‘Is that so? Then look at Clemethea, Seneschal Bruan’s wife. She runs a farm on her own. A farm! With her last child she was digging up crops until the very hour her labour started.
I will be sensible, of course, but do not cover me with goose down lest I snap in two.’
Wulfthram laughed, a deep, rarely heard sound that always pleased his wife.
‘Very well. Then shall we agree to consider each other’s viewpoint before rushing to judgement. I am content with that.’
‘Agreed. Are you going to tell anyone of my current condition?’
‘Only most of the known world.’
‘I see – I am glad you are happy. One other thing, though.’
‘Yes?’
‘Move that great side of meat you call a shoulder. You are crushing my arm.’
‘Oh, of course. I am sorry.’
‘Good, you are forgiven.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
Less than an hour later she was in the great hall stretching her legs. Baron Einar was there and came over to talk. He looked bigger than ever.
‘Good morrow, Lady Ceriana. You look well, almost blooming if I may say so.’
‘Ah, you have seen my husband and he has told you.’
‘I have not; I am still looking for him.’ He stopped and looked at her appraisingly. ‘You do look different. Do you mean you are...’
She nodded. ‘I am glad you could tell. With my husband I had to almost carve the words into his head with a knife before he realised.’
‘Well, he has less experience of noticing the signs than I. By all the Gods and blessed Elissa, congratulations, my girl! Seldom has a more important child been conceived in this part of
the world. A true union of north, west and south, we are looking at a new future for all of us. I feel the vintners will have to put on an extra barrel or two to keep us all in the mood
tonight.’
‘If only I could join you. For once in my life I actually feel like something stronger than spiced milk for a change.’
‘Well, drink one and one only; no one will reproach you for it.’
‘Sensible advice as ever. By the way I think you will find my husband in the stables; there are a few of the horses who as yet are unaware of the news.’
Later that afternoon, partly because she fancied a change of air and partly out of devilment over her husband’s concern for her, she decided to go out riding over the
nearby moors. Einar agreed to escort her as her husband had other duties taking up his time, and so it was that the two of them, accompanied by two men-at-arms rode through the front gates with
just over an hour of daylight remaining.
She knew where she wanted to go. In the town the main road diverted into two, just off the main square. The main road led to the harbour but the westward path wound back past the manor house
into the high hills covered in furze and bracken, brown and subdued in their winter colours. This was the road to Einar’s own country perched high on the western headlands; Ceriana, however,
had no intention of going that far. Rather, she wanted to ride to a fast-flowing stream she used as a landmark, being as it was some thirty minutes out from home. The stream itself flowed swiftly
over slippery rocks before plunging into a steep and narrow gorge and spilling into the slab-grey ocean. It started its journey in the high hills from where one could have a commanding view of
Osperitsan Town, the harbour and many outlying farmsteads and villages.
Breathless and flushed, she reached her destination – the stump of a tree, long dead and withered overlooking the stream as it chattered and fizzed over its stony bed through the
snow-flecked landscape. She waited patiently for the others to join her, her fine pointed nose red with exertion. They had left the main path some ten minutes ago and had ridden instead over a
narrow, rarely used sheep track. Einar therefore was unfamiliar with the route and had left it to his horse to pick its way along with the guards behind him.
‘Come along, Einar; you are not riding a donkey!’ she called out to him. ‘Elissa’s eyes, has anyone ever been so tardy?’
Eventually he sidled up to her, smiling broadly. ‘So this is where you ride to when you fancy being alone. You’re one of those girls that likes a sweeping view of the sea, I take
it.’
‘I suppose you are right. Don’t you ever feel the need to get away from everything, to watch a world so much greater than the narrow circles we inhabit? The Gods can paint over such
a vast canvas that it renders one’s insignificance truly breath-taking, don’t you think?’
‘To be honest, I rarely have the time to think about the wonder of the Gods. As long as they keep the taxes coming in and my people happy I am content.’
She laughed .‘You are right of course. By Elissa, I do ramble on so.’
She scanned the horizon, her eyes finally alighting on the harbour, where, in addition to the dozens of small fishing craft, a larger caravel sat at rest, its yellow flag stiff in the strong
breeze.
‘That is not one of our ships.’ She sounded confused. ‘And where are our ships anyway?’
‘Thakholm,’ said Einar. ‘Your father’s fleet is going there first, so our ships will be meeting him. They will pick up Baron Skellar, then make their way here.’
‘I see,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘So whose ship is that?’
Einar shielded his eyes.‘Vorfgan’s,’ he said finally. ‘I think that is his ship, anyway.’
‘Why is he here by the Gods? He is not on the Council.’
‘I have to correct you there. He
was
not on the Council, but he is now; he has acquired so much land in the past few months we have had to give him a voice.’
‘An ambitious man,’ she said quietly.
‘Yes,’ said Einar, ‘but does his ambition outstrip his ability?’
‘That,’ said Ceriana, ‘is something only time will tell.’
Einar for once seemed lost for words and continued to stare at the ship bobbing in the distance. He seemed lost in a world of his own for a second but finally snapped to. ‘Well, he will be
at the hall when we return, the first of all the barons to arrive. Perhaps we should go back.’
‘I agree,’ she replied. ‘It will be dark soon and even these furs aren’t keeping me warm.’
And so with a long last lingering look at the wondrous handiwork of the Gods, Ceriana followed the men in spurring her horse back down the path.
She was stuck behind the three men on the narrow path back; they moved like snails and she soon got bored. She thought about riding on to the scrubland and going round them but knew she would
run a gauntlet of disapproving stares from the men and from her husband, if he ever found out. The sky was beginning to get dark, its colour deepening to a rich indigo under a canopy of scudding
black clouds. It was getting colder, too, and she instinctively drew her furs closer around her shoulders. She could see the lights of the town below her and those of the baronial hall being lit,
and she fancied curling up in front of the fire in her room. They were riding now in a cleft between two high shoulders of rock clothed in bracken and ahead of them a thin, watery moon was
beginning to make its presence felt, its wan, pale face lowering weakly at them. She was envisioning a meal of pickled fish or hot crab stew when they came to an abrupt halt.
There had been a small avalanche or rock fall and the path in front of them was now blocked with earth and loose stone. Following a command from Einar, the two men-at-arms dismounted and began
shifting the pile of spoil with their bare hands.
‘We will not be back before nightfall at this rate,’ Einar grumbled.
‘I hardly think so. I don’t think you will be going back at all,’ came a growl from behind them.
Ceriana spun her horse round as did Einar behind her. Seemingly having emerged from beneath the earth were four large men, clothed in shadow, but not so much that she couldn’t see the
clubs they were all carrying. Einar could not pass Ceriana on his horse so he swiftly dismounted and stood in front of her as they slowly advanced on them.
‘Now then, fellows’ said Einar, drawing his blade, ‘what exactly is your problem with us?’
‘Not with you, or the other men. You may leave if you wish, but that little bitch cost me money and stood up for a couple of disease-raddled whores at my expense. I haven’t decided
whether to cave her head in or rape her to death; it depends on how much she begs for mercy.’
Her heart was pounding like a bass drum and she could feel the vein in her temple throbbing relentlessly. She couldn’t remember who this man was at first – who could hate her that
much? As the men-at-arms went to stand with Einar the mist finally cleared; Cragvan, the brothel-keeper, the man she forced to make reparation to those women. She could feel his hatred of her
oozing from him and she realised that she was more terrified than at any time facing the spirits of Atem Sezheia.
‘Attack us and none of you will see the evening out alive.’ Einar had never sounded so menacing to her. Looking behind her she could see that the blockage on the path had not been
cleared sufficiently for her to flee. She kept a small dagger on her person and reached for it now, knowing in her heart that she had about as much chance of hurting those men as of flying home to
Edgecliff.
Cragvan and his men piled into Einar. Ceriana behind them was using all her energy to control her fretting horse; the three rider-less ones were equally testy and she tried grabbing their reins
to calm them, too. It was a mass of bodies ahead of her; she could not make out what was happening in the murk. All she could hear were grunts of concentration as they all tried to bring their
weapons to bear against their foes.
There was a roar of pain and one of Cragvan’s men stumbled and fell. One of her guards kicked his club away and stamped on the man’s face, before taking a fierce blow to the
shoulder. Cragvan and Einar were grappling on the floor. Then, one of Cragvan’s men broke past the guards and headed straight for her. Her eyes widened in terror and she gripped her useless
little knife wondering what to do with it. The man glared at her. His face was bloodied but he was smiling, She saw his yellow teeth and spittle flecked his chin. He grabbed her leg and made to
pull her off her horse. She screamed in surprise and, without thinking, jabbed her knife into the man’s hand. He roared in anger and let go of her as her horse, spooked and frightened, reared
on to its hindquarters. Screaming again, she leaned backwards and lost her grip, falling off the saddle on to the hard, damp earth. The impact was mainly to her right shoulder and she bounced once
before landing fully on her back where she curled into a foetal position, whimpering in pain.
The horse was between her and her assailant. It reared again and this time it brought down its right fore hoof directly on to the man’s head. There was a crack of splintering bone and the
man dropped like a stone, killed instantly by the impact. Ceriana felt the slightest wave of relief before bringing up some yellow bile. After that consciousness left her for a brief time.
When she came, too, she had been moved. She had been placed gently on the damp bracken, furs wrapped securely around her. She saw that the path had been cleared, then, without rising, she looked
in the other direction. She recognised Einar. He was standing over another man who had been forced to his knees and was looking at the ground. From the early mists behind them yet another man
emerged, whom she recognised as one of the guards. She baulked slightly when she saw what he carried.
It appeared the battle was over and the Gods had found in their favour. In each hand the man carried a severed head, gripping them by the hair. The beheadings were recent as gore dripped freely
from them. Summary justice, she thought; back home in Edgecliff her father cosseted her, keeping her well away from such things, but she was not at Edgecliff now. She tried to move but pain lanced
through her shoulder, causing her to grind her teeth to stop herself crying out.
Einar was speaking now. ‘You had the chance to walk away but, like the lame brain you obviously are, you made the wrong decision.’ He nodded to the guard who forced Cragvan’s
head lower and lower until it was nearly on the ground. Cragvan struggled and roared in frustration, but his hands had been tied and he was unable to resist. Einar then moved alongside him and,
gripping his sword in both hands, lifted it high before bringing it down with full force on to Cragvan’s neck. It was a clean kill, the sword passing seamlessly through bone and tissue. The
head rolled away neatly from the stump of the neck, from which fountains of blood now sprayed from the still-twitching corpse, covering Einar’s muddied boots and causing steam to rise from
them.
‘A fine collection for Wulfthram,’ said Einar. Leaving his men to gather up Cragvan’s head and put it with the others, he strolled over to Ceriana.
‘Ah, that is good he see,’ he said heartily. ‘You are bruised, but we could find no break and the child is still inside you. We have to get you back, though, where a sister of
Meriel can have a look at you. None of us here have knowledge of anything other than battle injuries. Let’s help you up. How do you feel yourself?’.
‘My shoulder,’ she said stiffly, ‘it hurts so, but I think I am more shaken than anything.’
She was too shaken to ride in fact and sat behind Einar on his horse for the rest of the journey back. They reached the town again and rode through the square towards the front gates of the
baronial hall. Some of Vorfgan’s yellow-liveried retainers could be seen milling round in the courtyard. Ahead a couple of fur-swathed townsfolk hailed them, wishing them the fortune of the
Gods. They were a couple out of youth’s first flush and as Ceriana thanked them she noticed two very young children following at their heel.
She tried to talk to Einar to stop her teeth chattering, something to take her mind off recent events. ‘I find it strange, Einar, but maybe it is the nature of man to always covet what
other people have, as if they must have a far better life than your own. See that couple there? If you were to ask them if they could swap their lives for mine, I am sure they would not take a
second to take up the offer. And yet they have freedoms I can but dream of: they may marry whom they choose; they are beholden to no one but their baron and their own endeavours. I wonder who among
us has the better life.’