"He isn't lying," said Junius. "I couldn't get my chainmail on after the meal we had there last week."
Gryndall nodded. "Very well. Two or three hours should be sufficient. Come and fetch me from Mayor Tweedsmuir's."
"Yes, my Lord."
Their party split in two then, with Dalwynn, Theo, Junius, Muirfinn and Conan heading up the road after Donal, in the direction of the fort, and Gryndall and Mayor Tweedsmuir turning at the crossroads, headed into town.
"So you like being a mayor? You like the job?" Gryndall asked once they were alone, the steady rhythm of their horses' trotting rocking them gently in their saddles as they followed the road that would eventually become High Street.
"I do. Very much. My wife doesn't like that I'm so busy. She wishes I could be at home more. I used to be at home more when I ran the tannery. I wasn't quite as busy being a business owner."
Gryndall let his eyes settle on the heavy-set man as he studied him more closely. His brow was dampened with sweat and Gryndall watched as he dabbed it dry with a white handkerchief. He had the look of a sensitive and honest man. A man who had learned early on in life that he lacked the physical prowess and good looks to be a soldier or a lady's man. More importantly, he had the look of a pragmatic man who, upon realizing such things, had carved out a happy life for himself - marrying a good woman that would bear him children and keep a clean house - and establishing his own business. Neither a man who enjoyed whores or gambling. An upright family man. A man worthy of being mayor of Carthal's "forest city".
Gryndall smiled as the mayor met his gaze. Not because he could relate to what he'd said about his wife wishing he could be at home more - which he could - but because he liked the things about the man that he had just come to realize.
"Something I've said amuses you, your Majesty," he half-asked, half-remarked with a smile of his own.
"Nothing. It's nothing. I was merely pondering something," said Gryndall, clearing his throat and wracking his brain for a new conversation topic. "So you used to run a tannery? I remember you mentioning something like that once before."
"Aye."
"And how was it?"
The mayor pressed his lips together and inflated his cheeks as he moved his head from side to side, pondering the question.
"It was...good. I made out pretty well. Financially. But being a business owner is like night and day to being a mayor...and sometimes I question whether I should have entered politics."
"How so?" asked Gryndall, growing increasingly intrigued by this man with whom, until today, he'd not spoken for more than a few minutes.
"Well...how to explain. It's like...as mayor, I'm responsible for everyone's matters. And...when I was in business for myself...I was only responsible for my own matters."
"So you have more responsibility as a myor?"
Mayor Tweedsmuir nodded. "Essentially...yes...but then...I don't mean to complain about being burdened with greater responsibility. Rather, my complaint - and forgive me your Majesty for speaking so candidly - "
Gryndall waved his hand. "No. Please. Speak as candidly and openly as you would like. I appreciate your honesty."
"Very well. My complaint or, my issue, is that I am burdened with greater responsibility yet I am lacking in the ability and the power to do the things that need to be done to serve the interests of those that I am responsible for. When it was just me, Hector Tweedsmuir private citizen and business owner, if I was low on tannin, I made more. If we needed to rush an order for someone, I could get guys working overtime. Every problem that arose, everything that I was responsible for - I had a solution. I had the ability to handle whatever challenges arose."
"And as mayor, you feel that you have greater challenges and somehow less ability and less power to deal with those challenges?"
"Precisely," Hector breathed, seeming to appreciate that the king was so fast to pick up on the point he was trying to make.
"Hmm. I do see how that could be an issue. Let me ask you this though. As king, I arguably have even greater responsibilities and face even greater challenges than you as mayor."
"Most certainly, your Majesty."
Gryndall nodded. "Very well. In your opinion then, do I have greater power and ability - or does the level of responsibility one has simply correspond to the level of office one holds? In other words, my hands are tied as often as yours on matters and I find myself powerless to make changes as much as you do. Even though I'm king, I have an entire nation to look after - not just one city."
"I suppose I'd not quite considered that...but yes...you're right."
Gryndall shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. Those are simply my thoughts on the matter."
The mayor smiled. "You're an intelligent man, your Majesty, and I am thoroughly enjoying our conversation because you are easy to talk to. You understand things very easily."
Lancaster proper came into view then and they reached the point at which the dirt road gave way to cobblestones and the fields gave way to houses and places of business.
"And I will readily admit that yes, the level of responsibility one has does seem to correspond to the level of political office one holds," he continued as their horses' hooves went clop-clop-clop on the cobblestones. "As mayor, I face great challenges and bear great responsibility and often feel powerless or unable to fix things. Yet, as you mentioned, as king, you face far greater challenges and have greater responsibilities than I...and thus your feeling of powerlessness must be that much stronger."
"Aye. And that much more aggravating too," said Gryndall with a sardonic grin as the mayor waved cordially to people in the street. "The thing, I guess, is to coordinate, effectively, with all power brokers in Carthal when trying to get something done. That way, when something needs to get done, you know who you need to speak to and whose palms you need to grease to get something done."
"Like with the hogs?"
Gryndall nodded sagely. "Exactly. Just like with the hogs. You wrote to me and told me the issue and together we arrived at a solution. Though I do admit that only I really have the power to transfer livestock between cities. And so you were somewhat powerless with respect to this matter."
"Completely," Mayor Tweedsmuir agreed.
"But you know that should you ever need me to help Lancaster again - I will not hesitate. I'm always willing to help. Lancaster and the good folks of this city," he said, waving a hand to indicate the various people going about their business on High Street, "are as much my concern as yours."
"Thank you, your Majesty. You are a most agreeable king to work with."
"And I hope I always shall be. I've already made my knights swear that if I ever get like old Kinnon to put me out of my misery."
The mayor chuckled. "You have decades left in you, your Majesty, before you become that bitter and cranky."
Gryndall smiled and waved back at the people who waved at him. Not everyone recognized him and for this, he was grateful. He didn't feel like being swarmed by a mob - even if that mob was a happy one.
"You are a popular man, your Majesty."
"That's the reward for listening to the people and helping them when they are in need," Gryndall answered.
They reached the Tweedsmuir residence after several more minutes.
"Here we are," said the mayor as they drew alongside the handsome, stone house with its Roman pillars and iron gate.
Outside the gate stood two well-armored and well-armed men.
"Members of the local militia," Mayor Tweedsmuir explained, sensing Gryndall's curiousity. "Extra protection for these dark times."
Gryndall nodded.
"Good evening, Mayor Tweedsmuir."
"Good evening, Cedric. Darroc. I trust my wife hasn't made your lives too difficult? Having you escort her to the market and so on and so forth?"
"No, Mayor Tweedsmuir. She's mostly stayed inside since you left."
"Must be busy at the stove," he groaned, climbing down from his horse.
Both militiamen seemed to stop sho
rt when they saw Gryndall.
"Your Majesty," said Darroc, the smaller of the two. "What a surprise this is. And an honour."
"The honour is mine."
"Have you come to have supper with the Tweedsmuir's this evening?"
"Aye," Gryndall answered, dismounting. "I am."
"Well, let me take your horse. There's a little pen in the back. It's got water and good grain. I can even brush him if you'd - "
"MY LORD!"
There came a sudden pounding of horse hooves on cobblestone, followed by several surprised shouts, and all four turned to see what the commotion was.
"MY LORD!"
"Geoffrey! What are you doing riding up on us like a crazy man? One of these men could have put an arrow through you."
Both Cedric and Darroc seemed to flush with pride at Gryndall's remark.
"My Lord. I'm sorry. Very sorry. I didn't mean to make you nervous. But it's imperative. There's no time. Vikings. They've landed at Brinsley!"
"Vikings!? Landed!? At Brinsley!?"
The messenger gulped, his face pale. "Yes, my Lord."
Gryndall and Mayor Tweedsmuir exchanged a worried glance.
"We must go," said Gryndall. "Now. Have you come from the fort? Have you told the others? Donal, Dalwynn - "
The messenger shook his head. "I didn't tell them anything, my Lord. I went to the fort and they told me that you were here. Good evening, Mayor Tweedsmuir," he added, acknowledging the mayor.
"Good evening."
"Your Majesty. Can I do something?" Mayor Tweedsmuir asked, turning to Gryndall. "Can I send some of our militiamen to Brinsley?"
"I may take a few of them. More urgently though, I want you to bolster the defences here. Prepare the peasants. Bring the livestock into the city walls. Have food stockpiled. Get every man that can hold a weapon and post him along a section of city wall. We don't know if there are more Vikings about. The attack at Brinsley may not be an isolated occurence. They could be headed for Lancaster next for all we know."
The mayor nodded vigorously. "Yes, your Majesty. I will do all of that."
"Come, Geoffrey," said Gryndall, climbing into his saddle, the horselooking surprised that it wouldn't be getting a break after all.
"We must go to the fort and tell the others. You can change horses there and ride back to Clarendon. When you get there, go straight to Copernicus and have him give you a copy of the defence plan. Take that to Morcant as he'll be in charge of preparing Clarendon's defenses."
"Yes, my Lord."
"Mayor Tweedsmuir."
He pulled on the horse's reins, steering the animal away from the gate that opened to the mayor's house. "It was good speaking with you tonight. I hope that we will have a chance to speak again someday."
"Of course we will, your Majesty."
Gryndall grimaced as though he doubted it, then turned to Darroc and Cedric. "Men. Defend your city."
"We will, your Majesty!"
And may the wind carry you quickly, your Majesty!"
Gryndall gave the Order's salute, snapped his visor down over his eyes, and he and Geoffrey sped off towards the fort.
The rocking of the boat in this wind was enough to drive him to sickness, but Anwir steeled himself and suppressed the urge to vomit.
"Not quite a seaman are ye?" Erik the Bald barked, clapping the High Priest on the back.
Anwir shook his head, swallowing the vomit that rose up in his throat, the spray from the waves crashing against the boat and wetting his face.
"Well, we'll be there soon enough," said the Viking, gesturing towards the looming landscape of Carthal on the horizon.
Anwir nodded stiffly. Another half an hour at most. And then they would be at Nairn. From there they would march through the forest and lie in wait beside the road until Gryndall and his retinue had passed by, on their way to Brinsley.
By supper they would be in Clarendon and by nightfall, provided Morcant had done his job right, the castle would be theirs.
Despite the increasingly violent rocking of the boat and the nausea he felt, Anwir smiled.
Gryndall had thought him powerless. Gryndall. That arrogant, self-righteous, dithering king of Carthal. Gryndall, that egotistical, godless champion of the people. Gryndall, the man who was about to lose everything...
The ride to the Lancaster fort had taken Gryndall and Geoffrey no time at all and within minutes of arriving, Geoffrey had been given a fresh horse and was on his way back to Clarendon.
Meanwhile, Donal, Dalwynn, Theo, and Junius, Muirfinn and Conan, in addition to four members of the Lancater militia, had dressed themselves and their horses for battle and followed Gryndall to the highway that would take them to Brinsley.
"Geoffrey should make it to Clarendon by nightfall," Gryndall said, his eyes narrowed and his face set in stern concentration as his stallion galloped along the dirt road. "With any luck Morcant will have our defenses ready by the morning."
Beside him, his horse galloping with an equal measure of effort, Donal nodded. "And once we beat the Vikings out of Brinsley we can head back and help out."
"Yes."
"And afterwards?" Dalwynn growled. "Should we not sail to Vinland and strike back? Make Bergthor pay for what he's done?"
Gryndall shook his head. "This is not Bergthor's doing. This is either a rogue Viking horde - which we've seen before - during my father's reign - or there's someone else running things in Vinland."
"Bergthor should keep a tighter leash on his people," said Dalwynn irritably. "You don't see Carthalians launching raid parties to Vinland, do you?"
"No," Gryndall admitted. "But we'll teach them a lesson soon enough and hopefully that'll be the last of them."
Somewhere in the Great Wood, north of Nairn and southwest of Lancaster. The Vikings are slowly picking their way through the forest of tall pines. The men stand tall and walk with purpose, lifting their axes as they step over logs and thick brush. The more superstitious among them hold their swords out in front, their eyes fearful as they probe the darkest recesses for ghosts and spirits. There is an eerie, quiet fog that hangs heavy at their knees, partially enshrouding them. Anwir and Erik the Bald walk in the middle of the four hundred man army.
"Would it not better to seize Gryndall when he and his party pass by?" asked Erik the Bald as he and Anwir followed a Viking soldier around the rotted out stump of a tree.
Anwir sniffed, turning his nose up at the smell of damp, rotting wood.
"It would be rather convenient, however I don't want any hiccups."
"Hiccups?"
Evidently the Norse word he'd used was incorrect.
"Problems."
Erik the Bald nodded, now understanding.
"Say we ambush them and one or two manage to get away," Anwir continued. "They're on horseback. We're on foot. They'll return to the castle and raise the alarm. We'll be unable to take the caste and we'll end up stuck."
"How?"
"Because your ships, as grateful as I am for them," the priest added hastily, "can only pick us up at Nairn or Brinsley. And how are we supposed to make it back to either of those places when we have ten thousand angry Carthalians after us? We'd be stuck with no way off the island. And we'd be slaughtered like sheep."
Erik the Bald grunted approvingly. Olaf was right. The priest was a smart one. A crafty one too. He'd have to keep an eye on him in the weeks ahead. After they'd seized Carthal.
He shot a glance towards Anwir. His face was difficult to read.
"And how long are my ships required at Brinsley?"
The priest answered without looking at him as they had to slouch under a low hanging branch.
"Only another day. Just long enough to keep Gryndall and his men distracted."
"Distracted?"
Anwir narrowed his eyes. His Norse was better than the Viking's. He was sure he'd used the correct word.
"Occupied. Busy."
Erik the Bald issued another approving grunt. "That way Gryndal
l will stay in Brinsley long enough for us to take the castle."
"Yes," Anwir answered tersely, wondering just how many times he had to explain something to the Viking jarl.
"And your man. The knight at Clarendon."
"Morcant?"
Erik the Bald clicked his tongue. "I don't remember. Whatever his name was."
"Yes. What about him?"
"He will have the castle ready for us to seize?"
"That is the plan."
The Viking grunted. "He'd better have it ready for us then."
Anwir looked at him. The trek was causing him to pant and great beads of saliva had amassed in the corners of his mouth. His forehead was a wall of sweat. His gaze, more animal than human.
"I trust him to have it ready."
Erik the Bald blew his nose by holding a finger to one nostril and after, wiped his face with the back of his hand.
"As I said. He had better."
And Anwir didn't like the look the Viking gave him.
Gryndall is galloping down the road on his white stallion. The horse's hooves are kicking up the soft, mossy dirt. His six knights and the four Lancaster militiamen are right behind. They're in the middle of the Great Wood. Thick, towering walls of fir trees and dense underbrush flank both sides of the road. Unbeknownst to them, Anwir, Erik the Bald, and the Vikings are just a hundred yards from their position, hidden amongst the trees and watching them.
"My Lord."
Upon hearing Donal's voice, Gryndall slowed his horse to a trot.
"Can we stop for a minute? I have to piss."
Gryndall nodded.
His back was sore. His saddle needed some padding. He had a blanket in his saddle bag.
"Aye. I have to fix my saddle, anyway."
Donal nodded gratefully and pulled on his horse's reins.
Dalwynn muttered something under his breath.
"Something the matter, friend?" asked Donal, staring squarely at the massive, red-headed knight as he climbed down from his horse.
"Yeah. The good folks of Brinsley will be dead by the time we get there."
"I'll only be a minute," Donal answered thickly, turning and stepping down into the ditch.
"What about the rest of ye? Drain your peckers now. I don't want to be stopping again."
One of the militiamen, whose name was Simon and who looked somewhat embarassed, dropped down from his horse and scampered off towards the ditch.