David Gemmell - Morningstar

‘I am Brackban, captain of militia.’

‘The same Brackban who allows sedition to be preached in the town centre by outlawed sects?’ Lykos sneered.

‘Since when have the Gastoigne nuns been outlawed?’ answered Brackban.

‘Since their Abbess was nailed to the gates of the Abbey,’ shouted Lykos. ‘Arrest him!’ Several soldiers leapt from their mounts and ran at the captain.

Brackban jumped back, his sword hissing from its scabbard. The first man to rush in died instantly, his neck half-severed, but before the sword could rise again Brackban was overcome and borne to the ground.

The crowd stood by, silent and uncertain. ‘There is a reward of twenty silver pieces to the man, or woman, who identifies or captures the traitress known as Astiana. She will be brought to the keep this evening, or this entire settlement will be judged as traitors, their property forfeit.’

‘I am Astiana,’ came a high clear voice, and I saw the young nun step forward from the back of the crowd. Two soldiers moved alongside her, pinning her arms.

The crowd surged forward and the soldiers swung their mounts, many of which were frightened by the sudden movement. One horse went down. I don’t believe the crowd intended violence at that moment, but in the confusion the soldiers drew their swords and lashed out at the town-dwellers nearest to them. What followed was panic, rearing horses and people running in every direction trying to escape the swords of the soldiers.

It was a miracle that no one was killed, though many were later treated for wounds, deep cuts caused by the slashing sabres.

I saw Piercollo shepherding Ilka from the scene. Then a horseman moved in, his blade slicing down. Piercollo swayed back from the cut, then grabbed the man by his cloak and hauled him from the saddle. Instantly soldiers bore down on him. Ilka tried to draw her sword but Piercollo pushed her from him, sending her sprawling to the ground.

I made to rise and run to his assistance, but Jarek Mace grabbed my shoulder. ‘Wait!’ he ordered.

‘Take him alive!’ yelled Lykos, and more soldiers leapt from their mounts, to rush in towards the Tuscanian. Two he felled with sweeping punches, but he was tripped from behind and fell heavily, striking his head upon a wooden post. Then he was still.

Rolling him to his belly, they bound his hands.

Mace pulled me back from the table where we sat into the shadows of the eating-house. Wulf was nowhere in sight.

Lykos strolled down to the now near-deserted square and stood before the bound giant. Piercollo was conscious now and three soldiers hauled him to his feet. ‘I saw you in Rualis,’ he said. ‘You were with the man known as the Morningstar. Where is he?’

Piercollo said nothing and Lykos struck him savagely across the face.

‘You will tell me all you know,’ he said. ‘Take him away.’

Mace dragged me back inside the deserted eating-house as the soldiers prepared to depart. Wulf emerged from a shadowed alcove.

‘What now, Mace?’ he asked.

The warrior released his hold on me and rubbed his chin, his eyes thoughtful. ‘No matter what that officer said, the town leaders will have a meeting. Find out where it is to be held and when — and try to gauge the feeling of the militia. Is this Brackban popular? And the nun, how do the townspeople feel about her?’

‘What are you planning?’ I enquired.

He smiled at me. ‘Why, I shall attempt to rescue our friend, of course. Is that not what you would expect from the Morningstar?’

‘Yes, it is — but not what I would expect from you.’

‘Life is full of surprises, Owen.’

Ilka came in, her eyes wide and fearful but her expression determined. She stood before Mace and he glanced down at her. ‘We will do what we can to free him,’ he told her. She nodded and tapped the hilt of her sabre.

‘Even to fighting for him,’ agreed Mace. She smiled then and took hold of his hand, kissing his fingers.

The owner of the eating-house came in from the street. He was a tall, fat man with small feet, who walked with the grace of a dancer. A curious sight. ‘A bad business,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Very bad.’

‘What did Brackban mean about Pasel being a free town?’ I asked him.

‘When the war began we refused to send men to serve against Edmund. As a reward, he declared Pasel a free borough. No man resident here with land pays tax. But trappers, hunters and loggers all pay a portion of their profits to the King.’

‘The gratitude of kings is short-lived,’ observed Mace.

‘It would appear so. Can I fetch you more food, sirs?’

Mace asked for some toasted bread and cheese, while Ilka.and I ordered hot oats and honey. We sat in silence while the owner prepared our second breakfast. When he returned Mace bade him join us, and he poured himself a flagon of ale and sat with us.

‘Brackban spoke well,’ said Mace.

‘A good man,’ replied the owner. ‘He led a company of soldiers in the Oversea War — received a golden medal after the siege of Ancour. Little good it will do him now. We told him to order the nun from Pasel, but he refused. God’s curse upon women with sharp tongues!’

‘A pretty young piece,’ put in Mace.

‘Pretty? I suppose so. But trouble! Spends her days begging for coin and then feeding the crippled and the useless. I ask you, what is the point of such actions? A man is useful only as long as he can contribute to the general good. To feed him thereafter is to waste good food and prolong his agony. Better that he die quietly with dignity.’

‘Perhaps she believes all life is sacred,’ I said softly.

‘Pah!’ was his first response. Then: ‘Last autumn a tree fell upon the legs of a young logger, crushing the bones beyond repair. The man was finished and ready to die. But no! She takes him in, feeding him, reading to him. The pour soul lived another six months before gangrene finally took him. You think he thanked her for making him suffer?’

‘Perhaps he did,’ I offered. Below the table Mace’s boot cracked into my shin.

‘Women,’ he said. They all make us suffer one way or another. But tell me why Brackban refused to send her away. After all, he was the captain of militia.’

‘Besotted with her, I suppose’, said the owner. ‘That’s all I can think. Now he’ll hang for it — or worse.’

‘Perhaps not,’ said Mace. ‘Perhaps he’ll be rescued. Who knows? The Morningstar may come to his aid.’

‘Morningstar! Why would he care what happens in Pasel? This is a working town, full of working men. They say he is a rebel lord — another cursed Angostin. He’ll end up as a duke or something, pardoned by the King. They look after their own. Bastards!’

‘I’ve heard,’ whispered Mace, leaning in close, ‘that the Morningstar is of the line of Rabain.’

‘Would that were true! But it isn’t, man. These stories are like children’s tales. Men tell them to make us feel there is hope. There isn’t hope for the likes of you and me. We just earn our bread and hope to stave off sickness and death long enough to sire a family. This is the world of the Angostins, and even if the Morningstar was Rabain himself they would snuff him out like a candle.’ Pushing himself to his feet he smiled ruefully. ‘Well, it was nice talking to you, but I’ve work to do.’

Wulf returned after an hour or so and slid on to the bench alongside Mace. ‘Brackban is well-liked, a regular hero.’

‘What about the woman?’

‘Tolerated, but not loved. She’s an outsider and she expects people to live up to the teaching of the church. Not just praying, mind, but actually doing. She’s made a lot of enemies — most especially the local priest. Stood up in his church and pointed to his whore and his children — asked him where in the Book it says a priest can behave like that!’