Falco's Reign - Part 61

The carriage of Sverig, ambassador of Hendeby, rumbled over the winding dirt road. It was exactly a week after he had delivered his jarl’s demands to lord Sigismund and he was returning to Ronjar to collect the answer. He hoped lord Sigismund would be reasonable and accept Hendeby’s ‘protection’. But even if he didn’t, it wouldn’t really matter. Sigismund had no troops available that could stop the advance of jarl Rudolf’s army. Still, it would look good on his record if he could actually convince him to open his gates and allow Rudolf’s troops in.
“Your excellency, Ronjar is in sight,” one of his escorting horsemen announced.
Sverig stuck his head out of the window, held on to his hat and looked at the city ahead. He frowned.
“There’s a lot of smoke, hanging over the city, sergeant,” he said.
“There sure is, your excellency.”
“You think there may have been a major attack? Is the city burning?”
“I … don’t see flames. And if there has been a major attack, the city has not surrendered yet. I can still see the banners of House Ronvald and Vestfjor, waving in the wind,” the sergeant replied, shielding his eyes with his hand.
“So much the better. Maybe this can even work to our advantage. Lord Sigismund may be more inclined to deal with us, if he has just barely survived an attack. Still … we better play it safe. Make sure our banners are clearly visible, sergeant. I want the gatekeepers to see from afar who is approaching their city’s gate. I wouldn’t want us to get shot accidentally.”
“I’ll take care of it, your excellency.”

Half an hour later, they cautiously approached the south gate of the city. To the ambassador’s satisfaction, the guards on the gate house waved at them and the gates opened immediately, before they had even announced themselves. The banners had clearly worked. They were immediately given an escort to lord Ronvald’s modest castle. It wasn’t a long ride as Ronjar wasn’t that big a city. Always mindful of maintaining his aristocratic dignity, the ambassador stared in front of him with an arrogant, confident look on his face. After all, the commoners in the street weren’t exactly worthy enough of his attention. They were supposed to look at him in awe, not the other way around. And that way, he missed the fact that those same commoners were uncharacteristically cheerful for a population under siege.
The carriage finally rode through the gate of Ronvald’s castle and came to a stop on the courtyard. A steward brought him and his men to lord Sigismund’s main hall where he politely asked the ambassador to wait. It was quite busy in there. Maids were cleaning the floor, servants were running up and down. Pageboys were carrying tapestries to stands that were placed all along the walls of the hall.
Sverig wondered for a moment if they were doing some kind of spring cleaning. Except of course, it was the beginning of august. It was a very nice, warm day as well. Sunlight was flooding the hall in abundance through the high windows. But that didn’t make the ambassador any happier. He already felt half insulted for being received in a hall that was being cleaned and with people constantly running around, but now he had to wait as well! And even though it was cooler inside than in the open air, it was soon getting way too hot for him (especially as he was wearing very official and expensive looking robes that were a bit too warm for the season).
Half an hour later, Sigismund finally showed up, entering the room from a side door. He looked somewhat … messy. His clothes were of decent enough quality, but his shirt was hanging half out of his trousers. It almost seemed like he had hurried putting some clothes on after having taken a bath. Which would also explain why his hair seemed wet. What the hell was going on here? This was no dignified way to receive an important guest like an ambassador! Sverig got even more annoyed when lord Sigismund didn’t address him immediately, but first spoke softly to a young man, who quickly left the hall.
“Lord Sigismund!” the ambassador said. “If you could spare me a moment?! It’s bad enough I had to wait in this heat, while your servants are cleaning the place, but talking to a servant first …”
“Not a servant, ambassador. My oldest son.”
“O! Ehm, I do apologize for that mistake, but still …”
“No offense taken. I had to send him on an urgent message, before I could speak to you.”
“Really? What could be more urgent than the business we have to discuss? The very future of your people and your noble House depends on a good outcome of our talks.”
“O, I’m quite confident our talks will have a good and favorable conclusion,” Sigismund smiled.
“Ah,” Sverig replied. His mood immediately improved considerably. “I like to hear that. I sure hope we can come to an agreement quickly.”
“As do I. Have a seat, please.”
To Sverig’s surprise, Sigismund didn’t sit down on his throne, but led his guest to a couple of chairs and a small table that were placed a few meters in front of it. His curiosity was finally starting to win over his irritation.
“You do not use your throne, lord Sigismund?”
“That just wouldn’t be appropriate right now.”
“Not appropriate? I don’t understand. And what’s with all this cleaning and redecorating? In the middle of a siege!? I mean, I like tapestr …” he said, looking at all the ‘tapestries’ that had been attached to the standards. His eyes went wide when he finally realized they weren’t tapestries at all. They were banners. Banners … of Erin companies. At the base of each flag, the servants and page boys had just finished laying down helmets and other items of armor like wrist protectors and chainmail, together with swords or axes. Sverig felt a big lump forming in his throat and he swallowed a couple of times. Those weapons weren’t from ordinary soldiers. They were of captains and nobles who had led the companies whose banners were now on display in Sigismund’s main hall. His eyes nervously wandered all over the room. The banners covered the walls completely. There were dozens of them. Fifty at the very least. And most of them looked like they had seen battle. Slowly, he rose from his seat. The hall felt eerily empty, now that all the servants had left.
“Are you quite alright, your excellency?” Sigismund asked. “You look a bit pale. Maybe you should have a drink while we wait.”
Sverig glanced at his host, hardly able to pull away his gaze from the haunting banners. With a trembling hand, he accepted a goblet.
“Wait?” he whispered.
“For the man who will sit on my seat for as long as he is in town. Don’t worry, he won’t be long. I sent my son to … you hear that? I think he’s here.”
Sverig snapped his head towards the big double door on the far side of the hall. He heard footsteps of not one, but many people coming closer. The doors swung open, Varangian Guards marched in and formed lines on front of the banners. Then, a lean, black armored warrior entered. He seemed to have come straight from a battlefield. His armor still showed the darkening red stains of blood that wasn’t his own. Right behind him, to his left and right, marched his Tarquinian female champion, carrying the large banner of Erin itself over her shoulder, and a man the ambassador immediately recognized as Talisin the Cunning. More people followed in their wake at a little distance: men, women, young and old, warriors, nobles and patricians, and even a few very nasty looking dwarf warriors.
“The Black Prince,” Sverig stammered.
“He’s been called that way, yes,” Sigismund said casually, as he stood next to the ambassador. “But I think he prefers lord Falco.”
Sverig’s goblet slipped from his hand and clattered on the floor. Falco walked directly towards him through the center of the room. His retinue spread out through the hall, except for Miranda and Talisin, who followed him. Sigismund made a little bow and said with a big grin:
“Welcome to Ronjar, my jarl.”
Falco took off his helmet, held it under his arm and grabbed Sigismund by the shoulder.
“Thank you, uncle Sigismund,” he smiled. Then he turned to the ambassador, who was still trying to recover from the shock of Falco’s sudden appearance. “Ambassador! Greetings. You have spilled your drink! What brings you to lord Ronvald’s city?”
“I … I … Greetings, my lord. Forgive me for my rudeness. You took me somewhat by surprise,” the ambassador quickly said, still glancing at the banners and the weapons and the warriors in the hall. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”
“I gathered as much,” Falco replied. He walked towards Sigismund’s throne, stroked the armrest for a moment, but then decided not to take a seat and turned back to the ambassador. “But you haven’t answered my question. What business does Hendeby have to discuss with one of my lords?”
“Oh … Ehm … matters of … ehm … It’s just a visit to … discuss the safety of Hendeby’s frontiers. Jarl Rudolf is concerned with the war …”
“Yes, I hear he wants to ‘protect’ my lands from the evil invaders.”
“Well … it’s … all in good faith … He is worried about your people … as well …”
“And that is very much appreciated,” Falco smiled. Sverig thought the young jarl looked like a cat ready to strike. It didn’t exactly make him feel more comfortable. “It’s getting a bit stuffy in here. Why don’t we catch a bit of fresh air?” Falco put his arm around the ambassador’s shoulder and guided him to another large double door behind Sigismund's throne that led to a balcony. From there, they had an excellent view on the river and the still smoking, partly incinerated enemy camp that lay on the other shore. Sverig could see bodies lying everywhere, while thousands of men had been herded together in a field, guarded by hundreds of knights and foot soldiers. He shivered and once again swallowed to get rid of a lump in his throat. His mouth felt very dry and he really regretted dropping his goblet. He could have used a good drink right about now.
“Thousands of them,” Falco said, nodding towards the prisoners. And I have about fifteen thousand more at the border of Sorenson’s Domain. Quite a burden to have to feed the entire army of another realm, but what else can you do?”
“Wh … What else indeed?”
“I’m going to lead my army north, to deal with that bastard Argyle once and for all. Unless, of course, I am forced to stay here to deal with another threat first. That, ambassador, would really … really … irritate me. But then, what enemy could possibly keep me here?” he said, giving Sverig once again that same cat like smile that sent shivers down his spine. “Lord Sverig, you are welcome to stay for dinner, but after that, I would like you to inform my good friend jarl Rudolf that I appreciate his offer to ‘protect’ my people, but as you can see for yourself, no protection is needed. We’ve got everything firmly under control.”
“Of course, my lord. I will leave as soon as possible to bring him the news of your glorious victories,” the ambassador hastily agreed.
“Yes … you do that. Don’t forget to give Rudolf my most sincere regards. O, and ask him to remind lord Falkhorst to write me one of these days. I haven’t heard of him in a long time and I kind of miss him.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Excellent. Uncle Sigismund, please arrange for an escort for the ambassador, so he can leave right after … dinner …”
“I thank you for your hospitality, lord Falco,” the ambassador said, slightly groveling. But Falco’s attention was drawn by something else. A small group was approaching the improvised new bridge. His soldiers flocked together to see them. So did the citizens of Ronjar, once the group was over the bridge and had passed the gates. Falco squinted his eyes in growing surprise and leaned over the railing of the balcony.
“What, by Fenrir’s Fangs, does that wolf girl think she’s doing!?” he snapped.