Chapter 1: Leaving

Donald looked over the battlefield with a sense of revulsion. He was tired. It had been a hard fought fight. What it was over, he wasn’t sure. That wasn’t his concern. He did as he was told, and fought who he was told to fight. Right or wrong, good or bad, made no difference. He was a member of ‘Gilbert’s Honourable Mercenary Company.’ He had been since he’d been fifteen. Now, twenty years later, he’d had enough. Had enough of the killing, the maiming, the stench of fear and the screams of men as he struck the killing blow. Not to mention the travelling and never having anywhere to call home. He had travelled enough for ten men. He had marched from one end of this land to the other, he had sailed more seas than most sailors.

He was the youngest child of seven. He was never going to inherit the farm. His prospects were to be a field hand for his brother, or for some other landowner, but he would never have been his own boss. His prospects would have been zero. No decent girl would have looked twice at him. Okay, that may not have been entirely true, but at fifteen, that’s how he had felt.

There had been good times, many good times. There had been wine women and song. Okay, so most of the women had been whores, but at least those women had been honest. He had made some fantastic friends, and buried them, too. He was sick of making friends of someone, then just a few weeks later having to face them in battle, just because a contract had changed hands. It had happened more times than he cared to remember. It had now got to the stage where he didn’t make friends anymore. It was time to leave. He made his way over to where Gilbert was standing.

“Donald, thanks for what you did, today. Your men made all the difference. When that last charge hit our lines, I really thought we’d had it. The way your men just held and refused to give ... well, it was astounding. It really turned the tide of the battle. I’ll speak to the Baron. I’ll make sure there’s a little extra in the kitty, this time.”

“Thanks, Gilbert. Make sure it goes to the families of those that didn’t make it. God knows, there’s enough of them.”

“How many this time?”

Donald shook his head. “I don’t know yet. I know young Michael didn’t make it. Took an axe to the head, split him open like a ripe melon. Only nineteen years old. Just a boy, really. Never had a chance.”

“Damn! I was just getting to like that kid. I’ll make sure his mother gets his share.”

“To be honest with you, I’ve had enough. I’ve been doing this for twenty years, now, and to tell you the truth, I don’t enjoy it anymore. I’ve had enough of the blood, the killing, the pain. How many Michaels have I caused personally? I just don’t know if I can do this again. It’s time. It’s time for me to stop.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t want to lose you.”

“I know, but we all know when the time comes. Remember Thomas? He told us he’d had enough, but we persuaded him to stay for one more campaign. What happened? He was killed in the first battle. He hesitated. Tried to wound rather than kill. Got himself killed instead. I know that will happen to me if I stay.”

Gilbert looked at him in the eyes. He saw that Donald was right. He smiled wryly.

“I guess you’re right. It comes to us all. I only hope when my time comes I have the courage to recognise it, and stop. Okay, I’ll get the quartermaster to sort it all out. Should be be ready in a couple of days.”

“Great, I’ll let my men know. Right now, there’s a flagon of ale with my name on it, and there’s a young lady that’s about to get the ride of her life!”

They both laughed at this. His men were sad, but they understood. They had been though it before. When it was time, it was time. The party went on all night, and yes, the young woman had an experience she would always remember. In fact, she had two nights she would remember!

He set off with all his worldly goods, which even he would admit that for a man in his position, was quite a lot. He had six horses. Two of which were war horses that any man would be proud to ride into battle. He had several sets of mail, any one of which would be worth a good sized farm, a good farm with good fertile land. He had weapons, swords, axes, shields, knives and his favourite, his bow. It was a powerful bow that he had made, himself. He was proud of his bow. His purse was full of gold. Lot’s of it. All in all, he was one of those rare creatures, a rich and successful mercenary.

He made an imposing sight as he rode through the countryside. He stood six-foot-four, with piercing blue eyes, and his dark hair was done in the customary style of the warrior’s braid. He was a big, powerful man, but with speed that belied his size. Many had found, to their cost, that he could move more quickly than any man his size had a right to. He had decided to travel south to where it was said the climate was mild and the farm land good. In the last twenty years he had been wet, cold and miserable, far too many times. He never wished to experience that again.

He had been travelling for around three weeks, revelling in the fact that he didn’t have to be up at dawn, training [he still did, but he didn’t have to, and that made all the difference!], and being able to travel at his own pace. He had arrived in a small town, a village, really. It had not much to recommend it, a tavern, stable, a couple of shops and a blacksmiths. It was however on the main trading route between Lord Blackmore’s land and Baron Shieldsmith’s. These men hated each other and encouraged bandits to prey on each other’s people. That made it a dangerous and somewhat sparsely populated area. Farms would be raided and burnt, the people would be robbed raped and killed. All in all, it was not a good place to be.

Donald had stopped for the night. He made a fine sight, arriving with six fine animals loaded with what could almost be considered a king’s ransom. He enquired if there was anywhere secure he could leave his animals and goods and was told the stables. He took one look and decided he would sleep in the hayloft that night. He saw a lad standing nearby and called him over. He asked him about the town, where was a good place to eat, what, if any, problems he might face. He was told that the only place to eat was the tavern. He was also informed of Felix. He was in charge of the local militia. He was also a braggart, bully and a thief. Donald thanked the boy and then asked him if he wanted to earn himself a silver shilling. The boy’s eyes lit up, then clouded over.

“What do I have to do to earn this money?” he enquired suspiciously

“Just watch my things, and come and get me if anyone tries to steal them,” Donald answered laughing.

“Okay!” the boy eagerly agreed.

Donald made his way to the tavern. It was a small, dark dingy sort of a place. He asked the landlord, a fat slovenly man, what they had available to eat.

“We got bread and meat stew,” the man replied

“Anything else?”

“No, that’s all we got. Take it or leave it.”

“I guess I’ll have to take it, then. Oh, and a flagon of your best ale,” Donald replied, more in hope than in expectation.

The man looked at Donald, sizing him up. He looked well dressed and wealthy.

“That’ll be three shillings” he said, putting Donald’s ale on the bar.

Donald just smiled and looked down at the man. “I beg your pardon? I thought you said three shillings? Surely I heard wrong?”

The man swallowed hard. Gathering his courage he answered “No, you heard right, three shillings.”

Donald picked up the ale, took a mouthful, then spat it back at the man. “If this is your finest ale, then I shudder to thing what your cooking is like. This ale tastes like horse piss. You can keep it.”

Laughter erupted at this. It seemed that the innkeeper did this sort of thing quite often. They were glad someone had finally stood up to him. He made his way over towards the general stores shop in the hope of obtaining something edible for his supper. He was half way there when four men strode purposely towards him. Donald stopped in the middle of the street. He loosened his sword in it’s scabbard.

“Those horses you came in with today, they yours?” the leader of them said.

“Yes, why? What concern is it of yours?”

“Well, you see, there’s the little matter of tax that needs paying. A kind of toll, safe passage and all that. Let’s say two of the horses and that purse you have on your belt.”

Donald smiled as he replied, “You really should go on the stage. You would make a fantastic comedy routine. Now why don’t you just go home like good little boys, and let honest men go about their business?”

“There’s four of us and only one of you. The tax has just risen to all your horses and your purse.”

“Four to one? A bit unfair, isn’t it? Tell you what, I’ll pop over to the shop and give you time to get some more of your friends, okay? Make it a bit more even.”

“Get hi...” was all the man managed to say. A knife suddenly materialised in his chest. The others stood stunned as their leader collapsed in a heap on the ground. Donald drew his sword.

“Okay, who’s next?” Donald asked, still smiling

One of them ... he was just a lad, really ... had a dark stain spreading down his leg. They all looked at each other, then ran.

Donald recovered his knife, wiping it on the man’s body. Then he went through the dead man’s things to see if there was anything of worth. Other than a few coins the rest of the stuff was trash. There was his sword, which if it had been in the possession of one of his men, the man would have been mocked and ridiculed. It was rubbish. There was a snuff box, his eating knife, and a large key. Donald was intrigued. What would a man like this be doing with a key? More importantly, what did he have locked up?

Faces peered out of doorways and alleyways as Donald finished his examination of the man’s belongings. He threw most of them down into the mud. The final insult, telling all present that even in death this man was worth nothing. He made his way over towards the shop.

“Good evening, my name is Donald” he said to the small middle aged man behind the counter with a smile. “I’m after some supplies. I was not happy with what they offered at the inn, so I was hoping I would be able to purchase something to eat, here. Also I seem to have made a bit of a mess out there. I was wondering if you could get someone to clean it up for me?”

The man looked at him in astonishment. Felix, for that indeed is who the dead man was, had held the town in thrall for so long. To see him killed in such an off hand manner and then the man who killed him act as if it was nothing! Well, he’d never seen anything like it!

“Ah, yes, quite, food, ah, yes, ah, I’ll just go and get it.”

The man disappeared into the bowels of his shop. He returned a short time later with a loaf of rather dry bread, it was at least three days old, some ham that looked and smelt quite good, and some cheese that was outstanding. He also brought flour, eggs, and a large jar of honey.

Donald, remembering how the inn-keeper had tried to cheat him fixed the man with a steely stare. “How much?”

The man looked at him and swallowed. He looked at his produce, looked back up at Donald and said, “Sixpence.”

Looking at the things in front of him, that was a reasonable price. “Good enough, I’ll have it. Now, do you have anything drinkable? Please, not like that horse piss he tried to fob me off with at the inn?”

The man smiled as he replied, “Yes, sir, we do.” He produced a large glass bottle. “This, sir, is the finest Frankish brandy. Sir, it’s not cheap, it’s three shillings a bottle. I know it’s a lot, but I can assure you that it is the finest brandy anywhere in the world. It’s at least twenty five years old. It’s like liquid gold, it slides down so smooth.”

Donald smiled. He had been to Frankland and knew all about their brandy. If what the man was saying was true, then the bottle was worth all of the three shillings, and more!

“Let me see,” he demanded of the man.

The man, reluctant to relinquish the bottle without payment, grudgingly handed the bottle over. Donald examined it. The bottle certainly was of the correct style, the seal was sound and unbroken.

“Very well, it appears this is what you claim. Sir, you have a sale!”

He asked for a sack for his purchases, and handed over the cash.

The man beamed as he took the money, and packed Donald’s purchases away. He smiled even more when he realised that he would no longer have to pay Felix and his gang their ‘security’ tax.

“Now then, what about the rubbish problem you have littering up the street out there? Who is going to clear it up? Who was he, anyway?” Donald enquired.

“Ah, well, sir, his name was Felix. He arrived a few years ago and just sort of took over. Anyone who refused his demands he beat up or killed. He has, or should say had, a farm just outside of town. He and his men took it over when they arrived. No-one dares go near it, now.”