Chapter 13
In the Hall of the King
Castle Titan, Konge Province, Titan
"Matters of court are not all conducted in council chambers. As such, you can never lower your guard, not for a moment. It is like being a rope-walker and oftimes it is a long rope."
-Excerpt from the assorted writings of Mark the Guardian
Though Mark preferred to dress himself, he permitted the servants to dress him in a fine linen robe and a kaftan with intricate brocade. The kaftan was Tarkan fashion but apparently popular among the Titian nobles of Grecian stock. Why they would take up the style of their ancestral enemy was a mystery, but Mark did not seek to offend, so he raised neither comment nor complaint.
His Templar surcoat would look quite out of place worn over the kaftan, so he decided to forego wearing it. His fellow Templars might object, but at the moment he was not acting as a representative of the order but rather as the representative of King Edric. Instead of the surcoat, the servants girded a sash about his waist and draped it over his shoulder, a badge of honor for visiting foreign dignitaries.
Once they were done dressing him, the servants gestured to the door and Mark exited the bedchamber. Not long after he emerged in the corridor, he was met by Sonia. She was dressed in a voluminous gown with sleeved that flared widely at the cuff. It was rather tight about the waist, girded loosely about the hips and more snugly about the ribs to emphasize the bust. Her hair had been braided and coiled into a knot at the base of her skull. Naturally, she did not seem happy about all this in the slightest. Mark was surprised she put up with it.
"You look nice," Mark said, hoping to assuage her discontent a little.
Sonia gave him a look and replied, "I don't know what you're supposed to look like."
"Apparently this is the fashion in these lands."
"Wrap up your head and you'd look right at home in an Izmiri hareem," Sonia said, motioning with her hand.
"How do you even know about Izmiri hareems?" Mark asked.
"Believe it or not, troubadours make it as far out as Rowan every now and then. You'd be surprised the stories you hear."
Her mentioning troubadours reminded Mark of Jasper, their minstrel companion. He had a seemingly endless repertoire of songs, at least half of them the sort that were not fit for the ear of any decent God-fearing folk. Who would imagine the notorious Singing Bandit would turn a new leaf to spend out his years as a tertiary at the abbey in Cruz? A peculiar thing, life was.
Changing the subject, Sonia tugged at her skirts, saying, "Why is it that whenever we have things like this, people think I need to wear a dress?"
"You're putting up less of a fuss these days, it would seem."
"It must be age," Sonia said, rubbing her shoulder.
She was saying that more and more often lately.
"You keep using that excuse and you'll be an old matron before you know it," Mark told her.
Sonia punched his arm.
"You're not that much younger than me, you know."
Mark tapped his head.
"Half of age is in the mind."
"The rest is in the bones," Sonia replied. "Let's get going."
They were then joined by Sir Emerich and the other knights, the squires and the pages. The knights and the free squires were dressed in kaftans less ornate than Mark's according to their rank, with the exception of the Templars, who wore their surcoats rather than the kaftans. The sworn squires and the pages wore shorter tunics that extended to the knee with even shorter tabards over them that barely made it past the waist. It seemed odd to wear tabards without any heraldic devices on them, but anything besides their masters' coat of arms would surely cause offense and the Archduke's servants could not be expected to provide for every house within their own lands, much less those from other kingdoms.
Sir Pelagius gave Mark a critical look and said, "Master, it is a poor thing for you to be dressed in heathen fashion."
"To paraphrase the Apostle, 'To the Greeks I became as a Greek'," Mark replied.
"Forgive me, Master, but that is neither the text, nor the context."
"Perhaps you are right that I err," Mark admitted, "but suffer it for now, I pray you."
"I warn you not to stray any farther, Master."
"Do not overstep your bounds, brother," Sir Christopher said. "The Lord Commander knows what he is doing."
"Knowing what he is doing and doing what is right are two different things, brother," Sir Pelagius replied pointedly.
"Come now, brothers," Mark said. "If there is more to say, it can be done among ourselves later. Remember that we are here representing the King."
"And our order."
Sir Christopher was about to say something to Sir Pelagius for that little addition, but Mark motioned for him to stop.
"Shall we be going, my lord?" the servant asked. "The King's hall awaits."
"Why do they still call it the King's hall?" Sonia asked.
She was speaking in Everardian, meaning that her question was mostly rhetorical, but the servant seemed to take her meaning and replied, "We believe a king will one day return to our land, my lady. His Grace the Archduke serves as steward of the realm until that day."
A simple "Huh," was all Sonia said in response.
The Gladians were then escorted to the King's hall. As Roman-style banquet halls tended to be rather small, it appeared that the main audience chamber had been converted into the larger sort of hall the Northmen preferred. It could comfortably seat two hundred, perhaps even as many as three hundred. There was a two-tiered dais at the head of the room. Presumably the uppermost level was for the King's table, which was left empty, while the next level down was for the Dukes, with the Archduke at the center. At the lower tables were the Dukes' vassals, some petty lords, knights and a number of freemen who appeared to be influential merchants and the like.
An official announced their arrival, speaking in Greek, Nordish and Latin.
"His Lordship Mark of House Aran, Steward of Gladius, Warden of the Western March, Provincial Master of the High Templars in Gladius."
The Archduke rose and the other Dukes with him, along with all the assembled vassals. While a servant was leading Mark to the seat at the Archduke's right, Sonia was announced next.
"Her Ladyship Sonia of House Leon, Stewardess of Gladius, Wardeness of the Southern March."
Sonia was to be seated at the Archduke's left, while the knights were given places according to their rank among the vassals. Once everyone had taken their places, the Archduke motioned for everyone to be seated, yet he remained standing. Servants busily went about filling drinking horns and once they had done that, the Archduke took up his horn and raised it.
"Hail and health to our honored guests," he said in Bannish. "In ages past, the nations of Man gathered here to stand against the monstrous hordes. It was here that our fathers assembled to make their stand against the self-styled gods who would bring the world's twilight. Now we are gathered against beasts in the skins of men. They may not have the same dread as the enemies of ages past, but the Cities of the Seers have fallen and soon they will be coming for the heartland."
He motioned to Mark and to Sonia, continuing, "Our allies in Gladius have sent a thousand men to help turn the tide. Soon we will march and put down this menace, take back our lands. Drink, countrymen. Drink, friends. To victory!"
The Dukes and their vassals raised their horns and shouted, "TO VICTORY!"
The men of Nordish stock lustily drained their horns, as was their custom. Mark took a more modest drink, partially because he was not sure what it was they had served. It was not wine or ale but rather the mead preferred by the Northmen, though this particular variety was more bitter than what was served in Stridoks and Pik. Perhaps there was a reason for it.
When the Archduke sat down, he quietly massaged his throat. It did not appear that he was accustomed to raising his voice as he had done for his speech. He was a thin man whose clothes were cut to make him appear bigger than he was. His meticulously dressed hair, moustache and goatee were in the fashion of Ardovan dandies. The Grecian Dukes mimicked his style, but the Northmen did not. Mark wondered how such fops were able to command the loyalty and respect of such a people as the Northmen, but could not the same question be asked in Gladius? The Gladian patricians were not so different from these Titian Greeks. It may have been less the man and more his gold that won others to his banner.
The Archduke took a sip from his drinking horn and grimaced a little. It would seem the taste was not much to his liking either.
He turned to Mark and said, "Lord Mark, let me welcome you once more to Titan. I am most grateful to King Edric, both for the men and for his most generous gift. I would not have imagined that he would send two of the Twelve Stewards to come to our aid, and heirs to the legendary Eight Stars at that. Truly we were right to bind our nation to yours."
"His Majesty is faithful to his friends, Your Grace," Mark replied, "and generous as well, as you say. Perhaps His Majesty's fame will spread because of our actions and other nations will come seeking Gladius for an ally."
"If all goes well, both our nations stand to prosper," the Archduke said.
"If all goes well," Sonia muttered, taking a swig from her freshly refilled horn.
"My lady?"
"Please forgive my kinswoman, Your Grace," Mark said. "She is known for speaking plainly. A little too plainly, I fear."
Sonia merely gave a low chuckle as she continued to drink.
"I see you have a taste for our Mimisbrunnr, my lady," the Archduke said.
"Mimi-what now?" Sonia asked.
"Mimisbrunnr, 'Mimir's Well' in the old tongue of the Northmen," the Archduke explained. "It is what we call this variety of mead. A draught from Mimir's Well is said to bring wisdom. It is brewed bitter to remind us of the the bitterness wisdom brings."
"I don't feel any wiser," Sonia said, taking another drink.
The Archduke chuckled.
"Well, it is not actually a draught from Mimir's Well, my lady. If it were, perhaps we would not be in this situation."
"Wisdom alone does not win wars, Your Grace," Mark said. "If it did, we would all be ruled by Platon's philosopher-kings."
"What a different world that would be," the Archduke said. He then changed the subject to more practical matters, saying, "These men you have brought, have they been tested in battle?"
"Too few of them, I am afraid," Mark replied. "Though we did have a brief skirmish with some bandits while passing the mountains."
"The eastern province is overrun with them," the Archduke said. "We would deal with them, but the rebels in the south are the greater threat."
"We saw their handiwork at the abbey," Mark said. "It is no mere mob of angry peasants."
The Archduke sighed.
"They call themselves Erinyes, the Furies. They are led by a woman going by the name of Tisiphone. She calls for a return to the old gods, the gods of our lost homeland in the Far West, and she would bring fire and the sword on any who would refuse."
"There are not so many of your folk, though, are there?"
"We are few, but it would seem many of the peasants will flock to anyone in these hard times. Tisiphone promises them bounty if they can please the old gods. Apparently that is enough for them."
The situation was worse than Mark first thought.
"An abbey razed, a ravening heathen army..." he mused. "Gottestag is sure to call for a crusade at this point."
"That is why we have called for aid, my lord," the Archduke said. "If a crusader army marches from Gotland, we will be made subject to the Emperor, I am sure. If we can put down these rebels before then, however, we may be spared."
"If the Gotlanders take Titan, what's to keep them from coming after us?" Sonia said.
"They would risk conflict with Antioch for one thing," Mark said, "but there is greater danger to the Church in the Holy Lands. A second Zealots' War could break out at any time."
"And here I thought this didn't concern us," Sonia muttered.
"Sonia," Mark rebuked her.
The Archduke raised his hand, saying, "You need not rebuke her for my sake. She speaks rightly, my lord. A man cannot be expected to fight and die with no benefit to himself, or at least he cannot be expected to do so gladly."
"A knight will fight and die for duty and for honor, Your Grace," Mark said, "regardless of personal benefit."
"That may be the ideal, my lord, but I fear there are precious few who live up to that ideal. Otherwise we would not have had to resort to hiring sellswords."
"You choose sellswords rather than calling for a levy of the people?"
"Better to pay the coin to men who choose to fight."
Mark nodded.
"I can see the wisdom in that, Your Grace."
"If you can trust them," Sonia said.
"An oathbreaker cannot survive long as a mercenary, my lady," the Archduke replied. "They have no livelihood if they cannot be counted on to honor their contract."
"They don't have a livelihood if they're dead either," Sonia said. "If there's nothing else keeping them on the battlefield, I don't imagine them sticking around if things take a turn for the worst."
"Men of all stations are apt to flee for their lives, my lady. I would trust men who make a trade of soldiering would be less so."
"Maybe," Sonia replied, disinterested, taking another drink.
"How many men do you have, Your Grace?" Mark asked.
"Oh, we can discuss such things later, my lord," the Archduke said. "There is time enough before we set out. Please, rest yourself for now. Enjoy the hospitality of my hall and forget your cares, if even for a little while."
"A couple more of these and I'll be there," Sonia said, holding up her horn to be refilled.
A Northman Duke Mark presumed to be Lord Thormund laughed and said, "My lady, I daresay you could match our men the way you drink."
"I'd be willing to wager I could best them," Sonia boasted, taking yet another drink. She glanced at Mark. "But I think my esteemed kinsman here would frown on it if we put it to the test."
"A pity, that," Lord Thormund said. "When all this business is done, perhaps he will be more willing to permit it when we celebrate our victory."
"I'll drink to that," Sonia replied.
She tipped her horn to Lord Thormund, who returned the gesture, and the two of them drank some more. Mark had never been one to envy winebibbers, but with his growing unease about the campaign to come, he was perhaps never more tempted to let strong drink deliver him from his troubles.