Andrew Offutt - When Death Birds Fly

“Hmm. Remounts?”

“They lead some two hundred spare horses. That is another thing-sir; they will have to find forage for so many animals.”

“Not difficult at this season, and them constantly moving on. Syagrius can requisition what he wants. He may have met utter defeat, but it will take time for the stupid Gallo-Romans to accustom themselves to the idea!”

Frowning, the scarfaced Frank considered. Syagrius and his band must surely rest each night of their journey. Was high summer; there had been little cloud, less rain, and the ground was dry and firm. So, then. Allow them to cover… forty miles in a day. As Lucanor said, seven or eight days seemed about right. Sigebert promptly allowed a safe margin, and gave himself but five days to prepare.

Still, first things first. This time Lucanor had impressed him. Not being an utter fool, however, Sigebert knew that the Antiochite hated him. He considered. Suppose Clovis’s schemes had somehow gone awry? Was there not a possibility that Lucanor might seek to conceal the news for reasons of his own? Suppose the Romans had gained victory and Lucanor was lying… Sigebert’s eyes brightened. His merry smile of anticipation imparted a hideous twist to the scars on his cheek.

“Shall we see how your story resists a little pain?” He drew his dagger.

Lucanor shrieked for some moments, begged for mercy, gasped and wept, groaned, cursed, even threatened retribution-which was empty prating. He knew he dared do naught, for Sigebert’s protection was become his only hope of survival. Yet he could not be induced to deny that he had spoken truth.

At last, at blessed, merciful last, Sigebert One-ear ceased to torment him. He wiped the dagger clean. Lucanor lay huddled, tears mingling with blood on his face.

“I am convinced,” Sigebert said mockingly. “Such a craven as I know you to be had surely confessed to a lie at the first touch of the steel. My lord Clovis is victorious, then. And King-no-longer Syagrius rides hard for this city?” His laugh was short, sharp, ugly. “I can guess what he wishes to do here. There, get up, man,” he said, nudging the mage contemptuously with his toe. “You’re scarcely hurt. Why, I’ve merely nicked you here and there. The blood’s out of all proportion to the cuts. I took a sword-thrust through the side of the mouth and lost an ear without such blubbering.” And he left Lucanor, quivering.

Sigebert gathered twenty of his Frankish warriors. Thus escorted he went to the manse of Bicrus, Count of Nantes. Directly Syagrius arrived in the city, he would of course seek this man. In Bicrus was vested power to raise an army from among the local populace. The several counts of adjacent districts would follow his lead and that of Syagrius, if only because they had no wish to be dispossessed by Franks Clovis favored and would reward.

Sigebert had himself announced, with the statement that he came upon a matter of the greatest urgency for the kingdom. He added that he must see Count Bicrus at once. In short order, the count received the handsomely attired Frank.

Bicrus was another in the mould of Syagrius, though not so much man; a believer in the ancient values of Rome, and a soldier. He ruled his district with thorough competence. Was ill fortune that he should lack a subtle brain and yet have to deal with Sigebert One-ear.

“Well sir,” the jowly, big-nosed man said, unsmiling. “Of great urgency you spoke-for the kingdom, no less. It’s best in that case that neither of us stands on ceremony. Sit, and speak your mind.”

“I shall indeed, my lord Count,” Sigebert said, and mused, Oh, thou plain honest fool! And he watched Bicrus as he seated himself. Plain, indeed! A leather-skinned craggy face, three warts on his big chin, another on the side of his arching nose, and ears that stuck out. Honest he was equally as the Frank well knew, and of indomitable character-and a fool he was not. Bicrus, for instance, did not trust Sigebert one finger’s length.

“It concerns the rebellion of the Frankish foederati against the king,” Sigebert said. “My lord Count will have heard of it by now?”

“Against the Consul Syagrius,” Bicrus corrected, “and thus, against the Empire! I have received news that the Franks march, yes. I’d like to know how the word came to you.”

“My lord, I was once a familiar figure at the court of Soissons,” Sigebert said in a tone of faint reproach. “I have friends there yet, and a great deal of time for… the right sort of gossip. Word came to me, I dare say, but a day to two after it had come to yourself.

“Or even before?” Bicrus suggested grimly. “No matter. I am listening, believe me, with complete attention.”

“Possibly it was even before,” Sigebert agreed airily, as though it hardly mattered; as though it could be only the rankest lack of courtesy for Bicrus to demand why, in that case, he had not been informed at once. “I believe it was. Further news has reached me since, my lord, and in this case I am absolutely certain it will not yet have come to you. The battle has been fought, and the consul’s army destroyed. Utter victory has gone to the, Franks, under the cousin-kings Clovis and Ragnachar.” He added unctuously, “Alas!”

Count Bicrus whitened. “You lie!”

Sigebert affected to look shocked, and said naught.

“How can you know? Proof, man! I must have proof!”

“It will be yours ere long, my lord! The Consul Syagrius has fled, and now makes for this city with the remnant of his Gothic cavalry… a mere three hundred men, and five hundred horses. Doubtless he means to raise a new army here, to fare anew against the Franks.”

“I’ll give commands for the levies to be raised at once,” Bicrus said in instant decision. “The Consul shall find the matter well in hand when he arrives. God help you, Sigebert of Metz, an your warning prove false!”

“Softly, my lord Count,” Sigebert purred. “Softly! There be no cause to recruit the entire countryside. A mere one thousand men of training and experience ought to suffice. So many could whelm with ease the three hundred veterans Syagrius brings with him.”

“ What said you? Nay, I heard. Treason!”

Sigebert shook his head. “Smooth timing is all in these matters, my lord Count. What was treason yesterday becomes mere shrewd foresight tomorrow. What appears loyalty now may well be declared treason in as brief a span. Look ye, the victory he has won will make Clovis’s support among his own people complete.” Mention of Ragnachar, Clovis’s ally, co-commander and cousin, was conveniently dropped. “He can raise a new host as easily as Syagrius can raise a new army. With great ease! The Frankish marches teem with wild warriors, but where can Syagrius replace the cavalry so thoroughly destroyed in this sad battle?”

A telling point. Syagrius, riding to Nantes at the head of three hundred men? Bicrus shuddered to think of the slaughter that implied. Why, the Consul had commanded thousands!

Always supposing this Frankish rascal spoke the truth. Bicrus considered it more than doubtful.

“Nay,” Sigebert One-ear went on comfortably, “since Frankish victory is a fact, wise men will accommodate themselves to it. The Church, I make no doubt, has already done so. My lord Clovis has been at some pains to enter the Church’s favour, and methinks the bishops will accept his rule. No bishop, after all, need fear to be deposed from his office by a barbarian who cannot read or write! For the count of a city, matters be somewhat… different.” Sigebert leaned forward. “Consider, my lord Count, the worth of earning King Clovis’s favour by seizing this fugitive Consul when he shows his face here.”

Bicrus controlled himself, though Sigebert’s smirk made it difficult. He spoke practically: “You have not explained how you come to know so much.”