Flashman and the Throne of Swords

Chapter 20

by Technomad

In my long, misspent life, I have entered many castles, strongholds and fortifications, in Britain, Europe, Asia, Africa and the United States. For all of the variety of the folk that built 'em, and the variety of materials used, ranging from packed-earth as at Cawnpore (1) on up to solid stone, they had some things in common. One of 'em is suspicious guardians.

The men who met us were wearing Frey colours, with a stylised version of their distinctive castle. "Who comes to cross at the Twins?" they challenged us.

"I am Sir Harry Flashman, and this is Captain John Charity Spring. We are British, and neutral in the wars in this country. With us, as you can see, are brothers of the Night's Watch." I hoped that would get us admittance. I had found, to my disquiet, that south of the Wall and the areas immediately adjacent to it, the Watch was not highly admired.

Apparently, in the older days, when danger from north of the Wall seemed more real, the Watch had attracted a fairly high class of recruits. Younger sons of lords and hedge knights, at loose ends and finding employment difficult to attain, would trek north and take the Watch oath, along with idealistic young men from the lower classes. But in these days, the Night's Watch was seen more as a place to dump the unwanted. Misfits, criminals that weren't worth executing, bastards, and other such off-scourings were what they got for recruits. When they got any at all, that is. All in all, quite like the Foreign Legion, as I had noted before.

However, this time, it seemed that the old respect still held. The guards opened the gates. "Enter, Ser Harry, Captain Spring, and brothers of the Watch!" Along with some Frey soldiers to keep an eye on us, we entered the Twins.

The atmosphere of the place was uncanny, and I felt distinctly unwelcome. I didn't know if it was because I was British, because I was with the Night's Watch, or because of something else entirely. I'd never been near the Twins in my life, and had never, to my knowledge, met a Frey, so I was at a loss as to why I should feel so uncomfortable. I noticed that the Night's Watch men with me were uneasy, too, and I could see Spring fingering the butt of his barker and muttering things in Latin I was rather glad I couldn't catch.

I noticed that the Freys all had a rather distinctive look. Some of 'em, the women in particular, weren't bad-looking, but they ran to weak chins. They looked at us suspiciously as we were led on by. I'd have given a lot for a friendly face, but devil a one did I see. There was something indefinably familiar about 'em, and I tried to put my finger on it without success.

"D'you see how weaselly they look?" muttered Spring, in my ear. "Let's hope that isn't a bad sign! Absit omen! (2)" Since we were speaking French, save only for Spring's inevitable Latin tag, the locals hopefully couldn't understand us.

We were marched on in to a fairly-typical Great Hall. More Freys, of both sexes and all ages, were standing around, and turned to see us brought on in. I saw a few women I'd've liked to get to know better, but at the moment, we had business with the Lord.

In Kings Landing, we had some extensive reports in the embassy about Lord Walder Frey. He was very old, had been married more often than Henry VIII, and had fathered an extensive brood of sprogs, who had bred more and more Freys until the family was quite numerous. He had famously shown up late to a battle during King Robert's war against the Targaryen kings, and was known as "The Late Lord Frey" on account of it. Not that it was wise to mention it in his presence, or in his castles.

Lord Frey was sitting hunched in an ornate black wood chair on a dais at one end of the hall, with his arm around a beauty whom I'd have said was young enough to be his granddaughter. Had things been different, I'd have considered chatting her up, but this was not a good time for that. I did envy that dirty old rip for having her, though, and pitied her for having to bed such an old pantaloon.

Walder Frey was wizened and elderly, with spots on his bald head, but the gleam in his eye told me that he still had all his wits about him. He looked us over, and rasped: "So. You are the British I was told to expect, heh? We got a raven from Winterfell, saying you were on your way south. I see that the Black Brothers of the Night's Watch have seen fit to escort you. Did you guest with them?"

As senior man present (Spring would have taken the lead, had we been aboard the Lady of Shallot, but on land, as an attache at the Embassy, I took precedence) I answered: "We are, my lord. I am Ser Harry Flashman, of the British Embassy to the Seven Kingdoms, and this is Captain John Charity Spring, of the Lady of Shallot. We were cast ashore, north of the Wall, and the Night's Watch has generously offered to escort us to Kings Landing."

Lord Walder considered that. "Well. You are the first British I have seen with my own eyes, heh. Some few have been nearby, but none have seen fit to pass through here until now. I have wondered if they were snubbing me."

This comported with the reports we had at the embassy. Lord Walder Frey was universally described as peevish, resentful of any slight, and as prickly as a hedgehog. This called for delicate handling. I prayed that Spring wouldn't suddenly have one of his turns. He'd been very good ever since we'd set out from Kings Landing, but as I knew, that diseased mind of his could take a turn at any time and land us both in the soup. At least the Twins didn't have high cliffs, so we were in no danger of a stay in the sky cells, but I didn't like to think of what other horrors those castles could hold.

"No, m'lord. It's just that there are few of us here as yet, and none have had occasion to pay respects to you. No insult whatsoever was intended." And, for once, that was the straight truth. While we British (and others from our world) were flocking to Westeros, it was still difficult to get to, and there were not many of us about. And with a whole continent to explore, it was not difficult for one lord and his castle to be overlooked. The reports we had of the Freys and their holdings had come from local informants, not direct contact.

"Hmmm." While Walder Frey still looked peevish, he appeared to accept that explanation for our apparent neglect of him. "You'll guest with me tonight, and to-morrow, I'll see you safe across the river. South of here, though, I can't guarantee your safety, heh! The wars are going well for the Young Wolf, (3) but there's been a deal of fighting."

"We and the Night's Watch are neutrals, m'lord. And we've faced danger before." I have found that understating things, rather than exaggerating my exploits, often impresses people more.

When we were shown to rooms in one of the towers, I sat down on my bed, taking off my boots. "Well, so far, so good, Captain," I commented. "We're about halfway from the Wall to Kings Landing."

"I've heard tales of this Lord Frey," Spring answered, in French, as I had spoken to him in that language. "And nothing I have heard has been good. He cherishes grudges forever. If you get on his bad side, you'd best watch your back!" Since that was a fine summing-up of John Charity Spring's view of life, I was rather surprised that he sounded so disapproving. Of course, since we were in Lord Frey's power, the shoe was now on t'other foot, and I rather think that Spring found that it pinched. "He has a huge family, and takes slights to them as seriously as he does those to himself. Familia ante omnia (4) could be his motto!"

"I just hope he'll let us cross his precious bridge," I answered, digging in my traps for a razor to try to touch up my whiskers before dinner. While I'd not gone without female consolation on that voyage-of-the-damned that Dick Burton had sent me on in an evil hour, it'd been a while since Winterfell and I'd spotted a few promising looking young ladies who might repay chatting-up. Besides, what is Flashy without his tart-catchers?

At dinner, we were, as usual, seated in places of honour right near Lord Frey himself. Around us, many of his children and grandchildren glared at us, jealous of anything that might take their patriarch's attention away from them. The reports I'd seen said that Frey's family jockeyed ruthlessly for position, each one hoping to inherit Lord Frey's position and chair when the old goat finally breathed his last.

The old goat himself clearly enjoyed all of this. He was sitting in his big chair at the head of the high table, with that downtrodden-looking young woman sitting beside him. He noticed me giving her the eye. "My new wife, Ser Harry! My eighth! My sons and daughters think I'm finished, heh, but I'll show 'em, won't I just! I'll father yet more children on my little beauty here!"

Spring and I exchanged discreet glances. Walder Frey was over ninety, and while I'd heard of some men who could still couch their lances at that age, it was very much the exception. Whatever Lord Frey told himself, I'd have wagered that any children that poor chit popped out would have one of the younger Freys as its actual father. The family resemblance among 'em was strong, and there'd be no easy way to tell. For that matter, if I'd been planning an extended stay, I might've had a go myself. Leaving such as Lord Frey with a half-Flash son would be a wonderful joke on him, wouldn't it just?

Lord Frey leered at us, then extended his hand, indicating all his loving relations. "Look at 'em! They're all praying for the old man to die, so that one of them can be Lord of the Crossing! I'll warrant that two weeks after I'm gone, the most of 'em will be wishing I were back here! I look out for all my kin, even the disappointing ones, which is more than I can say for the majority of my loving descendants!" Familia ante omnia, indeed. Spring had been exactly right about this old man.

And I could see that there was little, if any, love lost between the descendants of Lord Frey. When they didn't think others were looking, half of them were giving poisonous looks to the other half. I thought that without Lord Frey keeping them more-or-less in line, they'd be at each others' throats. Not that I cared, but it was another detail for the report I'd be writing for Dick Burton.

The food we were served was nothing special, but Spring, the black brothers, and I were all used to eating what was set in front of us, so we said nothing about it. For entertainment, we sat and listened to a harpist chanting some old song about the wars between the Targaryens and those whom they'd conquered to forge the Seven Kingdoms, centuries ago. What I heard bore little resemblance to the actual history of those times, at least according to the books I'd had to swot up in Kings Landing, but I held my peace and did not say anything. 'Twasn't for me to interrupt the entertainment.

Finally, the dreary dinner was over, and we were escorted back to our rooms. I'd found out, by overhearing a conversation between two of the Freys over dinner, that "Gatehouse Amerei," my quondam bed partner when I'd been at Ser Aemon Rivers' place not that long before, was a Frey by birth, one of Lord Frey's many, many granddaughters. That accounted for the way so many of those folk looked familiar; she and they shared the Frey features. On some of the young women, it didn't look bad, but many of the men looked like weasels, and Lord Frey himself looked like what would happen if a weasel rogered a vulture.

From what they said, Amerei was a widow now. Her husband, a fairly run-of-the-mill hedge knight, had got the insane idea that he could challenge the man-mountain, Ser Gregor Clegane. And he'd been paid out in the coin fools have always received, leaving sweet Amerei a most merry widow. She was said to be on her way north back to the Twins, and many of her brothers-in-law were looking forward to welcoming her home. I'd not have put bedding her own brothers past dear Amerei, but I hadn't seen any such signs of rejoicing among such of 'em as I'd been able to recognise for what they were.

I wasn't sure when Amerei would be back, but I wanted to be back on the road to Kings Landing before she arrived. Not that she'd been bad in bed, but she did have a bad habit of bragging about her past conquests. In a nest of snakes such as the Twins had turned out to be, that sort of news could easily get out and into the ears of others who'd delight in spreading tittle-tattle, even as far as Kings Landing…and Elspeth.

I had good reasons to doubt Elspeth's fidelity, but we'd never caught each other in an unambiguously compromising position. The closest I'd come had been stumbling out of a closet, half-foxed, just in time to stop that lecherous rip, the Earl of Cardigan, from cocking his lustful leg over Elspeth. And I could never be sure that that situation was of Elspeth's own doing or not. I'd not put rape past Lord Haw-Haw, or much of anything else. To the Earl of Cardigan, other people, at least people who weren't as aristocratic or as wealthy as he was, didn't really exist save as objects he could move about to satisfy his desires.

All in all, keeping the question of marital faithfulness off of Elspeth's mind was worth any amount of inconvenience to me. I asked one of the Freys when we could leave.

"I don't know, Ser Harry. Our father will decide when you may go. I rather think he'll let you pass, though. As you've pointed out, you British, and the Night's Watch, are neutral in the ongoing conflict, so there should be no problem letting you go over the bridge."

Lord Walder, damn him, had overheard. Unlike many men his age, he apparently had ears on him like a lynx. "Let you go on? Why should I? Are you tired of my hospitality so soon, heh?"

I could see Spring's scar darkening, a danger sign, so I frantically signalled him to stand down and let me do the talking. I was in the diplomatic, after all, and paid to do this sort of thing. "No, m'lord. It's just that we're overdue in Kings Landing, and our ambassador will be worried about us. We were supposed to report in some while ago."

"Aye," growled Spring. The way he was looking at Lord Walder made me wish I had a couple of burly attendants ready, to grab him and throw him into a straitjacket if he tried anything violent. "I've questions about what happened to my lovely ship. Questions that the folk in Kings Landing may be able to answer!" Looking at him made me very glad indeed that I could not be blamed for whatever mad whim had made his crew decide to sail off without him. He was more than capable of tracking them down where ever they had gone, and taking terrifying revenges on every last one of 'em from the sailing master down to the cabin boy.

Lord Frey gave us a sneer, but he said "Very well. If you tire of my hospitality, heh, you can go on your way south tomorrow, you and your companions. I will warn you, though, you'll be passing through some war-torn country. I can't protect you there, and some of the people you might meet may make you wish you had stayed on here longer!"

We had to be content with that. As we got ready for bed, Spring said: "Aye, I'll be glad to be out of this place, Sir Harry! And you as well, I'm sure!" He leered at me. "If we were to stay, you'd be trying to put horns on our host's head, I'll warrant!"

I was glad we were speaking French to each other; I knew there were spy holes and such in the Red Keep at Kings Landing, and this castle looked to be of about the same vintage, so I was sure that our dear host had set people on to find out what we were really up to. In his shoes I'd have done as much. Even without my current employment depending heavily on gathering information (I was making mental notes about the layout of the Twins, for Dick Burton's edification and the assistance of our forces, should military intervention in Westeros ever seem necessary) I had long found, by bitter experience, that knowing as much as I could helped me out of the horrible messes I was always finding myself in.

I didn't dignify Spring's comments with a reply. I'd seen how he was looking at some of the younger Frey women, including Lady Frey herself, the dirty old rip. I remembered his exploits among the Free Folk, and knew enough not to discount him just because he was older than I. Had we stayed, Lord Frey's antlers might have been his work. But I had reasons of my own to want to be gone.

Much to our surprise, we found, the next morning, that we wouldn't have to ride any further, and were going to be able to avoid getting further entangled in the wars currently being waged up and down Westeros. We were routed out of our beds early the next morning by a Frey grandson, who excitedly told us that a "British fireboat" had come up the Green Fork, and was currently anchored just downstream of the Twins.

We both hurried into our clothes and went to see who it was, and who should it be but my wife's own cousin, Angus Morrison! He was delighted to see us.

"Flash! Of all the people to run into! I'm glad I found ye, man! Dick Burton's been drivin' folk frantic down in the Embassy, wantin' to know what came of ye an' Cap'n Spring here! Care for a lift down to the city?"

As you can imagine, Spring and I, and the Black Brothers and our sailor companions, were very glad to accept his offer. I'd had enough and to spare of bloody Westeros, of pounding my arse to forcemeat in the local style of saddles (give me a good English saddle any day!) and of having to gang warily around touchy, peevish local lordlings. A quick ride back down to Kings Landing sounded just the thing.

If I had known what was going on in Kings Landing, I'd have begged Lord Frey to let me stay on at the Twins.

[1] At the siege of the Cawnpore garrison, during the Sepoy Mutiny, the English and their loyal native allies were in an improvised redoubt made of piled earth. This fortification held out for twenty days under rebel bombardment, repelling several all-out attacks. See Flashman in the Great Game for a description of conditions during the siege.

[2] "Absit omen" - "may it not be an omen" in Latin.

[3] Robb Stark was referred to by his friends and enemies as "the Young Wolf," in reference to his family heraldry (argent, a wolf passant proper) and to his bond with his direwolf.

[4] "Familia ante omnia" -Latin for "family before everything." Flashman's comments on Lord Frey's attitudes and the state of affairs at the Twins at this time comport with other reports from local and British sources.