along, an essence of lavender, like the scent of the Hebros foothills in summer.

At last they came to a door, which Isolla unlocked and left open behind them, and stepped out into the lower yards of the Tower. All about them was the tumult of the wharves, the screaming gulls. Sea-scents of rotting fish and tar and wood and salt. A forest of masts rose up into a clear sky before them, and the sunlight was dazzling, blinding after their underground journey. They stood blinking, momentarily bewildered by the spectacle. It was Hawkwood who collected his wits first, and led them to their vessel where it floated at its moorings in the midst of a crowd of others.

T
HE
S
EAHARE
WAS
a lateen-rigged xebec of some three hundred tons, a fast despatch-runner of the Hebrian navy with a crew of sixty. Three-masted, she could run up both lateen and square-rigged yards depending on the wind. She was a sharp-beaked ship with an overhanging counter and a narrow keel, but she was nonetheless wide in the beam to enhance her stability as a sail-platform. Her decks were turtle-built so that any seas which came aboard might run off into the scuppers at once, and above the decks were gratings which ran from the centre-line to the ship's rail so that her crew might work dry-shod whilst the water ran off below them. As Golophin had said, she was built for speed, not warfare, and though she had a pair of twelve-pound bow-chasers her broadside amounted to half a dozen light sakers, more to counter a last-minute boarding than to facilitate any real sea-battle. Hawkwood's arrival was greeted with unfriendly stares, but as soon as the ladies were below he began shouting out a series of orders that showed he knew his business. The first mate, a Merduk named Arhuz, was a small, compact man, dark as a seal. He had sailed with Julius Albak thirty years before, and like all of the other sailors he knew of Richard Hawkwood and his great voyage, as a man remembers the nursery-rhymes learned as a child. Once the knowledge of the new captain's identity had spread about the ship the men set to work with a will. It was not every day they were to be skippered by a legend.

A great deal of stores had still to be taken on board, and the mainhatch was gaping dark and wide as the men hauled on tackles from the yardarms to lower casks and sacks into the hold. Others were trundling more casks from the great storerooms under the Tower, whilst yet more were coiling away spare cables and hauling aboard reluctant goats and cages of chickens. It looked like chaos, but it was a controlled chaos, and Hawkwood was satisfied that they would complete their victualling in time for the evening tide.

The Royal yards had not yet been engulfed by the panicked disorder that was enveloping the rest of the waterfront, but that disorder was audible beyond the massive walls that separated them from the Inner Roads. Fear was rank in the air, and all the while men looked over their shoulder at the approaching storm towering in the west, and swallowing up ever more of the sky as it thundered eastwards. Hawkwood needed no charts in this part of the world; he knew all the coasts around Abrusio as well as the features of his own face, and that face grew grave as he considered what it would be like to beat out of the Inner Roads under a strong westerly. Handy as the xebec might be at dealing with a beam wind, she would have to win some leeway once they made it into the Gulf, or that wind might just push them headlong onto the unforgiving coast of Hebrion. But they would have the ebbing flow of the tide beneath the keel, to draw them out of the bay and into the wider gulf beyond. He hoped that would be enough.

Through the years, Hawkwood had taken ships uncounted out of this port, into the green waters of the Gulf, and then beyond, to Macassar of the Corsairs, to Gabrion which had spawned him and of which he remembered almost nothing now. To the coasts of hot Calmar and the jungles of savage Punt. But all those memories faded into a merry silence beside the one voyage which had made his name. The one that had broken him. No good had come of it that he could see, least of all to himself. But he knew now that it would always be irrevocably linked to him - among mariners at least. He had earned a place in history - more importantly perhaps, he had won a hard-bought right to stand tall in the ranks of the mariners of yore, among the sailors of this present day at least. But he took no pride in it. He knew now that it counted for nothing. Men did things because they had to do them, or because they seemed the only thing to do at the time. And afterwards they were lauded as heroes. It was the way the world worked. He knew that now.

But this woman below, she mattered. She mattered to the world, of course - it was important that she survive - but most of all she now mattered to him. And he dared not delve deeper into that knowledge, for fear his middle-age might come laughing back at him. It was enough that she was here.

For a while Richard Hawkwood, standing on the quarterdeck of another man's ship with doom approaching out of the west, watched the sailors ready his vessel for sea, and knew that she was below, and was inexplicably happy.