‘Market be damned. We are here for a far nobler cause,’ Ser Harmut said.
De Marche took a careful breath. ‘Are we, my lord?’ he asked. Talking to Ser Harmut was a delicate exercise. The death of his favourite squire and the results of the combat against the Eeeague had thrown Ser Harmut into de Marche’s company, but the knight was a dark and difficult man, and never a companion.
‘We will take one of Alba’s wall castles,’ Ser Harmut said. ‘And lead an Outwaller invasion.’
De Marche blinked his eyes. ‘Which castle, my lord?’
‘Ticondaga,’ Ser Hartmut said. ‘Do you know it?’
De Marche scratched his beard. ‘It’s much further west than I had anticipated our travelling,’ he said. ‘We are almost as far as I sailed on my last expedition. According to our Imperial chart, Ticondaga is another three hundred leagues up the Great River. The river will grow narrower each day, and the risk of running aground grows accordingly. Even losing a single ship-’
Ser Hartmut nodded. ‘Take care, then,’ he said. ‘We cannot hope to succeed with any less than all three ships and all of our soldiers.’
De Marche took two full breaths. ‘My lord, my men are sailors, not soldiers, and we expected to rest and-’ he dropped his voice and spoke as if he was using a dirty word to a child ‘-trade.’
Ser Hartmut smiled. ‘I know. But your men have more than proven themselves worthy of better lives. We will lay siege to Ticonaga.’
De Marche took another deep breath. ‘My lord, the fortress there is reputed to be one of the strongest in the world – it was built by the ancients.’
Ser Hartmut nodded. ‘All the more honour when we take it. Fear not, master mariner! God will provide.’
De Marche looked at Ser Hartmut, and his thoughts must have shown in his face, because the Black Knight smiled.
‘You are surprised to hear me speak of God? Listen, master mariner, I am a knight. I kill the enemies of my king and my religion. Men hate me because, in the end, I always succeed. Men decry my methods because they are themselves jealous, weak, or foolish. War is butchery. What matter if I use alchemy? Hermetical magic? If Satan himself were to offer me his aid-’ He smiled.
De Marche thought I don’t really want to get into this. But his curiosity got the better of him, as it always did. ‘Satan’s aid to help God?’ he asked.
‘Every cause has a traitor,’ the Black Knight said. ‘Even Satan’s.’ He nodded.
Ten days sail up the Great River and they passed two Outwaller ‘castles’, both built on high promontories, and both walled with palisades and densely woven thorn fences. The sailors called out to pretty Outwaller girls on the banks and had arrows shot at them for their pains.
De Marche watched the Outwaller communities go by with something akin to his sailor’s unrequited lust. But Ser Hartmut had a letter from the King, and despite de Marche’s knowledge that he’d been used, he did as he was ordered.
But the eleventh day gave him new hope for his trade. He’d cut the rations to all his men, officers and knights included, and the resulting meals had brought Ser Hartmut on deck in an ingratiating mood, if such a thing were possible to the Black Knight.
‘If I gave you leave to trade at one of these huddles of barbarian huts, would we have better food?’ he asked.
‘I expect we might have venison and corn, my lord. Perhaps even bread. But I would have to explore. Trade is never quick.’ De Marche wanted to be off the ship with all his heart, exploring the interior, meeting the people, finding new routes. But offending Ser Hartmut was nothing but a death sentence.
The Black Knight looked over the bow for some time. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Our task will only be eased by winning the trust of the peasants.’
De Marche didn’t expect Ser Hartmut would win their trust, but he was willing to see him try, and so, when mid-morning of the twelfth day on the Great River revealed a third Outwaller town on a great island in the river, he anchored in the lee of the island and summoned Lucius.
‘Shouldn’t you be in harness?’ Ser Hartmut asked. ‘With a retinue? I would be delighted to accompany you.’
De Marche shook his head. ‘My lord, I beg you to accept my guidance in this. If we afright or affront these folk, they will do no trade with us, nor be our allies in any way. We need to approach them with gifts, kind words and open hands.’
Ser Hartmut looked over the side at the island town. ‘We have the resources to storm the town,’ he said. ‘Failing Ticondaga, this would make a fair base for the King.’
De Marche cleared his throat. ‘I’m sure we could storm it, my lord,’ he said. ‘However, I’m not sure we could hold it. Perhaps I have not fully explained that just as each holding in Galle is itself part of a larger holding of a greater lord, so most of the Outwallers are vassals of Lords of the Wild.’
‘Daemons of hell, you mean?’ asked the Black Knight. A light kindled in his eye and his hand went to his sword.
De Marche caught Lucius’s eye. ‘Not exactly,’ he said.
He and Lucius rowed themselves in a small open boat. As soon as they were well clear of the ship, Lucius said, ‘When you told him that your Etruscan source was dead-’
De Marche grunted and pulled his oar. The river was choppy and they were rowing into a brisk headwind. There were a dozen Outwallers on the beach, and two of them wore the long squirrel robes that were the mark of noblemen, along with elaborate caps like crowns. But it was dangerous to draw parallels. Any free Huran could wear the gustaweh. They were not quite crowns.
‘Lucius, would I shock you if I said that Ser Hartmut and I do not have the same goals for this expedition?’ he asked.
Lucius looked away. ‘He’s terrifying.’
‘If he knew how much you know,’ de Marche said, ‘I fear that he’d-’ He paused. There were now more than fifty men on the beach. Some had spears – steel-tipped spears.
Lucius nodded. ‘The Northern Huran are among the most powerful tribes. If our fleet failed this summer then there are bales of furs in every longhouse waiting for the trade. By the gentle Christ, look at them!’
They were three hundred yards from shore, and now there were a thousand Outwallers waiting for them on the shingle.
They landed, and eager hands took their boat and pulled it high up the beach so that the little coracle seemed to skim the ground the way it had skimmed the waves. When de Marche stepped over the side he was embraced, pinched, and prodded by a hundred men and as many women – mostly older women in furs, with beads and quillwork on every robe.
Lucius, who spoke a fair version of Huran, was immediately surrounded by leaders – a dozen men and four women – and de Marche made his way to the Etruscan’s side.
‘The thieving barbarians have taken my dagger,’ de Marche said.
Lucius smiled. ‘I told you not to bring a knife,’ he said. ‘Relax. Your dagger is a small price to pay for their love. As I thought, there has been no Etruscan fleet this year. The silkies who killed the Genuans have left these folk bereft. They are in a war with their southern cousins, and they have no bolts for their crossbows, no armour – Desontarius here was just telling me that they are on the point of making peace, and our arrival will allow them to make war.’
De Marche blew air out through his cheeks. ‘It seems all the world makes war,’ he muttered.
Lucius seemed taller and more commanding. ‘By God, I will crush my cousins,’ he said. ‘We have the whole of the trade – it is God’s will. We will be rich!’
Chapter Ten
The Squash Country – Ota Qwan
Their march back through the Wild was rapid, and made the trip out look easy.
They sighted Crannog People each day. The giants didn’t move cautiously – indeed, they tended to leave a path of destruction wherever they went, whether in the woods, across a marsh, or along the edge of a trail, as if they visited destruction on plants and rocks as easily as on animals or creatures of the Wild. Ota Qwan sent his best trackers out on wide sweeps, and moved them from one cover to the next with the canny precision of a soldier.