The rest of the blustering day was spent in trans-porting the produce to the castle. Despite Gryss’s best urgings to look cheerful, it was done for the most part with a very ill grace, although this was confined to sullen attitudes and nothing overtly unpleasant was said within earshot of the gatherers.
And then the barn was empty. Bits of paper and torn sacks and the remains of floral displays scurried hither and thither about the dusty floor as the wind continued its own relentless search. Farnor gazed round at the echoing emptiness. It looked as it always looked after tithe day, but now it seemed sad and empty whereas previously he realized now, it had always seemed happy in some way… contented at a task well done, perhaps. He watched the whirling, wind-inspired dance of dust and litter about the floor for a while then half-heartedly reached for a brush.
‘Leave it, Farnor,’ Gryss said. ‘It’ll be there tomor-row.’ A logic that could not be disputed, Farnor thought, though he had never been able to make his mother see it on similar occasions. Deferring to the elder’s wisdom, he conscientiously put the brush down.
There was another short but alarming struggle to wrest the doors from the wind until they were finally shut and locked, then the few remaining villagers wandered off down the road. There was little conversa-tion.
At the castle, however, there was a great deal of conversation, and even more mirth as the entire complement gathered in a dining hall and proceeded to ‘assess’ the tithe by eating and drinking it – mainly drinking it.
‘Here’s to you, tithe master,’ Nilsson said, raising a tankard to Saddre.
‘Clerk of the tithe, Captain,’ Saddre corrected, rais-ing his own tankard in return. ‘I’m army, you know, not civilian. Co-opted and specially trained.’
‘Trained to pick pockets and cut throats,’ Dessane intervened raucously. This shaft, sharpened by the ale, made the trio relapse into uncontrollable laughter.
‘This is rich,’ Nilsson said, wiping his eyes and still laughing. ‘All this!’ He pointed to the piles of produce occupying one end of the hall. ‘We’ve raided bigger villages and come away with less on more than a few occasions. And delivered to us as well.’
‘They didn’t enjoy it, judging by their faces,’ Des-sane said.
‘They’d have enjoyed it a damn sight less if we’d collected it the usual way,’ Nilsson said.
‘Maybe I should tell them that not enjoying paying their taxes is an offence against the dignity of the King, and fine them for it,’ Saddre declared. ‘In my capacity as…’
‘Clerk of the tithe,’ Nilsson and Dessane said simul-taneously.
Again, the laughter that greeted this was dispropor-tionate to the humour of the remark, but it went unnoticed in the general uproar that was filling the hall.
None of the three, though, was truly drunk. The presence of the other revellers forbade that. To lead such meant that to be without control around them was to risk death.
Saddre pursued his thought. ‘Perhaps I could fine them a few women,’ he said, leering lasciviously. ‘For the entertainment of the King’s officers in the field. I saw some tasty ones in that crowd.’
Nilsson chuckled but his eyes were cold as he looked at his lieutenant. ‘No,’ he said categorically.
Saddre, abruptly possessed by his idea, protested. ‘Just a few,’ he pleaded. ‘For crying out, we can’t…’
‘You can and you will.’ Nilsson’s voice was icy, and all trace of humour had gone from his face. Recognizing the change, both Dessane and Saddre sobered. Dessane eased his chair back, ready to move quickly, and Saddre held out his hands. ‘Just my joke, Nils,’ he said, smiling desperately. ‘Just my joke. No harm meant. You know I wouldn’t…’
The crash of a table falling over and a sudden shout-ing rose above the din to cut across Saddre’s plea. Nilsson turned away from him and scanned the hall. He focused on the source almost immediately. Like a whirlpool suddenly appearing in a turbulent river, a circle of hastily moving bodies was forming around two struggling figures. Its power drew other bodies to it and soon it would occupy the whole hall.
Nilsson swore and stood up clumsily. His chair clattered over behind him. Without pausing, he strode into the melee. Saddre and Dessane looked at one another with expressions of open relief and Saddre drew the back of his hand across his mouth nervously. He let out a trembling breath.
The object of his alarm was gone however, plough-ing violently through the crowd, at times lifting men bodily off their feet and throwing them effortlessly to one side.
When he reached the centre Nilsson’s face was a mask of fury. The inner circle widened to reveal two men rolling about the floor amid a mess of food, ale and broken dishes. They were pummelling one another mindlessly. With a snarl, Nilsson reached down and seized them both by the hair. Then he hoisted them upright and brought their heads together with a resounding thud. Some of the spectators winced at the impact while others, the majority, laughed, always glad to see other than themselves being hurt. Nilsson released the two men who slumped unconscious to the floor.
‘You’d no call to…’ a drunken voice began behind Nilsson’s back. Before it could finish however, Nilsson had spun round and, using the momentum of his turn, delivered a punishing blow to the protester’s face. The man crashed backwards, taking several others with him as he fell. Blood was streaming from his nose and mouth.
As those felled with him crawled hastily away, the man struggled into a sitting position, his face livid with rage. He reached inside his jacket. A bystander’s foot kicked him over and planted itself on his chest. Nilsson stepped forward and looked down at the bleeding man. Gently he motioned the owner of the foot to one side, then he held out his hands, to the fallen man, palms upwards. His eyes were wide with a mixture of rage and exhilaration.
‘I’d every call, Avak,’ he said. ‘That was summary field punishment. You know the rules. No fighting amongst ourselves. Pain of death if weapons are drawn. And my word is law until you elect yourselves another leader.’ He leaned forward. ‘Are you thinking of running for office?’
Avak’s mouth worked, but no sound came.
The man who had kicked him spoke up tentatively. ‘I think he was reaching for something to wipe his face with, Captain,’ he said. ‘And I’m sure he’s just wonder-ing how to apologize for disturbing you when you were administering discipline. I’m afraid this good ale you’ve won for us today has addled the remains of his wits.’
Nilsson kept his eyes fixed on his victim throughout this respectful intervention, and acknowledged it only with a slight inclination of his head. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.
Avak, rage now gone from his face and replaced with sheer terror, nodded frantically. His lips were trembling, but from somewhere he found his voice. ‘That’s so, Captain,’ he said. ‘An ill-considered remark… the ale…’ His tongue seemed to stick to the top of his mouth.
Nilsson placed his own foot on Avak’s chest and tapped it thoughtfully.
The hall became very silent.
Then, settling his weight on to his foot, Nilsson turned and stared at the spectators.
There was nothing but fear all around him.
He turned back to the pinioned Avak then, with a final tap of his foot, abruptly released him. Avak scuttled away frantically. No one moved to help him.
‘The celebration’s over, gentlemen,’ Nilsson said. ‘These villagers with their ale have nearly cost us as many men as if we’d raided them.’
He began walking back to the table where Saddre and Dessane were standing waiting. The crowd parted before him.
‘Listen carefully, all of you,’ he said as he walked. ‘We’ve fallen lucky with this place and I’ll personally disembowel anyone who makes any trouble for us here, because of ale, women, anything.’ He stopped and looked intently at his audience. ‘As far as these villagers are concerned we’re soldiers, tax collectors of some kind. As a result of that, they’ve voluntarily given us enough supplies to last us for months. I needn’t tell any of you what a gift that is. You’ve all had to risk getting killed for a damn sight less in your time. Tomorrow Yeorson and Storran are going north with a patrol to find a way through the valley and to see what lies beyond. When they come back, we’ll load up our supplies and slip away. If this is done quietly, it’ll be months before…’ He paused and his jaw stiffened. ‘Before… anyone… finds out where we’ve gone. In fact, it’s a possibility they’ll never find out; this place is so far from anywhere.’ His shoulders hunched, and his voice became menacing. ‘I’m an easy-going man, you know that. I don’t interfere with your pleasures normally. But this time it’s too important. If these villagers begin to suspect we’re not who they think we are, we’ll have the whole countryside down on us. So this is the way it’s going to be. None of you are to go near the village. None of you are to have contact with any of the villagers. Any of them come to the gate on business, send for me.’ He raised his voice. ‘Do any of you need to hear that again?’