Captain Márden's Tale: Part 1 - A Noble Squire

“See, there... a fine goose..." whispered the young man to his companion.

The two were well dressed, in fine leathers and boots, but were hunkered low amongst tall reeds in the midst of a wide expanse of marshland that extended to the horizon.

Before them, on a stretch of open water, was a fine wild goose, hunting and searching for food in the margins. A cool autumn breeze blew gently across the pool.

His companion, a tall, dark-haired young man, quietly and smoothly drew back his bow, pulling back a long dark arrow. He held steady for some moments, judging the windspeed and distance, then let fly. The arrow flew straight to its mark, and deep into the chest of the goose, which let out a strangled cry, then slumped down in the water.

"Hit! Kill! Márden, as ever, you strike true!" the younger man said to his companion.

Márden, the archer, merely smiled quietly, and slinging his bow over his shoulder, made his way around the edge of the open water to the goose, swiftly pulling it in, extracting the arrow, and binding it to carry.

"A good bird, indeed, Márden", the younger man added.

Márden nodded.

"Yes, Tárenis, a good bird. It should keep your mother happy, at least".

Tárenis chuckled - or at least, he meant to chuckle. It came out more like a giggle. This made the younger man blush, but Márden ignored it.

He was busy, thanking the Spirit of the Marsh for the kill. He muttered under his breath, praising the great Hunter.

"What are you saying?" asked Tárenis. "I couldn't catch that, but it sounded... odd..."

Márden looked at Tárenis carefully, pondering his words. "You know my people have been on these lands and marshes for generations, Tárenis. Not everything in this world is governed by the Mistresses..." Márden winked.

"The Mistresses? Oh... you mean Sainted Laráni and Mother Peóni? You are very strange sometimes, Márden..." Tárenis sometimes didn't understand his friend, but then, he was from a very old and strange family, who claimed to have held land here before the ancestors of the Shôrka even came to the wide valleys of the Benâmo.

"Lets get this bird back to the lodge. I think your mother will really appreciate something other than fish!" Márden hoisted the bird over his shoulder, and began to pick his way through the marshes, towards low hills to the east.

❧

The two young men reached the lodge, which stood on a rise overlooking the vast expanse of the Démath marshes. It was surrounded by an embankment and a wooden wall, and had a single guard tower, from which two pennants fluttered. One featured a white heron on a green field, the other fox on a red background.

The lodge itself was an impressive wooden building, besides which were stables, a cookhouse and several other buildings. The yard was busy with servants and attendants, who acknowledge the two young men deferentially as they entered. They made their way to the cookhouse, and were greeted by a stout woman.

"Master Márden! A most excellent fowl! We can always rely on you to bring us the best bird for the table!" She took the trussed bird from Márden, and strung it up to hang.

The two young men made their way to the lodge, and up its broad front steps to its wide veranda. Servants and other staff parted to allow them through. A short but regal woman met them at the doorway.

"Mother", said Tárenis, "Márden was successful... again. He shot a most excellent goose for our departure feast!" Tárenis beamed with pride for his friend.

His mother nodded, and smiled at Márden.

"You do us great honour, as always, Márden. Not only does your great clan allow us the use of this splendid lodge for the summer season, but they provide the services of one of their sons to fill our larder!"

At this, Márden chuckled. He embraced the noble woman warmly.

"It is the least we can do for our true allies and friends, Lady Sârela. Besides, I couldn't let my best friend go hungry on his last day on our family lands. He does, after all, eat like a horse..."

Again, Tárenis blushed. He truly wished he could prevent that from happening.

Lady Sârela chose to ignore her son's discomfort. She knew Tárenis idolised Márden, even though it was Tárenis who would one day be a baron, while Márden was only a third son.

"Well, you two should ensure that you are ready to depart tomorrow, and clean up for the leaving feast", she said.

The two young men made their way to their shared quarters, where they found that most of their belongings had already been packed for them, save only outfits for the feast. A servant helped them strip their muddy hunting clothes, and took them away to be cleaned, and returned to help them dress for the evening.

"I really don't like this style, Tárenis, even if it is, apparently, all the rage in Quârelin", said Márden as he adjusted the tight jerkin the servant had helped him into. "But I know it pleases your mother that we don't look like forest rangers at feast-time, so I suppose I will just have to endure it".

Now it was Tárenis' turn to chuckle. "Márden, sometimes I think you complain for the sake of it. And that is rubbish. You are always trying on the latest fashions, even if you pretend you'd rather spend all your days in one outfit".

Márden pretended to look mortally offended, but all this did was increase Tárenis' chuckle to a loud laugh, and he was forced to join in.

They made their way to grand veranda, and say on the benches and watched the sun go down over lightly forested land and the wide Démath marshes beyond.

"Those marshes really are very wide, Márden". Tárenis had only ever been to the lodge once before, but had he had been much younger then. He hadn't really paid much attention to the marshes before.

"Indeed, my friend, they are. It is nearly 30 leagues from here to Eilýria and the mouth of the Benâmo, way beyond our view. And you would be surprised how many folk live in them, too".

"Live in them? Truly?" Tárenis had spent several weeks hunting around the edges of the marsh with his companion, and had never seen a soul.

"Yes, indeed, and all of them owe allegiance to my father, although I've often heard him say they are more than lax in their solemn feudal duties... We are lucky if we get more than a few token wildfowl from them. Still, life out there cannot be easy".

Tárenis was curious, and wanted to know more about these marsh folk. "How many of these people are there, Márden? And why have we see nothing of them when we have been out hunting these last several weeks?"

"Most probably, my good friend, because they didn't want you to see them". Márden smiled, knowingly.

"You make them seem like elves, or Eméla, Márden".

"Hmm... well, perhaps".

Márden could be frustratingly obtuse, at times, Tárenis thought.

Soon, they were called to the central hall for the leaving-feast. As they entered, they saw servants and Tárenis' clan's entourage busying themselves about the long tables. At the high table, Lord Haráste Marátel, Baron of Òdelýn, and Tárenis' father, was already seated, as was Lady Sârela.

Lord Marátel rose to greet them.

"My companions!" he said, addressing the attending members of his household, "My son and heir, come! Join us! And good Márden, my faithful squire and scion of the great clan of Telégah! Come, both you, and take your places of honour at our leaving feast!"

All in the room rose at their lord had done, and the two young men took their places to the right and left of the lord and lady, and joined in the festivities.

Soon, the main courses of the meal were paraded from the kitchens, and amongst them was the fine goose Márden had shot earlier that day.

Lord Marátel rose once more, and held up his goblet.

"Let us raise a toast to those who have provided this leaving feast!"

"Thanks be to our allies and friends, clan Telégah, for granting us the use of their summer lodge, whilst they attend to greater matters within the duchy in Kolârè".

The baron nodded to the warden of the lodge, an elderly retainer of clan Telégah.

"And thanks to Master Márden, for this most fine goose you see before you! Scarcely ever has a lord been so well served by his squire!"

"And finally, thanks be to our Lady Laráni, for our safety and our souls, and Mother Peóni, for her bounty and care".

Everyone in the room joined in Lord Marátel's toast, and the feast began in earnest.

❧

The feast lasted for many hours, until eventually, Tárenis felt he had finally had his fill. His father was dozing, and his mother had already retired. Márden still seemed to be in full flight, although he had moved to a more rowdy table, and was playing at dice with a number of his father's men-at-arms. Tárenis knew from experience that he would never last as long as his friend, and recalling the excellent day, he quietly slipped away to their quarters, and was soon asleep.

❧

The next day, the whole household rose early, despite the feast the night before. Soon after the sun broke through the morning mists, the baron of Òdelýn's banner was struck from the watch tower, and the cavalcade set out.

Márden was one of the last to leave. He hung back, and waited for the last of the Marátel men-at-arms to leave.

He turned to the warden.

"My thanks, Gâren. As ever you have proved an excellent host to our allies".

The warden nodded. "Thank you, m'lord".

"I have enjoyed returning here; I have fond memories of this place from my childhood...." Márden mused.

"It is a pity my father is far away in Kolârè, in that snake pit of politics. Give me the wide open lands, any day!"

The warden simply waited. It was not his place to comment.

"Well, I shall be off. Not a good look for a squire to leave his lord unescorted, is it?"

"I suppose not, m'lord. Fare you well, my lord, until we see you again".

"You too, Gâren, you too".

With this, Márden took the bridle of his horse, and leaped into the saddle, and rode off, waving without looking back.

After a short canter, he caught the departing entourage, and soon took his place near his lord, before the wagons.

❧

The journey to Òdelýn was not a long one, but the party were in no hurry. They made their way south along the line of the hills east of the Démath marshes. They camped near to the ancient standing stone of Kel Stûras, and the next day made their way southeast across the Stûreta hills and southwards towards the Kúden river valley.

These lands were part of the Èsuâren (barony) of Néln, held by a governor for the duchess of Kolârè. Along the way the passed several manors, and once a bailiff came forth to greet them and offer them wine and provisions, which were gratefully accepted.

It was towards evening when they sighted the battlements of Òdelýn keep, their home. The keep lay on the eastern bank of the Kúden river, across a shallow ford.

As they approached the ford, they saw a group of mounted men wearing the tabard of clan Marátel gathered on the opposite shore. Upon sighting their lord's convoy and banner, this group rushed across the ford in a flurry of spray. Lord Marátel frowned, and order the convoy to halt. Márden rode up beside his lord. It was indeed odd for the men-at-arms of their keep to be rushing towards them so quickly...

As the group rode nearer, Márden recognised that they were led by Hâraden, his lord's constable, and even in the growing gloom of the evening, he could see that the constable's face was grim. A murmur rippled down the convoy; clearly not all was well.

Lord Marátel signalled to his personal guard, and spurred his horse forward to meet his constable. Márden, of course, followed at his side. Soon the two groups drew near, and slowed. As they drew closer, Márden could have sworn that Hâraden was looking for someone, and was shocked when his gaze seemed to fall on him, and felt the constable's fierce attention focussed fully on him, at least until he acknowledge his lord; but even then, he seemed to glance more than was usual - or even appropriate - at the young squire.

Hâraden nodded to his lord, and waited to be asked to speak.

Lord Marátel had noticed the interest his constable was giving his squire, and a shiver ran through him - though he knew not why.

"Hâraden... What is it that brings out rushing so quickly to see us? Could it not wait until we were safely in our own halls?"

Hâraden looked extremely uncomfortable, and made abeyance once more.

"M'lord. Forgive me. But if you will permit me, I would speak with you... alone..."

Lord Marátel frowned. "Alone?"

"Yes my lord. I apologise for this, but I do believe that what I have to say is best heard only by yourself".

"This is a most ... unusual ... request, but I trust you have a good reason for it, Sir Hâraden. Very well". said Lord Marátel, turning to his men-at-arms and squire, "Wait for me here". With that, he rode forward and to the side, and Hâraden joined him.

They spoke quickly, and with low voices. Márden was sure the constable kept glancing at him, and it made him very uncomfortable.

They continue in this way, until, suddenly, Lord Marátel let out a cry they all could hear...

"No! That's impossible! I don't... I can't believe that!"

Hâraden looked chagrined but uncowed. He continued to whisper to his lord, how was shaking his head in amazement and disbelief. The convoy was now in considerable disarray, and Márden realised that Tárenis had ridden up beside him.

"What is it?" Tárenis said in hushed tones.

"Nothing good", said Márden, straining in vain to hear what his lord and the constable were discussing, and feeling more and more uncomfortable each time the constable glanced at him.

Then, suddenly, Lord Marátel sat up from the discussion, and said something that those nearby could not hear, but it was clearly final, because the discussion ended. Lord Marátel wheeled his horse round, and with a flick of his hand, indicated that the constable and the group from their keep were to follow him.

He rode at a trot back to the group, and drew up in front of Márden and his son. His face was ashen, and grim. All of his earlier joviality was gone.

"Márden, Constable Hâraden has grave news, but this is not something we can discuss here. You and my son will ride back to Òdelýn with him and his men. I will follow presently. I will see you in my chambers immediately we arrive. Do you understand?"

Márden was perplexed - and worried - to an extent he could scarcely remember; but all he could do was nod his silent agreement.

"Father..." started Tárenis, but a swift and fearsome look stopped him completely. He said no more.

So, under the constable's intense gaze, Márden and Tárenis rode across the ford, and up through the small town around Òdelýn, and in through the gatehouse to the bailey beneath the central keep. Almost like automatons, they handed the reins of their horses to the ostler and his assistants, and were escorted up the stairs to the keep. No one spoke, and it was clear that everyone in the keep was tense. More than one glanced at Márden with looks that he had never seen before in his life. They were looks of fear... and even of suspicion. He was, if it was possible, even more worried than ever.

Finally, the two young men were in Lord Marátel's chamber. Constable Hâraden, who had not spoken to either of them, signalled that they should sit at the lord's great table, and left the room. To Márden's shock, he heard the key turn in the heavy lock, and they were left alone, high in Òdelýn keep.

❧
Read Part 2 of Captain Márden's Tale.