Palimpsest House
60th Day of Harvest
766 Karloman’s Peace
The bread was stale, but that didn’t bother Ekkehard.
They had made good progress and would soon be in the city, where the amenities of civilized life awaited him and his family. This would be the last stale bread he had to eat.
The thought made him smile, if only a little.
It had been over half a cycle since he and his family left Priam’s village, and they had travelled over 350 miles in that time. Priam and his village had donated plentiful supplies to the Reubkes, making the journey north far less painful than it otherwise would have been.
The City of Werth lay within the County of Fyn.
They had followed the imperial highway through the Trion Prefecture, out of the Central Region, and into the Dal Prefecture of the Northern Region. From there, they headed east, crossing back over the Danzig River and entered the Akershus Prefecture. They avoided major towns and cities, only ever sheltering in villages, where they were usually welcome.
The group that once appeared as bloodied marauders now looked more like road-weary travellers; their clothes dust-covered, but otherwise intact and clean. They even had a few opportunities to wash and bathe along the way.
Yet, a sense of misery still hung over his family.
Gisla kept her distance, eyes downcast, speaking only when necessary. Auriana flinched at every unexpected sound, ever fearful of further tragedy. Audomar brooded in silence, aggression simmering beneath his calm exterior, while Florentin's weariness and boredom showed in his constant snide remarks.
The only positivity within the group came from Gerwald, who had managed to cheer up a little and had begun to bond with their traveling companion, Dreux. Gerwald listened and laughed as Dreux told fanciful stories that were often lewd and outrageously unrealistic.
Today, however, all of his family were a tad more buoyant, as at last, the curtain walls of the city of Werth had come into view.
After just another mile, it would be over, and his family would be safe.
Embraced by the encroaching expanse of the Hastfala Forest, the dark stone defences of the city’s curtain wall promised an end to this painful chapter in his family’s story, hinting at a brighter one to follow.
Ekkehard had promised his family that new life back in the temple of Priam’s village.
He whispered his thanks to all the gods for bringing about this day.
He sat by the roadside, and despite the midday sun, he wore a thick, coarse hemp blanket draped across his shoulders to fight off the biting northern wind. All his family had struggled a little with the cold, the temperature already having fallen to that of a southern winter.
Ekkehard looked to the distant city walls and thought of hearth fires and hot wine.
“You are sure your brother can get us into the city?” Ekkehard overheard Florentin ask Dreux.
“Yes, my friend,” Dreux replied, sitting with his back against a tree by the roadside.
In one hand, Dreux held a dagger, and in the other, a fresh apple. Slowly, he sliced slivers of fruit and chewed with his mouth open, talking as he ate.
“The city guard will let us by when I tell 'em what's what,” he boasted.
“You're certain of that?” Florentin pressed. “I've never known a merchant to have that kind of influence.”
It occurred to Ekkehard that he had never really seen Florentin and Dreux talk before. Florentin hadn’t been interested in getting to know the help. He wondered if his brother’s sudden interest in questioning Dreux was a sign of anxiety. He looked at his younger brother as he gently interrogated their companion.
He was pacing.
On the eve of their salvation, the usually measured and calm brother was restless. Ekkehard chuckled to himself at the realization.
Danger didn’t bother Florentin, but hope did. How strange.
“It’s more common than you think,” Dreux replied. “Coin goes a long way with enlisted types, you know.”
He glanced at Florentin's unconvinced expression, sighed, and stood up. Tossing the remainder of the apple into the air and catching it again, he walked to the centre of the group, drawing everyone's attention.
“Okay, okay,” he said, “I guess I'd best come clean.”
Ekkehard felt his chest constrict slightly and his mouth go a little dry. He had put a lot of faith in Dreux, and the change in the man’s demeanour worried him.
“Now, look. How do I say this?” Dreux began. “I told you my brother runs a business in the city, right? And that is true. He does run a business there. But he is not technically a merchant. At least, he isn't a registered member of the merchant class, and his business isn't exactly by the books, if you get me.”
Ekkehard let out a weary sigh.
He had suspected something like this might arise. Dreux's reluctance to speak of his brother and his past had raised Ekkehard’s suspicions. He had figured there was something the man wasn’t telling them; something untoward. He had kept his own counsel on this, thinking that his brothers’ sensitivities were still too frayed to broach the subject.
Audomar, in particular, was a concern, and Ekkehard pre-emptively went to stand beside him.
“What are you saying, Dreux?” Gerwald asked, starting to piece together what was happening. “Is your brother a criminal?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, young master,” Dreux said, gesturing for Gerwald to slow down. “Criminal is a harsh word. No, no, nothing like that. In fact, my brother is a godly and charitable man. He finds people in need, grants them what they need, and they return the favour with a little extra down the road. Are you following me?”
“No, not really,” Gerwald muttered.
“He’s saying his brother is a loan shark,” Audomar hissed through gritted teeth, gripping the haft of his hrapan tightly. “A usurer,” he spat.
“But usury is a crime, isn’t it?” Gerwald asked, seemingly oblivious to Audomar’s rising anger.
“Yes,” Florentin answered, “it is indeed. Quite a serious one as well.”
“Is it really though?” Dreux asked with a shrug. “Think about it. The lordly types lend gold to one another all the time, exchanging land titles and charging fees to make it worthwhile. But when a peasant tries to make a business of it to help his fellow man, suddenly he should be hanged? Doesn’t seem all that fair to me.”
“That is different,” Florentin argued. “Nobility loans are for land leases. Fees are only to discourage late payment and, besides, nobles only lend to those with the means to repay, and they don’t charge interest. Usurers prey on the vulnerable, using fear and intimidation to bleed every last copper from them.”
“Bollocks,” Dreux retorted. “My brother is always fair, and he only ever has to muscle those who truly take the piss. Most folk repay just fine. Ahh!”
Dreux had been too distracted to notice Audomar stalk up behind him. His brother had moved so fast, Ekkehard had no time to intercede.
Audomar grabbed Dreux from behind and bound him in a chokehold. Looking back over his shoulder, Dreux's eyes widened with terror as he saw Audomar’s murderous glare.
“And what payment will your brother extort from of us, huh?” Audomar barked. “What sort of slavery are you selling my family into?”
“What?” Dreux exclaimed, panic seizing him.
“You think I don’t see what you’re doing?” Audomar spat. “You waited for your opportunity to strike, to take advantage of us at our most desperate!”
“No, sir!” Dreux shouted, struggling in Audomar’s grip, all the while keeping the dagger in his hand at a safe distance, not risking injuring Audomar by accident.
That settled it for Ekkehard.
“Let him go, brother,” Ekkehard called out, grabbing Audomar and pulling him away from Dreux.
“What are you doing?” Audomar shouted back, wrestling with Ekkehard.
Dreux stumbled as Audomar’s grip on him was broken, regaining his balance at the last second.
“He is not preying upon us; he is helping us,” Ekkehard explained. “So let him go!”
“You can’t tell me you’re trusting this scum,” Audomar barked.
“He has got us this far, stood by us, fought and bled with us,” Ekkehard retorted. “And he asked nothing in return.”
“This man is a criminal!” Audomar raged.
“So?” Ekkehard replied, “what if he is? What if his brother is also? So are we, as far as the Empire is concerned. Heretics. Condemned to death, or have you forgotten that?”
Ekkehard’s words seemed to penetrate the red haze of Audomar’s anger, and the two brothers locked eyes. Audomar released Ekkehard and took a step back.
“Who are we to judge?” Ekkehard added.
“You would really have us get into bed with usurers?” Audomar asked, his fists shaking at his sides but lowered, nonetheless.
“Does it matter who his brother is?” a new voice interjected. Auriana sat beside Gisla, both cuddling under a blanket, helping to keep each other warm. “It doesn’t, does it?” she chided them gently. “All that matters is that Dreux can get us into the city. If there is a price to pay, we will see it paid. Won’t we?”
Audomar bristled at first, but then his shoulders sank.
“She is right, brother,” Ekkehard added in a soft tone.
He was sympathetic to his brother’s anger. Out of all of them, he had likely suffered the most. A few days after their last battle, Audomar began waking up in fright during the night. Although Audomar had never spoken of it, Ekkehard knew his brother was haunted by the ghosts of his dead wife and child, and by the shame of their journey’s sins.
Ekkehard feared his brother had nothing but hate and grief left within him and it wasn’t surprising his temper was so easily lost.
“Listen,” Dreux said after a short pause, “I am being honest with you. My brother is a good man. He helps people. I will get you into the city; I owe you that much.”
Audomar stared daggers at the man but remained silent.
“And,” Dreux continued despite the warning look Ekkehard shot him, “if once you’re in the city you need work, maybe my brother and I can help you find some. The type that pays well.”
Audomar turned his gaze away from Dreux, and his fists clenched tightly around the shaft of his spear.
“Fine,” Audomar said, “just get us into that damned city.”
With those final words, Audomar began to march toward Werth, forcing the rest of the party to quickly gather their belongings and follow.
With Audomar out of earshot, Florentin leaned over and spoke in a hushed tone to Dreux. “For what it’s worth,” Florentin said, “I thought your point about the disparity between the nobility and the peasantry’s lending powers was well made. It was one of the foundational pillars of the Merchant’s Rebellion and even today, it’s a subject of much controversy.”
‘Weren’t you arguing against me?’ Dreux asked with a smirk.
“I said the point was well made, not that it was correct.”
“Thanks,” Dreux replied. “Best not mention that to your big brother though.”
Florentin chuckled. “Certainly not.”
As the group walked the last mile to the city, Ekkehard’s mind wandered.
He imagined he stood before a shallow basin etched into a monolithic grey plinth, which cradled a mirror of gleaming water. As he gazed into its depths, visages of the departed appeared in the shimmer of its surface.
He could hear the phantom echoes of his jesting brothers, their playful jibes silenced by fate but their laughter softly resounding through the corridors of his mind. He saw the luminous smiles of his sisters, their joy extinguished but beaming still in his memories. The nurturing affection of his ever-watchful mother soothed his aching bones, her presence a ghostly comfort long lost. All of this encompassed by the resonating chuckle of his grandfather’s inappropriate humour, a lullaby heard through a veil.
Finally, he was pierced by pride as the vision of his newborn’s face, resting in innocent slumber, passed across the waters.
The cherry blossom tree blushed, its petals falling like pure tears to rest softly on the sacred waters. In that moment, the images of death behind his eyes vanished, replaced by familiar, tranquil spirits.
Then, his oasis of calm shattered.
“You need to talk to him,” Auriana's voice cut through his garden of solace. Ekkehard opened his eyes to see her walking beside him, looking up expectantly.
“I’m sorry?” Ekkehard asked.
“Your brother,” she said, indicating Audomar, several dozen feet ahead of the group.
“What do you mean?” Ekkehard asked.
“You know what I mean,” Auriana whispered conspiratorially. “His temper. It’s likely the only thing keeping him going right now, but if we’re going to start a new life in this city, he needs to control himself.”
Ekkehard looked at his brother, who carried himself with ever-diminishing determination. He shook his head. “I don’t think it’s that bad. He’s been through a lot; he just needs rest and time to grieve. We all do.”
“It’s more than that,” Auriana argued. “He’s becoming unhinged, and we can’t afford that right now. We need a fresh start, and to do that, we need friends. I think Audomar only sees enemies now.”
Audomar was struggling, that was true, Ekkehard thought, but he had carried their family through this harrowing journey, despite the pain he had suffered. He hadn’t mentioned it or complained. He hadn’t even spoken of his grief. He had just kept them going. Ekkehard couldn’t judge him for that. He was stronger than any of them.
“Audomar will be fine,” Ekkehard retorted. “He is fine. He lost his wife and child, but he has done his best to keep us all safe.”
“No, he won’t, and you know that,” Auriana shot back in a hushed voice. “We lost a child too, but we don’t put the rest of us at risk.”
“He doesn’t put us at risk,” Ekkehard snapped.
“He does!” Auriana hissed. “We can’t risk him losing it again like he did with Dreux. Please, you need to talk to him. Get him to understand that he can’t fight the whole world. He’s consumed by grief and anger, and the closer we get to the city, the worse it gets. Before we reach those gates, you need to stand him down.”
Ekkehard sighed. She wasn’t going to drop this.
“Fine,” Ekkehard said to Auriana. “I will speak with him. But only to see how he is doing.”
Auriana backed away and went to walk with the others. Ekkehard picked up his pace to catch up with his elder brother.
“Audomar,” Ekkehard called, “a word if you don’t mind.”
Audomar did not slow down, and Ekkehard was forced to jog.
“Brother,” Ekkehard continued, “we need to talk.”
“No,” Audomar responded curtly, “we do not.”
“Well, I think maybe we do,” Ekkehard said gently.
“I get it, Ekkehard,” Audomar replied. “It doesn’t need saying.”
Surprised, he wondered what Audomar thought this conversation was about.
“What do you mean?” Ekkehard asked.
"You’ve come to relieve me, haven't you? I'm not the head of this family anymore. None of you trust me."
Ekkehard's gut churned. He wasn’t used to seeing his older brother in such anguish. He wished he knew how to bring back the Audomar he had known only cycles ago.
"It's not like that," Ekkehard said.
"Yes, it is. You all blame me, and you're right to."
"Blame you?" Ekkehard asked genuinely confused.
"Yes," Audomar confirmed. "Everything that has happened to us is my fault."
"Why would you even…" Ekkehard began, but Audomar interrupted.
"There’s a new life waiting in that city," Audomar explained, "a new life for all of you. But not for me. There is nothing for me there.
“Gerwald and Florentin are young. They’ll adapt and find their place. We might even find a decent husband for Gisla in a few years, maybe a merchant or a minor noble. Even you have Auriana; the two of you can still build a life together.
“But me, I'm just an old, angry veteran who’s lost everything. There’s nothing for me in the city, and nothing I deserve."
Ekkehard was taken aback. He knew his brother was struggling, but he thought it was due to grief over losing his wife and daughter. Guilt, however, wasn’t something he expected to be plaguing Audomar.
"No one blames you, brother," Ekkehard began, but Audomar didn’t allow him any chance to offer comfort.
"He made a good offer, you know," Audomar said softly.
"What?" Ekkehard asked, genuinely confused.
"Hanib," Audomar clarified.
"For the land. He made a good offer. It wasn’t much he was asking for. Just a small strip of grazing land; we didn’t even use it. The coin he offered would have paid for the expansion twice over. But I saw he was desperate, and I thought I could squeeze a little more out of him.
“I was trying to rip the man off so I could prove how good I was at running the farm. In my greed, I sentenced our entire family to death. I brought this on us all."
Ekkehard stared at his brother, mouth slightly agape. He thought he saw tears welling in Audomar's eyes, though he tried to hide them. Ekkehard turned away and looked at the hard, cracked dirt and broken stone of the road they walked along. He tried to think of any words to comfort his brother.
Little came to mind.
Then his mind drifted back on old platitudes, words from scriptures, those learnt in the studies of his youth.
“Guilt is a veil,” Ekkehard said. “A shroud woven by sorrow's hand. It does not seek to punish us, but only blind us with our own reluctance to embrace the warmth of Spring's gaze.”
Ekkehard let the words hang for a moment, waiting to see if Audomar would hear them.
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After a while, his brother spoke.
“I don’t really get the scriptures,” he said. “That was always more your thing.”
Those words hung as well.
Ekkehard pondered them a while and then said, “I grew up with Father, just like you. I know I was intended for the priesthood, but he always insisted the holy texts were important, making sure I understood them. I always assumed he did the same with you, maybe not as much but at least to some degree. They seemed to matter to him.”
“Now and then,” Audomar admitted with a shrug.
“But while he had you reading scripts, he had me out on the farm, steering cattle, calving, teaching me how to haggle in the markets. And when I wasn't doing that, he had me focused on how to wield a spear. We looked over the scripts now and then, but it was never my thing.”
“I always thought they were important to him,” Ekkehard said.
“Maybe they were,” Audomar replied. “But not so much when it came to me.”
“You don’t really talk about him much,” Ekkehard said. “In fact, you never really talked about much at all, other than the price of feed and calving rates.”
“There’s not much to say. I watched our father die. I couldn’t save him, and the next thing I knew, I had replaced him. I was head of the family, and I was far from ready for it. In the end, I got us all killed.”
“I’m still here, Audomar,” Ekkehard reminded his brother. “So are Gerwald, Florentin, and Gisla. You didn’t get anyone killed, but you have managed to save the four of us. My wife as well. All alive because of you.”
Audomar didn’t respond.
Slowly, the walls of the city of Werth rose above them as they neared the gatehouse. As they came upon the queue of people waiting to enter, Audomar spoke his final words on the subject.
“I will follow your lead, but I will do what I must for you and the others if it comes to it.”
Ekkehard heard the patter of footsteps. Dreux hurried past him and Audomar, taking his place at the front of the group.
“Leave this to me,” Dreux said with slight trepidation before turning to Audomar, “I promise, I will get you in just fine.”
The city of Werth followed the standard design template of the Office of the Imperial Architect, its layout and architecture instantly recognizable. Each city was built in a perfect square shape, its interior divided into nine square divisions of equal size. There was little to distinguish the walls of one standard design city from another.
Ekkehard and his companions walked into the shadow of the tower at the city’s southern gatehouse. The gatehouse, built as a square fortification, projected out from the city’s curtain wall. Each gatehouse comprised two sets of three gates at either end of a fort, with an interior courtyard separating the two. A wide, multi-tiered watchtower was built upon the stone walls of both sets of gates. It was several stories tall and almost two dozen meters wide. Made of wood, each level boasted a wide balcony from which watchmen, armed with bows and arrows, observed the city's newcomers.
The tower’s hipped roof was made of sandy yellow tiles, ending in protruding eaves encircled by a red band. Wooden carvings of fire-breathing guardian lions jutted out from each of the roof’s upturned corners. Bright red and yellow wooden support beams upheld the tower, with wooden reliefs of defender tortoises wielding spears and bow-carrying cranes carved into them. Talismans hung from the rafters and balconies, tied with coloured ribbons.
The tower cast a shadow over those waiting to enter the city.
All three of the gates to the city were open, and a contingent of city guards sorted and inspected the queue of visitors lined up at the leftmost gate. The central gate was larger, almost three times the size of the left gate, but despite being wide open, none of the visitors lined up to enter it. Those leaving the city exited through the rightmost gate, which was equal in size to the leftmost.
Dreux led Ekkehard and the rest of their group to join the back of the left gate’s queue.
Gerwald, however, began walking obliviously toward the central gate.
“Whoa there, young master,” Dreux said, tugging Gerwald to one side. “That gate is for nobles, remember. And we are not nobles, are we?”
“Oh yeah, right,” Gerwald said. His cheeks turned slightly red, but no one paid his mistake any mind.
The group had to wait several hours to reach the front of the queue. The guards were inspecting every visitor. Most were merchant caravans, which made up the majority of the city's non-noble visitors. Hunters, farmers, and other workers regularly exited the city through the right-hand gate and were not expected to return until sunset.
Ekkehard felt his mouth go dry and his palms sweat when they finally reached the front. He had watched the guards carefully, and although they hadn't denied anyone entry to the city, their inspections were thorough, checking every visitor's papers.
This was just the first inspection of many, Ekkehard thought, and he wasn’t sure how many they could bluff their way through.
“Who are you lot then?” a gruff-looking guard asked as he approached the group. “And where are your goods?”
Ekkehard noted that the northern guards wore heavier armour than the southern gatekeepers, making the man an intimidating sentinel. He wore a coat of dozens of rectangular iron pieces, laced together and protecting him from shoulders to knees. A tall detachable iron collar shielded his neck. His open-faced helmet, made in the same manner, ran down at the back and sides to nestle within the collar, ensuring full protection of his head. He wore arm and leg guards made in the same fashion.
Over the armour, he wore a riveted leather chest guard that was bound tightly to him. Beneath it, visible on his arms and lower legs, was a heavy yellow wool tunic.
Not imperial purple, Ekkehard thought, a noble’s man.
Hanging at the guard's side was a leather belt with a sheathed longsword. The old guard kept his hand on the hilt as he questioned the group.
“My good man!” Dreux replied theatrically. “What a tale of woe and misery I have for you.”
The guard raised an eyebrow and folded his arms.
“Yes, erm,” Dreux started hesitantly as he approached the guard with some wariness, “where to begin, aye? It's a tale of weary travellers, some in dire need of shelter, others desperate to reunite with long-lost family.”
Dreux got close enough to place a hand on the man’s shoulder. The guard shrugged Dreux off and shot him a deeply unimpressed look.
“Woe unto those poor travellers, take pity and hear their plight,” Dreux continued, unperturbed. “They were but simple merchants, you see, set upon by bandits and cannibals. Their entire journey robbed and beaten, forced to kill to survive. Oh, what horrors my companions and I have faced, good sir! All simply to reach salvation here, in this good city I call home. Our bastion of the north, the city of Werth.”
“Aye,” the guard replied, “traveling can be dangerous. Now get to it, why are you here at my gate? And where are your fucking papers?”
Ekkehard’s eyes shifted from Dreux to the guard, and he shook his head.
What was Dreux doing? Ekkehard thought. The guard clearly had no love for the pantomime performance the farmhand was putting on. Surely this guard heard such tales daily. How did the fool think this was going to work?
He clearly wasn’t the only one thinking this. Ekkehard could almost hear the groaning wood of Audomar's spear as it buckled under the pressure of his white-knuckled grip. Ekkehard placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder to calm and restrain him. Florentin eyed the archers on the ramparts anxiously, his hands flicking to the hilts of his short swords. Gerwald, on the other hand, seemed somewhat unconcerned; his attention arrested by a parade of workmen transporting large stones and various tools from the exit gate.
“Yes, well, right,” Dreux stammered as he recomposed himself. “You see, it all began about two cycles ago. I was a tavern keeper down in Adan. Good business I had too, I’ll tell ya. The most popular watering hole in the town of Tarsos my place was, and there ain’t nobody you’ll find who will say differently.”
“You just said you were a merchant caravan,” the guard interrupted, “now you’re a tavern keeper. Which is it?”
“Ah yes,” Dreux responded, “clarity, I was just getting to that. They are a merchant caravan,” he indicated to Ekkehard and his family, “while I was a tavern keeper, you see? Two cycles ago, a messenger turned up at my door with news from my brother. My mother had passed. My mother, who lived here in this city, that is.”
“My condolences,” the guard interjected insincerely. “Now, papers please.”
“All things in their time, good sir,” Dreux replied, oblivious to the frown forming on the guard’s face or the narrowing of his eyes. “Right, where was I? Oh yes, my dear old mama died, and I obviously needed to make my way here for the ceremony. So, when my friends here passed through town, they were kind enough to let me join them. Safety in numbers and all that.”
“I am not asking again, boy,” the guard spoke in a low, curt tone, his hand moving to rest on the hilt of his sword.
The delay was drawing the attention of other guards, and Ekkehard reached for the hilt of his own blade.
“Erm, right,” Dreux said, dropping his act a little, finally becoming aware of the rising tension. “Well then, yada, yada, yada, bandit raid here, cannibal attack there, and here I am, with my friends, possessions, and papers all stolen, but simply hoping to make our way into the city so we may recover from our harrowing journey.”
“I’ve heard enough,” the guard said and drew his blade.
“Wait, wait,” Dreux said, holding his hands up. “We will be staying at my brother’s house while we are here. Perhaps you have heard of him. Vedast, The Butcher, perchance?”
The guard sighed heavily and sheathed his blade, waving off his approaching supporters.
“Why didn’t you just fucking say you were one of his,” the old guard said, shaking his head.
“The ‘Butcher?’” Audomar whispered, shooting Ekkehard a distasteful look.
Ekkehard shrugged in response.
“These ones are for the magistrate!” the guard shouted back to his fellows. “No papers, I’ll take them there now.”
Audomar dropped into a fighting stance, spear at the ready.
Dreux spun to face him, holding up his hands for calm and mouthing the words, "keep cool." He turned back to the guard and began to follow him into the city.
No one tried to arrest them.
Ekkehard patted Audomar on the shoulder, who relaxed a little. The Reubkes entered the city gates, Audomar eyeing every guardsman as they went. They passed under a stone tunnel and through the large two-toned red and yellow wooden gates, emerging into the courtyard of the gatehouse fort.
The large rectangular space was enclosed by dark stone walls with no stairs or ladders, and the gatehouse towers rose menacingly both in front of and behind them. In times of peace, gatehouse forts served as a sorting and waiting area where visitors could be corralled while tax officials conducted inspections. During a siege, the fort was a kill box. Attackers who breached the first set of gates would be forced to assault the second while surrounded by archers.
Ekkehard felt penned in and found himself thanking the gods the war never saw him fight in such a siege.
Several structures had been raised in the courtyard.
Inns provided accommodation to traders who did not have permission to enter the city. A handful of market stalls offered goods for travel, mainly fresh supplies of food and water. There was also a small stable and forge to reshoe horses, and a cobbler to reshoe their riders.
Most of the buildings were poorly decorated, in need of repair, and unadorned. The city’s more lavish merchants and artisans operated beyond the interior gates. Only one building looked new: the tax administration office, which stood grandly on the left-hand side of the courtyard.
It was finely built, rectangular in shape, with three intricate multi-tiered square towers topped with pyramid roofs. Eaves hung over the edges of the roof, with ornate wooden designs painted black fixed along its edges, ringing the building in beauty. The glazed clay tiles of its roof were a deep-sea green, while beams of crisp obsidian wood helped support the structure. Images of monkeys carrying abacuses were carved into the building's walls.
Visiting traders reluctantly waited outside the office as officials recorded their goods and collected trade taxes. Ekkehard recalled many travellers to the city of Hirsau curse those taxes in days gone by.
Ekkehard stared at the building.
“Something wrong?” Audomar asked him.
“It’s just funny, isn’t it?” Ekkehard replied. “If that wasn’t there, maybe you and I would never have gone to war. Maybe all of this would never have happened.”
“Blame Hanib for what happened to us, brother. Komes Manthos is already dead. Nothing we can do to him now.”
Ekkehard hadn’t heard that name spoken in years. Grand Excellency Komes Manthos, whose trade taxes had brought about the Merchants Rebellion and stolen Ekkehard’s childhood.
“Do you ever wonder if we were on the wrong side?” Ekkehard probed.
“No.”
Ekkehard was not so sure, anymore.
The Reubkes were not made to wait for any inspection. Instead, the guardsman ushered them quickly through the courtyard, through the second set of gates, and into the city proper.
They emerged from the second tunnel into a square paved plaza, surrounded by the city’s finest merchant establishments. The place was vibrant, colourful and crowded.
Stores, markets, and inns of high quality encircled the plaza, where thousands of people milled about. The buildings were well-constructed and elaborately decorated, using commercial blues and blacks, mixed with orderly yellows and honest whites. Reliefs and carvings of mathematical monkeys, conscientious cranes, and truthful tigers adorned almost every building.
The people were a veritable mix, from impoverished beggars in ragged hemp clothing, fighting to snatch the wealthy’s discards, to lofty nobles in fine winter gowns and ostentatious robes. The noise of the crowd was almost deafening, a crescendo of disunified and disjointed voices.
The guardsman led them straight through the crowd, pushing his way through the milling people, until they stood outside a small Autumnal shrine erected at the far side of the plaza.
The building contrasted with the rest of the plaza, bearing the warmer colours of orange and red. It had been awkwardly placed in the centre of the city’s main road that led north toward the gates of the Administrative Sector, causing all visitors to pass around it on their journey deeper into the city.
The guard stopped before the shrine and turned to Ekkehard, Dreux, and the others. He held out a hand toward Dreux, palm facing upward. Dreux pulled a small pouch from beneath his thick, road-weary robe and dropped it into the guard’s hand.
The guard weighed it and gave Dreux a half-smile.
“Seems you managed to escape my custody,” the guard said, “such a shame.”
“Good man,” Dreux said to the guard before turning to Ekkehard and the others, indicating they should follow him. As they did, the guard headed toward the doors of a particularly raucous-looking tavern nestled down an alley.
“Really, that is it?” Audomar whispered to Ekkehard as they followed Dreux up the city’s main road.
Ekkehard had to admit he was also surprised by the ease of their passage, but he thought better of reinforcing Audomar’s paranoia.
“What? You’d prefer we fight our way in?” Ekkehard jested, smiling at Audomar.
“Really?” Audomar shot back, screwing his expression in frustration. “You're comfortable with this? You heard what they call his brother. Vedast ‘The Butcher,’ he called him. A loan shark who goes by ‘The Butcher.’ You can't really trust that, can you, brother?”
Audomar was right, of course. Dreux had presented his brother as a kind-hearted man who provided opportunities to the poor. That description did not fit his moniker at all. Ekkehard wondered whether Dreux had more nefarious intentions for him and his family than he had realized. It didn’t matter though, he had got them in the city.
“I suppose I have just become comfortable with being uncomfortable, brother. Maybe you should try the same,” Ekkehard replied.
A few minutes later, they reached the more common portions of the market road. The main road through the markets stretched almost a full mile into the city, right up to the gates of the Administration Sector, the city’s central division. Once free of the first plaza, the crowds thinned out significantly. The noise of the bustling people died down, allowing the Reubkes to talk once more.
“Welcome to my beautiful home of Werth,” Dreux announced to the group, stretching his arms out wide to display the city. “A fine city that births many quality products, such as my humble self.” Dreux chuckled.
With the crowds thinner, Ekkehard noted the unusually large number of guards on patrol, all wearing different cloaks.
“Why are there so many colours on display?” he asked, indicating a passing group of guards in teal cloaks.
“Hmm?” Dreux replied, eyeing the guards. “Oh, that. Well, you see, that’s just Werth for you. Not so many cities in the north, not like down south where you put them up like tents. Most of the nobles here rule castle towns, but castle towns tend to lack some of, how do you say it, amenities? Yeah, the amenities of the city.”
“Castle town?” Gerwald questioned.
“Oh yeah,” Dreux explained. “I suppose you don’t have them in the south. It's exactly what it sounds like, a town with a castle in it. Not many people in the north either, lots of empty cold land though, lots of farms and small hunting villages. Werth is one of a kind for the north in a sense.”
“And what does that have to do with guards?” Audomar interjected, his frustration with Dreux bittering his tone.
“Oh, right, yeah,” Dreux replied, returning to the subject. “Well, as I said, castle towns don’t have a lot going on for a bored noble. So, many have second homes within one or more of the few cities there are. It lets them get a taste of the lavish life.
“Werth is not just the capital of the county but also of the marquisette, the commandry, and the prefecture. Some would even go as far as to say it’s the capital of the whole bloody north. It is also the largest of only two cities in this prefecture.
“Thus,” Dreux continued, “the city is not just home to the governor but also the Prefect of Akershus, the Commandant of Akershus, the Marquise of Morr, the Marquise of Aarhus, and the Counts of Fyn, Viborg, Lindholm, Ribe, and Strand from within the Marquisette of Morr.” Dreux took a moment to catch his breath.
“There are also,” he continued, “the Counts of Nakskov, Nykobing, Uddevalla, Aalborg, Taulov, and the Count of the County of Aarhus from the Marquisette of Aarhus. Then, several other counts and hundreds of minor nobles from neighbouring commandries, all keeping homes in the city.”
Dreux looked back at a series of bored faces. “In short,” he began to conclude, “there can be as many as twenty to thirty titled nobles and their retinues in the city at any one time.”
“A city with this many guards and you can openly bribe one?” Audomar muttered loudly.
“Yes!” Dreux shot back, beaming at the criticism. “Actually, you’d be surprised how much easier that makes it. With so many guards around, there is a lot of competition for bribes, so you have to lower your standards if you want to make a profit. I mean, you can’t expect them to live off the paltry sums their lieges pay them now, can you?”
Audomar rolled his eyes and tutted. “This man is beginning to annoy me,” he said.
“I like him,” Gerwald interjected, smiling as he listened.
“Me too,” Ekkehard heard the whispered voice of Gisla from behind him. She was walking sullenly at the back of the group, her eyes fixed more on her feet than her direction. Looking at her, Ekkehard felt a sting in his chest. He made a mental note that now they were in the city, he needed to find a way to raise her spirits.
“And me,” Ekkehard agreed with his little sister. She looked up at him, almost as if she was surprised anyone was paying her any notice. The sting in Ekkehard’s chest grew sharper.
“Just watch out for those wearing light blue cloaks,” Dreux continued. “What do you call it, the slightly greeny ones.”
“Teal?” Florentin suggested.
“Yeah, that’s it. Those are the prefect’s men. They are better paid, only take the big bribes, and offering too little could result in a beating. The yellow cloaks like our friend before, that’s the commandant’s men. They can be a bit hit or miss but are usually happy to take coin, assuming the commandant has been in a good mood. Everyone else tends to be fairly open to the concept. This way.” Dreux suddenly veered off the road and into a side alley.
Ekkehard halted before the alley, forcing his family to stop behind him.
It ran between a sketchy-looking tavern, with broken shutters on its windows and gruff-looking labourers at its door, and a public seals house, where citizens could exchange valuables for additional ration vouchers. It was narrow, and even in the afternoon sun, it was dark, shaded by the eaves of the two buildings' roofs.
Ekkehard hesitated and looked back at his family. Audomar's smug face stared back at him. He looked his brother head-on, shrugged, and followed Dreux down the alley, with the rest of his family following. Audomar reluctantly trailed behind them.
“Why do they call your brother the butcher?” Gerwald shouted down the alley after Dreux.
Ekkehard glanced back at the younger Reubke and eyed him. Maybe his family had overheard more of his and Audomar's disagreement than he had imagined. Or perhaps even the trusting Gerwald was unnerved by the alley.
Maybe he shouldn’t have led his family down here after all.
Good thing Audomar couldn’t read his mind, Ekkehard thought.
“Why wouldn’t they?” Dreux shouted back.
Ekkehard could almost hear Audomar bristle at those words. He chuckled to himself.
Dreux led the Reubkes through a series of backroads and off-markets that looked starker than the main promenade of the Merchant’s Sector. The buildings were far less ornate and lacked anything that could be mistaken for decoration. Purposeful buildings, hidden from the eyes of visiting nobles, provided cheaper services and goods to residents. Occasionally, they would emerge into an open street bustling with peasants buying cheap essentials from rickety stalls, and then dive into another bleak alley to emerge in a more impoverished street.
It took almost twenty minutes of winding passages until finally, Dreux stopped at the mouth of an alley, looking into the street beyond. He stopped so suddenly that Ekkehard almost walked into him.
“What’s wrong?” Ekkehard asked, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as he sensed Dreux’s unease.
“That’s my brother’s place,” Dreux said, nodding toward a rundown building.
It was palimpsest in style; its different sections clearly built at different periods, maybe even hundreds of years apart. A mixture of stones and woods of varying degrees of degradation formed the building. Its multiple eave-hipped roofs collided awkwardly, creating an ugly, short structure, and it was difficult to identify if it had more than a single story. The only decoration it bore was a single wooden carving of an ox fixed to the front door.
Several rough-looking men, short but burly and mean, waited beside the building’s entrance. Their arms were exposed by the torn sleeves of their tunics. Each had weapons, or tools that could be used as weapons, hanging from their belts. Their clothing was poor, hemp tunics and trousers held up by tattered leather belts.
“I don't know those men,” Dreux said, nodding his head toward them.
“Trouble?” Ekkehard asked.
“Don't know,” Dreux replied.
He stepped out of the alley and strode toward the men. Ekkehard looked back at his family, all their faces mirroring his own apprehension. They had come this far, and Dreux had always been at their backs; he couldn’t leave him to face whatever this was alone.
He tilted his head, indicating they should follow Dreux.
Dreux walked toward the door of the building, stopping a few steps short as he drew the attention of the men. They stopped their conversation and turned to him, saying nothing.
“Here to see the butcher,” Dreux said.
One of the men, a bearded and bald man with an ugly face, stepped forward and looked over Dreux before doing the same to Ekkehard and the others. The ugly man sucked his teeth and said, “Go on in then.”
Dreux hesitated a moment, holding the man's gaze, before turning and walking through the door of the building. Ekkehard and the others followed, eyeing the thugs cautiously as they did.
The interior was just as ugly as the exterior. The room they entered was dark; the shutters on the few windows were half-closed, letting in little sunlight. Undecorated, the room was wide enough for all of the Reubke party to stand in without feeling claustrophobic.
In the darkness, Ekkehard's senses heightened. The coppery sweet scent of blood mixed with the sour odour of sweat, confusing his nostrils. The soft sound of thudding, like the chopping of meat, could be heard beyond the walls of the room, coming from the bowels of the place.
There was little in the room, save for a wooden counter splitting the space into two sections, and a bench on the side where the Reubkes had entered. Even in the darkness, Ekkehard noticed that the wooden counter was stained with a dark liquid, eerily reminiscent of blood.
They were not the only people in the room. Four others were present, one in each corner, two beyond the counter, and two before it. The ugly man entered behind Gisla, having followed the Reubkes in.
“They're here to see the butcher,” the ugly man said.
The man behind the counter on the right disappeared through a side passage that was almost invisible in the low light.
When he returned, two more men were with him. One of them was a large, heavy-set but somewhat muscular man; he had a bald crown, and the salt-and-pepper hair around the sides of his head was thinning. He wore thick clothes, a mix of cloth and leather, stained with dark patches. Ekkehard noted that the man carried a cleaver in one hand, its blade rusted with both old and fresh blood. The way the rest of the men orbited him, their eyes fixed on him in anticipation of command, gave him an aura of authority that was almost palpable.
The authoritative man made a “tsk” sound through gritted teeth, and suddenly the other men in the room jumped into action. Each drew blades, daggers, or hatchets from under their clothes. Each moved on one Reubke or the other, seeking to pin them with their blades.
The ugly man grabbed Auriana, pulling her back against the wall and holding a dagger at her throat. Just as quickly, Ekkehard drew his blade and rested it against the ugly man's neck, daring him to move.
Each of his brothers had managed to draw their weapons and were holding a different assailant at bay.
Everyone froze.
All eyes drifted to Dreux. Ekkehard chastised himself for his naivety. None of the thuggish men had moved against the Reubkes’ would-be guide. Just as Ekkehard was about to curse Dreux out loud, the authoritative man spoke, pointing his cleaver at Dreux.
“I thought I told you to never show your ugly face around here again.”
“Aye, that you did,” Dreux replied, “but as you can see, I’ve brought my pretty one.” Dreux framed his face with his hands and smiled.
The authoritative man stared daggers at Dreux, his eyes widening with rage. Then, a deep hearty sound filled the room as the man began to laugh. He ploughed the cleaver deep into the wood of the counter. Leaping over it, he embraced Dreux in a huge bear hug, lifting him off the ground.
“Little brother!” the man shouted.
Ekkehard let out a heavy sigh of relief as all the thuggish men began to laugh, slowly backing away from the Reubkes. Ekkehard lowered his blade, and the ugly man holding Auriana released her, hiding his dagger beneath his clothes once more.
“It’s good to see you, Vedast!” Dreux shouted, beaming as his brother released him.
He turned to the Reubkes, noticing that some tension still lingered. He slapped Audomar on the chest and said, “Relax friends, all fun and games. Vedast,” he said, turning back to his brother, “I must introduce you to my friends here. These are the Reubkes, and boy, do we have a tale for you.”
“Well!” Vedast bellowed as he marched up to Ekkehard, arms wide open. “Any friend of Dreux is a friend of mine indeed.” One by one, Vedast embraced each of the Reubkes and even Audomar accepted the hug, although he did not return it. “Come with me in back,” Vedast instructed the group as he opened a small door that allowed passage past the counter and into the back of the storefront. “You can tell me everything there, and we can get a better look at you all.”
Vedast led the way through the hidden side passage. Dreux followed, as did Audomar, Florentin, Auriana, and Gisla.
Just before he entered the passageway, Gerwald turned to Ekkehard and said, “He seems nice enough.” Ekkehard laughed a little and followed him deeper into the building.
The little passage was narrow and had a low roof. Ekkehard had to drop his head low to fit under the doorway. His heart leapt from his chest as he stumbled forward, not realizing the passage was a short stairway. Three steps down and after a few feet of corridor, he walked into a much larger and brighter room, sunken slightly lower into the ground than the storefront.
A series of unevenly spaced and awkwardly positioned roof windows of various sizes were wide open, allowing light to flood the large workshop-like area. Several long wooden tables dominated the space, set up in the centre of the room. Each table was covered in blood and the carcasses of many animals in various stages of preparation. Pigs, cows, lambs, and various poultry hung from hooks around the edges of the room. Several men in clothes similar to Vedast’s were busy plucking, skinning, and cutting the carcasses, preparing them for sale.
“Your brother is a butcher,” Audomar hissed in barely contained rage at Dreux.
“Yeah,” Dreux replied, “my brother Vedast, the butcher.”
Florentin laughed. It started slow, deep from within his belly, but then it broke out into hysterics, bursting from him open-mouthed and infectious. Then Gerwald began to laugh too, followed by Ekkehard, Auriana, and Gisla. Finally, even Audomar chuckled.
“Why didn’t you just say you were artisans?” Ekkehard asked, still laughing.
“What? And miss the look on Audomar’s face?” Dreux replied, “Never!”