Chapter 5
by Technomad
As it happened, I never did get to see the great tournament in honour of the new Hand of the King. Unconscionably early one morning, I found myself being routed out of bed by one of our locally-hired servants. "Terribly sorry to disturb you, Ser Harry, but Ser Richard wants to see you."
Had I been alone, I'd have been tempted to give the servant a sound thrashing for wakening a gentleman, or at least damned his impudence. Along with the rest of the Embassy staff, and our Marine officers, I'd been at a banquet with King Robert the night before, and keeping up with His sodden Majesty had been about all I could do. That man could have drunk a Scotch regiment under the table and never noticed it.
By the time we were finally released back to our embassy, all of us were reeling, men and women alike. Unlike our prudish countrywomen, women in Westeros could and did drink openly, and not just wine…strongwine(1) had been flowing like water, and many of our womenfolk had partaken more freely than had been wise. Beside me, Elspeth was utterly dead to the world, and while I still wanted to strangle whichever idiot had thought sending for me right then was a good idea, it occurred to me that getting well out of Elspeth's presence before she woke up to discover the joys of a good hangover was an excellent idea.
Shortly thereafter, bathed, dressed, shaven and at least able to convincingly simulate being human, I was knocking at Dick Burton's door. Upon being invited in, I noticed that he, too, looked much the worse for wear. Not waiting for an invitation, I planted my arse in a chair, and for a few minutes, we suffered together in silence.
"Flash," he finally croaked, "I didn't call on you just to drag you out of your sleep. We've a crisis on hand, and need to deal with it, toute-suite."
Right then, the only crisis that interested me was whether I could make it to the garderobe before my guts rebelled, but I forced myself to nod, despite the fact that doing so made my head feel like it was about to fall off and roll around the floor. "What's happened?" I mumbled. I hoped it was something I could deal with after I got some more sleep.
"We got word just now that David Livingstone's in trouble. He was preaching up in Fairmarket, and some septons took offence at his preaching. They got the local authorities to throw him into gaol, and there he sits. We've got to get him back out. British prestige can't survive allowing things like this to pass."
At that particular moment, British prestige, particularly in the person of David Livingstone, could go hang itself with my compliments, and I'd have been delighted to tie the noose myself. My mouth tasted like the bottom of Satan's birdcage, and I had a headache that made me long for death. Dick looked at me sympathetically.
"I'll give you the rest of the day to get yourself back in one piece, Harry, but we must have him back as quickly as possible. Her Majesty thinks the world of the fool, and would not be pleased at all if she found we'd left him in the hands of the local authorities."
And that, of course, was that. Our sovereign lady was a pious woman, and would not suffer a "man of God" to have to sit in a heathen's gaol cell. Nothing for it but that old Flashy had to go out, hangover or no, and pull Livingstone's hot chestnuts out of the fire he'd apparently thrown them into.
When Elspeth found out that I was leaving, she merely shook her head and muttered: "Have a nice trip, my jo," before turning an unbecoming shade of green and bolting for the jakes with her hand over her mouth. At the banquet, she had unwisely told King Robert about Scotch drinking habits, and he had challenged her to back her words with deeds. To give my lovely woodentop her due, she had done Scotland very proud, staying conscious nearly as long as the King did. Before he slid out of his chair, signalling the end of the banquet, King Robert planted a smacking kiss on her cheek and said that if all Scotchwomen were like her, he wanted to pay Scotland a visit.
When I trotted out of the gate of Kings Landing, with an escort of royal soldiers to guide me,(2) I was hoping that King Robert had been too drunk to remember all that had happened the night before. I knew Elspeth, and while I'd never caught her in flagrante delicto, I was quite sure she'd not hesitate if King Robert crooked a finger at her. And while Queen Cersei didn't seem to have much time for her husband, she might just take action if the King and Elspeth became an item, which would complicate our lives enormously in many ways.
I'd not been outside of Kings Landing since we arrived, being taken up with getting the embassy up and running, as well as the capital city's social whirl. I looked around myself, taking note of everything; Dick would be questioning me closely when I returned.
Overall, what I saw reminded me of England. I felt a moment's twinge of homesickness. Rolling hills dotted with patches of forest, with contented-looking peasants bringing in a harvest; I could almost have been back in Rutland. The animals and people looked well-fed, and the houses, while old-fashioned, were sturdily built. I remembered that seasons lasted for years in Westeros, instead of mere months as they do with us, and wondered how much food could be stored up against a winter that could last for several years.
The ride to Fairmarket wasn't difficult, and the inns we found to stay in were all cosy and featured good drink and food, so I enjoyed the trip. We rode on into Fairmarket and I found the local magnate, a minor knight named Ser Aemon Rivers. From his last name, I knew that he, or some ancestor of his, had been born on the wrong side of the blankets,(3) but that was neither here nor there to me. God knows, I've probably sired enough sprogs outside of lawful matrimony in my time; the only one I've ever met for sure turned up as, of all things, a Sioux warrior who saved my life at Greasy Grass.
I presented my credentials, and explained the situation. Ser Aemon was very interested; other than David Livingstone, I was the first Briton he'd ever met. "You'll have to stay with me, Ser Harry, if that's all right. I'll want to hear all about your homeland." Since his manor house looked very pleasant, I was agreeable.
Ser Aemon turned out to be a very reasonable chap, as well as a jolly host. "Of course, I'll release Mister Livingstone," he said. "I locked him up partly for his own safety; some of the septons we have are a trifle intolerant of other faiths, I fear." I nodded, my attention being taken up by a fetching woman seated at the same table as we were. Discreet inquiry uncovered some interesting things about her; her name was Amerei Pate,(4) the wife of one of the local "hedge knights," but her byename was "Gatehouse Amerei," because she raised her gates for anybody who happened by.
Now, this was interesting! I found out that Ser Pate was not close by, having been summoned to Riverrun, the castle of the Tully clan, who claimed overlordship of the river valley. Amerei was looking back at me, and from what I saw, the signals were clear. I knew I'd have to stay on there a few days, just to make sure that all was well and that dear David was safely on his way.
Ser Aemon was glad to hear that I wanted to stay on. As I've said, he was quite curious about Britain, and from what he said, he'd have been glad to go there. For a chance at Amerei, I was happy to spin endless tales of life in Britain and its manifold wonders.
Once Livingstone was at liberty, I urged him to head back to Kings Landing as fast as his horse could carry him. "I barely managed to beg your life from Ser Aemon. He's a devout follower of the Seven Gods, and he was baying for your blood. Ride hard for Kings Landing, and for the love of the Lord, keep your mouth shut!" Since he was wearing local clothes, there was no reason for anybody to pay him any particular mind unless his mad urge to proselytise got the best of him. I detailed half of my guards to go along with him, ostensibly for his protection, but in actuality to keep him under control.
Once I'd seen Livingstone off on the high road to Kings Landing, I strolled back to Ser Aemon's manor, where I anticipated a pleasant few days' stay. I was not disappointed; for all her weak chin, Amerei was well titted-out and quite skilled in the arts of love, with an appetite for Adam's arsenal that never faltered. After a steady diet of one woman, even though that woman was Elspeth, I was glad of a change, and responded eagerly.
However, out of bed, her company grew stale rather quickly; she was stupid enough to make my loving Elspeth look like a proper genius, and much too loose-mouthed about her former conquests for my taste. I'd no intention of featuring in her bedroom boastings to her next fancy-man, and in any case, the tournament was coming up and I wanted to be there to keep an eye on my loving Elspeth. On the morning of the third day I was there, I packed my traps, made my farewells to Ser Aemon and his lady wife, and rode for Kings Landing with the remainder of my escort detail.
Bouncing about in bed with an enthusiastic partner always puts me in a good mood, so I was feeling rather chipper as we rode along. I should have known…that feeling always provokes the Fates to find the nearest steaming pile of trouble to throw Flashy into, for the sport of seeing me struggling free.
As evening came on, my escort and I came to an inn at a crossroads, which we'd stayed at on the way North. Nothing loath, I dismounted and let the stable-boys take care of my steed before walking on in and obtaining the innkeeper's best two rooms. It was a good thing we did, because shortly thereafter, another party came up, only to be told that the inn was all but full.
"I don't need much room," said the leader of the party. I thought I recognised that voice, and took a look over at its owner. Sure enough, it was Tyrion Lannister, brother-in-law to the King and son of the richest lord in the whole Seven Kingdoms. I thought I scented an opportunity.
"My lord?" I called over to him. "I'd be honoured if you would share my quarters for the night, and tomorrow, we can ride for Kings Landing together. I'd be interested in what you have to say of the North. I've never been there, myself, but part of my mission is to gather information for my queen." Which was toadying, a bit, if you like, but what little contact I'd had with Lord Tyrion had given me the impression that he'd be a good sort to cultivate.
Tyrion smiled, a rather frightening sight. "Ser Harry Flashman, I believe? I'd be delighted to accept your kind offer!" He came over and sat down beside me, as the innkeeper began racking her brains about where to put his men. For an important noble, he didn't travel in much state, but even so, the inn was just about full.
The dwarf lord turned out to be a fountain of information about the North; he'd been as far as the Wall, and had stood at the top of it looking north into the wild lands beyond. Some of what he said was hard to believe, such as that the Wall was all of 700 feet tall.(5) However, I filed everything he said away in my mind, to be written down later for our files at the embassy. I liked this soft assignment, and wanted to keep it; showing willing when work was to do was one way to make that happen. Dick Burton had a keen eye for shirkers and I'd no intention of incurring his displeasure.
We were so busy talking, we didn't notice that some newcomers had come in. We noticed them, though, when a woman's shout rang through the rumble of talk in the common room: "Arrest that man! He tried to murder my son!" All of a sudden, we were surrounded by armed men, all of them pointing swords at us.
Running was out of the question; I'd have been skewered on the instant. And, like a fool, I'd left my Baby Dragoon in my room. Bluffing would have to do. Standing to my full height, I roared: "Damn your impudence! I am Ser Harry Flashman, an emissary of her gracious majesty Queen Victoria of Great Britain, and this is Lord Tyrion Lannister, brother-in-law to the King! How dare you treat us as common felons?"
It's that regimental manner that throws them aback, I've found. The men surrounding us were suddenly unsure of what they were doing. The woman who'd started it all came forward. She was red-headed and not at all bad-looking; if things had been different, I'd have been willing enough to chat her up and see if she was interested in a touch of Harry in the night. However, I do bar women who're trying to have me arrested, particularly for a crime I never even dreamed of committing.
"Oh, you're an emissary of the British?" she purred mockingly. "Well, emissary, I am Lady Catelyn Tully Stark, the Lady of Winterfell, wife to the Hand of the King, and daughter to Lord Hoster Tully, ruler of these lands, and these men all owe allegiance to my natal House! If you wish to shield this murderer, this betrayer of hospitality, then you may share his fate, emissary or no emissary! Seize them! Seize them both, the dwarf and the Englishman!"
And that was that. We were unceremoniously bundled out of the inn, over the protests of the innkeep, who didn't want the great ones carrying on their quarrels in her inn. I would have joined my voice to hers, promising those thrice-damned fools the wealth of Golconda for letting me go, but there was a blade at my throat and its wielder seemed very eager to slit my weazand for me. As we were loaded on horses, Lady Catelyn ordered: "We ride for Winterfell! They shall answer for their crimes there!" And off we galloped on the north road, just the direction I did not want to go. My only hope was that my men had heard the uproar and had the wit to ride hard for Kings Landing. King Robert wasn't the person I'd have chosen to confide my safety to, but he'd have to do something about his own brother-in-law and an important foreign dignitary being kidnapped.
Wouldn't he? As we rode away, I cursed my doubts.
[1] Strongwine was a drink made by taking hard cider or wine, freezing it and throwing away the ice, then re-freezing it, until it would no longer freeze. In strength, it ranged to just a bit stronger than wine or cider on up to nearly as strong as distilled liquor.
[2] The Royal Marines are not trained in equitation, and would not have been suitable for this journey.
[3] In the Seven Kingdoms, bastards are always given a surname based on where they were born. In the Riverlands, they are "Rivers," while in the North, they are all "Snow," on the Iron Islands, "Pyke," and so on. Since these are hereditary in the same fashion as other surnames, bearing that particular surname does not mean that the bearer is illegitimate.
[4] "Gatehouse Amerei" Frey, the daughter of Merrett "Muttonhead" Frey and granddaughter of Lord Walder Frey of the Twins. Long before she met Flashman, she was a byeword for unchastity.
[5] While Flashman found it hard to believe, the Wall at the northern edge of the Seven Kingdoms really was all of 700 feet tall. How it was built is a mystery; the building is shrouded in legend and myth.
