XX
Let us now visit Samnew, a small town which sat half a day’s walk down the coast from Pearmol, given a brisk pace and only the odd stop here and there. Samnew was a very young place in those days. It was founded by Thyomalo while he was Lord of Pearmol, but it was originally only a lone shrine dedicated to his late husband, Samo, after whom it was named (and he would be known as Samnew-Samo, for he was otherwise lacking in distinction). In the following years, Samnew became increasingly busy—not least because Thyomalo visited so often—until it could charitably be called a town. And a charitable fellow Thyomalo was! He built a proper hall around the original shrine, tucked snug in its centre, and made Samnew a stewardship.
Samnew’s first steward was Ekkeo, an old war-friend of Thyomalo’s, and he proved so canny in his management of the town, and so loyal to his lord, that he would likewise be its last. Thyomalo’s successor, Rogwalo, oversaw the establishment of Samnew as a lordship in its own right, and thus did he accrue for himself a lordly ally.
Of course, Ekkeo was by that time quite an old man, and he died only three years thereafter. He was succeeded in the lordship by his son, Arleno, to whose lordship Karvalo’s of Pearmol was yet contemporary.
Arleno held the lordship when the king took his war up to Norlonn, and though he did not fight himself, he did send a company of his thanes to bolster Rogwalo’s warband, a man to whom his kin owed so very much. They were led by Arleno’s wife, Lodha, though she died with Rogwalo at Fevalnawl. In her stead, Arleno’s brother-in-law, Sweno, (that is, the husband of his sister, Yorrona), took command. He preferred to march beside the king, rather than with Rogwalo’s sons. Sweno died in the very final days of the war, when it was already as good as won. The last to be named of Arleno’s war-wasted relatives is his eldest son, Godmalo. He went north later on, alongside his uncle Kardano, and he was slain in perhaps the most disastrous encounter of the whole conflict. This was fought near Falswol in Noynavol.
By that point, half the earls had either fallen or submitted to the king, and of those who had not, Kolmodo alone, the Earl of Noynavol, could yet stand against him with any sort of organised resistance. For this reason, the king’s cousin, a man called Eydeno, gathered a great swath of the king’s army and forced a battle against the Noyns, seeking the swift annihilation of what he deemed to be the last of the northerners’ resolve.
However, it was at that time very early in the year, and Eydeno was ill-accustomed to such fresh air. As he let up his battle cry from the middle of the line, he sneezed so violently that he dropped his spear, then stooped to reclaim it. Yet when the lesser leaders heard his terrific sneeze, they thought he had been dearly wounded, and when they saw his glittering helmet fall beneath his friends’, they determined he was killed.
‘And mighty Eydeno is no slouch,’ they must have said to themselves. ‘If even he is bested, what hope is there for anyone else?’
Eydeno was quick to stand tall and announce his vitality, but his friends’ desertion was all the quicker, and his army routed. So did his line collapse, and his hopes of victory with it. Eydeno himself remained firm, but not firm enough, and he was slain alongside his closest, most loyal thanes. Among them were many men of Samnew, although Sweno himself survived by falling over and pretending to be dead.
Godmalo, however, did not fight with his kinsmen by birth. Rather, he was among Yalmalo and his brothers from Pearmol, his kinsmen by marriage. He had married Alfrela, the youngest of Rogwalo’s children, shortly before he left for the north. Indeed, they had barely taken their wedding drink before one of the king’s fastest riders rushed into the hall at Samnew and bade Arleno offer some strapping young men to go back with him.
‘A noble cause!’ said Godmalo, yet holding the wedding horn, and he put himself forward.
‘O Godmalo,’ said Alfrela in her marital hat. ‘You need not put yourself up for this. There are firmer folk to field.’
‘Sheathe your sword-tongue, lass,’ said Arleno between them. ‘I will suffer no such slights against my son’s firmness. The boy must make himself a man, and never before was an opportunity so fortuitously delivered.’
That very day, Godmalo left Samnew to make himself a man, though he never did. He found his way into the company of his brothers-in-law, and then found his way into battle at Falswol. Yalmalo heard Eydeno’s almighty sneeze, and he heard his rallying cry thereafter, but when he saw the army breaking apart nonetheless, he too chose to forsake the battle.
‘No,’ said Godmalo, ‘Do not flee so soon. My kinsmen—your kinsmen—yet stand and fight. As long as they do, we must not abandon them.’
‘Godmalo,’ said Yalmalo, ‘this battle is lost before it has truly begun. If they wish to fight it anyway, that is their right, but I will not forfeit my friends’ lives playing at honour.’
Then Yalmalo turned his back, and his company with him, all except one. Godmalo rushed to his relatives at the front, steeled himself, and was slain.
Yet merciless fate determined that the lives of Yalmalo’s friends would be forfeited all the same. As Eydeno’s line routed, as Yalmalo led his troop away, a sudden downpour set upon the battlefield, forcing them to retreat knee-deep through thick mud. Kolmodo the Earl, however, knew well the lay of his land. He sent a troop of his renowned horsemen along a nearby ridge, and there they picked off the fleeing Mawks as they emerged from the muddy ground, cold, tired, and dispirited.
Just so, a gang of Noynish horsemen laid upon Yalmalo’s company as they made for some woods, seeking a hidden place to shelter, and a great slaughter unfolded among the young men of Pearmol. It was said that for each one who got away from Falswol alive, four died behind him. Counted among the dead were Enyalo, the youngest of Rogwalo’s sons, Faffedhe, Yalmalo’s dear friend, and Yalmalo himself—he survived the initial encounter but never made it back to Ewmennes, where the king was awaiting Eydeno’s triumphant return. With Yalmalo dead and his warband in tatters, Karvalo seized control of things.
‘As long as I live,’ he said, ‘no friend of mine shall set foot in this wretched land again, lest they be my friend no longer.’
Then he took his company home. They brought only two bodies back for burial, those of Yalmalo and Enyalo. There were too many to bring all the rest.
When Karvalo returned to Pearmol, a lad called Trewgeo happened to be staying there with Gonwela. He was the second of Arleno’s three children. Godmalo was the eldest, and the youngest was a daughter named Gefyona. She is not relevant now, but will be. Being young men of equal conviction, Trewgeo and Karvalo had a long history of bickering with one another, and about any matter at all, however big or small it seemed. When Karvalo arrived with only two bodies in tow, but with many more left behind, Trewgeo’s temper flared at once.
‘I hate you,’ he said, ‘you callousest cad! How dare you show your face here, having abandoned my kin and yours? Had you and your lot stood firmer, fought harder, my brother might yet live. No, that you stand here at all is proof you did not do enough. You let him die to save yourselves. You killed him! His blood is on your hands!’
Karvalo was so wounded by this accusation that he said not a word in reply. Instead, he spoke only with an open palm cracking against Trewgeo’s jaw. Now, it should be mentioned that Karvalo was nine years his senior, and he stood as many thumbs taller. The blow struck with such force that Trewgeo was knocked down to the ground, his head thumping against the floor.
Only then did Karvalo make his retort. ‘Say a word more,’ he said, ‘and so too will be yours.’
Then he went away, leaving Trewgeo to cry alone on the ground.
In that one moment, what had thus far been little more than a propensity for squabbling was fashioned into a lifelong hatred, and one that could only be concluded with blood.
Many years later, in the months before Thalo came to Pearmol, when the enmity between Karvalo and Trewgeo had long been festering, it happened that Arleno fell gravely ill and retired to his bed. In his absence, Trewgeo took up much of the management of Samnew, although he did all he could to keep the true severity of his father’s illness known only to those closest to him. With his father slowly dying and Samnew more or less in his hands, his mind filled first with ambition, and then with thoughts of retribution.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘oy-ay! Pearmol will fall. Karvalo will fall!’
Trewgeo arranged a meeting with six of Karvalo’s sheriffs, whom his sneakiest sniffermen had determined to be vulnerable to persuasion. Their names were as follows: Anlava, Enyana, Osbago, Reyfneo, Rollawga, and Tholreda. They each agreed to meet with him at Samnew, and he said he would pay them well to shirk their duties as Karvalo’s sheriffs.
‘Pay him nothing,’ he said, ‘and I will pay you rather more.’
Much to Trewgeo’s surprise, the sheriffs were all very interested in this proposition. Karvalo had only held the Lordship of Pearmol for a bit over two years at that time, but they were already growing dissatisfied with his manner of governance. Most of their meeting was spent listing their every gripe and grievance.
‘And here,’ said Anlava. ‘He takes a toll from anyone who wants to come into his hall—even us, his most loyal servants.’
‘You know,’ said Enyana, ‘his mother’s fists were tighter than the freshest field, but even she exempted us from that.’
‘But that is not where it ends, now is it?’ said Reyfneo. ‘Not only does he no longer grant us that exemption, but he also insists we present ourselves in person.’
‘I remember old Gonwela, too,’ said Rollawga. ‘She would have her brutes do their collecting at the little far-post and send us on our way without a hassle.’
‘So it was,’ said Tholreda, ‘but now Karvalo has us all trudge up to the hall every time we visit and makes us pay for the privilege!’
With every word they said, Trewgeo nodded all the more eagerly, until five of the six agreed to his offer, and swore themselves to secrecy.
‘And what about you, Osbago man?’ said Trewgeo.
‘I am not quite sure about all this,’ said Osbago. ‘I have as many complaints as anyone, but I will have even more if I get a knife in my throat.’
‘Think nothing of knives. If Karvalo brings violence against you, I swear on my life that I will shield you from it.’
‘Very well, then. I will be the sixth finger on the hand of justice.’
But a hand with six fingers had one too many.
Karvalo’s sheriffs were to deliver their dues a month and a half thereafter, and when the day came, all six of the conspirators went not to Pearmol, but to Samnew, where Trewgeo paid them each with a bag of silver bits. Karvalo, of course, noticed their absence as he was auditing the record of his takings the next day. This was not particularly unusual—a handful of sheriffs would fail to deliver every year, and for any number of reasons, legitimate or otherwise—so he sent his nastiest grimacers off to claim his tribute. After some prodding, all six of the conspirators gave Karvalo what they owed him, and he was satisfied.
The same happened in the following year, and again, Karvalo thought little of it. At least, that was until he realised Osbago in particular had failed him two years in a row.
‘How peculiar,’ he said, ‘that one so spineless, one so averse to trouble, and consequently, one so very loyal, should make this blunder twice.’ He consulted his records from the year prior and identified five other sheriffs who had failed likewise, and his eyebrows twitched. ‘Six and six the same, and not one more or less. I wonder, is this something?’
Karvalo resolved to send his thanes off to investigate once more, and thus did Thalo find himself riding beside Yorlayvo to Osbago’s farm at Fnarslad.
Osbago had been a faithful servant of Karvalo and his kin for many years, and after all that time, he had become a dear old friend to Yorlayvo, who visited Fnarslad often.
‘If I were a braggart,’ said Yorlayvo, ‘I would say I could ride there blind.’
When he and Thalo came to Fnarslad, Yorlayvo let himself in, and Thalo followed. Osbago was then in the small room and came to meet his guests, but when he saw their sworded hips and stern faces, it felt as if he needed to go straight back in.
‘Yorlayvo, my old mate,’ he said. ‘Whatever brings you here? And who is your fine young friend?’
‘This is Thalo,’ said Yorlayvo. ‘If you had been to Pearmol in the last while, you might have heard about him. But I happen to know you have not.’
‘Oh, you know. Busy, busy!’
Yorlayvo took a seat and asked Osbago to sit with him. Thalo remained by the door.
‘So,’ said Osbago, ‘what brings you here, dear chum of mine?’
‘Karvalo tells me you have been rather forgetful of late. What do you want to say about that?’
‘There is little to say. I am getting on a bit, after all. Foggy, if you will.’
‘Perhaps, then, it is time we found ourselves a fitter sheriff and moved you somewhere closer by. Somewhere we could keep an eye on you.’
‘That should not be necessary, I think.’
‘So you say, but if your advancing age is the only reason for the shirking of your responsibilities, the situation can only worsen. Unless, that is, you want to remember some other reason?’
Osbago shook his head.
‘Very well. Let me speak plainly. You have failed to meet your obligations two years in a row. Karvalo, my lord and yours, now offers you these options: either you give him what is owed, and he will, for his benevolence, overlook the prompting it required; or he will take it, whether you like it or not. For all your faults, Osbago, you are a good man. Do not make the wrong decision.’
Osbago was quite reluctant to do anything. He was unwilling to simply roll over and let Karvalo lord over him so unfairly, yet neither was he keen to put himself anywhere near harm’s way, to which was already so dangerously close. And worst of all, he could not avoid both fates.
‘I am in quite the bind,’ he said, after dithering a moment. ‘I have nothing to give. Not now, at least.’
‘Perhaps, then,’ said Yorlayvo, ‘we can take some assurance, and give you time to gather the full tribute. To this end, I ask of you three things. One, you are to pay a fee here and now in recompense for the late delivery of your dues, the sum of which is to be at my discretion alone. Two, you will have until the end of next month to make up the full extent of your shortfall. Any upset this causes among your headmen is your responsibility to bear. And three, you are to swear by oath to abide by this agreement, knowing that to dishonour such an oath is to subject yourself to the appropriate penalty, as dictated by the law. If you cannot agree to these terms, Osbago, we will be forced to settle the matter by other means.’
Then Yorlayvo nodded to Thalo, and without a word, he withdrew from its sheath splendid Sleme and held it tall.
‘I suppose that seems fair enough,’ Osbago whimpered.
‘So it does.’
Yorlayvo took a stick from his belt-bag, inscribed with these very terms ahead of time, and cut a notch in one end. Osbago notched the other, kissed the middle, and handed it back to Yorlayvo, to be burnt before Karvalo upon their return.
‘Now for the matter of your fee. Know, Osbago, that I do not mean to put you out.’
‘Not to worry, old pal. I have just the thing.’ Osbago went into the little storeroom at the back of the house and returned with a small bag. ‘This will be adequate, I hope.’
Yorlayvo took the bag, and within he found an assortment of polished silver bits, all odds and ends. This was Trewgeo’s payment, Osbago’s guilt made manifest.
‘Where did all this come from?’ said Yorlayvo.
After some incoherent mumbling, Osbago said, ‘Pay no mind to that.’
This did little to quell Yorlayvo’s suspicion, but he did not want to press his friend much more than he already had. He let the matter rest.
‘Very well. This will suffice. You will have until the end of next month to deliver all that you owe. We have your oath, Osbago. Do not be a fool.’
‘I am afraid you might be asking a horse to moo, my friend, but this old stud will do his best.’
Yorlayvo gave Osbago a parting pat on the back, took Thalo out of the house, and they went on their way home.
Upon returning to Pearmol, Yorlayvo went to Karvalo and told him what had happened at Fnarslad, and Karvalo said he had heard much the same from those who had spoken with the other slacking sheriffs. Considering the limited extent of the issue, and the willingness with which the shirkers had agreed to their fines and offered oaths of delivery, he attributed the matter to individual incompetence. All the same, he would not let it happen again.