Prince of Wrath (72 page)

By the time he got to the beach the weather was turning very windy. Dark clouds were scudding overhead and he scowled at them. The smaller ships, lashed together, rode the swell better than they would have if they were on their own, but the seas were getting rough. The supplies and equipment were piled up above the high water mark and Jorqel directed Captain Hammerfall to arrange their transportation up to the edge of the beach next to the hills. The coming storm wouldn’t be good for them if they were left by the high water mark.

More men came ashore and Jorqel directed them either to join Gavan inland or help with the supplies. His equine tossed it’s head, not liking the salt-spray from the sea. It smelt odd, but at least it was out in the fresh air. It had not liked being in the hold tied tightly to the rails down there. Here it could move about.

The unloading took some time, the manual lifting of three hundred equines took two watches, nearly half a day, and all the time the weather deteriorated. By the time the last was walked to the beach the seas beyond the shallow stretches was too rough for the flat-bottomed boats which were abandoned, their crews scrambling onto the two warships which cast away from the improvised bridge and slowly, sluggishly, made their way out into the deeper waters and swung about. The wind was blowing hard and the rain had begun by now. Drakan wanted to be away from land by the time the worst hit, and those ashore would have to take their chances. He had done his bit, now it was down to the army to do theirs.

Argan was getting fed up with Fantor-Face’s behaviour. Every time he wanted to do something, his brother tried to ruin it by insisting he came along, and when he did, he did everything to spoil things, laughing when he succeeded. Argan had resorted to keeping what he intended to do in his spare time a secret, but his mother wasn’t pleased as she wanted to know what he was doing and where he was to go.

“Mother, I just wish to stay in my room and read,” he said to Isbel at the dining table.

“You can’t stay indoors all the time, Argan,” Isbel countered with exasperation. “You spend enough time here studying. It isn’t healthy to stay inside all the time. What about visiting the equines in the stables? Or going with Kerrin and Istan to the walls to see how they are coming along?”

“I ride, mother,” Argan said. “I have ridden to the river and back today. Panat says I’m coming along very well with my riding.”

“Well there must be somewhere you would like to go, Argan!”

There is, mother, but I’m not going to tell you so that Fantor-Face finds out. You tell him everything! the prince thought to himself. He merely held his mother’s gaze and said nothing.

Istan was seated opposite, listening in on the conversation avidly. If he could spoil another of Argan’s days then that would be great. He hated the stupid prince. He wanted to make every day as miserable and horrible for him as he possibly could. He pulled a face at Argan who was eyeing him. Argan looked away. He wished his brother could pick up a piece of food and stuff his face. At least he’d not be able to pull one of his horrid expressions then.

“Very well, but if you change your mind, let me know, is that clear, Argan?”

“Yes, mother,” Argan said and asked permission to leave the table. He had eaten enough and he didn’t want to be anywhere near the food-spattered Istan any more than was necessary. Istan deliberately ate messily because he had been told to be cleaner, so he did the opposite. Argan wasn’t sure if Istan was wearing more of the dinner than he had eaten. Maybe that was why he wasn’t putting on a lot of weight.

He was escorted to his room by a guard. Kerrin joined him a few moments later, having waited for his friend to appear. “Hey, ‘Gan, want to come see the wool beasts they’re going to sell at market tomorrow?”

“Wool beasts?” Argan was interested. “Where?”

“The pens just off the square. Father says they’re going to be sold for food or breeding.”

“Breeding?”

“Yes,” Kerrin nodded. “To make little wool beasts.”

“Oh – wonder how they do that?” Argan frowned. “Breeding?”

“Let’s go. It’ll be dark soon and they’ll shut the pens then.”

They both had coats and left the room. A guard snapped straight to attention by the door. “It’s alright,” Argan said, “we’re just going out to the courtyard,” he said easily.

“Hey,” Kerrin whispered as they walked down the passageway, “that’s a fib!”

“No it isn’t,” Argan said firmly. “We are going into the courtyard. I just didn’t say we would go on past it!”

Kerrin giggled and followed his friend down the stairs to the main hall where the visitors were received. Nobody was there except Vosgaris and a couple of other soldiers. “Hey, young Prince,” the captain said, “where are you two off to? If you go outside without an escort your mother will have me cleaning the latrines out for a season!”

“Would she?” Argan said, his eyes wide.

“Of course. She hates you going anywhere without her knowing.”

“But then she tells Fantor-Face and he ruins what we do!” Argan protested. Everyone knew who Fantor-Face was, except the imperial couple and Istan. Argan had told everyone and also to keep it quiet from the three. The guards, Vosgaris and the servants had all complied, as much as a mark of respect for the popular young prince as for the dread of letting it be known to the emperor or empress who, they were sure, would be furious.

The sniggering behind Istan’s back went on from some, or smiles, particularly when Istan was being more obnoxious than usual, which was fairly frequently. Vosgaris drew in a deep breath, as much to stop himself from smiling. “You’ll have to have an escort, no matter who you go with. Two small boys out in the streets of Zofela? I’d be strung up!” He snapped his fingers and two guards stepped forward, their eyes full of good humour. This was the sort of assignment they didn’t mind. Both set aside their spears and checked they had their swords strapped to their hips.

With their two guards, Argan and Kerrin went out across the ward, passing a porcine wrangler trying to persuade one of the large pink creatures to enter a wooden fenced area without much success. The porcine squealed and made a bolt for freedom, evading a desperate lunge and dive and hurtling towards the gatehouse.

“Porcine break!” the cry went up. Two guards by the gate shouted up to their comrade up in the control room and the portcullis crashed down, scaring the creature away from the archway. It careened across the ward, hotly pursued by the wrangler and two others, squealing in outrage.

Argan and Kerrin were helpless with laughter at the sight. “That’s so funny!” Argan held his stomach, tears running down his cheeks. “Wonder if they would herd Fantor-Face like that?”

“He’d be too big to put in the pen,” Kerrin chuckled.

Argan nodded. The two guards stood patiently, waiting for the two boys to recover their composure. Finally they resumed and passed through the archway, the portcullis having been raised again. Out in the street Argan paused to orientate himself. The square stood before him and the new military building was directly ahead. Off to one side stood the pens that held the animals that were to be auctioned the following day.

The four made their way across the square, avoiding the small puddles that had been left either by the recent shower or by animals relieving themselves. The smell of the wool beasts hit them first, even before they rounded the corner. “Phaw! That pongs!” Kerrin exclaimed.

“Wool beasts poo lots. Look,” Argan pointed as they came in sight of the pens, “there they are. Let’s go see them.”

The two guards stood back slightly, relaxed that there didn’t seem to be any immediate danger to the two boys. A couple of auctioneers watched from their platform with interest, eating a late dinner. It had been a long day for them and they had to eat when they could.

“So how do they breed, then, ‘Rin?” Argan asked, peering at the docile beasts, some of whom were peering back at the boys.

“Don’t know. Father said that’s what some do. Special ones. Male wool beasts.”

“Uh? Male? Oh, boy wool beasts. What’s the difference?”

Kerring giggled. “Oh, ‘Gan, they have – thingies.”

Argan grinned. “What – like people?”

Kerrin nodded, feeling slightly daring. “You know, like when equines do it.”

Argan looked shocked and stared at Kerrin. “Oh, gosh, yes! That was very noisy! Wool beasts do the same?” he returned his attention to the animals in the pen, staring unconcerned at him. “So which are the boy wool beasts and which are the girl wool beasts?”

“Dunno. They all look the same.”

“They got too much wool to see.”

The guards rolled their eyes and stepped back one more pace. They did not want the prince to ask them about such things.

“I’ll ask the men over there,” Argan decided, standing up. He made his way smartly to the auctioneers, followed quickly by the others. The two auctioneers straightened, having recognised Argan.

“Greetings, young Prince,” one said, bowing. The other bowed, too.

Argan smiled and bowed slightly. “Hello! These wool beasts – which are the boys and which are the girls?”

“Ah, they are all girls, Prince Argan.”

“Oh! What about the boy wool beasts, if some are to breed?”

“Ah,” the first auctioneer smiled. “They are in a separate pen. We have to keep them apart.”

“Why?”

“Ah,” the auctioneer swallowed. He looked to his colleague for help who raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Well, the boy wool beasts might try to breed with the girls and we don’t want that, not here, anyway.”

“Would they? Wow, that’s great!” Argan recalled the incident when a female equine had been suddenly mounted by a stallion, quite unexpectedly, when he had been in a lesson with Panat close to the equine pens. It had caused a stir and Argan had watched astounded. He didn’t know why the people had run to the two beasts, nor why one had thrown a bucket of cold water over the stallion.

“So how does that make a baby wool beast?”

“Ah, that is something I can’t tell you, your highness; I think your father or mother should tell you. It’s not for me to speak of such things, you see. Not my place.”

Argan looked disappointed. “Oh, alright. Well, thank you.” He moved off with Kerrin. “Someone must know,” he said in frustration. “I wonder if Amal does? Bragal people know lots about animals.”

Kerrin agreed. They returned to the castle and sought out Sasia/Amal. She was busy cleaning the room. The guards knocked off, grateful it had been a short assignment, and they could now go to the canteen to have a drink. “Hey, Amal,” Argan said, shutting the door to his room. “Do you know how animals breed?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, surprised at being asked. They conversed in Bragalese when alone, including Kerrin, who had learned from the other two. Argan had insisted his friend learned, both to join in the conversation and to understand what was being said in the streets. His knowledge was patchy but improving all the time. “Why do you want to know, Lakhani?”

“I want to know. Princes should know!”

The Bragalese servant smiled and sat down on the rug and the two boys did likewise, facing her. She may have been only eight years of age but she had seen how the animals that her family had kept had bred, and had even helped with the birth of a couple. She described how the female got bigger with the growing baby inside, and how, at the time of birth, the creature lay down and where the new born offspring emerged. The two boys were all wide eyes and open mouths. “And that is how it is with every animal?” Kerrin asked.

“And people, too, I think,” Sasia said, nodding. “But I’ve not seen it when it happens.”

“So – how does the baby get there in the first place?” Argan asked, frowning. “Is it like what equines do?”

Kerrin giggled; he’d seen the stallions at work with the mares. Sasia smiled briefly. “I suppose so – I don’t know how but it would seem to be the way. People must make babies like that.”

The three thought on it a little more. “You think mother and father did that to make me?” Argan asked in a hushed voice, leaning forward.

“Well, they must have!” Sasia stated. “All our mothers and fathers must have, see?”

Argan put his hand to his mouth. His memory of the equines was vivid.

“You’ll have to do it when you become grown up too,” Sasia said with a wicked smile.

“Oh, no way! Like that equine? Uuuugh!”

The three giggled together.

___

The rain lashed down onto the beach. Jorqel, his hair plastered to his face, urged his sodden men to keep on stowing the supplies onto the equines and lead them off the sand and up the path into a more covered area inland. The wind was driving the salt spray from the sea as well as the rain at them with mighty force. Exposed as they were at the back of the beach, the supplies and equipment would soon get spoiled. Gavan had reported a sheltered spot a little way along the path, a cleft in the hill that had a convenient grove of trees with widely spread canopies. They still had their leaves and so would provide much needed shelter.

The ships had gone, save for the flat-bottomed ones beached on the sand. The wind had driven them in an untidy pile ashore and now was hurling waves and rain at them in a mindless fury, as though enraged at man’s efforts. No pirate vessel could possibly approach them, and even if they could, they wouldn’t be able to do anything.

Gavan was ahead somewhere with a small unit of men, scouting out the terrain. Jorqel was still worried that the pirates may send their garrison to bottle them up with their backs to the sea. The information Kiros Louk had given him had sketched out the lay of the land in the neighbourhood, and he knew that beyond the hills lay farmland in the centre of the island while to the east rose the mountain chain that ran halfway down the island’s back until Romos when it vanished.

The prince was all energy, showing what he regarded as leadership, always there, exhorting his men to greater efforts. The rain was cold and stung the face and hands, but he would not shirk from his duty. The men had to know he was there with them, enduring what they endured. That, to him, was one of the most important aspects of leadership. Men would have respect for a commander who did that rather than sit in luxury leagues away from where the men were, out in the field coping with the elements.

The last of the packages were hitched to an equine’s back and secured. Jorqel nodded to the man, one of the mounted archers of the RIMM, and waved him to lead the animal up the path. Jorqel took one last look round the now deserted beach. The sky was dark, low, and full of grey and black clouds, half seen through a mist of rain. The sea was a maelstrom of waves and currents, tormented and tortured by the storm. The abandoned vessels were piled haphazardly and forlornly close to the high water mark – the tide had receded. Grunting in satisfaction he took his equine’s bridle and followed the last of his men to the sandy path that led away, past clumps of tough grass and thorny bushes that sprouted yellow flowers and thick, green spiky leaves. He had no idea what they were called but they had wickedly pointed thorns, half the length of a man’s little finger.