Freyas Saga Ch. 21

"Exactly right," said Sir Boris. "With the right men, any foe can be defeated."

"So I've always thought," said Allon. He finished his beer and inverted the mug on the table to show that it was empty. Many a mug had been inverted on the table over the years. The wooden tabletop had absorbed so much beer dregs that it had a curiously spongy texture. Norbert pressed the wood with his finger and saw it make a shallow fingermark which then quietly pushed itself up and flat again.

"The trouble is," said Allon, "since the war ended, it takes more than a man's word to earn the trust of lords. Falco and I fought for the king, and though I say myself, we earned our bread, and then some."

"Of course you did," said Sir Boris.

"And yet," said Allon, "there is distrust in the air. We cannot find good honest soldier's work, which is what we are fittest for, because now that the lords can have their pick of the soldiery, they won't accept anyone who is not of noble birth."

"I detest snobbery," said Sir Boris. "A true nobleman should show favour to all."

"So you would think," said Allon. "And yet, the work is there, but we cannot be entrusted with it. The lords of Torina smile and thank us for our service, but that is as far as their favour extends."

"Which work is this?" said Sir Boris.

"No small task," said Allon. "The city's taxes lie unpaid to the king, because the lords will only trust a knight of the king to deliver them. And knights are few in these parts."

Sir Boris looked interested.

"The city's taxes? Well, it is churlish, of course, not to entrust a job like that to sturdy chaps like yourselves, but perhaps the city fathers have a point. A knight's loyalty is always to the king. A job like that demands absolute honesty."

"You are saying we are not honest?" said Falco, through the smoke from the burning thing in his mouth.

"Of course not," said Sir Boris. "I can see you are honest, as plain as I see the nose on your face. But if you have none to vouch for you, then ..."

The remark trailed off. There was a silence. Falco gave Sir Boris a hard look, then shrugged, and the tension eased a little.

"You say you can see we are honest," said Allon, smiling. "How can you be sure?"

"First, I am a tremendous judge of character," said Sir Boris airily.

"So think all."

"Also," said Sir Boris, smiling, "I can see inside your shirt that you fought for the king, unless my eyes deceive me. I am not quite so foolish as all that, you know."

Allon laughed and Falco smiled, and Allon pulled open his shirt to reveal his marks of honour. Norbert's eyes widened; he saw the sigils of many battles, but one of them in particular caught his eye. The image of a plain, bare stone tower that, to anyone who could read it, told him that Allon had been at Festeburg.

Allon glanced at Norbert, and smiled.

"Yes, lad," he said. "We were there."

"What was it like?" Norbert asked.

Allon's smile faded and he looked out the window at the grey sky.

"It was like nothing else," he said. "There is nothing to compare it to, for never before had men descended to such depths. Nor will they again, it's to be hoped. I pray you never see the things I saw there."

Norbert looked at him, waiting to hear what Allon had seen, but then he felt Sir Boris's foot nudge his under the table, and he glanced up at the knight who gave him a tiny shake of the head.

"What?" Norbert said, confused, but then Sir Boris said "Well, what's past is past, as they say, and those of us who are still here can be thankful that we've lived to see the sun come up, eh?"

Allon's gaze came back to them and he smiled.

"So we have, sir knight," he said. "I tell you, having seen what I have seen, there is much to be said for the small things in life, such as a fine tale, or the smile on a woman's face, or a mug of ale taken in good company."

"Wisdom indeed," said Sir Boris. "And for two out of three ... where is that girl?" He looked around.

Norbert sat back, disappointed. It was a source of frustration to him that although plenty of older people knew, or claimed to know, what exactly had happened at Festeburg, they seemed very reluctant to talk about it. It was as if talking about it could make it happen again. But how else are we to know what not to do? Norbert thought. If we do not know what to do, we might easily find ourselves doing it. Unless whatever had happened during the siege was so atrocious as to be beyond imagination.

Norbert doubted that. He had a fairly strong imagination and could stomach the thought of serious dismemberment. Unless Festeburg had been somehow worse than that, but what where the things you could do to people that were worse than chopping them up? At times, when he thought such thoughts, he began to get a vague idea of something so grisly and horrible, so intimately wicked, that even his mind shied away from it, and he would feel cold and alone.

He looked up, to see the man called Falco eyeing him across the table. Since it was clear that nobody really wanted to talk about Festeburg, he decided to change the subject.

"What's that thing in your mouth?" he said.

"Herbs," said Falco.

"Why would you stick burning herbs in your mouth?"

"It calms me."

"You're not scared of catching fire?"

"You put it out before it burns so short that that becomes a danger," said Falco. He took the wrapped leaf out of his mouth and viewed it.

"You want to try it?" he said.

Norbert viewed the short, stubby twist of leaves, one end giving off an aromatic smoke, the other damp with the man's spit.

"No thank you," he said.

"It's an acquired taste," said the man.

The waitress returned with the tray of ales, and Sir Boris took a mug and placed it in front of Norbert.

"There you go," he said. "Cheers."

They all lifted their mugs and touched them to each other, and then Norbert raised the mug to his lips and had a sip. He hated ale, but he wanted to be polite. From the first time Norbert had drunk clean spring water, off in the mountains a few years previously, he had wanted to drink nothing else, but everywhere you went, ale was the drink and pure clean water was rare and costly. He hated ale's sour, bready taste, the little bits you found floating in it, the way it had of making you feel muddle-headed and sleepy, but unless you wanted to risk getting lung-burn from drinking milk, it was ale or wine and if anything wine was worse. Once, on a long journey, Norbert had experimented with drinking his own piss, but it had been hard to conceal the fact that he was collecting it, and he didn't like the taste in his mouth.

Allon took a long pull from his ale, then put the mug down and sighed with pleasure. Then he wiped his mouth and spread his hands.

"Well, anyway," he said, "in the meantime, an easy job will probably be snapped up by the next scoundrel who can boast any sort of a pedigree."

"The tax job," said Sir Boris. "Yes."

"It angers me, I don't mind saying," said Allon, "that good men must go hungry because fools of rank are given privilege."

"Speaking as a man of some rank," said Sir Boris, with a thoughtful look on his face, "I can only agree. Alas, birth no longer confers upon a man the virtues that it once did."

"Do you think the bloodlines are diluted?" said Falco quietly. "Is that it?"

Norbert looked at the man and wondered what he was getting at. But Sir Boris was at his most judicious.

"Rather, the opposite," he said with a smile. "My people were cattle breeders long ago, and I'm sure you know that the noblest line needs from time to time to be strengthened with a dose of good peasant stock. Some of these chaps nowadays, their parents are cousins going back to the days of the prophets. It's not good for the sinews, not at all. Now, this chap," he said, indicating Norbert, "he knows what I'm talking about."

"Do you?" said Falco, turning his eyes on Norbert.

"I can see it in his face," said Allon. "You've got some fuzzy blood in you, haven't you, boy?" He smiled.

Norbert blinked.

"My grandmother," he muttered.

"Nothing to be ashamed of," said Allon. "I've seen some fine specimens."

"She was splendid," said Sir Boris. "She learned our tongue, and spoke it like a native. Well, not a native, but, you know."

"And you took him on as a squire," said Allon. "Very modern of you."

"Well," said Sir Boris, looking at Norbert, "bit of a family tragedy there. His parents died in the war."

"Oh?"

"Yes, a bad turn for all concerned, so since I knew them, I made a promise to look after the lad. This was after he'd been rejected from the alchemists' guild, mind."

"Alchemy?" said Allon.

"Oh yes," said Sir Boris. "Told you he was brainy. Mind like a shark; eats knowledge for breakfast. In fact, he would eat knowledge for breakfast if I didn't make him take food now and again. The guild accepted him aged ten, he was top of his class, teaching the tutors their own job, and then when he turned fourteen the bastards kicked him out for, among other things, misrepresenting his parentage."

"Indeed," said Allon.

"Yes," said Sir Boris, getting indignant about it all over again. "I told them, look at the boy, when you didn't know he was smarter than you are, you accepted him, and now that he shows you up, you turn your backs on him just because his grandfather wedded a fuzzy? Disgraceful behaviour. Simply unmeaning bigotry, nothing less. I told them I was proud to, well, that is ..."

He paused, as if he'd been letting his tongue run away.

"I told them," he went on, calmer, "that I was proud to have known his grandmother, and that for a savage of her background she did as well as could be expected at fitting into decent society. It's true."

"I believe you," said Allon. "So, lad. Alchemy?"

"It's nonsense," said Norbert.

"Nonsense?" said Allon. "The pursuit of the philosopher's stone? It's only what the wisest of us have been seeking for these whatever it is, many hundreds of years."

"Bits of it are true," said Norbert. "But they trick it up with a lot of silly words to make it sound like it means something, when it has no basis in things. Real things."

"You're very sure of yourself," said Allon, amused.

"I can back it up," said Norbert. "Me and a friend used to talk about how stupid it was. He taught me everything I know, not the alchemists. He was brilliant."

"Now, now," said Sir Boris, looking hard at Norbert, "there's no need to go over all that again."

"Sorry," said Norbert.

"What sort of thing did he teach you?" said Falco, rather rudely ignoring Sir Boris,

Norbert thought. Norbert looked from him to Sir Boris uncertainly, until at last the knight turned to Falco.

"Forgive us," he said, "that's a bit of history we like to leave behind. It was all rather overblown at the time, but young Norbert made a, shall we say, questionable friend in the academy, and there was a bit of trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" said Falco, interested.

"Just youthful recklessness, but it had to do with why they fired him. Fired them both, in fact. There was some ill-considered behaviour, but a lesson has been learned."

"I see," said Falco after a pause. "Sorry to pry."

"Not at all," said Boris. "Nothing wrong with ordinary human curiosity. But when it goes beyond the boundaries of decent behaviour, well ..."

Norbert felt irritated, partly because deep down he felt Boris was right.

"Fine," said Falco, and turned to Norbert again. "So, real things, anyway. You understand real things."

"I try to. I study things. I make things out of other things."

"What sort of things?" said Allon, smiling broadly. "Flying machines?"

"No," said Norbert. "That's ridiculous. You can't make a machine that can fly. It would be too heavy."

"Hm," said Allon. "Interesting."

"That's the sort of thing that little boys think they can make," said Norbert. "No. I make ... other things."

"Such as what?"

Norbert eyed Allon and Falco, who were both watching him, equally interested, but Allon was smiling, and Falco wasn't.

"I'm sorry," Norbert said, "I'd prefer to keep them secret for the moment."

"Ah," said Allon, after a tiny pause. "Good idea. Keep them secret."

He thinks I'm making it all up, Norbert thought, and stuffed his thumbnail into his mouth and tore at it with his teeth.

"Don't underestimate this lad," said Sir Boris. "He's got more brains stuffed in his noggin than most of us."

"I'm sure," said Allon, and winked at Norbert.

"Getting back to the topic under discussion," said Sir Boris, "the city's taxes. They have to be collected from the chamber here, yes? And delivered to where?"

"To the king's agents," said Falco.

"Who are to be found in the usual place, I take it?"

"Indeed. Some thirty miles hence, the shortest path crossing a corner of the wild. It is a job for men of action."

"I'm sure we can come to some arrangement," said Sir Boris, smiling broadly. "If all you need to get the work is, shall we say, a figure of some tone, I would happily lend myself to your purpose, with of course due remuneration."

"Then let us shake on it," said Allon, "and drink to partnership."

Boris, Allon and Falco shook hands. Norbert watched them. Then they drank from their

mugs.

"Where exactly are the king's agents?" said Norbert.

"Where they always are," said Allon. "The biggest city in the region."

"That's right, lad," said Sir Boris, twinkling. "We're going to Venceborn."

***

It all went as smoothly as flattery into the ears of a priest, as Sir Boris put it.

Sir Boris, with Norbert in tow, approached the city elders and made some discreet enquiries about the job of transferring monies from Torina to Venceborn. He spun a line of pure gold concerning his exploits in the war, his trustworthiness, his descent from a nobler family than he had in fact descended from. He had hinted that he was comfortable with the tough and craggy northerners as he was with his own folk, the folk of the hills, for are we not all but a couple of generations removed from the soil, gentlemen? The rich loam of our native land, which binds us to it and nourishes us even as it compels us to find new lands to explore, new folk to encounter ...

Norbert lost interest at one point and found himself mentally calculating how much the money would weigh, depending in what denomination they had to carry it in. But at last the city elders were satisfied, especially after seeing Sir Boris's pedigree. Norbert observed to himself that there was nothing like blind prejudice to prevent people from exercising their brains. The city elders of Torina were convinced that Boris was the man to carry their money, mainly because he insisted with his particular accent that he was.

Then again, Norbert thought as they loaded the money (gold coins in saddlebags) onto two horses on a fine sunny morning, Boris really was what he claimed to be, more or less: a straight-up, plain-dealing knight with no more than the usual degree of moral flexibility. He cared too much for his name to besmirch it by not being a man of his word. Now that he was no longer much of a fighter, his word was all he had.

They hit the road. Norbert's horse was too big for him, but it had to be big to be able to carry the heavy saddlebags. It was good weather for travelling.

When they were outside the city walls, Norbert said "May I ask a difficult question?"

"You can ask. If it's one that requires learning to answer, I'm probably not your man."

"It's about Allon and Falco."

"Ah," said Boris, and nodded wisely, smiling.

"Do you know what I'm going to ask?"

"Of course I do. No, lad, I don't trust them quite as much as I let on. There's clearly been some misbehaviour in their pasts, or they would have been won advancement in the war. Goodness only knows what. We'll just have to keep our eyes open."

"Allon seems all right. It's Falco who worries me."

"Precisely because Allon seems all right, he's the one you should look out for," said

Boris. "Some of the biggest scoundrels I've ever met have seemed like splendid chaps. Then, count on them in the crisis and they only look after themselves. Look at that magnificent ash. My word. That must be easily a hundred years old."

Norbert looked at the tree, but apart from its size there didn't seem to be anything special about it.

"They'll be keeping an eye on us, too," said Boris. "Assuming that they are honest, they'll be wondering about us. In this way, we keep each other in check. If they're not, we're watching them anyway and they will know it. We're not rubes, after all."

Norbert thought for a moment.

"You know," he said, "there's nothing to stop us taking the money to Venceborn ourselves. We could just avoid them on the road, and cut across country. Why are we giving them half the fee when we're doing more than half the work?"

Boris's face darkened.

"I never thought I would hear a squire of mine actually suggest stealing," he said.

"How is it stealing if we're owed more than we're getting?" said Norbert.

"We made a deal, lad," said Boris angrily. "We shook hands on a figure. A real man doesn't go back on a handshake."

"But it's not fair," said Norbert. "We deserve more than half."

"Deserve has nothing to do with it," Boris cried. "If everyone in the country got what they deserved, there'd be a gibbet on every corner. A deal is a deal. I don't wish to hear another word about it."

Norbert shut up, and the ride passed in an uncomfortable silence until that evening.

When they had stopped to camp for the night, and Norbert was seeing to the horses, Boris came over to him.

"I'm sorry I shouted, lad," he said. "But I meant what I said. I just get upset when I hear

talk of breaking deals. It was going back on a deal that got us into the last war."

"I'm sorry," said Norbert, feeling awful. "I shouldn't have suggested it."

"It's in you young folk," said Boris. "You're more interested in getting a thing done than in getting it done the right way. I don't blame you. But, you know, the world only keeps turning as long as men of good will are willing to stick to their word."

"Yes, sir," said Norbert, nodding.

Boris said things like that a lot. Norbert never really knew what he meant.

"Good lad," said Boris. "See, this is part of your education. This is why you're with me in the first place. Now, we'll say no more about it. Let's have a bite and a rest, eh?" He smiled, clapped Norbert on the shoulder and went over to the fire.

Not for the first time, Norbert was glad that Boris hated fighting so much. Norbert didn't like it either, and a happy Boris was a good deal better company than a grumpy Boris.

They had a pleasant evening. Boris had ensured that Norbert had properly provisioned them, with the result that they had plump chicken with bacon and leeks to eat, and not dry, charred rabbit with cornmeal porridge. There was plenty of wine for Boris, and Norbert had even secured a couple of skins of spring water. Then Boris slept, and Norbert took the first watch.

***

Norbert woke up to find the next day grey and rainy. They breakfasted on tea, and bread that had been toasted and smeared with the rendered fat of the chicken. Then they were off again.

They hadn't gone far, and were approaching a bend in the road, when they heard a cry and the galloping of hooves which soon died away. Boris spurred his horse into a trot, and they rounded the bend to find a horse standing a little way down the road and, in a ditch, a girl in a yellow dress wearing a grey shawl, apparently unconscious.

"Great god," Boris exclaimed, and he reined his horse in. Norbert stopped too and dismounted and brought the steps, but Boris, his gentlemanliness temporarily getting the better of his stiff legs, dismounted without it and hurried over to the fallen girl.