Borna: the First Chronicle of Hvad

Three things of note happened on our journey.

First, I counted our party. There were seventeen of us. Gosdan, his two sons, and the three Hands. Ten warriors. And the guslar.

A gusle, or gusla, is a long-necked, single stringed musical instrument, that looks like a lute. The sound box comes out of a single piece of maple, or chestnut, and is then covered with animal skin. The neck is long, and the head often intricately carved.

The gusle player, called a guslar, holds the instrument vertically, between his knees. The fingers of his left hand are held against the string, but he never presses the string to the neck of the instrument. A horsehair bow is pulled across it.

It produces a sharp, dramatic sound. They say that a gusle is extremely difficult to master. Apparently, people around Stonje use two strings, but I’ve never been anywhere near Stonje, and I’ve never seen it in Yeseriya.

While he plays, the guslar can sing, but most often, he recites an epic poem. We love heroic tales, and the old legends. Some of them are even true.

A guslar is an honoured guest in a Hospodar’s steading, especially over the long winter months. Treat them generously, and they will sing of your largesse for years afterwards. But they never forget a bad turn, either. It’s unwise to insult a guslar, unless you want your misdeeds immortalized in song.

Gosdan had taken on a young guslar, named Ansis. Borna and I referred to him as ‘Teeth’. He had a mouthful of large, white teeth, which he showed off at every opportunity. He was always smiling, especially at the young women of our steading - which did not particularly endear him to the young men.

Teeth also liked to inject a note of humour into some of the tales he sang. It’s true enough that not everything has to be deadly serious. But then again, there isn’t always a funny side.

Ansis was young. After two months, we had heard every song and poem he knew. But still, Gosdan kept him on. Now we understood why. Our Hospodar was ambitious. If he was aiming at the Banate, having a guslar to sing his praises could only help.

- “Why bring the guslar?” I asked Borna. “Is it to show how generous he is? Does he think that Asrava’s men will be impressed by his wealth?”

- “I don’t know, Ljudevit. I wasn’t even aware of this marriage plan until yesterday.”

- “Or does your father expect the guslar to compose a song? The love song of Antras and Asrava’s daughter?”

- “Ha! I can hear it already!”

- “I can, too.” I said. “That’s the problem!”

We passed several herders, with their flocks of sheep, or goats. Some of the more prosperous had cattle. Yeseriya is a land of forests, and gently rolling plains. The land is not particularly fertile. But the flocks and herds looked healthy. It had been a good year, so far.

Later that day, I asked Borna a more serious question. My parents were tremendously proud when Borna chose me to be his hand. My father, especially, gave me mountains of unsolicited advice.

- “You’re there to listen.” he told me. “Not to criticize. If he wants to bounce ideas off you, you shut up and let him. Don’t be a smartass.”

Good advice, I suppose, even if it sounded a lot like my father’s frequent criticisms of me. I was more than ready to listen to Borna. Unfortunately, Gosdan’s younger son was often close-mouthed. If it was a problem, he wouldn’t tell me anything until he’d solved it himself.

Or, if he had a plan which involved me, he wouldn’t say a word until it was too late to talk him out of it. That was why I’d taken to raising ideas with him - stringing the bow, if you like, rather than waiting for him.

- “Why only seventeen men?” I asked. “Why so few?”

- “You think we should make a greater show of force?” asked Borna.

- “Asrava has thirty warriors. Why wouldn’t your father bring the same number? Or more?”

Borna didn’t say anything. Some time later, though, he went over to ride alongside Gosdan. He came back almost immediately.

- “He says it’s because Asrava’s hall isn’t big enough for so many. And because if we brought thirty men and thirty horses, we would empty Asrava’s larder.”

I didn’t have to say anything more. We both knew that these were excuses. Gosdan’s entire druzhina didn’t have to fit into Asrava’s hall. And if our host couldn’t afford to feed us all for a day - which was unlikely - then Gosdan could have brought food and drink. What better way to display your wealth and generosity?

No, Gosdan was bending over backwards to accommodate Asrava’s wishes. He really wanted this alliance.

The second thing of note about our journey was the weather. We departed in a morning mist, cold and damp. By mid-morning, the rain began.

At first, it was just an autumnal shower. But the rain gradually increased in intensity, until it became a steady downpour. And then a storm. A torrential downpour. We were lashed with sheets of water. There was no cover, no escaping it. Every bit of clothing we wore was thoroughly drenched.

My armpits were still mostly dry, I suppose. But the water ran down my face, and trickled in little rivulets under my wet clothing, down my back, and along the crack of my ass. The leather of my saddle was sodden, and the damp was spreading underneath me.

I was thoroughly miserable. Heads down, we hunched under our cloaks and sheepskins. There was some grumbling, of course, and some muttering about finding shelter, but nothing serious. The horses couldn’t have liked it any better than we did, but they plodded along with fewer complaints.

Then the storm took on a malevolent aspect. It teased us, seemed to relent, or to stop altogether, only to return full force a moment later. There was something unnatural about it, as though the elements were punishing us.

Gosdan called a halt, which led directly to the third event.

- “We’ll rest here!” shouted Gosdan. “Look to your horses! Try to get a fire started!”

We were skirting the edge of the great forest, so it was a simple matter to bring the horses under the partial shelter of overhanging branches. Finding dry wood would not be so easy, unless the men went further in. Happily, that would not be a task for me.

I had just gotten the saddle and sodden blanket off Borna’s horse, and was turning to start on my own. Khoren, likewise, was seeing to Antras’ horse, trying to rub the animal down with a soaking wet blanket.

I can’t say for sure who started it. But it looked to me like Borna deliberately shook out his cloak in Antras’ direction, spraying him with a few drops of water. That was enough to set Antras off, and he went for Borna. Next thing I knew, fists and elbows were flying.

Antras was bigger, and heavier. He tried to grapple, to pull his brother down. Borna made him pay, with an elbow to the mouth.

- “ENOUGH!” roared Gosdan.

That didn’t stop them. Antras got in a solid punch to the ribs, and Borna swung at his brother’s head, but missed.

- “BORNA!” yelled their father. “ANTRAS!”

Mihran grabbed hold of Borna’s shoulder, pulling him back. He put his other hand on Antras’ chest, and pushed him back a step. This time, the brawling brothers subsided. They would not carry on - not with the Hospodar’s Hand between them.

You may be wondering why I didn’t intervene, or go to my Lord’s assistance. Well, for one thing, he wouldn’t have thanked me for it. Borna liked to fight his own battles. Unless weapons were drawn - that would have been different.

If I had stepped in, that would have brought Khoren, too - and that evil bastard would have liked nothing better. Khoren wouldn’t have dared to attack Borna; he would’ve gone straight for me. Or he could have come at me from behind.

Our Hospodar wisely gave his sons a few moments to cool down. They glared at each other, of course. But this particular skirmish was over. For now.

Borna was still angry, but not at me. He submitted to a quick examination, as I checked to see what damage his brother had done.

- “You’ll have a bruise on your ribs.” I told him. “And a cut over your eyebrow. Lucky, this time.”

- “Hmm.”

- “Have you considered where we’re going to go?” I asked Borna.

- “What?” He finally looked at me. “What are you talking about, now?”

- “Where we’re going to go. Your father can’t live forever. And on the day your brother becomes Hospodar...”

- “Hmm.” he grunted again. We had had this conversation before.

- “It could go very badly for us.” I said.

- “Maybe.” he admitted.

- “You don’t seem very concerned - for a man who may be about to get married.”

- “Maybe.” he said. “No point in worrying about maybes I can’t change.” Then he winked at me. “Yet.”

We did get a large fire built, on the edge of the wood, but the rain simply didn’t let up. Nobody got dry. And I doubt if anyone slept very well.

It wasn’t just the fact that we were soaked through. We may live on the edge of the forest, but no man feels completely safe inside it, especially at night. There are wild animals, and wild men, and many things in between. Many a brave man has gone into the woods at night, and they haven’t always come back.

We were a wet, tired, and grumpy company the next morning. Even the horses weren’t in the mood to be saddled again. I’m not the most superstitious person around, but the negative omens were beginning to add up.

---

Asrava’s steading was not so large as ours. They had a roughly circular palisade of logs, just as we did. There were twenty or twenty-five houses and smaller buildings within, dominated by the Hospodar’s great hall. Outside the steading, the fields were dotted with more houses. My guess was that 120 to 150 people lived inside the wall, and a similar number outside.

Asrava himself waited at the gate. He stepped forward and spread his arms in welcome. He wore a voluminous grey cloak, which had seen better days, but it was pinned with a very fine gold broach. The Hospodar looked older than I expected. He had a luxurious, foot-long beard, but his long hair was a bit scraggly, and thin on top.

Gosdan dismounted first, and the two men embraced formally.

- “My son, Mushtal.” said Asrava.

I had never seen Asrava before, but his son I recognized. About a year ago, Mushtal and some companions had been trying to steal some of our sheep when we caught them at it. They fled, rather than stay to debate the matter with us.

Mushtal was an ill-favoured lout, only in his early twenties, but already prematurely bald. He always had the most curious expression on his face - as if he wasn’t quite sure what was going on, and was waiting for someone to explain it to him.

- “My boys!” shouted Gosdan. His sons dismounted, and were presented to our host. Then all of the Hands were named, including me. When Gosdan finally called my name, I felt Asrava’s eyes upon me, calculating, as if weighing me. I don’t think he was very impressed.

Our horses were led away, to be watered and fed. Some of our men, including Dirayr, would be there, to rub them down and see that they were well looked after.

Asrava’s great hall was indeed smaller than our own. But it was warm, and smoky, and smelled appealingly of roasting meat. The other powerful odours were all too familiar: wet clothing, warm bodies, wood smoke and stale beer.

Gosdan and his sons were escorted to the Hospodar’s high table. Asrava sat them at his right, and put Mushtal to his left. Mihran, Khoren and I were seated on stools behind them, with the other Hands similarly placed, off to our left.

- “A toast!” cried Asrava. “A toast! Fill your cups!”

Servants came forward to pour. Mead and ale, for the most part - but at the high table, Asrava flourished a bottle of Izumyrian wine. It was rare, in Yeseriya, and no doubt very expensive. “Saved it for a special occasion!” he shouted.

“To our guests! And to our agreement!”

I had a sip of ale, then placed the cup beneath my stool. I had seen Mihran do this before, so I took my cue from him. If this was not quite enemy territory, it certainly wasn’t home ground. I wanted my wits about me, just in case. To my surprise, Khoren also followed Mihran’s example.

More toasts followed: Gosdan to our host, Asrava to Gosdan’s sons, and then one for Mushtal. Hvadi warriors may be fearsome fighters, but they are even more ferocious drinkers.

Once the assembled company had a few drinks under their belts, and cups were re-filled, Asrava proceeded to the dramatic presentation.

- “My daughter, Garine!”

She came up the back of the high table platform, to a resounding cheer. Garine had honey-coloured hair, and a ripe body. Her face was pretty, but vacuous, like her brother’s. I wondered what kind of thoughts (if any) passed between those ears. She was attractive girl, but she obviously knew it. I swear, she was drinking in all of the attention.

- “My daughter, Noyemi!”

This girl had dark hair. She kept her head down. Modesty, I think, or perhaps shyness. She was plainer featured, her body more slender, almost boyish.

Asrava proposed a toast to his daughters, and then, finally, sat down, so that the serious drinking could begin. There was one more girl seated at the high table. Asrava was a widower, so this would be his concubine, Lulalme. I had heard that she was young, but Lulalme was a shy little doe, who looked younger than Asrava’s daughters.

We have curious customs, in Hvad. It was considered acceptable for Asrava to include his concubine in the proceedings, but not to introduce her formally; that would have been a breach of good manners.

The feast that ensued followed a predictable pattern. Drinking, bragging, and talk. Then more drinking, and eating. When stomachs were full, Asrava suggested hearing the guslar. Teeth got up, grinning, and set himself on a stool at the corner of the high table.

He recited the tale of Mher and Dzeroun, brothers in arms. Together, the two friends slaughtered thousands of their enemies, stole a herd of cattle each, then went off to get drunk together. No doubt it was Gosdan who had suggested that Teeth perform that particular epic. It left all the warriors present with warm feelings - and a great thirst, because of course no one could fill their cup while the guslar was performing.