Chapter 10
Across the River
Stridoks, Konge Province, Titan
"Is it any wonder that hospitality is said to be sacred? Consider the story of foolish Nabal who scorned David and his host. He and every male in his household would have been slain were it not for the wisdom of Abigail, who soothed David's wrath with the hospitality her husband denied to the future king. Had Nabal not been so miserly, imagine the blessings he could have enjoyed rather than being overwhelmed by his greed to the point of death. Whatever a show of hospitality might cost you, you stand to lost so much more without it."
-Excerpt from the assorted writings of Mark the Guardian
As the sun was beginning to rise on the horizon, the horns sounded for the men to break camp. A mist had rolled in just before daybreak, bringing with it a chill gloom that was certain to weigh down the men's mood. The only provisions delivered by Lord Bard's men was a meager ration of grain that was made into a thin gruel, sparingly parcelled out. It would only take a few hours to reach the neighboring town across the river and perhaps they could hope for a more satisfying noontide meal. Mark did not promise the men anything, though.
"It's a good thing we're moving on," Sonia said as she watched the men loading their gear. "A few more days of this welcome and the men'll want to put this town to the torch. And I'm pretty sure I'd be there to light the fires."
"Then it's a good thing we're moving on," Mark said.
"And if the next town isn't any better?"
"We keep moving on."
"How long do you expect the men to put up with that?"
"Until we return home."
Sonia did not seem to like his answer, but Mark did not leave her time to dwell on it. He gathered the lieutenants together before the men assembled to move out. Some were better at masking their discontent than others. How much more so must the rank and file be?
"I know it isn't a pleasant morning," Mark began. "We have not had much good fortune since we left Gladius. Our supplies are running low and the welcome so far has had the same chill as this morning. I know you aren't happy and the men even more so, but remember your discipline. We are passing through the city. We will not stop, we will not slow our pace. If the townsfolk speak to us, good or ill, we will not answer. Once we cross the river, we may well be doing the very same thing in the next town. Am I understood?"
"Yes, milord," the lieutenants replied, but a few of them lacked much spirit.
"Once the men are finished loading up, get them assembled and we will get moving. Dismissed."
The lieutenants saluted and returned to their units.
Sonia looked out on the camp and said, "This is where we see if their discipline sticks."
"The King's men and my Templars are on the outer files," Mark said. "They should be able to stop anyone who would get out of line."
"Unless they're at their limit too."
"I trust them to be trained better than that. If worse comes to worst, we may have to intervene ourselves."
Sonia looked toward the city and frowned.
"Depending on what they do, you might have to stop me as well."
"Don't let it come to that," Mark pleaded. "I beg you."
Sonia grinned and rested her hand on his shoulder.
"I wouldn't do that to you, cousin. Still, I hope they're doing as much as we are to keep their people in line."
"Let's just get this over with," Mark said. "Mount up."
Mark went over to his horse. Petrus and Heinrich were still securing the saddle when he approached.
"You two need to hurry and mount up yourselves," Mark said.
"Yes, Master," Petrus said.
"Milord," Heinrich said, "is everything going to be alright? The tension in the camp... It's like when we faced those bandits."
Mark patted Heinrich on the back to comfort him and said, "Just because we have the Archduke's invitation doesn't mean that the common folk asked us to be here. Would you be quick to welcome a foreign army in our own lands?"
"I suppose not, milord."
"You boys just ride straight on ahead until we're out of the city," Mark told them. "Whether we hear words of abuse or praise or nothing at all, just keep moving forward."
"Yes, milord."
"Yes, Master."
Mark motioned for them to go on and then mounted his horse. The three of them rode over to the head of the formation where Sonia, Sir Emerich and Squire Halfdan were waiting. Once the men had formed up, Mark gave the signal for the trumpets to sound and they moved out. As they marched toward the gates, the chevaux-de-frise had already been moved out of the way. Lord Bard had gone ahead and made the preparations to ensure the Gladians' passage would be swift. The townsfolk were nowhere to be seen on the main road. Only spearmen were posted on either side every fifty paces or so.
While Mark was mindful of his surroundings, he kept his eyes fixed straight ahead. All it would take was a spark to light the kindling. It was up to the discipline of the chosen men of Mark and Lord Bard to ensure that did not happen. It was only after he received word that the rearguard had passed through the western gate that he could rest a little easier, but he had simply moved from one obstacle to the other.
The bridge spanning the river was of wooden construction like most everything else they had seen thus far. It had to be reasonably sturdy as it was part of the main thoroughfare for trade and travel in the land, but Mark did not trust it with the entire company. Instead he divvied up their forces so that they crossed in groups of fifty. It took more time to finish the crossing, but at least they did so safely. The slow going meant that it would nearly be noon by the time they were all across, so Mark left the company in Sonia's care while he and a select entourage went on ahead to gauge the welcome they would find in Hellebard's sister city.
Mark would not have expected what he found. The way was open and a group of some twenty men were waiting for them. The leader among them, a burly, thick-bearded man wrapped in a fur-lined cloak, raised his hand in salute as he rode toward the Gladians.
As he drew nearer, he shouted in a booming voice, "Hello, friends from afar, and welcome!"
He spoke Bannish, the old common tongue, the first Titian Mark had seen doing so. The western marches of Titan had been the site of the final battle of the War of Ban, so it should have been no surprise that the language that bound together the united forces of humanity would still survive here.
Rather than speaking through Squire Halfdan, Mark returned the man's salute and replied, "Greetings, in the name of my King, Edric of the Gladians. I am Mark, son of Luther, Lord of Aran, called the Guardian, captain of this company."
"Well met, my lord," the man said. "I am Thorstein Thorkelson, brother of Thormund, Duke of Stridoks. In my brother's stead and on behalf of His Grace the Archduke, I welcome you."
So far, so good, but how warm would this welcome prove when put to the test?
"I have heard of your treatment at the hands of our countrymen across the river," Thorstein said, bowing his head. "Allow me to apologize in the name of the noble jarls. It is not the face we wish to show our honored guests."
"Wish it or not, it is the face we were shown," Mark said, "and I have some twelve hundred men weary, hungry and ill-tempered. I have no desire to burden a people afflicted by lean times, but I must wonder if all the hearths in this land are so cold."
Perhaps Mark should have softened his words more, but if he did not make his displeasure known, they could face even worse treatment. For himself, charity could cover many a slight, but he had to think not only of the men but also their honor as Gladians and the honor of the King. Fortunately for him, Thorstein was not intent on defending the actions taken in Lord Bard's name.
"You and your men will find warmth enough in my brother's hall, my lord," Thorstein assured him. "You will have your fill of meat and mead till it comes out your noses, more than enough to forget yesterday's discourtesy."
"Lord Bard's hall was offered to the men of rank in our company," Mark said. "Perhaps I am seen as unreasonable for insisting that every man be provided for, but I will continue to do so."
"I can see that you are a man who does not tread upon the weak as he appeals to the strong," Thorstein said. "Fear not, my lord. My brother will provide for his guests from greatest to least, man and beast."
"Then I am grateful to him," Mark said. "We have more than twelve hundred men and some three hundred beasts that will be imposing on his hospitality."
"All will be provided, my lord," Thorstein said. "Now, I am sure you did not break your fast to your satisfaction. We must whet your appetite for the feast to come. We ought not tarry. Come, come."
"My company has not finished its crossing," Mark said. "We will follow you once they are all assembled."
"Better that we start to get the men settled and fed, my lord," Thorstein said. "Your company is many and there is much to be done."
Mark considered his words and saw the wisdom in them.
"Very well," he said. He turned to Sir Emerich and told him, "Go tell Lady Sonia we are moving out. Stay with her and the van. I will follow after the last man has passed."
Sir Emerich looked like he wanted to object, but he did not follow through with it, instead only saying, "It shall be done, milord."
Mark looked to Squire Halfdan and said, "Go with him, Halfdan. They might need you as an interpreter."
"What about you, milord?" the Squire asked.
Thorstein gestured to a monk in his entourage and said, "Brother Olaf here speaks Romish. I trust you know Romish, my lord."
"I do," Mark said, then greeted the monk. "Pax tecum, frater."
"Et cum spiritu tuo," Brother Olaf replied in a husky voice.
Squire Halfdan saluted Mark and then went after Sir Emerich. Once he left, Thorstein rode up and positioned himself next to Mark.
"How long has it been since you left your lands, my lord?" he asked.
"It has been nine days since we crossed the border," Mark replied.
"Did you have any trouble along the way? The lands in the east are as good as lost to us."
"We had to fight bandits as we passed the mountains. Deserters calling themselves the Blood Eagles."
"I've heard tales of them. Nasty sort. What were your losses?"
"Seven dead, eighteen wounded."
"And what were their losses?"
"We buried fourscore and six. There may have been more."
Thorstein whistled.
"It would seem we were right to call on you for aid. Anything else?"
"When we came upon the St. John-Mark Abbey, it had been razed, presumably by the very rebels we have come to fight against."
"There was a time when you would need quite the army to prevail against the Blackmantles. These days..."
"What do you know of these rebels, Sir Thorstein?"
"Please, my lord, Thorstein will do. I've heard little but rumors. They took the cities of seers, Solstice and Equinox. It's said that they worship the old gods of the West and will kill any who wear the cross or the hammer."
The lands in the West had been uninhabited for thousands of years, long before the War of Ban. Not many historical records survived, not even the libraries at the Royal University or the Archives of St. Arita. If he recalled, it was the descendants of the old Achaeans who once ruled there. As he thought more on Titan, things began to make more sense.
"I've noticed quite a few Grecian names, of people and places," Mark said.
"I don't have a head for history, my lord," Thorstein replied, "but they say that before the lands in the Far West were cursed, there was a great kingdom. When it collapsed, people fled eastward. The earth split to hold the curse at bay and the survivors of that old kingdom settled here. The Northmen came later. We took the coasts and made our kingdoms. We call it the Age of the Forty Kings, but there may have been more.
"Anyway, those Greeks stayed around, some called themselves lords, said they'd always been lords. Truth was, they were merchants and tutors and artisans and such. It wasn't until the kingdom collapsed that they started acting like lords. The jarls had gone weak and so the Westfolk were able to band together and call themselves dukes."
"But you and your brother are Northmen, yes?"
"Our dear old mormor was of Grecian stock, sister of Laertes, the first Archduke."
"I see," Mark said. "I've got Grecian blood myself on my mother's side."
"We're good as brothers then, my lord!" Thorstein said with a laugh.
Mark imagined the people of Grecian blood in Gladius were the same descendants of that long-lost kingdom in the Far West. It was remarkable that they were able to hold on to their identity all this time. How many hundreds of years must it have been?
"Ah, here they come," Thorstein said as he caught sight of the vanguard approaching.
Sonia broke away from the formation to ride up to Mark. She raised her hand to greet him as she approached.
"So you've got us a place to stay?" she asked.
"Lord Thormund will be hosting us," Mark told her.
Sonia glanced at Thorstein and asked, "This Lord Thormund?"
Though Sonia had been speaking in Everardian, Thorstein nevertheless made an attempt to speak to her in Bannish.
"Thorstein Thorkelson, the brother of Lord Thormund, my... lady?"
He seemed somewhat confused, so Mark explained, "This is my kinswoman, Sonia of Leon, called the Defender. She serves as my vice-captain."
"Like one of the All-father's shieldmaidens in the flesh," Thorstein said. "In my brother's name, I greet you, Lady Sonia."
"Well met, Thorstein Thorkelson," Sonia said stiffly.
"Take our people on ahead," Mark said. "The Duke's men will guide you. I'll follow along with the rearguard."
"If you say so," Sonia said. "See you there."
She saluted Mark and Thorstein and once they returned the salute, she rejoined the formation.
Once she had gone, Thorstein asked Mark, "Is it common in Gladius to have woman warriors?"
"No, they are quite rare," Mark said. "Her house was left with no sons and only a blood descendant can inherit."
"No uncles or cousins then?"
"Our two houses once feuded with each other. There were few left on either side by the time we made peace."
"Now there's an even rarer thing," Thorstein said. "In these lands, once two houses feud, it does not end until one house is snuffed out... or both."
"Our fathers were men of noble character who put an end to the fruitless bloodshed."
"You Cross-bearers do say 'Blessed are the peacemakers' or somesuch, yes?"
Mark nodded.
"Indeed so."
"It's not something we Northmen would say."
"Peace is bought with iron and blood. Is that it?"
"It's more like 'The only peace is in the grave,'" Thorstein said, "and some of us don't even believe that." He sighed wistfully. "Ah, the dream of Valhalla, to rend and be rent for all days until the end of days."
His reverie was short-lived, though.
"Of course, if Ragnarok really happened a hundred years ago like they say, then I suppose the end of days has already come."
Mark recalled what Squire Halfdan had told him a few days earlier and said, "I have seen the ruins in the vale to the east."
"I don't want to believe that's really Valhalla," Thorstein said, "or that Ragnarok happened, that the All-father, Redbeard, Midgard's Worm and Fenris-wolf are all dead and mouldering."
It seemed polite not to say anything further and so Mark held his peace.
Thorstein's mood brightened as he declared, "There will at least be drinking and feasting enough this night to do honor to the memory of Valhalla."
"We are grateful," Mark said, "but I pray you don't deplete your stores too much on our account."
"Leave that business to our steward, my lord," Thorstein said. "Drink and feast and think better of us Northmen."
"I never said I have an ill opinion of your people," Mark said.
"You didn't have to say it, my lord. I could tell. After old tight-fisted Bard's so-called hospitality, it would be stranger that you would hold us in high regard."
"I will see that your brother and the Archduke hear a favorable report for your efforts."
"I'm glad for it, my lord. But you must not think too ill of old Bard. The names of our towns tell of our character. The halberd keeps a man at bay, but the battleaxe..."
Thorstein drew the axe from his belt and leaned in to hold the edge up to Mark's ribs. The men with him went for their weapons, but Mark raised his hand for them to stand down.
"...the battleaxe likes to get close."
Unmoved, Mark said, "I appreciate you illustrating the point, but you're making my men nervous."
Thorstein chuckled, returning the axe to his belt and straightening himself back up.
"You've got iron in your nerves, that's for sure, my lord."
"You would have to be a madman to strike the captain of a troop of a thousand men and I do not think you a madman."
"Then it is good for both of us that I am not, my lord."
"A word of warning, though. Do not try such japes with the Lady Sonia. She is not so apt to see the humor in it."
Thorstein bobbed his head obligingly.
"I will bear that in mind, my lord, not being a madman, after all."
After about an hour, the rearguard finally arrived to continue on into the city.
"This may be the largest host we've ever, well, hosted," Thorstein said.
"It can be a story for your grandsons then," Mark replied.
"That will depend on how well you fare on the battlefield, my lord," Thorstein said, "or else I won't have any grandsons to tell."
"Then may God give us strength."
The two of them and their entourages then followed after the rearguard, on to the halls of Lord Thormund, where meat and mead aplenty was said to be waiting for them.