Blood and Water: Chapter 3
The gallows had been built from one of the broken Ironborn ships. The painted wood scaffolds had risen fast, so that lifeless corpses drooped at the junction where the town's main road met the harbor. By midday they had drawn carrion birds and sea-gulls nipping there and here and cawing raucously. By the next few days they were beginning to rot. Ser Brynden had promised hangings for rapists and those especially ill disciplined. And so they had hanged.
And now they stink. I must get the hangman to take those down.
All the accused had refuted, fought and raged against their charges. but the wounds upon their victims had damned them. Edmure could not bear to look at them, though ser Brynden had commanded him to do so. Young girls with haunted eyes and their bodies beaten purple had looked back at him, shrouded as they were in their loved one's hands they looked as frail as a newborn foal.
One of the accused had taken the black, Edmure thought it too kind a fate.
That one man shackled in the dungeons had taken his mind north, to the great frigid plains where the wind went through flesh and bone straight into the heart. Edmure was not made for such weather, But my sweet sister is. In a land of savages she lived, in a castle of snows did she matron. Cat I do miss you so, father sent you too far away. It was the seat of the Warden of the North, and long before it was the seat of the Kings of Winter. My Goodbrother is on Pyke now, conducting a siege upon the Lord of the Iron Isles, at the head of a vast host.
Edmure looked down, the candle wax - long exhausted had run off of left a hard puddle at the edge of his desk. And I count coppers even at the break of dawn.
To be fair, it was quite a few coppers. A pile of ledgers so vast sat upon a desk so large it made the small room seem dingier than a prison cell.
It is not even I who has taken the black and yet both of us share the same ill-made room. While Ser Brynden and Clement now go off to submit more castles, I sit here seeing if the fodder in the western granary can sustain us for two more days than the one in the northern. It rankled him.
Oretown had no steward to give these duties – or it had one, but the man was gone. Ordello, his name was, had been beaten, and questioned, questioned too sharply. When Edmure and Clement had found him in the central Keep of the town he had only a few of his fingers left and none of his wits. He was a thrall in truth, Ser Brynden said. From some norvosi, dressed in the finery of the Goodbrothers with none of the privileges.
"Well lad, I don't see any better candidate." His knight had told him in exasperation. "Ser Ryger is in need of the milk of the poppy and barely of a mind to count sums. Mallister is too bellicose to risk at the head of so many souls, the Blackwood is a bastard and not just by blood. I need Jonar and Gavin out in the field. You will serve here."
"But you will need a squire – now that Clement is a knight – surely you need one more than ever." Edmure had protested.
"Clement and Oustin will suffice. The lad isn't so big for his breeches as to arm alone. And He isn't a knight, he has stood no vigil, and no septon has anointed him. Listen, I don't mean to get into a fight with an entrenched foe with the force I take. Do not hunger for glory where there is none."
Edmure remembered pouting stupidly.
"Have I raised my squires to be so impertinent? I suppose so. I have not beaten either of you near enough to expect quiet obedience. Ill-discipline in my ranks and now even among my squires." He laughed darkly at that. Then considered.
"No, you must know all that I plan to do. Listen, we will make the rest of the ironmen scurry into their little crevices and starve them out. I need this town to be a good depot when I am back. You will have a hundred men. Get the walls and the harbor in working order, and get my missive to Seagard."
Edmure obeyed. There were men posted upon the walls. Archers mostly, from Riverrun and the westerlands who could ill-afford to bring a horse on an island campaign. With their bowstaves unstrung they walked to walkways with brother-sergeants to put them to rights. The harbor was protected by five galleys out of Seagard, their crews filled the taverns and inns along the dockyards. They ate, drank and whored away the loot accumulated in the capture of the town.
It wouldn't bother me so if they weren't so loud about it. Their bawdy noises even into the depths of the night had been partly responsible for Edmures lack of sleep.
But the next ship that first came to set anchor at Oretown was from the North, not from the Mallisters. The harbor watch had spotted white sails and rang the alarm. Before he knew it Edmure had rushed down the winding stairs from his cramped room in the Central keep's tower when he made the realizations.
By the Seven, I am not even armed. Sheepishly he trundled up the stairs once more.
Only with his sword and dagger securely strapped on his deerskin belt made and armored in his scaled brigandine over a doublet of mudbrown and deep blue. Wearing hosen that had all the finer details of a master's work did Edmure realize this would be the first time he would play the host. The thought sparked some panic in him. Ser Ryger is the host. The town is his in truth and I am only his steward. Yes, that is easier.
He looked only slightly more noble than the two archers that shadowed him as they made their way to greet the new arrivals. Tawney and Lewyn, trusted men from Riverrun who wore the Tully Trout upon their cloaks and had arming swords on their belts, followed him through the maze of woodwork and rope that was Oretowns harbor.
A ragged noble I must look, I have had scant rest for these past three days. It showed he knew, in the bags around his eyes and the ill-kept auburn locks that had outgrown their usual trim nature.
"A whaler that is my lord, a deeper hull than any war-vessel we would see." Tessio said, peering with his droopy eyes at the ship a little longer "though from where I know not." They stood upon a particularly decrepit looking pier.
Tessio was a thrall – no, a free man now– and had lead them through the wharves and moors that played stable for the near hundred ships that could call the harbor home. He played the part of a customs officier before yet he knows not what a whaler looks like. The man worked with a small abacus, and a clay ledger, a small seven pointed star on a threadbare cord around his frail neck. With little efficiency and much ponderous thought.
"Dustin, of the Rills" Edmure knew. The crossed longaxes were obvious even from afar. It flew on a large banner overtop a monstrous large forecastle. That tower can hold ten archers easily and the aft-castle even more.
"Of course, they would have waited for a harbor to open up milord, my eyes, that thing needs it. It's too large with too deep a hull to moor just anywhere."
Edmure was not familiar with ships. Our ancestors were seafarers once, but I seem to have none of their blood. Edmure had heaved over the sides of the Dusty Eagle en route to the campaign till his throat burned from bile, A sailor had scolded him and dragged him inside. The eagle had been a low lying warship, that much Edmure knew. This was a different beast, it rose above the water like a lighthouse upon the rocks, its dark oak beams in stark contrast to the large white sails holding its wind.
That same wind carried its scent long before it reached the harbor. The contents of Edmures breakfast threatened to spill forth at the rancid smell of rotting fish, burning fat and unwashed men all stewing together in an enclosed space wafted towards them. Maybe waiting for them here wasn't the best of plans.
"How many men can fit in one of those?" Edmure asked. The obsequious fellow shook his balding head.
"I cannot say my lord, the Iron Lords, they never sailed ships such as these."
"Surely your ironlords will have stolen such ships before?"
"That they did, but the crews were -err – less full than would be a full complement when they were taken." He had a queer tone to his voice. Most of the thralls did.
They were a queer bunch all together the thralls. Taken, from as far as the jade sea in the east and Ibben in the north, the only common ground among them destituteness of their station. Edmure had learned that the men who overwhelmingly roamed the streets, begging for bread and board were overwhelmingly, miners. Those who once worked the tunnels dotting the hinterlands, now without their masters, did neither work nor have a means to earn their bread. Very few among these roving bands could speak the Westerosi common tongue and their bony faces looked wordlessly upon any richer man.
Tessio was among those who could. For the past few days the man had been working alongside Edmure. He had been brave enough to approach Ser Brynden, on the dawn that the gallows had been built, to help administer the town. Edmure had thought him a sycophant and lickspittle then but the man had proven himself to be a hard worker, earnest if slow. Worthy of admiration as father would say.
The fisherfolk, and Edmure suspected, none too few among the rowing class of freemen resented many of those the thralls who previously held positions higher than them and looked down upon those who were work-thralls. They think it unnatural, that slaves should eat richer, wear better cloths, and toil much less than those who were born here but they think it unnatural that such slaves should beg for their food as well.
So frequently were these throngs pelted and beaten by the slings and sticks of merchantmen and smallfolk alike that Edmure had held to charge, on behalf of Ser Ryger of course, Ser Triston of Oxbridge to the protection of these bands.
Anyone thought by the IronIslanders to be beautiful enough were made saltwives or pleasure thralls. The Lysene, fair in complexion and with the silver hair so famously of the old blood of valyria, and summer islanders tall and lithe with their ebony and almond skin now shared the streets roving with the wildlings from the north, the lorathi and the bravosi laborers.
Many of the skilled craftsmen were thralls as well. From among the ironworkers, the masons, tanners, and a fair few of the artisans. Men who had seen no profit from their work save what their masters had seen fit. They numbered a little over a hundred and as they petitioned Ser Ryger, on one of his lucid days, for the right to work and be paid for such work. It reminded him of when his Father took him along as he presided over the merchant disputes of Brookston and the Riverdale.
How am I to deal with them, and the beggars in the streets and the women who will be in brothels within the week. Another task I suppose I must complete.
The gangplank bridged the high walls to the pier below as the ship was lead with poles and a smaller towing boat to its mooring.
The captain descended first. A short man with brown hair and the look of a prosperous townsman about him. He kept a short bushy beard and moustaches oiled to a black sheen. He wore white wool that was stained and soaked in sweat salty besides. He profusely thanked Edmure for the safe-harbor, and welcomed Tessio to the inspection of his wares.
"My lord, we have been seeking harbor for many days. Lord stark bid us find a captured town but this is the first among these isles where we may both laden our wares and rest our crew."
And wares he did bring, barrels full of salt fish and tubers from the ground, a hold full of large hangars of salted meat, whales he was told, and still more live animals than Edmure had known could fit in the thing. Wheat was packed in large tied sacks larger than oxen, a crane worked to bring those off the ship for there were many of them. And there were passengers, a tide of sailor yeomen, all with the tinge of the northern drawl to their words, worked tirelessly and loudly at their instruments.
"They must be glad to be ashore"
"Yes they are lord, we have not made land fall in days now, fearing for some god awful iron-scum sail upon the horizon. Most of the crew wanted to take their lives upon the rowers and make landfall."
"How did you persuade them then?"
"These are the ironisles, the land is as rife with them as the sea is lord." He gestured to the men getting off the ship now.
"Wandering Crows they come, picking at the dregs of the battlefield, don't they?" the taller of the archers spit as the black brothers descended from the large ship.
"Keep a friendlier tone Lewyn they might just take you – you look like a right thief by any eye." His friend, a shorter man from Red-hill joked.
They are supposedly hard men, no less dangerous than any of Ser Bryndens outriders inspite of what their tatters may show. The one that seemed to lead them was of middling height, only slightly taller than Edmure. His expression seems affable enough. Another was chewing sourleaf and looked as stooped and sinister as any cruel crow could. Another still held a quarterstaff in hand grey in his beard but his hard flinty eyes seemed as keen as Edmure's own.
"Welcome, to Oretown" Edmure began "any brother of the Nights Watch is welcome even to the far flung reaches of King Roberts realms." Edmure gestured them forward with a nod. "You will not find our hospitality waning even here."
"We thank you lord – err – Tully." The lead man said, all bowed as low as any serf would have but their eyes never left his own.
Edmure laughed.
"My honored father is the Lord of Tully. I am only his heir Edmure, esquire to Ser Brynden Tully and erstwhile in Oretown, I serve Ser Robin Ryger as his second." He bowed as one would to a senior knight. This may seem a jest to them. Edmure realized. A young pup to mock them on their arrival. None would believe you if you did not believe in yourself. His sister's words echoed to him.
Whatever the black brothers were expecting their reception to be, they weren't expecting his warmth and from a boy who was barely past his four and tenth name day.
"You are too kind milord. We shall not trouble ye long, Lord Stark allowed us leave of his vessels so as we could gather more brothers from among your prisoners. I am Makrin, this one is Yoren and the greybeard is Ronald all of us are from Castle Black."
"You will have trouble finding prisoners among our camp Makrin. None among the enemy warriors surrendered. We have criminals held in our dungeons who were given the choice between the gallows or the Wall." He gestured to the bright blue structure littered with corpses. "Those ones chose the gallows, and if you wish to see to our dungeons for more I will take you with me."
"Are there many of such recruits my lord?"
"Only one that said he would take the black, you can work your charms upon the rest of them soon enough."
Edmure allowed the Captain freedom of the harbor and most of the town, before taking his leave. The Blackbrothers came in tow.
"Do we require your fine gentlemen as escort?" This was from the greybeard.
"You would not make a gaoler of the heir of Riverrun I presume." Edmure answered
"No, In truth it is an audience we seek here, Not just our pickings from your dungeons, though that would be appreciated just as well." Edmure grew suspicious then. Even in Riverrun when the wandering crows came knocking it was only their pick of the criminals they ever sought. Few freemen joined if circumstances were better and few lords appreciated the poaching of their farmers.
"Ser Ryger is in his rooms for now, though I warn you he is not yet lucid. He took an axe blow in the taking of the town that seems to have grievously wounded him and much milk has been poured to relieve his pain." He had a large room to-himself and an acolyte of the citadel to wait upon him. His squire, another Ryger was with Ser Brynden's host.
"Ser Ryger is a knight and true to house Tully surely. But it is ser Brynden or, in his place, you that we must speak to."
To put a dagger in my back in secret? he thought, eyeing the bollock shaped crosspiece at the mans belt. No, that is foolish. How would Ironmen pay off a northman ship to deliver black brothers as assassins.
He glanced over them once more, neither the blackened ring-mail they wore nor the thick fur cloaks upon their backs caught the light. Friendly they may seem, but always grim.
"Do the men of the Nights watch not abandon all their worldly connections when they take their oaths?"
"We do my lord, we swear away much and more, but even crows without wings can hold messages." The one named Yoren spoke, his mud and brown teeth showed uglily and he grinned at his apparent wit.
Ah.