Chapter 11
Alvero
The drumbeat increased in tempo then died away as the red disk of the sun rose into the sky. In the royal village of Gorm, grey-clad soldiers raised their hands in salute as the Lord Sun began his daily passage across the heavens.
On the parapet, above a wooden gatehouse, a sergeant stood with one of his young soldiers. He leant over the guardrail and spat on the colourfully dressed tribesmen below.
'That's what I give for the superstitious heathen savages.' He coughed violently. 'God. I hate this sodding place. I don't know how the natives can stand it. I'm surprised the sods don't have webbed feet.' He spat again. 'Gorms, Catti, mountain men ... I hate the sodding lot.'
'The Catti got another of our tin shipments,' the young soldier said. 'Do you think it's got anything to do with that Sky Warrior?'
'Course it hasn't.' The sergeant looked disdainfully at the young man. 'The Catti were taking our tin long before that big bastard came along.'
'They say he comes from another realm.'
The sergeant gave a deep belly laugh.
'Morgon told that silly old fool, Pius, that Sky Warrior came from his village back home. He said he was a baker who'd been banished for putting chalk in his bread and the stupid old bugger believed him.'
'That still doesn't tell us where he comes from,' the young man said. 'From what I've heard, he doesn't look like us. He's pale and he's got blue eyes and brown hair. People say he looks like the natives.'
'But twice as big,' the sergeant laughed. 'Almost as big as Morgon.'
He was interrupted by shouts from below. The crowd surged forward and small children were hoisted onto shoulders.
'What's going on?' the young soldier asked.
'Today we're going to return King Balduur to his ancestors.'
'How are we going to do that?'
'We're not. That's something you leave to the Grand Master of the Duideth. He's the clever bugger who knows all about that.'
'How does the princess come into it?'
'You mean the little tart they call Adrina?'
'Yes. How does she come into it?'
'She doesn't ... not if we can help it.'
The sergeant broke off, shouting orders to the soldiers below, telling them to move on some market women. He returned his attention to the young man.
'Morgon has given strict instructions that the little tart is to be kept down to size. She's trying to make a name for herself. Give her a chance and she'll be running things like her mother does over the border.'
'That's something I don't get. Her mother is Queen of the Catti and Adrina is King Pius' adopted daughter. They're meant to be enemies. It doesn't make sense.'
'It doesn't have to make sense.' The sergeant pinched his nose and snorted. 'Nothing in this sodding island makes sense. What you have to remember is that hundreds of thousands of the heaven sods are out there and there's only ten thousand of us. One false move and the ignorant savages will forget they don't like one another ... they'll unite and turn on us.'
'One of the village girls told me Sky Warrior and the princess got together.'
'What?..You've been talking to the village girls?'
'Yes, Sarge. 'She said that after they'd done it the princess put a big purple mark on his neck.'
'Ye Gods. That's something worth knowing.'
The sergeant tapped his arm approvingly.
'What's your name then?'
'Alvero.'
'Well, Alvero my lad, that's a very valuable piece of intelligence what you've just told me. That's something which should be reported to the Lord Morgon.'
The sergeant's attention returned to the procession.
'Prepare to receive the royal party.'
He barked an order and the soldiers placed their hands on their chests and stood rigidly with their shields to the side. Orders required them to remain expressionless, eyes staring directly ahead. Alvero found that difficult.
In an open carriage, beside King Pius, there was a most beautiful girl. She reminded him of the girls in his home village, far to the south. Her hair was dark and so were her eyes. All his mates talked about her. The carriage reached the gate and she looked up. Their eyes met. Alvero smiled and, to his amazement, Adrina smiled back.
***
In the main square of Gorm, in front of the Great Hall, three men stood with their retainers. King Pius was flanked by white-haired chieftains. Grimwald, Grand Master of the Duideth, was accompanied by two white-robed priests. Morgon stood between them and fidgeted awkwardly.
The big man was not comfortable in their presence. He fiddled with the pommel of his sword and tried to make conversation with one of Pius' aristocratic retainers. The old man spoke the southern language and had gained a reputation as a great warrior in his younger days.
Morgon felt at ease with the old soldier even though the man clearly disliked him. Being disliked was a way of life for Morgon. What he could not abide was a confrontation with weak-kneed individuals who wielded power through words no one else could understand. His inclination was to draw his sword and cut them down to size. Unfortunately, that solution rarely achieved its desired aim.
The old warrior was excited by the prospect of seeing Balduur's head. He told Morgon he had been present at the battle of Baddon Marsh when Balduur died. The Catti had charged over the marshes led by their king, the paramount chief Cronwyn. He galloped ahead of the main body with his one and only surviving child, his daughter Bronwyn.
Still just a girl, not fully grown, the young princess rode a huge white stallion. She carried a sprig of holly in one hand and the royal standard of the Catti in the other. Nearing the enemy line, she pointed the holly berries to the sky and cried out for the mother goddess to intercede ... and the heavens seemed to shimmer.
Then Cronwyn shouted to Balduur, challenging him to single combat. Balduur spurred his horse. The two men met, their horses collided and Balduur was thrown to the ground. An instant later Cronwyn was upon him. Balduur's head was cut from his living body and thrown to the young princess. She grasped it by the hair and galloped towards the Gorms, shouting that their god had forsaken them and the goddess was supreme.
Morgon had heard the story before but this was the first time he'd heard it from the lips of someone who had been present at the battle. The collapse of moral on the Gormish side was horrifying. An otherwise invincible army had been crushed and humiliated.
Bronwyn was now an old woman. She was paramount chieftain of the Catti and commanded a sizeable force. Her daughter Adrina was a member of Pius' household and dearly beloved by the old man. It was a situation fraught with danger. Anything which would unite the two tribes could bring disaster. He needed to keep them apart. It was important to remind the Gorms of their humiliation at the hands of the Catti and show them that he was a trusty friend and ally.
That was why Balduur's head was so important. For years the Gorms had tried to get it back. Now he'd done it for them. He'd bribed a member of the queen's guard and the head had been sneaked out of the royal apartments. There would be a ceremony. The Grand Master would preside. The box, which held the head, would be opened. The head would be displayed. Then it would be burnt on a brazier so that the great warrior's soul could join his ancestors or whatever the ignorant savages thought would happen.
Morgon didn't care what the natives believed. He wasn't interested in their religion. What mattered was the kudos he'd gain by returning Balduur to Gorm. He could hear the rolling chant of the warriors as the party bearing the head passed the main gate.
'Balduur ... Balduur ...'
The deep, resonant voices played with the name, elevating it to a mystical plane. Their chant sounded back and forth, echoing off the buildings, growing to a mighty roar.
Morgon's trained eyes took in every detail. He'd served in many parts of the empire and knew that a military commander had to be attuned to the sensitivities of conquered peoples, however stupid they might be. Over the years he'd developed a tolerance for ridiculous protocol and inane rituals.
He watched, hand on sword, as the party bearing the head entered. Tears formed in King Pius' pale eyes. Beside him, the Grand Master of the Duideth raised his staff. A guard of honour formed. Officers of the guard stood ready. The Imperial standard appeared. A soldier carrying a black box marched behind it. The guard saluted and sang a hymn for the dead.
The crowd fell silent and the man with the box crossed the square. He halted before Morgan and spoke in the southern language.
'General. I have taken possession of this item as directed and I have brought it here following your instructions.'
Morgon took the box and turned to Pius.
'Noble Lord, knowing your devotion to your esteemed father, Balduur the Great, I asked myself how his mortal remains might be returned to you. After much effort I have succeeded.'
Morgon handed the box to the old man.
'My children, Balduur is returned to us.
Pius lifted it up for all to see.
'Balduur is amongst us again ...'
The tribesmen listened in awe as Pius told them of Balduur's deeds. Morgon was amazed that such a timid little man could arouse such passion in seasoned warriors. They worshipped the silly old fool. He was Balduur's son and that was all that mattered.
'Today is a day we've long awaited,' Pius droned on. 'We offered prayers to the Lord Sun and he sent us the noble Morgon to be our War Master. Now, after all these many seasons, our great father is returned to us. The noble Morgon has brought him back.'
Pius turned to the old warrior by his side.
'I call upon my dear companion, Mordith of Clan Cullin, to open the box which this brave soldier has brought to us. Mordith was with me on that fatal day when our father was taken from us.'
Morgon watched as the old man took a knife from his belt. Despite his years he carried himself well. It required no imagination to picture the formidable warrior he had once been. He eyed the box suspiciously and spoke in the southern language.
'Have you looked inside?'
The soldier shook his head.
'It has recently been resealed,' the old man observed. 'The varnish is chipped and there is a smell of resin.'
The soldier stood stiffly to attention.
'I took possession of the box as instructed. I was not instructed to open it.'
The old man inserted a blade and broke the seal.
'You paid in gold?'
'I handed over a sealed bag.'
'The Catti have a new Head Master ...'
'That is correct, Excellency. He is the one they call Sky Warrior.'
'Hgh,' the old man grunted. 'Let us see what the Sky Warrior gave you for the contents of that bag.'
He removed the lid and grabbed a mop of red hair. The putrefying face of the former Head Master hung below. He dumped it at Morgon's feet.
'We paid gold and this is what we got!'
A gasp went up from the crowd. Men reached for their swords and Morgon sprang at the soldier who had delivered the box. His knife curved up under the man's breastplate and entered his heart.
'Death to all who disobey my orders.'
He shouted in the native tongue and was relieved to see the look of approval on the tribesmen's faces. His prompt action had prevented a riot.
***
Alvero entered the market place. He liked being there. The natives weren't so bad when you got the know them. They smelt a bit but you got used to that. Some could be quite friendly if you tried to learn their language and treated them as equals. He felt homesick. He'd joined the army because that was what young men did on his island. There was a shortage of land and lots of mouths to feed. Now he wanted to go home. He didn't like military life and he hated his officers. His native girlfriends knew that.
There was one he particularly wanted to see. He'd got to know her when he was on guard duty outside King Pius' residence. She was a servant there and knew Princess Adrina. He'd even spoken to the princess, bidding her good day in the native language. To his surprise she'd returned the greeting in his own language, speaking his own dialect.
A young boy sidled up to him and whispered something about a message. Alvero was suspicious. There was a sort of boy who traded his body for money and pimped for female relatives.
'The message is from a lady.'
Alvero kept walking.
'She gave me this to show you.'
The boy held out a piece of linen. It came from the hem of a garment and bore the chevron pattern of the Royal House of Gorm. Alvero was still suspicious. He had friends who had received invitations from native girls, only to find themselves confronted by their male relatives.
'What is lady's name?' he struggled with the language.
'I'm not allowed to say.'
'What you mean?'
'She wants to meet you,' the boy said slowly. 'She will be in the hayloft above the royal stables.'
Alvero glanced towards the stables and saw a group of young men whom he recognised as members of the princess' bodyguard.
'She said I was to give you this.'
The boy reached into his pouch and pulled out a lock of jet-black hair, tied with a silver thread. Alvero's heart missed a beat. There was only one person with hair as dark as that. He glanced back towards the stables and found that the young men had gone. Excitement overcame fear.
'You take me?'
The boy shook his head. 'You must go like you are investigating something. No one will ask questions if you act like you belong.'
Alvero entered the stables and mounted the stairs with a sense of foreboding. He was off duty and his only weapon was a knife, which was meant for peeling apples. The door at the top of the stairs was open and he could see the princess inside. She was sitting on a pile of hay. No one else was there but there was no shortage of places to hide. He ventured the last few steps and Adrina smiled at him.
'Come and sit beside me.'
Alvero approached cautiously. From where he stood, he could see a smart leather boot protruding from a pile of sacks. He wondered how many of the princess' bodyguard were hidden in the loft.
'I've been watching you for a long time.'
Adrina spoke in the southern tongue without the slightest trace of an accent. 'I have been looking for a brave companion from my father's land.'
'Does your father come from Ibero?'
Adrina stoked her long dark hair.
'Can't you see that we have the same southern blood?'
Alvero relaxed a little and listened.
'My sisters tell me that a lot of the brothers from Ibero want to go home.'
'We can't, Princess. We need boats.'
Adrina leant forward and took his hand.
'Alvero. I can put twenty of the brothers on the next boat taking tin to Ibero. They are needed there. A war has broken out. The empire if falling apart.'
'No one has told us that.'
'They wouldn't.' Adrina patted his knee. 'If they told you that it would be very bad for moral.'
Alvero nodded. 'What do you want me to do?'
'You gather together the brothers who are loyal to Ibero. You must swear a blood oath. When you are ready report back. The boy, Weasel, will be our messenger. He will tell you where to find me.'
'Who's Weasel?'
'Make the sound of a weasel and he will come.' Adrina put her fingers to her lips and made a high-pitched squeak.
'You do it.'
Alvero did his best and heard footsteps on the stairs. The boy who'd accosted him earlier appeared in the doorway.
'Our brother Alvero has agreed to join us,' Adrina said in the native tongue. 'He is a loyal son of Ibero.'
The boy raised his hand in a warrior's salute. Alvero was amazed that someone so young would be permitted to do such a thing and in the presence of a princess.