Might be what?
It was the word ‘might’ on which his thinking foun-dered.
Apart from confronting Nilsson personally, the only other way to resolve this was for someone to go over the hill. To go to the capital and the King’s palace and seek out some official who could confirm, or otherwise, the credentials of these men.
But who could be sent on such an errand? Who, with sufficient wit to find the way, to contend with the difficult journey and to make the necessary inquiries, could be sent without their absence also being noticed about the village within the day?
No one.
Gryss clicked his horse forward again. He would compromise. He could do nothing else. He would give the Council a simple statement, without comment, relating what he had been told by Nilsson. But when the meeting was over he would voice his doubts to the few that he could rely on.
Garren, certainly. Yakob too. And Jeorg? He pon-dered this. Jeorg was not a Councillor and he was pugnacious and outspoken when he chose, but he was reliable and trustworthy if handled correctly. Then there was Harlen, Marna’s father. Again this was debatable. Harlen was good-natured and easy-going, a gentle man. Should he be burdened thus? Yet he was shrewd and patient, given to thinking before he spoke – a rare trait. And too, Marna had already been drawn into events more deeply than Gryss would willingly draw any of his other chosen confidants, and it was not inconceivable that she would be drawn in further. Harlen should be at least aware that matters were amiss. And though, like Jeorg, he was not a Councillor he could reasonably be invited to the meeting as an observer. Other names came to mind, equally appropriate. Reliable, sensible men. But too many, he realized. It would be best if his worries were shared by as few as possible. He would confine it to those four.
And Farnor and Marna. It was more imperative than ever now that Marna be told to keep her doubts about Nilsson’s men to herself. He would seek an opportunity to meet both Marna and Farnor soon. In fact today, he decided; before the Council meeting.
Farnor, however, had made a prior decision of his own. Somewhat to his surprise, he had slept well and risen early. He had woken with a clear resolve in his mind and had finished his morning tasks with un-wonted speed, though carefully avoiding his father’s attention lest more be found.
He had then slipped away and sought out Marna.
Thus it was that the two of them ambushed Gryss as he returned from the castle.
‘You’re soaked,’ were Marna’s first words as she and Farnor stepped out of the shelter of a large tree. ‘Why on earth didn’t you put your hood up?’
Taken aback by her sternly maternal manner, Gryss found himself gaping. Reflexively he began an excuse, ‘I…’ but it faltered before her gaze and other reflexes sent him running to another male for sanctuary.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, turning to Farnor. ‘Has anything else happened?’
‘No,’ Farnor replied. ‘I told Marna about yesterday and last night and she insisted on coming to talk to you about it.’
Awkwardly Gryss dismounted. ‘How did you know where I was?’ he asked.
‘I saw you riding past earlier,’ Farnor replied off-handedly. Then, anxiously, he returned Gryss’s own question. ‘Has anything happened during the night?’
Gryss frowned. Marna was correct, he was soaked, and cold, and, insofar as he had thought about it at all, this was not how he would have preferred to meet these two to explain the latest developments. However, the chance having arisen, nothing was to be gained by delay. Besides, he could use the two of them to send out notice of the emergency Council meeting for tonight.
‘Walk with me to my cottage,’ he said. ‘I’ve a lot to tell you.’
As Gryss had surmised, the Council meeting was indeed, ‘interesting’. Full Council meetings were rare affairs, and not noted for their strict formality at the best of times. This one, at what was probably the worst of times – certainly within anyone’s memory – proved to be almost continuous uproar.
Throughout, however, Gryss gave no indication of his doubts about Nilsson and his men, and was relieved when none was raised by anyone else. The discussion rambled freely and at length over a great many topics, all of which were repeated several times by different individuals and most of which were quite irrelevant. Deliberately, Gryss made no real effort to control the meeting, deeming it better that the effects of the first shock on the leaders of the community be well aired within the tiny Council Hall before being announced publicly. He was also anxious to avoid the development of any serious, coherent thought.
It was thus some considerable time before any sem-blance of a conclusion appeared, though, inevitably, it was quite simple when it did.
‘Well, I suppose there’s nothing we can do about it,’ they agreed.
Gryss nodded sagely, hoping that he had at last finished repeating his tale. ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘It was announced to me and I’ve announced it to you.’ He sought finally to allay once again the predominant fear that had been expressed. ‘The Captain did say he’d no interest in our local affairs and that he expected us to continue as normal. I suppose as matters develop, he’ll let us know what he wants in the way of supplies or helpers. I’m sure we’ll be able to work together with a little goodwill and common sense.
Eventually the meeting broke up and the Council members dispersed to their homes, carrying with them the last rumbling echoes of the debate. Discreetly, and separately, during this scattering, Gryss dispatched Garren, Yakob, Jeorg and Harlen to his cottage on one pretext or another.
Thus, after being met at the door by his dog wearing the indignant expression of one sorely taxed, he was greeted by a puzzled quartet of friends waiting in his back room.
‘I’m sorry for the small deception,’ he said. ‘But I didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that I needed to talk to you away from the others.’
The puzzled expressions turned to concern at this strange admission, and the concern in turn deepened as Gryss added his own doubts to the tale he had told and retold several times to the assembled Councillors.
Unlike the full Council, his listeners were silent when he had finished speaking, with the exception of Jeorg who swore softly under his breath.
‘Grim thoughts, Gryss,’ Garren said at last. ‘What prompted them?’
Gryss shrugged. He had made no mention of Farnor and the creature, nor of Marna’s involvement. His friends had enough to contend with as it was. ‘They’ve been brewing for some time, I think,’ he lied. ‘Treating those injured men last night and the shock of Nilsson’s news suddenly seemed to bring them to the fore.’ He looked down. ‘I feel very responsible for not finding out who they were in the first place.’
Yakob, a tall, dignified man, always smartly dressed and, in many ways the very antithesis of Gryss, laid his hand on Gryss’s arm. ‘Don’t reproach yourself,’ he said. ‘If there’s blame to be allocated, then we’re all at fault. We were so surprised to see them at first, then so concerned about our precious tithe, that it never occurred to any of us to ask them for credentials.’
Nodding heads around the small circle confirmed this conclusion.
‘It’s perhaps as well we didn’t ask,’ Jeorg said. ‘If they’re not what they seem they might have turned on us right away.’
‘I think Gryss is worrying unnecessarily,’ Yakob said. ‘They’re a rough-looking crowd for sure, but if they’re not soldiers, gatherers, then who could they be? Where could such a large armed troop have come from? How could it have come into being?’
Gryss found no reassurance in this. ‘It’s a big world over the hill,’ he said bleakly. ‘I saw enough of it when I was younger to know that I hadn’t seen a fraction of it. And I saw enough to learn the value of this place here. They could have come from anywhere, believe me. Deserters from some lord or king, mercenaries, just plain robbers and bandits. Anything. They are foreign-ers, after all. More to the point, I suspect, is not who are they but what do they want?’