The Conqueror (3 page)

It could happen to anyone.

Nyron chewed on a lip as the group
moved indoors for registration and cell assignment. There were
times when you could just sense trouble.

Better if this one goes to some big
farm, a long ways from town where they can quickly work him to
death in the traces. You can end your days pulling a plough around
all day and sleeping on the ground in an animal shed at night, and
hopefully, with a little luck, you can stay the hell away from my
town.

“
Well. Good luck to you,
and especially with that one.”

The Officer of the Day took the gaoler
back into the office. They went over the documents and determined
the number of private and public prisoners. With only minor
haggling, they settled on a price for food, water, straw and
blankets. For the record, this would be under the manor’s roof as
custom called-for, as well as provision at stipulated rates for
water, oats and fodder for the animals.

Nyron, with six years under his belt in
this position, had never met Garvin before, a fact easily explained
by Garvin being new to the job. His best wife was a second cousin
to the Reeve up Boethmoor way. Otherwise he’d still be running a
few scraggly sheep out on the common, as he explained.

Nyron’s piles were killing him. A
thick, embroidered silk cushion did nothing to alleviate that. It
was a known occupational hazard of scribes everywhere. Garvin
nodded in sympathy, saddle weary as he was. His own bench was quite
hard, although worn smooth with beaten-in terrain features
attesting to a thousand sets of buttocks before him. With a bit of
a sigh, Nyron inked his quill and in the appropriate book took down
all relevant details as to prisoners, and properties, the names of
the owners, person-or-official-having-charge, origin and
destination. He verified that all tax and postal seals were proper
and in place on the documents supplied by the County’s
gaoler.

“
Very good.” Garvin read
the manifest and bill of exchange and carefully made his seal, the
hot wax always stinging a knuckle on your ring finger if you
touched it accidentally, and then he looked up at Nyron.

Each and every form required a fee, of
course. He paid over the money cheerfully enough.

“
Time for a drink, my good
sir, and a meal, and possibly a buxom wench or two besides—although
I have been bidden not to trifle with the merchandise.” There were
one or two fairly attractive females in the shipment, although
Nyron’s taste was for something a little more nubile.

So far, he hadn’t noticed any really
beautiful boys or anything like that. A bit of a wash might help,
he thought.

“
I couldn’t agree
more—about the drink, anyways.”

They had been bound over and only a
fool messed with those in the care and custody of the
Crown.

“
And of course you’re
welcome to have your own men check in, even guard them, and use
our, ah, guardroom facilities. Just behave yourselves and stay out
of prohibited areas.” Basically, anything that was locked, guarded
or behind closed doors in private or state quarters, was out of
bounds to visitors.

“
Ah, yes, sir.”

“
Off you go then, there’s a
good pub just around the corner. The Dead Boar. A bit of a pun,
really, ah…it’s not that bad. Half of your men are probably there
already. On behalf of Queen Eleanora and all of our assorted
merchant guilds, we bid you welcome,
and,
we sure hope that enjoy your stay
in this, our fair city.”

They shook hands and then Garvin was
cut loose to make what he could of the rest of the day.

Chapter Two

Kann had gone off to see to the men,
most of whom were already straggling along on foot, back towards
the town below, and he wouldn’t mind finding his own quarters
before too long. In the county uniform of grey kilt and blue
jerkin, they blended right in and no one took any real notice of
them.

Garvin headed for the stables. One of
the personal string of animals had lost a shoe and it was his first
thought. Their animals were distinguished by not having the royal
crown branded on the left flank, but private animals changed hands
fairly often and it was more a matter of having a good description
and a bill of sale. This one in particular he would be sad to part
with, a nice piebald gelding, black and white with all the vigor of
a young stallion and none of the bad temper.

Nyron was just going off shift. As was
his habit, after signing the book below the day’s entries he turned
it over to his relief. Serjeant Torak had the night shift. Captain
Nyron headed for the kitchen complex. This lay at the rear of what
had been renovated into a proper palace, built on the foundations
of the original keep or so it was said. It was said the dungeons
were the only remaining vestiges of the old place. With the
renovations had come new buildings at ground level, backing up the
inner curtain wall to some extent with the holding cells. Actual
Court was held in smaller rooms off the Great Hall.

The smell of bread, and ale, and
cheese, and fish, and more than anything what smelled like chicken
pies was overpowering to a hungry soldier after twelve hours on
duty. Much of that had been spent on his feet. The rest had been
spent on his butt. As to which was worse, that was sometimes
difficult to say.

The chamberlain, Taez was there,
talking to Margg, and Nyron had a thought. While the reward might
be interesting, it wouldn’t be much in monetary terms. There would
inevitably be too many middle-men, and one was often enough to
seriously complicate matters. His personal status was simply too
low to pull it off. Then there was the question of the price. The
barbarian had a certain rugged sex appeal, to the extent that
Nyron, not the most ambivalent or ambidextrous of men, had even
noted it himself. He grinned slightly at his internal
word-play.

Queen Eleanora had a certain
reputation, not that he cared one way or the other.

The question was how to bring the
subject up, in a socially-palatable form. Margg was getting a quiet
and extremely polite dressing-down, but it was a dressing-down
nevertheless. All the signs were there. She looked extremely upset.
Nyron had appeared during a brief lull in the conversation and she
looked at him in something akin to gratitude.

“
Taez.”

That shaven head gleamed in the
overhead light falling from a hundred tallow candles. Tattoos
wreathed the shiny hairless forearms, arms like a stevedore Taez
had. Each and every one of them seemed to have a past. The kitchen
was very hot, and a kind of unofficial sanctuary for the more
junior officers. This was true on summer nights and most especially
in winter. Taez turned to regard his colleague. They served
civilian and military functions respectively, their duties didn’t
overlap and Nyron had always deferred to Taez in household matters.
For that and other reasons, they had a pretty good
relationship.

They might even be friends, insofar as
it was possible to do so, thought Nyron.

“
Oh, hello, Nyron. How was
the day?”

“
It was all right. The
usual, as usual. Perhaps even a little boring. This is usually a
pretty good thing, at least to my way of thinking.”

Taez nodded, half-grinning, and his
eyes naturally gravitated back to the head cook, a stout woman and
a bit of a terror in her own right. She stood wringing her hands
and looking unhappy.

“
We’ll talk of this
later.”

“
Yes, Master
Taez.”

She nodded, bobbed her head, and
bolted.

“
What’s up with
Margg?”

Taez shook his head.

Then he grinned again, as Nyron helped
himself to a poultry-pie and a tall mug of milk.

“
Nothing, really. She just
takes everything a little too personally.”

Margg’s greatest fear was that she
would be replaced, thought Nyron. There must have been something
wrong with the fish, or the mutton, or the pudding was a bit cold
last night, and she was desperately trying to lay the blame
squarely where it belonged…somewhere else, no doubt.

He nodded pleasantly. The pie steamed
and the smell was wondrous. He put it down quickly and beckoned at
a boy, who came over and gave him a thick pair of
potholders.

“
Spoon.”

“
Yes, sir.” The lad
scuttled off to get him one.

The kitchen boys would catch it today,
if he knew Margg. The pair moved to Taez’s cubicle where he kept
the books and there were locking cupboards for anything expensive
that might walk away.

The kid was back again.

Nyron nodded and the boy stuck it in
the pie.

“
Off you go, then.” Nyron
looked around at the bustling activity.

The noise, as usual, was
bedlam.

They fed hundreds of hungry mouths on a
daily basis and they had the staff to prove it, with people
cooking, stirring, brewing, cheese-making, setting out platters,
carving, and washing up the inevitable pots and pans. The main
kitchen area was a hundred feet long and then there was a series of
storerooms along the back wall. The hearth was a marvel, fully
twelve feet tall and with multiple iron doors, ranges, and warming
surfaces in addition to a pair of open fires with spits big enough
to roast an ox.

Theft and pilfering would always be a
problem with stores and beverages littering the place at all
times.

Things walked away from the kitchen
with depressing frequency around there. Nyron seated himself on the
bench just inside the door. How many kitchen boys had sweated it
out on that bench, waiting for Taez to dispense justice in his own
inimitable fashion over the years? All of them,
probably.

“
So. Taez.” Nyron took a
long breath and just spat it out. “We have a very special prisoner
today. Came in just now, along with the usual lot of sorry
slobs.”

“
Oh, really?” Taez, busy
with the accounts and the constant re-provisioning of a household
that numbered anything up to three hundred warm bodies on any given
day, and that was when there was nothing really special going
on.

Taez enjoyed Nyron’s company well
enough.

Nyron wasn’t one to hang about all day,
and that was better than some would-be acquaintances.

The Army had their own mess, their own
quarter-master and their own kitchen. Taez imagined things weren’t
much better over there. It was just another side of the fence.
Nyron was welcome enough to the pie, if it came right down to
it.

Taez was also a busy man, subject to
supervision and the occasional audit from above, just like anybody
else.

“
They say he’s the king of
some barbaric northern tribe.” Nyron held his hand up, palm down,
indicating that the height of the prisoner was a good eight or ten
inches greater than his own. “I mean, this one is really
something.”

“
Hmn.”

“
Uh, huh. They say they’re
asking a hundred gold pieces for him.”

Taez’s head lifted from his account
books. His door was always open, and his crowded little cubby was
in the noisy kitchen area with its hordes of bodies, all hands all
keeping busy just to keep up with the demand. Nyron got up with a
little grunt and thoughtfully shut the heavy oaken door, not
latching it but leaving a crack open to indicate that people could
enter on actual business.

They could hear each other a little
better now.

***

After taking a good look at Lowren the
night before, on Nyron’s suggestion he was in attendance at the
auction first thing next morning.

Taez didn’t think much of it at first.
The place was certainly crowded this morning, a wooden bull-ring
with high rafters holding up an octagonal dome roof, also in wood.
There were tiers of seats, with a raised platform for distinguished
guests such as himself. There were barricades in front of the wall,
a walkway around behind the short barriers, and stalls in under the
galleried seating for animals penned and waiting for
sale.

Looking around, he saw one or two
people he knew. The noise was horrendous, even compared to the
kitchen. He watched a few desultory sales, and bought one or two
lots, but Taez wasn’t here for beef or mutton today. He wasn’t even
sure he was going to do it. It was just curiosity more than
anything. At least that’s what he told himself.

It was best not to get one’s hopes up.
The auctioneer held up a wooden hammer and the spectators lining
the ring fell silent.

“
Lot number seventeen.
Lowren. He is a barbarian prince, age about thirty. Weight, well
over two hundred, height, six-foot and a half, ah, more or less.
Experience leading men in battle and governing a small, proud and
nomadic people…pure in spirit and simple of mind…”

Hoots and catcalls, ribald laughter
echoed round the chamber as Lowren was led out.

They had a couple of much bigger men on
him this time, saw Nyron. While the prince or king of the Lemni was
hardly placid and could probably fling them around like dogs, he
was in control of himself and still maintaining his dignity. His
jaws were tightly clenched and muscles bulged at the corners.
Something dangerous glinted from his eyes.