Urgus the Scribe

URGUS THE SCRIBE

Robert David Boyle

Smashwords Edition

Copyright Robert David Boyle, 2011

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For Catherine and Rebecca

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Epilogue

Author’s Note

Image Credits

Chapter One

The battle was over and we, the Gatherers, had survived.

A portentous moment in our history. The people of the Great Sea and of the Countryside had united against us, the lawful agents of the City.

Over the years there had been many a skirmish between the Gatherers’ column and the Seapeople. The cattle and the carts laden with goods paid in taxes were an irresistible attraction to those marauders. But now the Sorgons, the hitherto peaceful, industrious folk of the Countryside had risen to bear their tools of field and forest in revolt against the City.

I had witnessed it all and must now, as was my duty, write out a complete record of what had occurred.

There was much to think upon.

But not here, atop this cart. I had made good use of it as a vantage point to observe the battle. Hmm…Cruge, our vice-chieftain, a wrathful man with little respect for my position, appeared to be making his way over here. Well, well — time to descend. The thought had struck me it would be a kindness to go among our wounded lads and tell them of the happy conclusion of the battle. No doubt they were anxious; so, slipping from my eyrie I hastened into the mass of carts. They had been tightly drawn together and I was obliged to crawl under a good many to get to the innermost ones. I was sure the wounded would have been placed there, as far from the tumult of battle as possible.

I had begun to think of a few jokes with which to hearten the lads — recalled from my large store of quips, stories and songs — when I came to the second last row of carts. Let's start at the back, methought, so I skipped over some harness and…

I bumped into somebody.

In an instant, I took in the plumed helm, the round shield and broadsword, of a noble of the Seapeople. Evidently he had slipped around our defence to do what mischief he could at our unprotected rear.

He quickly recovered from the surprise of our meeting and swung a great scything blow at my head with his broadsword. I ducked — I am not so great in stature as some, but I am wonderfully agile and quick in reflex — and the sword bit deeply into the wooden side of the cart behind me. It took him a moment to wrench it free, which allowed me to slip around him and try to escape.

This was not an easy matter. The clutter of carts prohibited a quick dash away and I was obliged to weave and wriggle over and under all manner of obstacles while that broadsword swished close to my heels and tail.

I began to regret the generous impulse that had led me on my errand of good cheer, to a place so far from the support of my comrades. I decided, therefore, that my best course would be to lead my assailant away from the quiet rear out to where he might be seen and apprehended. I pursued this strategy vigorously and also began to call out, the better to attract attention.

Great heavens! That last stroke nearly finished me. I felt the air waft through the slash in my trousers. Who knew what reserve of strength and endurance now enabled me to leap over a great pile of baggage that had momentarily stopped me, and into a small, open area formed within a circle of carts.

Now with room at last I put my head down and ran. When I was nearly across I looked back and saw that the noble had also climbed over into the enclosure. I gave another shout, turned and ran crash into the arms of my old friend, Tugg.

That stalwart fellow! And he had a squad of Gatherers with him.

By this, the noble's own rush had brought him to the centre of the enclosure. At a word from Tugg the Gatherers quickly formed a circle about my erstwhile pursuer, who now stood like a great bear at bay.

‘Now then, Urgus, caught one of them infiltrators, eh?’ said Tugg conversationally, but all the while with his eyes on the noble. ‘Thought we’d accounted for all of them but I fancied we must have missed one when I heard your caterwauling.’

‘Yes, friend Tugg, I was leading him towards you good fellows.’

‘Well done,’ he nodded. He raised his throwing axe and called the names of four of his squad who did likewise, each spaced around the circle so that the noble could protect himself against two, at most, of the missiles. It would be a quick, merciful death.

The noble — I noticed for the first time that he was quite a young fellow — looked about him and realised the manner of his end. He paused and a sad resignation crossed his features, but then he resolutely drew himself up, and spoke:

‘I ask you as men and fellow warriors to put aside your axes and come at me, but with your swords. Better to fall by your swords than your accursed axes. Come!’

Tugg gave him a wry look and a good, long chuckle went around the other Gatherers. It incensed the noble.

‘You must!’ he said, with a small catch in his youthful voice.

‘Why in blazes should we?’ said Tugg reasonably. ‘We've been fighting all afternoon.’

‘I have the right to die with honour. I am Marcellum, a noble of the Seapeople. I command a ship —’

‘A pity you ventured upon land this day, friend Marcellum,’ replied Tugg. ‘Ready lads?’

‘Oh, you curs!’ burst out the noble. Tears of rage began to stream down his cheeks. ‘Does honour mean nothing to you — you paid dogs of the City?’ He looked about him, panting with emotion, but there was no response from those dour fellows.

There was a sudden movement behind me and a harsh, commanding voice said:

‘Put down your axes!’

Without ceremony or warning I was pushed to one side. A huge form stepped past me into the enclosure.

‘I am Hector, Chieftain of the Gatherers. Is that honour enough for you?’

The noble regarded my lord for a surprised moment then gave him a grave bow. ‘Our prime lord, Hiram-Sin, has often spoken of you. My name is Marcellum. I pray to the gods of the wind and sea that I may be a worthy adversary. Are you ready, sir?’

Hector made no reply, but drew his cleaver-sword and adjusted his shield. He nodded his readiness to the noble and the two moved warily towards each other.

Tugg looked at the other Gatherers and shrugged his shoulders. They proceeded to relax, still slightly bemused, yet quite happy to be entertained by the duel.

Not me! I thought it ridiculous that Hector should make such an effort to satisfy the noble's craving for honour. Did that gilded, impudent fellow bother about my honour when he chased me erewhile? Why should our chieftain put himself at risk? I had already excused Hector's earlier roughness with me — clearly he had not seen that it was his scribe whom he had so rudely shoved. No, it was out of unaffected loyalty that I fumed. And, though I had no doubt as to who was the greater warrior of the two, I felt a twinge of anxiety for my lord. After all, he had been in the very thick of the desperate closing stages of the battle and surely must have been fatigued — unlike his fresh adversary, who had been skulking about behind the carts.

Hector should have let Tugg and the lads cut him down.

But too late for that, for with a shout the young noble sprang at Hector and the duel began.

A memorable clash. The opponents were fairly matched. Both enormously strong, and while the noble was fresh and able to deliver a barrage of mighty blows, his wild enthusiasm was matched by Hector's guile and experience. For a while neither achieved a clear superiority.

Then the noble struck a telling blow. With prodigious force, he made a ferocious sideways slash with his broadsword that sheared a great piece from Hector's shield, just failing to wound the arm carrying it, though the sleeve of his brigandine was sliced through.

Hector leaped back to avoid the next blow, casting aside the useless shield as he did so, and drew out his dagger with the hand that had borne it.

The struggle had swung to the advantage of the noble, for though his shield had been cut and dented by Hector's cleaver-sword it remained intact, while my lord had to rely on his dagger to block the noble's strokes.

I glanced at Tugg and the others. Their relaxation had changed to uneasiness as they watched our chieftain call upon every skill to defend against the noble's onslaught; and all the while he was forced back.

The duelists exchanged another series of thrusts and parries which for a moment left each slightly off-balance. As I watched the noble's face I was certain the young man sensed that victory was his as he would be the quicker to recover. He made a wide, back-handed slash which Hector only managed to avoid by bending back and away while thrusting out the point of his cleaver-sword. But the noble then struck out with his shield which deflected the thrust with such force the cleaver-sword was knocked from Hector's hand.

I gasped. Surely this was the end for my lord.

Ah, no. True, at that instant my lord was nearly defenceless and still unbalanced; but the two blows of the noble had momentarily compelled the young man's sword and shield away from his body. A mortal mistake! For, like a great cat, Hector flexed upright and drawing upon all that was left of his strength lunged forward with his dagger. Marcellum brought up his sword to strike but Hector slipped inside the arc of the stroke and plunged his dagger through the noble's gloriously decorated brigandine deep into his chest.

For a moment they stood together. The noble's broadsword slipped slowly from his grip and dropped with a thud into the dust. He quivered all over and then became still, save for the odd gruesome twitch of one or other of his limbs. He looked at Hector through dimming eyes.

‘Tell the Seapeople how I died.’

He spoke with calm satisfaction and then fell to the ground.

Hector picked up the noble's sword and then ordered a couple of the Gatherers to put the body with the rest of the dead. He watched as they took it away.

‘Marcellum, he said his name was?’ he asked aloud.

‘Yes, that was his name, my lord,’ I replied.

Saying nothing more he retrieved his own weapon, sheathed it, and, still bearing the noble's broadsword walked off.

Chapter Two

I was about to follow him but Tugg stopped me.

‘Here Urgus! I'd like a word with you.’ He waved a hand dismissively at Hector's departure. ‘Don't go bothering and fussing after him, leave him be.’ He scratched the back of his head in puzzlement. ‘Isn't he the oddest fellow you ever met? Fancy wasting his strength on that silly beggar of a noble.’

He thought a while then grunted.

‘Ah well,’ he said, placing his arm around my shoulder and thereby encouraging me to walk to a secluded spot some distance from the others. ‘Yes,’ he continued, after he had looked about to ensure we were alone, ‘a nice quiet talk with you, that's what I wanted. Tell me, did you manage to observe my actions in that bit of a skirmish this afternoon?’ He nodded his head in the direction of the battlefield.

Well, I hadn't actually. But I saw no harm in telling him I had, and while I would not in his place, I said, make a challenge for the chieftainship just yet — I reminded him of Hector's recent performance — he was doubtless a Gatherer of remarkable qualities, someone to be watched, a man, in short, marked for higher things. He was hugely pleased.

‘Thank you, lad, thank you.’ He shook his head wonderingly. ‘There's no denying you're a devil with words.’ He chuckled and then became serious. Indeed, did I detect a certain embarrassment? After another glance about him, he went on, ‘And it's about your particular talent with fine words that I wanted to talk to you. I want your help, friend Urgus.’

‘Whatever I can do, friend Tugg,’ I readily replied, although I had begun to feel a touch uneasy. I had a notion Tugg would not be a man slow to call in his debts. Nor was I wrong.

‘Urgus, I am going to tell you something in confidence. And I am telling it to you as the one who saved your life.’ He looked at me meaningfully.

‘Any confidences which you feel disposed to entrust to me, friend Tugg, I shall treat with complete respect and absolute secrecy.’

He regarded me closely a moment, then, reassured by my open, trustworthy face, he took a deep breath and announced, with all importance:

‘Urgus, I am in love.’

This I had not expected.

‘I am in love with a woman in Gatherers Camp, friend Urgus, who has quenched my desires for any other.’

He will kill you if you laugh.

‘Not a night's peace I've had this mission for thinking of her, dreaming of her.’ A little, wondering frown came over his face. ‘I can't recall having dreams before.’

Oh, great, great heavens — Tugg! I looked at him. Who would have suspected the oaf to have such feelings? Ah, wait, Urgus, wait, old lad — for who, looking at you, would have guessed that you also harboured a burning passion deep in your heart? Ah-ha! Yes, indeed, the world has long been fooled by your cool exterior, you old rip. So go gently with poor Tugg.

‘Those lovely, enormous breasts,’ he was mooning on, ‘those thighs —’

Thighs! I was skewered by a sudden, searing anxiety. Oh, no — oh, please Fate…

‘Who —’ I said, struggling to be calm — ‘who is the woman?’

‘You'll not breath a word, not a whisper? You promise?’

‘I promise.’

‘Fethun. Her name is Fethun.’

Oh relief! Thank you, Fate.

But Tugg was looking at me strangely.

‘I don't know her, friend Tugg,’ I said heartily, ‘but I'm sure she is a fine woman and a lucky one to have you.’

‘You don't know her? Fethun?’ he asked in disbelief.

‘No, can't recall a Fethun.’ I really couldn't. ‘Sorry —’

‘Huh!’ he snorted, offended, it seemed, that I was ignorant of such a glorious creature. But he calmed somewhat and gave my shoulder a pat. ‘She used to be coupled with Sunge,’ he explained patiently.

‘Sunge?’

‘Yes.’

‘I haven't seen him about lately.’

‘It would have been odd if you had — he got himself killed last mission.’

‘Oh, I hadn't heard.’

‘No, well, you wouldn't, we kept it quiet. But I'll tell you all about that later,’ he continued in answer to my puzzled look. There was a touch of exasperation in his voice. ‘I want to talk about Fethun and me now.’

‘Quite so. Does she know of your feelings towards her?’

‘Well I made them plain enough, after I told her Sunge wouldn’t be coming back.’

‘Hmm, perhaps you should have waited.’

‘Oh, no! There were a few other fellows hanging about. She's very attractive…desirable.’ He gave me a knowing, man-to-man look. ‘You understand…’

‘I do indeed. So, what does she think of you?’

‘Oh, she fancies me well enough,’ he replied airily, ‘but there is the problem of the others.’

He told me the names of the four or five unattached Gatherers who were his rivals.

‘She told me that, try as she might, she could not choose between us. She liked us, she said, but there was not one lad who stood above the rest.’

I saw her point. I knew them all.

‘Well, Urgus, when I heard that, I have to admit I lost control of myself. I'll show you who stands above the rest, my girl, I said, and I grabbed her.’ He paused as a look of reverence came over him. ‘Ah, there’s a woman for you,’ he continued in gentle reflection. ‘Thought I’d caught a good hold of her, but she pushed me off and before I could get another grip on, she’d picked up a bloody great mackerel and swung it at the side of my head.’

A light dawned on me.

‘Laid me out flat.’

‘I do know her!’ I cried. How could I have forgotten? ‘Fethun! Fethun the fish-woman!’

‘That's her, that's the one. Course you would remember. Oh, Urgus, if you could have seen her standing over me, fish still in her hand…’

He groaned and closed his eyes at the tender memory.

Fethun, I thought. Ah, yes, I recalled her now, with dreadful clarity. I looked at him again. Yes, they would make a good couple. But I was troubled.

‘What has all this got to do with me?’ I asked.

Tugg came out of his ecstasy and beamed down at me.

‘It came to me in a flash, mate. She said she was looking for the fellow who stood out, who was different from the others, right?’

I agreed.

‘Do you think any of those other fellows could make a poem?’

‘A poem!’

‘Yes.’

I told him I did not think it likely.

‘Nor I, me lad. So what will she think when I present her with one on our return tomorrow? Heh? I'll tell you — she will think she has found her man.’

‘Tugg,’ I said, groping about me for support, ‘Tugg, you haven't composed a poem?’

‘Me? Course I haven't! No, lad, you’re going to do it for me.’

‘What!’

‘Yes. Here —’ he put his hand inside his brigandine and drew out a few sheets of crumpled, but expensive looking paper — ‘write it down on this nice paper — never mind how I got it.’

I was dumbfounded. That my talents as the only literate man among the Gatherers should be so used! Yet it was the sheer absurdity of the idea that initially threw me.

‘But you can't write!’

‘Neither can she read.’

‘But, well —’ I spluttered — ‘she’ll know someone else must have done it.’

‘Course she’ll know that another had to write it down for me — I'll tell her it was you. Listen, listen to me,’ he went on, quelling my attempted interruption, ‘I'll say I composed this lovely poem about you, sweet Fethun, I'll say, and that educated fellow Urgus was so taken with it when I told it to him, he begged me to allow him to write it down so it wouldn’t be lost forever. And here it is, I'll say, with a few pretty compliments — you’d better help me with some of them as well.’

That a man of letters should endure this.

‘Tugg, good friend Tugg,’ I began.

‘Keep it short, as I’ll have to learn it by heart.’

Come Urgus! You must make a stand. This was monstrous. It was no less than an assault on the essential, the pure part of your being.

‘Tugg,’ I tried again, ‘I — I wish you every success — you know as much! She — she is a fine, strong woman, and, well…as you must be aware, I will be very busy the next few days, what with my report for the chieftain. And…oh…’ I took a deep breath and shut my eyes. ‘I cannot do it, Tugg.’

There was silence.

After a while I opened one eye and saw Tugg smiling at me.

‘You won't do it?’ he asked gently.

‘I'm sorry.’

‘Oh, I understand, if you’re busy.’

‘Perhaps you could give her a present…some baubles?’

‘No, lad, I had me heart set on a poem.’

He sighed and gave my shoulder another little pat.

‘Ah, well,' he continued, becoming serious and brisk. ‘I'll be off now — must have a word with Cruge.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘Mmm. Time I gave my report on that bad business of his wine supply being ransacked. Oh, that Cruge,’ he chuckled, ‘I believe he would roast and eat the persons that pillaged his precious wine. The pity is —’ he gave me another pat — ‘I’ve only one name to give him. Still, must be done, I suppose.’

I gulped. This was bad. How had he known? We had all sworn to secrecy. Ha! What did an oath mean to those drunkards? Oh, dear.

‘But, but Tugg…’

Oh, I hated the pleading note in my voice I was obliged to affect, however, for the moment I couldn’t think of another stratagem.

‘Tugg, this is so unfair, there were lots of others!’

‘I know it, lad, I know it, but blast me if I can think of their names,’ he said regretfully. Then he gave me a sad, lingering look. ‘When I think of all the malice inside that vengeful fellow Cruge, and all to come down on just one, poor head. Cruel…cruel…’

There was a pause.

‘Fethun is not an easy name to rhyme,’ I said hesitantly.

‘Nonsense! Clever lad like you you must know heaps of words to fit.’

‘But what could I write about?’

‘I don't know!’ he replied, amazed at the question. ‘But mention her a lot in it. You know, liken her to…to a bird! — or something. Something nice.’

I thought of Fethun. A bird? No…not a bird.

‘You’ll do it, me lad?’

‘You won't tell Cruge?’

‘Tell on one of me mates? Never!’

I was beaten. I made a little gesture of assent and Tugg gave me a hearty, thumping hug which I found most disagreeable. I felt exhausted. I was also disturbed by another thought; it had been at the back of my mind, waiting, I suppose, until these other matters had been more or less sorted out.

‘Tugg, what happened to Sunge?’

He gave a chuckle.

‘I didn't kill him, Urgus, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘Oh, no —’

‘It so happened,’ he went on reflectively, ‘that on a particular night last mission, after we’d been through a few Sorgon villages that day to collect their taxes, old Sunge slipped back to pick up a few extra treats. But he met with a bit of bad luck. Some Sorgons caught him at it. Made a nasty mess of him with their axes.’

‘Well, Hector would have done it for them had he known,’ I said. ‘He has always been most particular that we only take the taxes due, anything more for ourselves we have to pay for.’

‘He’s a hard man, is our chieftain.’

‘Yes, he is firm,’ I agreed. And particularly in this matter, I thought to myself; and though I was not for a moment proffering a criticism of my lord, the fact was it was not always convenient to part with our wages to buy good wine and eatables from those stingy Sorgons. Yet our own hard rations became so dreary on the long marches…I collected myself; and, for something to say, ventured:

‘He was a fool, Sunge, I mean, to go back alone.’

‘He was not alone, Urgus,’ Tugg said quietly.

‘Ah…’

There was another of those uncomfortable silences which seemed to punctuate our conversation. I felt decidedly uneasy, but a far-away look had come over Tugg.

‘I recall it so clearly,’ he said. ‘Old Sunge, laden down he was — smoked meat and fish, wine, and, would you believe it? A goat! A blasted, live goat, tethered to his belt. Silly beggar. What did Fethun see in him? You’ll have to let it go! I told him. We could hear the Sorgons were after us and he’d dropped back — the goat was being most troublesome. Let it go or they’ll be onto you, I yelled back, cut it loose, you fool! But he didn't, and they got him. Ah, well, gave the rest of us time to clear out.’

Although I remained outwardly calm, I was astounded. I had no idea this sort of thing was still going on. Why, I would have sworn Hector had put a stop to it years ago, none too gently, either. ‘The rest of us,’ Tugg said. How many were involved? It was a dangerous subject and I should not have pursued it, but I was truly curious.

‘Does the chieftain know about this? Surely, if it reached him —’

‘Urgus, Urgus!’ said Tugg, looking at me as though I’d been dreadfully tactless. ‘I put it to you, me lad, for someone to whisper this in the ears of the chieftain, someone would have to break a confidence with his true friends — his mates. Now, how would he sleep in peace afterwards, knowing he’d done such a terrible thing?’

Tugg had drawn his dagger and as he spoke he flicked it from one hand to the other, catching it on the tip. He was extraordinarily dexterous at this.

‘How indeed?’ I got out at last.

‘And all over a few extra little treats lifted from the bloody Sorgons!’

‘They’re very miserly. Noted for it.’

He smiled, nodded and with a friendly ‘Good lad’ sheathed his dagger. ‘Enough of all that, now,’ he went on, ‘and back to pleasant things. You wouldn’t have heard, being busy with that noble, but Hector has ordered us to camp here for the night. So you can make a start on that poem as soon as you please.’

With a last pat on my shoulder — it was beginning to ache — he left me.

Chapter Three

‘Krag! Signal the noon-day halt!’

Krag gave a series of blasts, when one would have done, and the column halted. But instead of the usual alacrity of the lads to take their rest and prepare a meal at the signal, there was now a reluctance, an exasperation at being made to stop. I felt it, too. Only an hour or so’s marching left to bring us to the walls of the City, so why bother with the full noon rest? A few swigs for the thirst, a chew on something cold and then let's be on again. Get the march finished with, hand over the baggage train, and then take our ease properly at home, in Gatherers Camp.

But, no, Hector had given the order for the usual noon-day halt. And after doing so, had immediately walked away from the column towards a small grove some distance away on the seaward side of the road. The strip of forest that bordered the road had thinned to a patchy scrub as we neared the City and for the past hour or so we had caught glimpses of the Great Sea as we marched. The grove, containing some remarkably tall conifers, was thus a distinctive feature, a landmark, which heralded the very last leg of our homeward journey. All morning I had thought of it, often peering ahead to get my first sight of those very particular treetops; and knowing our chieftain would halt the column when we had drawn up beside them. We always halted here.

It had been a normal march that morning, after an uneventful night's camp by the battlefield. We had maintained a strong watch all through the night, one half of our strength at battle readiness while the other half slept, but there had been no further attacks. No disturbances at all. And our scouts reported neither sight nor sound of Sorgons or Seapeople along the way this morning. Our enemy had evidently withdrawn after the battle, but whether to regroup or disperse to their villages or ships, I could not say.

I had been mulling over every aspect of yesterday’s dire engagement. There was much to be included in my report to Hector, and I regretted the time wasted last night on the composition of Tugg's poem. Rot him! As I’d feared, Fethun was the very devil of a name to work with. But I got something out at last and then managed to teach it to Tugg. A desperate business that was — I'd have sooner taught one of the mules.

A rather sneaky sort of chortle escaped me. You see — how could I put this? — there were differences, shall I say, ever so slight changes in nuances, meanings and what have you, between the simple poem that even now, I guessed, Tugg was rehearsing to himself, and the little bit of verse I’d actually penned upon those pretty pieces of paper. Oh, dear! Could but those two boneheaded lovebirds read.

My reflections were interrupted by Lieutenant Clegg, who, grumbling and muttering, had walked up from his station in the column to the command section where I stood with Krag…and Cruge. At the start of the day's march I had felt it better to avoid Cruge; we had never been close and of late he had been at pains to find fault with me. But, as it happened, he had been taciturn all morning, sunk in dark thoughts, and had not appeared to notice me. This suited me very well as I was thus able, without annoyance, to take up my proper position with the senior commanders at the head of the column. Now, what was the matter with old Clegg?

‘Must we always stop here, Cruge?’ he asked irritably.

‘As it is our chieftain who gives the command, it appears we must,’ Cruge caustically replied.

‘What does he do in there, away under those trees?’

‘Why ask me?’ Cruge shrugged his heavy shoulders. He clearly did not wish to talk, but Clegg, frowning deeply, remained where he was.

‘Perhaps he communes with his god?’ he hazarded.

‘What!’

‘Well, you know,’ Clegg struggled with his reasoning, ‘at the end of each mission…he goes in there…pays his respects to the god…to commune —’

‘We don't have any gods, you old fool!’