The Marshals Ace Read online

What had been a crowd became a multitude as more and more people poured into the city from the countryside.

  The traders were ecstatic, convinced this was set to be the biggest and busiest ageing in memory, and even at the last minute there were still more wagons arriving. Many had tall timber sides and were tied down over the top with canvas so their contents could not be seen; but it was a time of celebration, and more goods of all kinds were needed, so no one took any notice.

  The mood taking Simeon and Antony as they quickly ate the midday meal was somber, in stark contrast to that of the previous day. Nothing as such had changed, but each of them dwelt on their own thoughts in silence; though with the common thread that it would be their last together before the opening ceremony; the rebellion; or maybe ever.

  The food was excellent, but they literally shoveled it into their mouths without consciously realizing. Their eyes constantly darted up towards the wall-mounted timepiece, both knowing that for the plan to work they would have to be able to access to their targets on time. Arrive too early and they would arouse suspicion, arrive too late and they may be forced to join other latecomers who would spill out onto the bridges and even the town far from where they were needed. It was a fine balance, but one that had to be achieved. As soon as they had finished the meal, each bid each other good luck and melted into the throng of humanity that was moving up towards the fortress

  It was the change in the sound his feet made that first alerted Simeon he had stepped from gravel onto the timber drawbridge. His eyes were too busy searching for others in their scheme. Soon he saw the first close against the tower wall, one then another couple embracing in apparent oblivion; that was four. Then two more, closer to the bottom of the Crete stairway, no attempt was made to signal any recognition. Simeon felt a cold chill in his body as the gate passed behind him, and a thought crossed his mind that he would not walk back out.

  Immediately he saw others inside the gate; a group of seven burly men threw dice on a rapidly diminishing open space next to the door leading to the winch room. His anxiety grew as he jostled his way towards the keeps main entrance where his group was to meet. For some long seconds he saw no one, and then he saw two females, and close by were some of the twenty men who would be at his side. They were the biggest and strongest of all, for this entrance would have the greatest need of brute strength having at minimum fifteen guards to overcome. But things looked good, other guards he had seen seemed uninterested in the crowd. The others seemingly preferring to stay inside during the celebration and let the merrymakers do as they wished; it made sense as they could move about no easier than he could.

  He went over the odds again. The Marshal always kept a bodyguard of fifty in the garrison, no more were needed as that number could hold off an army outside the wall; but they were some of his best, both in skill and in how they were armed. His people could match them in neither way; but they had surprise, and if they were quick they could cut them off from their weapons and comrades, and then mop them up in small groups. His main fear was for the outer city wall; anything up to seventy was stationed there. That was why it was so important to have the drawbridges raised if they arrived to join battle in the keep. Once bridges were up they could hold the keep. Simeon found his corner and huddled into it pretending to be in an alcohol-induced sleep, but his mind went over each step again.

  By four after the afternoon he had to stand for lack of room. At half past five the Marshal came out onto a balcony several floors up. For thirty minutes Simeon endured the man extol the virtues and glories of his administration. At six o'clock the Marshal raised his hands high into the air, as if in worship and said. “Let the celebrations begin.” A great cheer rose from the crowd.

  Nicholas had ridden as hard as he ever had for over four hours. He felt for the steed under him, it must have needed a rest, but the black horse made no protest as it raced past all it met.

  In the uniform of a captain he had ignored and swept by the formalities at every checkpoint he had come to, but he was now on the outskirts of the city. Here the guise would wear thin, especially if any recognized the animal he rode. He needed a change of personality and saw some clothes hanging out to dry behind a small farmhouse. Leaping down from the saddle he strode quickly toward a woman coming from the house. “On the business of the Marshal of the city of Quone, and lord protector of the lands of Loc-Sie; I require the clothes that hang upon your line.”

  The woman said nothing; her mouth hung open in shock and amazement as he took what he needed from the rope line and glanced back at the horse. “I would be obliged if you would tend to my animal.” he said casually. “While I change in your outhouse.”

  The clothes fitted reasonably well considering how he had come about them, although they were still a little damp. In minutes he had become another man.

  Prince had stopped drinking and was munching on the soft grass near a stone wall as Nicholas emerged from the outhouse. He felt callous tearing the horse’s head from the food. “Come… The time draws near that you shall have your well-deserved rest.” Throwing a small bag of coins at the woman's feet, he climbed up onto the horse, leaning forward over its ear. “...I will ask no more than that you carry me this last distance into the city my good friend.” The horse let him spur it back out onto the road.

  In his pocket were the directions to the contact Bertram had given him; though he wondered now just who could be trusted now. He was thankful that the instructions were accurate enough that he only needed confirmation of street names twice.

  At the end of the street stood a public stable, and he rode straight in, causing the stable boy to jump out of his way in panic. “Boy I am on an urgent secret errand. Give this animal all it needs and I will pay you more that it is worth.”

  The boy seemed as excited at the prospect of intrigue as for the reward, especially on a day that he had been forced to stay while all about him had left for the keep. “Sir I will. I swear I will look after it as if it was the Marshals own steed?” he said as he began to unbuckle the saddle.

  Nicholas’s mood faded as he looked at the animal. “Wash him well,” he said, seeing how baldly the horse sweated. It was completely spent. It had given it’s all, and more. Nicholas went over to the creature’s head and looked into its eyes. Its nostrils flared rapidly as it tore breath from the air; it would take some time to recover. He leaned forward and kissed the animal on its cheek. “Thank you.” He could say no more. “Tend him well, and see he has all that he needs.” He placed the remaining coins from his coat flap into the boy’s hand. It was far too much for the service asked, but one way or another he would have no further need of money.

  The house he sought was close by, and he hammered on the door. At first there was no reply, and it seemed that the stable boy was right, saying that everyone was at the aging.

  Nicholas could feel a slight panic; he had no idea where to start looking. Again his fist banged the door. “Please answer, please.”

  “Who is it?” A female voice shouted from the other side.

  Nick hammered on the door even louder. “I must speak with you,” he said urgently.

  The voice was nearer this time. “Please stop, I am coming as fast as I may.” Then the door swung open and he saw the woman walked with a stick.

  “Marm, forgive me, I… I did not know; but I need help, and urgently.” He stopped speaking and stood foolishly wondering if he should pour out a story like his to a complete stranger. “I seek a man called Nathan, do you know of him?”

  “Indeed, I know of a Nathan, for my husband is of that name, but if he is the one you seek or not, I cannot say.” She seemed hesitant, and was probably suspicious of his intentions.

  As much as he believed she could betray him he could wait no longer, he had no time or choice. “The Nathan I seek is a good friend of Simeon and Antony, and of their cause.” He saw a faint reaction in her eyes, and gave caution away. “I must warn them to call off the rebellion. It is a secret no more
. The Marshal at this moment waits to guide their plan within his own to ruin.”

  Her reaction confirmed his hopes and fears. “Sir I not know who you are, but the urgency in your voice and its message I understand. But my husband and I are peaceful people who have no trouble with the Marshal; and have no need of any.”

  “You must believe me. I am not an agent of the Marshal. I am a friend of the rebellion…” Nicholas was surprised how easily the admission fell from his lips. “You must tell me where they are, and quickly; time has run out.” He still saw indecision in her face. Was she sentencing her husband to death, or was she saving him? She knew already the dice had been cast and either way there was little left to loose. “They will attack on the Marshals words, and already your husband is dead if things play as they will.”

  “My son.” she murmured. “He is but a boy.”

  “Then if you love your child tell me where; and maybe he can be saved.” Nicholas almost begged.

  “The courtyard, close to the Western door of the keep… It will be packed with people. They will be hard to find…” Her words trailed off as he dashed away.

  There was no need for further directions, the great wall loomed over the city and as he ran it grew ominously higher.

  The further he went the more people crowded about. Drunkards fell out of the taverns, people were laughing. Children were racing amongst their parent’s legs, giggling in mimicry at their elders. Young girls after their first taste of ale, shouted after him, or tried to playfully catch him, thinking he ran for some game. All the while the wall drew steadily towards him.

  With relief to his body, but not his mind he came to the edge of the crowd, and could run no more. He began to force his way through, but his progress became slower and slower.

  Several times drunks accused him of knocking something from their hands, and shouted obscenities after him, but at last he turned a corner, there before him was the gate.

  Now he pushed and jostled his way round the side of the pond to the first drawbridge. He began to despair how he would find them in the throng before him and tried to dismiss the thought from his mind.

  The footfall under him changed in sound, and he knew he was on the timber of the bridge at last. Progress now was nearly impossible, and it took ten or twenty minutes just to pass through the tunnel beneath the tower and out the other side: but now he could move no more; the jam of bodies was like a solid wall. Suddenly there arose a distant cheer and the crowd around him went wild. Everybody threw their hands around each other, shouting rhymes and calling out. “Ageing day, the ageing day has come.”

  Nicholas knew the cheer had been the signal. Desperately tried to turn around and looked about him; immediately he saw a small group had sprung into action. Between heads and flags he got fleeting glimpses as they entered the doorway and stormed up the stairs seemingly meeting no resistance. He looked upwards: the back of the tower facing the wall was partly open so it could not be used for siege against the wall, and to his horror he saw armed guard, hidden to this moment drawing their weapons ready to meet the unsuspecting rebels.

  Around him there was no attention to what he watched. The celebrations continued, but strangely the crowd’s mood was changing. Instead of cheering now there was screaming from closer to the wall. He couldn’t see why, but he knew the tone was one of fear. Then as the noise about him faded into stunned hush, the squeal of metal upon metal pierced his ears. Above the heads he could see the top of the gate closing the entrance. Now terror, like a fast flowing ripple, spread through the crowd.

  Simeon stood confused; watching in horror as guards spilled out of almost every doorway. How could they have underestimated such a force of men? How could things have gone so badly wrong? What had happened to the other groups in the city itself, and further out, what of them? The plan had fallen apart so swiftly, and so completely that he could not grasp its finality.

  The Marshal was still out on the balcony to the right of the waterfall. He was talking to some officers then he turned to look out over the courtyard. He raised his hands and stood waiting for some time before the crowd fell silent; save for crying children, and those who wept in uncontrollable fear. He did not shout out in celebration as he had before, and Simeon found it difficult to hear above the noise of the rushing water.

  “People of Quone. The rebellion against me that would have illegally taken control of the lands of Loc-Sie today; is crushed... Its leaders have been taken... But yet among you there are others who sympathize with this lost cause... Offer them to me and I will open the gates so that you may go in peace and safety; with and to your loved ones.”

  There was a solitary shout from the crowd. “Death to the Marshal.” and then some sporadic jeering; and in several locations chanting broke out. Simeon took heart that some in the crowd were brave enough to offer token resistance, but it was patchy and fights broke out as others argued with them.

  “You have five minutes to consider your surrender.” The Marshal called out, and then he was gone back inside.

  The fights and arguments continued, but from what he could tell no rebels offered, or were given up, but Simeon knew even before it began the rebellion, at least this attempt was over and bid his group that they should intermingle with the crowd to hopefully regroup back outside the fortress

  More Quone-Loc-Sie, and other novels and stories by John Stevenson can be found by visiting

  www.caelin-day.com

  www.Australianstoryteller.com

  www.Australianstorywriter.com