Flashman and the Throne of Swords
Chapter 17
by Technomad
I have to say, for all their frightening reputation, the wildlings treated us well. I've been used worse, and had worse hospitality, at some ducal mansions than I did from the "King Beyond the Wall," one Mance Rayder.
Not that I knew that, at first. As we were marched along, farther and farther from the coast, I was spending my time mentally bitterly cursing the wildlings, John Charity Spring, "King" Stannis and his tame witch, and the fates that had entangled me in the affairs of Westeros. I could have been safe in London, in bed with my lawful brainless beauty, but no, every time that looked like happening, fate, or Queen Vicky, or, I must admit, my own damn foolishness tipped me straight into the nearest pot of mulligatawny.
Beside me, John Charity Spring stumped along, his face a mask. I could see his scar, though, and it was darkening visibly. I sent up a silent prayer to whichever gods watch over us atheists that he would be able to keep that Hell-temper of his in check. We were in a bad situation, far worse than we'd been in at Gezo's court in Dahomey (1), and the last thing we needed was for Spring to pull some shine or other that would have us both killed on the spot.
Toward evening, we came into a clearing, and found ourselves looking at a clutch of tents. The biggest of them was covered with hides, and was apparently the home of Mance Rayder. We were shown in, and I found myself facing my fourth Westerosi ruler.
Mance Rayder was a tall, well-built cove, dressed as his subjects were in coarse linens and deerhides. He raised an eyebrow at seeing us. I rather imagine we were the first Britons he'd laid eyes on. "Who are these men, and why do you bring them to me?" he asked.
One of our escort stepped forward. While he was respectful, he was nowhere near as deferential to Rayder as the Westerosi I had seen were to their kings. "We found these men killing some deer, near the coast. We thought you would like to see them. We've never seen people like them before."
Rayder came forward, looking us over carefully. "Neither have I. Who are you and where do you come from?" There was something about him I couldn't put a finger on. Somehow or other, he was different from the other Free Folk. As Spring and I made ready to kneel, he waved a hand. "No, no need for that. Save it for the kneelers below the Wall. We are the Free Folk. I am Mance Rayder."
"I am Captain John Charity Spring, of the Lady of Shalott, my lord," Spring said. "We are from Britain. We were blown off course by a storm, and landed near here to make repairs. We are low on food, and hoped to get some to top up our supplies." His scar was rather dark, and his eyes were flickering around in a way I didn't like. I hoped he could figure out that the odds against us were overwhelmingly bad. Four of us (him, me, and two sailors) against however-many Free Folk there were about could have only one ending, even with our pistols coming into play. I prayed to whichever god was watching that he'd be able to hold himself in check. I could feel the force coiling in him like a snake ready to strike.
Rayder's eyes focussed on me. "I am Sir Harry Flashman, my lord." Behind me, the sailors knuckled their foreheads and introduced themselves.
Rayder smiled. "Well! I have heard of Britain, but you are the first men from that nation I have seen! Bring food!" he called. "We will eat, and you may tell me all about your homeland." At this, I relaxed slightly. Very few people will kill someone they've shared food with. That's one rule I've found almost everywhere I've traveled. Anybody known to have killed guests in their home is considered the lowest form of life on earth. It's the height of bad form.
We sat down, and were soon tucking into bowls of what seemed to be venison-and-vegetable stew. For all that it was strange, it was filling, and the Free Folk did have drink to go with it. As I've said, I've been used less hospitably and fed worse. Beside me, Spring spooned in his stew with every appearance of enjoyment. Of course, he'd spent enough time at sea to be able to choke almost anything down. And he was always one for good manners, particularly when we were in the power of unpredictable primitive folk.
After we'd eaten, Mance Rayder clapped his hands, and most of the Free Folk left. The ones that left were apparently his inner circle. There wasn't much to distinguish most of them from their followers, except that one ugly cove who was scowling at us from Rayder's side had a shirt festooned with bones. Rayder saw that I was giving the bone-shirted gyascuta the once-over, and smiled rather evilly.
"That's the Lord of Bones, Ser Harry. Folk call him 'Rattleshirt.' He's one of our staunchest warriors." The Lord of Bones gave me a leer that had me quaking inside. As usual when I am frightened, my face turned red, and Rayder misunderstood. "Easy, Ser Harry. We heard about your exploits at the Eyrie. There'll be no need for that here." I nodded, sighing inwardly with relief. The Lord of Bones looked like a tough customer, and not someone I'd willingly tangle with.
Rayder leaned forward. "So. Tell me about your home. We hear things, up here, but I have a hard time believing all that I've heard. You have bang-sticks that will knock down a man or a deer at a distance, do you?"
Spring nodded. "Aye, we do. The powder that powers them is made in our country, and we don't know the secret of how it's made, but we have 'em. Would you be interested in a demonstration?" Once we had shown just what our Whitworths could do, and how hard they could hit and how deadly accurate they were, the Free Folk were agog. After we'd demonstrated our marksmanship on some old worn-out pots and a battered helmet set up as targets, we were led back in and seated by Mance himself. "Would you be interested in trading for items like those?" Spring asked, all innocence.
Rayder looked very interested. "We would. We have furs, and fine woods, and perhaps we can find other things that you would be interested in having. Do you have more powder for the bangsticks?" He hadn't noticed that they wanted percussion caps; we'd kept the locals at a little distance while we loaded. But he could see that they took powder to operate. As I've often had occasion to note, a primitive life does not mean that the one who leads it is a fool, or unobservant.
Spring shook his head. "No, we do not. We've just enough for ourselves. We were not expecting to meet your people, my lord. All we wanted was to supplement our food supplies. My ship, the Lady of Shalott, was caught in a storm and we landed on the coast here to make repairs. We're just about done, and should be able to leave shortly."
Rayder gave Spring a thoughtful look. "You weren't planning a slave raid, or anything like that, were you?"
Spring looked piously shocked. "Me? Never! Slavery's against the law in my own country, as well as in Westeros!" I managed to not laugh at this. Spring had no qualms at all about slavery, or anything else, as far as I knew. He was guilty of slave-trading, murder, kidnapping, and probably everything else down to passing port to the right. But in this company, he did well to keep his true proclivities a deep, dark secret. And I would help out as much as I could. Much as I disliked, distrusted and feared Spring, he was my ticket back to Kings Landing. I'd sooner have had a ticket back to London, but needs must when the devil vomits into my pantaloons, say I.
Spring's acting may not have fooled me, but the Free Folk didn't know him, and were taken in completely, poor gulls. The atmosphere was less tense, and I noticed that some of the women about us were not bad-looking at all. They tended to look rather like Scots or Irish, which made sense given the fact that we were in the northernmost inhabitable part of Westeros. It was said that north of the areas the Free Folk roamed, there were mountains covered in ice and snow year-'round, where one could find giants that rode wooly mammoths. I wasn't sure whether or no to believe these stories. Since I'd been in Westeros, I'd seen enough uncanny things that my skepticism was not as strong as usual. I'd been down in the lower levels of the Red Keep, and been astonished at the sight of the dragons' skulls that were kept down there, a legacy of the last dynasty. If I could have abstracted one of the bigger ones, it'd have been the hit of the year at the Royal Society, and the scholarly coves could have had endless fun figuring out where it belonged in the scheme of things.
I was jerked out of my reverie by Spring poking me in the side. "We're to stay here overnight, Sir Harry. It's got too late to travel." Sure enough, when I looked out the front door of the tent, the stars were out. I didn't fancy our chances of finding our way back to where the Lady of Shalott was anchored. Spring could navigate by the stars of our world, but he had admitted that he was still learning the Westerosi skies, which differ from ours.
Mance Rayder clapped his hands, and some likely-looking wenches, clear-skinned, freckled and tanned, came in. "Ylva, Ygraine, take these guests of ours to the guests' tents. They'll be staying overnight." The Lord of Bones whispered something in Rayder's ear, and Rayder shook his head angrily. From the way that man had been looking at us, I rather thought the accomodations he would have offered us would have been at the bottom of six-foot-deep holes. I wouldn't have trusted myself to sleep around him, but I had no choice.
We were led to tents nearby, and one of the girls showed me into one, while the other took charge of Spring. The sailors had already been put up for the night, it seemed. The tent proved surprisingly comfortable. Of course, folk who live in tents year-'round make them more livable than we do, since we only live in tents when on campaign. She lit a lamp, and I saw a nice, fur-covered bed waiting for me. As I crawled in, I turned to see the girl taking off her tunic, revealing a nice pair of bouncers. All of a sudden, spending the night with the Free Folk didn't seem like such a hardship.
As she crawled in with me, blowing out the light, she said "My name is Ylva. Let us see how much you know, Ser Harry Flashman of England!" Well, you know how it is. A true English gentleman never backs down from a challenge, and never willingly leaves a lady unsatisfied. I pulled her close and began showing her a few of the tricks I'd learned in India, eliciting gasps and squeals of pleasure.
The next morning, I rolled out of bed in fine spirits. Bouncing around with a willing partner always puts me in excellent fettle, even though it'd not been that long since Elspeth and I had had our last passionate farewell. At the thought of Elspeth, a frown crossed my face. I wasn't terribly keen on leaving her un-chaperoned at the Westerosi court in Kings Landing. While she'd done nothing overt, I could see the way that she looked at a lot of those knights, and the way those randy rips looked at her. She had a lot of romantic illusions about knights in shining armour, and I wouldn't put it past her to try to see if they lived up to their reputation.
It was time and long past for me to be back in Kings Landing, I decided. She'd have little time or inclination to sample strange men with Flashy back in the saddle. When I emerged from my tent, I smelled food, and saw that Ylva was preparing a breakfast for me. Soon I was sitting on a nearby stump, scoffing up stew very like what we'd eaten the night before. Ylva looked satisfied, but then a touch of Flashy in the night is often all a woman needs to put her into a good mood.
Just then, who should roll up but John Charity Spring? He looked almost indecently satiated, like a cat that had eaten a canary the size of a turkey. Beside him, Ygraine strolled along, giving him adoring looks. "Morning, Sir Harry. Lovely day, isn't it?" I could have throttled him, if only for that smug, smug grin of his. "I must say, these folk do know how to make a guest welcome, eh, what?"
Ygraine wrapped her arms around him and gave him a kiss that would have got 'em both arrested, had they tried it on a London street. She purred "You know much, and more, Captain John Charity Spring!" Ylva had looked pretty well content, but now she was giving her colleague a look of envy and curiosity. Spring said nothing, and neither did I, but inside, I was seething. To be outdone at fornication by such as Spring, a man old enough to be my father! I could have spanked Ylva's pretty backside for her.
Once we'd eaten, and the women had withdrawn to do whatever it is women do, Rayder came over to see how we'd fared. We assured him that all was well, and he nodded. "I think I'll send you back to your own folk. We've some horses here, and can have you back at the coast in jig time."
Spring got up and bowed, and under his scowl, I did likewise. "We'll be sorry to leave you," Spring said, and I think he was sincere. "I'll try to get back here, and I'll have bangsticks for you, and powder to go with 'em." I wasn't too sure about giving the likes of the Free Folk firearms, but I held my tongue. We'd not been forbidden to trade with them; King Robert, when he had signed a treaty of amity and commerce with Britain, had said that all of Westeros was open to our traders. To my mind, that included the areas north of their Wall. If the Westerosi south of the Wall chose to ignore possible wealth to be got here, so much the worse for them and the better for us. We were happy to trade with anybody who'd trade with us. And what harm could even the most savage savages (like the wild men of the Vale of Arryn) do with nothing better than flintlock trade muskets? Particularly if they had to deal with us for gunpowder?
The horses we were given to ride were rough cobs, but tough as could be and uncomplaining. Soon we were saddled up (the sailors rode rather clumsily, unsurprisingly) and trotting along toward the coast, escorted by a party of the Free Folk. It was a sunny day, the birds were out, and while it was chillier than I'd have expected in Kings Landing, it wasn't a bad sort of day to be out riding.
My good mood lasted till we got to the coast. Sure enough, we were in the same natural harbour that we'd used to refit the Lady of Shalott. But the ship was gone! We could see the marks left on the beach where the Lady had been hauled up on shore so we could repair her bottom, and there were clear traces on the sand and the trees we'd used to hitch our blocks-and-tackles to, but of the ship, there was no sign at all.
I gave Spring an uneasy look. Sure enough, his scar was darkening even as I watched. "Fronti nulli fides! (2) To think I trusted that wretch Bulloch, because he'd been Sailing Master on the Shenandoah! Well, I'll see him pay, won't I just! Latet anguis in herba! (3) I'll run him to earth, in Kings Landing, Britain, or the ends of the world, and I'll flog him to death with a sjambok! (4)" I knew he meant every word. He'd flogged some poor chap who'd paid too much attention to his daughter Miranda in Cape Town to death on Robben Island, or so Miranda had told me, the deceitful little slut.
I held my peace. I knew that Spring was unpredictable even when in what passed, in him, for a good mood, and that he was murderous when angered. I had no desire to draw his attention. One of the sailors, brave chap, cleared his throat. "Beggin' your pardon, cap'n, suh," he said, his Southern accent betraying his past service aboard Shenandoah, "but we've got hosses heah. We can maybe get to this Wall they's always talkin' about, an' ask the men on the Wall for help getting back to Kings Landing."
I'd sooner have kissed a black mamba snake than have spoken up to Spring when he was in that mood, but, thank G-d, he nodded and calmed down somewhat. "Aye…aye, you're right, I suppose. How far is the Wall from here?" he asked one of our Free Folk guides, who'd been standing aside, sensible chaps that they were.
One of them, a bloke called Eamonn, wrinkled his forehead as he thought. "I'd say a day or so's ride to the south, Captain."
"Good! Come, Sir Harry, lads! In eadem sumus navi! (5)" He chuckled. "Even though we don't have a boat right at the moment! We'll need to explain what's happened to Mance Rayder, and hopefully get his permission to keep these fine steeds we're on, at least till we get to the Wall!"
Several hours' riding later, we were back in Rayder's camp, and Mance was mulling over just what to do. "Well, you've been our guests, and I do want to see you safely on your way back home. Are you sure that your ship won't be back?" he asked.
Spring shook his head. "If they'd planned to return, they'd have left something to tell us where they were going. They've either hared back to Kings Landing, or back off to our own world."
Mance Rayder looked very thoughtful. "Well, I promised to see you safe. We'll have to get some people to get you to the Wall, and let the crows know you're here. If they won't let you pass their precious Wall, we'll have to think of something else, but that's the best thing I can come up with."
Some while later, we were riding south, with an escort of the Free Folk, men and women both. We had bought our horses, and food for the trip, with some Kings Landing coins that Spring and I had had on us for just such an emergency. Ygraine and Ylva were there, which heartened me. Nothing like knowing there's a chance of some fine houghmagandie, as darling Elspeth would put it, to keep me feeling chipper when normally I'd feel down. Even the prospect of crossing the war-torn continent of Westeros a-horseback couldn't put my spirits down too far. After all, we were British, and neutrals. And I'd heard that the Night's Watch, called "crows" by the Free Folk for their black cloaks, took no part in the feuds and civil wars, sticking strictly to its duty of watching the Wall and keeping whatever the Westerosi thought needed keeping out, out.
While it was sunny and bright, I noticed a little chill in the air. "Winter's coming, is it?" I asked. One of the Free Folk nodded. Since their commander was the Lord of Bones, they didn't talk much more than strictly necessary. Sile, et philosophus, (6) as Spring might have said. Between Spring and Rattleshirt, I felt I had my ration of dangerous madmen completely filled, and would be happy to deal with no more.
"Aye, non semper erit aestas, (7)" Spring muttered. He'd been in a sour frame of mind ever since we found that the Lady of Shalott had raised anchor and sailed. As we'd ridden along, it had occurred to me that Bulloch, and the crew, might have thought that we'd fallen foul of the locals. As indeed we had. But since they had no way of knowing that we were in fine health and ready to rejoin the rest, they may have decided to up anchor and head for Kings Landing, to report us lost. The thought of how Elspeth would react to the news made me impatient to get back to civilised lands, at least civilised enough to send a raven to Kings Landing to report that we were alive. I cursed this primitive country for not having a telegraph system.
When we got to the Wall, I almost didn't recognise it for what it was. It was all of seven hundred feet high, built of stone and ice, towering over the land. Involuntarily, Spring and I both reined in, our awestruck gazes going up, up, and up, to the top, where we could see tiny figures in black cloaks patrolling.
"I thought that the stories we heard, from Lord Tyrion and others, were exaggerations," Spring muttered. "When we're back in Kings Landing, I shall have to apologise humbly for not believing him! Publica fama non semper vana, indeed! (8)"
For all I mistrusted him, Lord Rattleshirt had proven a good guide. Now he made some sort of signal to the Night's Watch men high up on the wall, and it was returned. A little while later, a gate in the bottom of the wall opened, and Rattleshirt snarled: "There it is…go! Go back to your precious kneelers, British men!" Several Night's Watch men came out to greet us, and Rattleshirt and his men turned their horses and rode back into their woods.
The gate, when we entered, was more like a tunnel, lit with torches and high enough for us to ride along on our horses. The Night's Watch men paced along with us, saying nothing, until we got to the other side. We found ourselves facing a castle, which would normally have been impressive enough, but between being dwarfed by the Wall it stood near, and its own semi-ruinous state, was almost pathetic.
The leader of the Night's Watch men, a young man with a familiar cast to his face, finally turned to us. "Welcome to Castle Black. My name is Jon Snow, of the Night's Watch. Please, come be our guests till we can send you south on your way. We'll send a raven to Kings Landing, to let them know that you're here and alive." My arse was sore (the Free Folk are no saddlers, I fear) and I was in the mood for some food and a warm bed, even without Ygraine or Ylva to share it with me.
"Lead on, Jon Snow," I said.
[1] Flashman and Spring had visited King Gezo, one of the largest slave-trading kings in Dahomey, in 1848. See Flash for Freedom!
[2] Fronti nulli fides: Put no faith in appearances
[3] Latet anguis in herba: A snake waits in the grass
[4] A sjambok was a rawhide whip used in South Africa. In later times, it became one of the symbols of the apartheid policies of the former South African government.
[5] In eadem sumus navi: We are all in the same boat.
[6] Sile et philosophus: Be silent, and be mistaken for a philosopher.
[7] Non semper erit aestas: It will not always be summer. Note the similarity to the Stark family words "Winter is coming."
[8] Publica fama non semper vana: Rumour is not always false.
