The Forgotten War (95 page)

The square was busy for the time of year. Perhaps this was due to the fine crisp late-autumn sunshine; perhaps, rather, it was the presence of the market stalls squeezed around
the square’s periphery, their vendors hoarse with cajoling, begging and charming the apathetic locals into parting with their modest savings in return for the best bargains this side of the
river Kada; or perhaps it was the looming presence of the three gallows positioned at the square’s west end near the town gates, their silent brooding presence eliciting feelings of both
anticipation and dread.

Baron Eburg and his mother were there seated in style at a raised, cloth-covered platform at the opposite end of the square to the gallows and thereby afforded the best possible view of
proceedings. A couple of senior retainers and Captain Jeffen were with them, keeping a stern eye over the local guardsmen secreted among the villagers. Never a man at ease, he was one to see
sedition everywhere and in the current climate he was barely able to keep his seat.

They had arrived early, wrapped up against the cold. Really it was probably too early, for located in the narrow streets directly behind them was the town’s shambles and the slaughter of
the pigs for market had not been completed. So they had to endure an uncomfortable period where Lady Eburg had to stop her ears against the almost human screaming of the doomed animals. Although
most of the blood was collected for sale, the narrow gutters surrounding the square still filled with the stuff for a while before draining through the grilles into the river.

Eburg drained his posset, fortifying himself against the chill that was stiffening his fingers and numbing the extremities on his face. He turned to Jeffen.

‘It is far too cold for Mother out here, Jeffen; can’t we speed things up a little? The square is full; I don’t see the problem with starting things earlier than
anticipated.’

‘As you wish, my Lord; I will have a word with the jailor and executioner.’

Jeffen left them to do just that. Eburg enquired as to his mother’s health.

‘Never better, my boy You could have told Jeffen that it was you feeling the cold not I. I have never been troubled by the inclemency of the weather and personally find it rather bracing.
The freshness of the air is ideal in dispersing any of the fetid vapours that cling to a city so.’

‘Yes, Mother, but you have not spent months in the field as I have. The allure of a quiet room and an open fire cannot be understated to a man wearied by the grind of life in the
saddle.’

‘Nonsense, my boy. Hardship and privation are what makes a man a man. Your father could endure any weather. I do not know how he begat such a weakling as yourself.’

‘Well, he could endure anything but the cholera; that was what saw to him in the end, was it not?’

‘Do not be so disrespectful, child! He was your father, though you knew him not; a fine man and capable steward of his lands.’

‘Implying that I am not so capable, Mother?’ Eburg said wryly.

‘Not at all – he did not have all the obstacles to sound rule that you have had to endure; no Prosecutors looking over his shoulder constantly, waiting to leap on the tiniest
mistake. You need to be ever more the diplomat than he had to be.’

‘I thank you for that, Mother. I do feel sometimes that the Gods pull me in a dozen different ways at the same time. I will be happy to see these executions go smoothly so that maybe I can
relax for a few days before Winter Feast.’

‘Indeed, Zlaton. Just let thoughts of spiced wine and fowl with berries content you over the distant and trivial concerns of war and your uncertain tenure over your lands.’

Eburg hissed with exasperation. ‘Mother! Stop vexing me so!’

‘Very well, I will do so. If you need time to relax, then take it. Leave everything to me. It is usually the correct thing to do. Mother will see that things are done
appropriately.’

Eburg did not reply; his earlier, brighter mood was fading fast. He gazed at the gallows standing before him. Crows had gathered and were perching on them, pecking tentatively at the ropes
knotted around the top bar of the gallows frame. They had been built on to a wooden scaffold on which now stood one man alone. The executioner. He was wearing his traditional conical black hood and
robes and was clapping his hands together to keep the blood flowing. Once that was over, he set himself to checking the ropes. As he tugged at them, the crows scattered, their noisy protest
drowning out the general hubbub of the crowd below.

A short ladder gave access to the platform and up it now climbed Brother Cornelius, followed by three bound and hooded men. They were encouraged in their progress by halberd-bearing men-at-arms
who thought nothing of giving the prisoners a quick jab, a reminder that their mortality was at hand and there was nothing they could do about it. Once they were all assembled on the scaffold, the
prisoners positioned under their own noose, Cornelius strode forward and addressed the crowd.

‘Brothers and sisters, if I may just call you forth from your perusal of the goods of the market, goods provided unto you by the bountiful Gods themselves, I would like to say that we are
here also to witness the demise of three souls. No; three men and two souls found to be unworthy of the Gods’ mercy. Crimes they have committed, and death is the sentence pronounced by the
temporal justice of these lands. Before we proceed, let us just say the Prayer of Artorus and help commit the souls of those poor unfortunates behind me to a higher judgement than any that can be
found here on this Earth.’

Everyone stopped what they were doing, including Eburg, and recited the prayer they had all learned before they were out of swaddling clothes. That done, Cornelius recited the Prayer of Xhenafa
while his audience remained with their heads bowed, showing their supplication to the Gods.

‘Divine Xhenafa, whom we shall meet once and once only, I commend the souls of the condemned to Thee. Guide them safely to the seat of the Gods and forgive them the sins of their miserable
lives. Let them be judged fairly and, if they are required to labour in Keth’s furnace for eternity, grant them the forbearance and endurance required for such a task. As it must be. For
ever.’

The executioner went to each prisoner in turn removing their hoods. Eburg saw with satisfaction that the young poacher was crying like a child – in all fairness he was little more than one
anyway. Still, he was old enough to choose his friends and it was for this lack of judgement that he was being punished. The thug was smiling grimly; obviously he had known of this possible outcome
of his life for years and was amply prepared for it. Only the Marsh Man was a disappointment. Eburg had hoped that, being a savage, he would struggle and scream, drawing opprobrium from the crowd
– something that would culminate in a large cheer once the trapdoor was opened and he was jerking and kicking on the rope. Unfortunately, though, he seemed to be facing his end with the calm
stoicism one usually only saw in priests. Eburg wished he was close enough to get one of the guards to jab him with his pole arm, anything to elicit the desired reaction. So this one was a noble
savage, after all.

Cornelius went up to the blubbering lad.

‘Do you accept that you will be judged by the Gods, that your soul will be held in their hands and that you have to give a fair account of both the good and evil that you have committed in
your life. Do you wish for your soul to be blessed by the holy church and for that blessing to be conveyed by Xhenafa to the very seat of Artorus himself?’

Through his choking sobs the boy managed to say the words, ‘I do, Father.’

‘Then, son, I bless you in the name of the holy church. May you pass into the divine realm in the sure and certain knowledge that you have been born and raised under the tenets of the
Pantheon and that, but for a few wayward steps, you still adhere to the values as espoused in the Book of Artorus. The church therefore commends your soul to Xhenafa. May the Gods be merciful to
you.’

Cornelius moved on. He asked the same questions of the thuggish man in the centre. This time the man gave a brutish snarl of a laugh.

‘There are no Gods, priest.’

Cornelius gave the man a resigned look, as though he had heard similar remarks from such strata of society many times before.

‘Nevertheless, as you were born under the Divine Pantheon I still commend your soul to Xhenafa and request that the Gods show you what mercy they can.’

The man was still smiling as Cornelius left him and moved towards Cygan. His expression changed from one of beatific generosity to frowning disapproval.

‘I cannot confer the blessing of the Gods upon your heathen soul, if soul you have. You are already condemned in their eyes. That is, unless you agree to undergo the rite of purification
by earth and water that all our new-born go through.’

Cygan just glared back at the priest. Cornelius shook his head and walked quietly away without another word.

The executioner placed the rope around the boy’s neck, then the thugs and finally Cygan’s. Cornelius stood at the edge of the scaffold and prayed loudly enough for everyone to hear.
Once this was done he stepped down from the scaffold, his job done. All that remained now was for the executioner to place the condemned men over the trapdoors and pull the lever to open them.
Eburg and his mother edged forward in their seats.

Without any warning a blast from a cornet resounded over the square, causing Lady Eburg to clutch at her heart and her son to catch his breath. A gaudily liveried herald, clad in quartered red
and blue and carrying a colossal similarly coloured banner, rode his horse past the scaffold and into the square where the crowd parted before him like a sea. He slowed to a trot and rode up to
Baron Eburg’s platform.

‘Hail to Baron Eburg. I have come to announce the arrival of my Lords Baron Calvannen and Baron Josar Trevok here to commence their visits to all the southern baronetcies standing firm
against invasion by the foul Arshumans. I have ridden on ahead but they will be here in a matter of minutes to discuss any matters of mutual concern to both your noble houses.’

Eburg stared blankly at the man as his horse fought against the reins, eager to start galloping full pelt again. His mother, however, found her voice rather more easily.

‘Esric is coming here? Without announcement? Does he not know any of the protocols?’

‘Indeed, he does, my Lady. However, he felt in these circumstances, given the close relationship he holds with both of you, that such pettifogging details need not apply here.’

‘Is that so?’ Eburg finally spoke. ‘Please return and tell him that he will be as welcome as ever and will be invited into my humble home as soon as the current business here
is attended to.’

The herald frowned. ‘Oh, that is the other thing, my Lord – he requests that any on-going business you may be conducting at present be held in abeyance until his arrival. He has
matters to discuss with you concerning them.’

‘I see.’ Eburg felt his mother squirming in her seat in annoyance.

‘Then that is what we shall do. I hope he arrives swiftly in order that the suffering of these men is not unduly prolonged.’

The herald bowed as low as his horse could let him and rode off, scattering the throng in the square hither and thither. Many started to leave, detecting a change in the weather, and soon the
crowd in the square had reduced by over half. Lady Eburg could not conceal her agitation.

‘We should proceed with these executions anyway. Who does he think he is to so wantonly interfere in our affairs?’

The executioner was looking at the Baron, waiting for the signal to proceed. Eburg, however, shook his head and instead signalled with his hand that the man should stand down, at least for the
present.

‘He is here for a reason, Mother. We should at least wait to find out what it is.’

He did not have to wait long. After less than ten minutes the trumpets started to sound again, matching the pounding of hooves on cobbles. The market-stall traders started to pack up and the few
remnants of the crowd started to make their way home.

Esric on his black charger led the horsemen into the square. Josar, a man Eburg never felt comfortable around, was with him. Behind them were at least thirty horsemen and heralds, the
men-at-arms bearing shield and spear, their silver helms burnished in the sun. Further behind, another hundred or so footmen armed with sword and shield, all clad in the blue and red of
Calvannen’s house started to spill into the square. Against them Jeffen’s twenty or so men seemed anaemic in comparison. Esric called out to his fellow baron.

‘Well met, Baron Eburg, and you too, Lady Eburg; it is good to see you both in such rude health enjoying this bracing morning; and I see’ – he looked behind him at the scaffold
– ‘dispensing some of the Grand Duke’s justice to your people.’

‘Thank you, Esric; you are always welcome in my humble home. Perhaps you would like to join me on the platform here to watch the proceedings unfold.’ Eburg stood to welcome the only
man in the south that had authority over him.

‘And who exactly is on the receiving end of your judgements here?’

Eburg narrowed his eyes. Why would Esric want to know?

‘Well, there is a boy who was part of a gang making a business out of poaching my deer; a professional killer guilty of many major transgressions of the law, and finally a more exotic
creature, a man from the Endless Marshes found guilty of killing a prominent merchant in Sketta.’

Esric smiled, a smile that usually had a devastating effect on any lady who should witness it. Lady Eburg, however, was immune to such things and sat there, lips pursed, nose held high, as
though having to tolerate an unpleasant odour.

‘A Marsh Man? How interesting. What evidence condemned this man exactly?’

Eburg did not reply immediately; he seemed to be going over his judgement in his mind. Finally he seemed ready to speak but it was a response that never came.

There was a commotion in the square behind them. Several of Esric’s men-at-arms seemed to be struggling with another man. He was kicking and pushing at his erstwhile captors attempting to
break free of them. Finally he managed to push his head above the arms and bodies encircling him and shouted at the top of his lungs.