Chapter 27 — New Banners

Chapter 27: Chapter 27 — New Banners

Chapter 27 — New Banners

Roland Harcourt’s pavilion leaked above his bed.

The water missed his pillow by less than a hand, struck the folded blanket beside him, ran along the wool and gathered in a dark patch near the edge of the cot. Roland stared at it until another drop fell.

"Ducal canvas does not seem to keep out much rain," he said.

His servant stood at the pavilion entrance with a dry coat over one arm. "Yes, my lord."

"The quartermaster called it the finest canvas in Varenne."

"Then the quartermaster has never slept beneath it."

Another drop landed.

Roland rose and pulled on his boots. Outside, rain covered the new settlement in mud.

His grant lay six days northwest of Northgate, where two old roads met beside a low ridge. The royal map showed a manor, three villages and a stone watchtower. The manor had burned during the war; one village was an empty line of foundations, the second had disappeared beneath trees, and the third still held nine families who watched the Harcourt expedition with the wary look of people still deciding whether it was another invading army. The watchtower stood, although its upper floor did not.

Roland’s people had raised a ditch and timber wall around the least damaged village. Harcourt’s green-and-white banner flew above the gate, and four lesser nobles who had travelled under his protection camped nearby, each on the land named in his own patent and each close enough to call for Roland’s knights if trouble came. It looked impressive from the southern road.

Inside the wall, two supply wagons had sunk to their axles. Men pushed while oxen strained against the harness, and mud covered everyone below the knees. A wheel finally broke free with a wet sucking sound, throwing one of the workers onto his back.

Roland stepped around him.

"Why are those wagons still standing in the rain?" he asked.

The quartermaster wiped rain from his face. "The storehouse roof failed, my lord. We moved the flour back under canvas."

"Move the grain into the old chapel until the storehouse is ready."

"The villagers objected when we tried, my lord."

Roland studied the small stone building at the center of the village. Its roof was the only one without a hole.

"The villagers can object after the flour is dry."

The quartermaster bowed and began shouting orders.

Roland continued toward the gate. Twenty laborers worked on the ditch, half with cloth wrapped around their hands where the wet shovel handles had opened blisters. A Harcourt knight supervised from horseback.

"Put him on the ground before he falls from the saddle," Roland said.

The knight looked down. "My lord?"

"Your horse is destroying the edge they just cut."

The knight dismounted.

Money had brought Roland more workers, better tools and stronger guards than most of the new barons. It had not made the ground dry, had not repaired the roads, had not kept one ox from breaking a leg in a hidden ditch two days ago. Roland’s ember-blood courser stood beneath the stable awning, its hooves sinking in the northern mud while it ate more grain than three workhorses. Every evening, the settlement looked smaller than it had on the map.

A rider appeared on the southern road near midday. The watch called the approach before the Harcourt colors could be seen beneath the mud, and Roland waited under the gatehouse roof while the rider entered. The young man slid from the saddle, nearly fell when his boots struck the ground and handed the reins to a guard.

"I carry a dispatch from Northgate, my lord," he said.

Roland eyed the mud covering the man’s cloak. "You brought part of the road with you."

"The rest is still attached to my horse."

"Eat first. You can make your report once you stop shaking."

The rider ate inside the surviving chapel while rain struck the roof. The flour had already been stacked along one wall despite the priest’s tight expression. Roland’s four allied barons joined him around a table made from a door laid across barrels.

The dispatch pouch held sealed messages from House Harcourt, Northgate and two men Roland had paid to watch the roads. Roland set the family letters aside and opened the shortest report.

"House Wentworth reached Northgate two days ago," he said.

One of the lesser barons stopped tearing bread. "How many?"

"Enough men to protect a new holding."

"Did Wentworth bring more fighting men than we did?"

"Enough that counting them aloud changes nothing," Roland repeated.

The Wentworth representative had arrived with a large convoy, several ranked knights and more supply wagons than Roland’s scouts had been able to count before the gates closed. He remained at Northgate, buying grain and attempting to hire masons.

"He will come west," another baron said.

"His grant lies north of the river," Roland replied. "If he comes west, it will be to speak with us."

"Or take the river road."

"The river road passes through a margrave’s land. Wentworth may discover that a ducal seal opens fewer doors here than it does at court."

That quieted the table. The old northern houses still held the fortresses and roads; their armies were smaller and their villages damaged, but their banners had never left.

Roland opened the second note. House Fairfax remained south of Northgate after losing two wagons at a damaged crossing, and the delays left the expedition behind the smaller parties.

The baron opposite Roland smiled. "So Fairfax is already failing."

"They lost two wagons," Roland said. "We lost an ox."

"Losing an ox is not the same as losing two wagons."

"No, but an ox is what pulls a wagon. We still lost carrying capacity."

The smile disappeared.

The rest of the report concerned lesser names. Three young nobles had joined the Wentworth column before Griffin City. Five had attached themselves to a royal knight travelling from Northgate. Two small expeditions had turned south after reaching the fortress, one claiming its patent was impossible to fulfil because the granted valley remained occupied by the soldiers of a northern lord. Another claimant had lost four people to bandits and abandoned half his wagons before reaching Northgate.

"Which claimant received the title?" someone asked.

Roland read the name again. It belonged to a landed knight from the southern coast, and it meant little to anyone at the table.

The courier drank from his cup. "There are more every day. Some arrive with fifty families. Some with ten men and a banner. The gate clerks stopped guessing who will last."

"How many have passed north?" Roland asked.

"I heard twenty-seven patents confirmed. Could be more now."

"Confirmed at Northgate does not mean they have established their holdings."

"No, my lord. Several remain on the northern road."

One report described a new baron who reached his land and found his promised village burned, his well fouled and the local bridge gone. He had returned to the nearest northern town to hire workers, but the town refused to sell him more grain until its own spring planting was secured.

That produced no laughter. Roland’s flour occupied the chapel because his own storehouse had failed, and everyone around the table understood how little separated a strong expedition from a hungry one.

Near the bottom of the page, one sentence mentioned Dragonwatch. Baron Drake had occupied the stronghold; smoke had been seen from its towers, and travellers said the old road remained passable as far as the valley.

Roland moved on.

"House Bell has reopened its eastern patrol road," he said. "They’re collecting tolls again."

One of the barons frowned. "On a royal road?"

"Ask them while standing beneath their walls."

"The Crown will object if Bell keeps collecting tolls on a royal road."

"Eventually," Roland said. "For now, the Crown has too many new holdings to watch and too few men to watch them."

The northern houses were repairing their power while the Crown planted new nobles across the damaged land. Each new settlement would need roads, trade and protection, and Roland intended for the weaker ones to look toward Harcourt before they looked toward Wentworth or Fairfax. First, he needed a settlement that did not sink into the mud.

The chapel door opened. A guard bowed from the threshold.

"My lord, the western ditch collapsed."

Roland closed the report.

"How much of the bank collapsed?"

"About thirty paces, my lord. The rain carried part of it into the ditch."

"Was anyone buried beneath it?"

"No, my lord. The workers escaped before the bank gave way."

"Then why are you standing here instead of moving them to safer ground?"

The guard vanished.

Roland’s allied barons rose more slowly. They had their own camps and their own wet beds to return to.

"You wanted to send invitations," one of them said. "To the claimants west of Northgate."

"Not yet. We invite no one to watch us count our last sacks."

"Wentworth will send invitations before we do."

"Let him invite them to a field." Roland pushed away from the table. "We will invite them when we have walls, dry storage and enough food that they do not watch us count the bread."

Outside, the rain had weakened to a fine mist. The collapsed ditch was worse than the guard had described: water had gathered against the new bank until a section slid inward, filling the trench with mud.

The knight Roland had ordered off his horse stood in the bottom with the laborers. He had removed his cloak and was passing full baskets up the slope.

Roland stopped beside the ditch.

"Do not dig the same bank again," he said.

The knight looked up. "The line was marked by the surveyor."

"The surveyor marked it before the rain."

"Where do you want the replacement ditch cut?"

Roland studied the water gathering along the wall.

"Bring the surveyor," he said. "And one of the villagers who lived here before the war."

The knight climbed out.

Roland walked along the wall while workers cleared the fallen earth. Beyond the gate, four banners marked four smaller claims, and farther away, beyond the rain and the hills, more nobles were coming north. Some carried ducal names; others owned little beyond their patents. Most believed land would become wealth once they reached it.

Roland had believed something close to that himself.

He returned to the gatehouse and found his clerk drying the Northgate report near a brazier.

"Send riders to the four claims south of us," Roland said.

"Do you still plan to send invitations?"

"No. Ask what roads remain open and whether they have seen armed groups. Offer to exchange news."

"Was there nothing else in the Northgate dispatch?"

"The rest can wait until tomorrow."

The clerk began writing.

"When the wall is finished," Roland added, "we invite them here."

Harcourt’s banner snapped above the wet gate. The cloth was clean. Everything beneath it was covered in mud.

The new gate had been closed for less than a day when someone knocked on it.

The sound was too weak to be an attack. Three dull strikes came from outside, followed by a man’s voice.

"We came to ask for shelter, my lord. Only until we can decide where to go."

Walter looked down from the gatehouse. Christopher joined him on the wall while two apprentices took positions beside the lifting bar.

Twenty-three people waited on the road. They had one small cart, two goats and a thin horse with a patched harness. Bundles filled the cart, leaving the children to walk. Two men carried spears, and a third held an unstrung hunting bow.

They did not look like bandits. Christopher had learned that looking harmless proved little.

Godfrey reached the wall and studied them.

"Who leads you?" he called.

A grey-bearded man stepped away from the cart and placed his spear on the road before coming closer.

"Wilfred Ross, my lord. The others travelled here with my household."

"Which village did you leave?"

"Dunmar village, southeast of here."

Godfrey turned to Walter. Walter shook his head.

"Where is that?" Christopher asked.

"Southeast," Wilfred said. "Three days from here if the old bridge still stands."

"Why did all of you abandon Dunmar?"

The man looked back at the people behind him. "We left during the war. We’re returning."

"Then why come north to Dragonwatch instead of continuing south?"

"Because it is cold, my lord. Because two children have walked since sunrise. Because your walls have smoke above them."

Christopher could not argue with any of that.

Godfrey ordered the smaller gate leaf opened only far enough for one person. Wilfred entered alone, and Walter searched him while the others waited beyond the road ditch.

The man’s coat had been repaired so many times that little of the original cloth remained. He carried a knife, a fire striker and three copper coins. Walter took the knife before leading him into the gatehouse.

"Dunmar belonged to whom?" Godfrey asked.

"Lord Farrow. His manor stood north of the village."

"You said the manor stood there. Has it been destroyed?"

"The orcs burned it. Lord Farrow and his sons died before Northgate closed its outer wall."

"That explains where you lived, not whether you are free commoners or another lord’s serfs."

Wilfred understood. "Free tenants. We paid rent after harvest. Some worked extra days for coin, but none of us belonged to the estate."

"Can you prove that your households were free?"

"Our rent tallies burned with the village."

"Do you have witnesses who knew your lord and village?"

"The surviving villagers. A steward escaped south, but I don’t know if he lives."

Godfrey leaned against the table. "If another lord claims you?"

"Then he can show his claim when someone comes to demand you."

Wilfred said it without raising his voice. He was either telling the truth or had repeated the answer enough times to believe it.

Christopher looked through the narrow window. A woman on the road had wrapped two children inside the same blanket.

"Has anyone shown fever or sickness on the road?" he asked.

"A cough. No fever when we left the last camp."

Mabel examined the group outside the wall. One boy had a cold, an older woman had swollen feet, and another man had a healing cut on his palm, but none showed signs of a dangerous sickness.

Godfrey had their spears and bow collected before allowing them through the gate. Bennet recorded the weapons and the number of people, and the cart remained near the entrance, where it could be watched.

The gate closed behind the final child. Several newcomers watched the wooden doors settle against their braces. One woman touched the wall as she passed, while the thin horse lowered its head beside the cart until a stable boy brought water.

Walter kept two apprentices near the entrance while Bennet counted every bundle. Wilfred accepted the caution, and the two younger men surrendered their spears to the gatehouse.

The newcomers received porridge and hot water beside the common hall. They ate quickly, but not wildly, and the adults made certain the children had bowls before taking their own.

Joan found dry cloth for the boy with the cough. Mabel listened to his breathing once more after he warmed and decided he needed rest rather than medicine. His mother thanked her three times, each quieter than the last.

Dragonwatch’s original settlers watched from the courtyard.

Christopher heard the first complaint before the newcomers finished eating.

Cedric Palmer found him near the storehouse with Bennet.

"They’re more mouths for stores that are already being measured," Cedric said.

"We can feed them for one night while we learn whether they can work."

"One night becomes two when rain starts."

Bennet held up his board. "Twenty-three people will not empty the storehouse tonight."

"No. They will help empty it slowly."

Cedric turned toward the common hall. His voice remained respectful, but he made no effort to hide his concern.

"Our families came because House Drake ordered us," he said. "Those people walked through the gate and received the same food."

"They will work for it," Christopher said.

"What useful work can sixteen tired people do?"

Christopher considered the waiting families.

The men claimed to be farmers and shepherds, two women had worked in the fields as well, and one man knew enough fishing to feed his household when a river was kind. None was a smith, mason, healer or trained soldier. The man with the bow hunted rabbits and birds but did not call himself a hunter after hearing Aldwin’s name.

They were ordinary people. Christopher had no shortage of ordinary work.

"The field crews need hands," he said. "Owen needs rubble cleared. Firewood never stops."

"The fields need people who know what they are doing," Cedric replied.

"Then find out whether they know the work they claim."

Wilfred and four others joined the farmers that afternoon. The remaining able-bodied adults helped move firewood and clear a damaged house under Owen’s direction, while their children stayed near the common hall with Joan and the older women.

Wilfred and Cedric clashed right away. They argued over the remaining barley.

"You cast it too thick," Wilfred said after watching the second sower.

Cedric folded his arms. "That’s how we sow at home."

"You sowed it that way in the south because your home is warm."

"Barley remains barley wherever it is planted."

"Cold rain rots seed when it lies crowded."

"Cold rain rots thin seed too. Then you have an empty field."

Christopher arrived while both men were pulling handfuls of grain from the same sack to prove their point.

"Which of you understands this ground better?" he asked.

"I do," both men answered at once.

That answered nothing.

Robert Miller suggested dividing the unfinished end of the field into two narrow strips: Cedric’s people would sow one at their usual rate, Wilfred would sow the other more thinly, and they could compare what sprouted.

"How long before the field shows which sowing was better?" Christopher asked.

"Long enough for both of them to complain," Robert said.

Christopher approved the trial.

Cedric remained farm reeve, and Wilfred worked beneath his direction, though neither man looked pleased about it. Christopher considered that a better beginning than making the newcomer responsible because he came from the north.

Near evening, Wilfred walked the eastern plots with Cedric and pointed toward a low stone bank almost hidden beneath grass.

"That used to be a windbreak," he said.

"Used to be a wall," Cedric replied.

"Too low for a boundary. It turns the north wind over the field."

Cedric studied its direction. "If we raise it, snow gathers behind it."

"Some. Better there than against the houses."

They began arguing again.

Christopher left them to it.

After supper, he met Wilfred in the gatehouse. Godfrey, Bennet and Walter remained in the room, Wilfred’s knife lying on the table beside him.

"Why did you turn north after reaching the southern estates?" Christopher asked.

"We tried to remain in the south, my lord."

"You found work there long enough to survive."

"Surviving for a few weeks is not the same as being allowed to stay."

The group had spent the winter moving between three southern villages. They found harvest work, ditch digging and places in barns, but no village offered land. One steward demanded two years of rent before allowing them to take over several abandoned cottages.

"Why not keep working?" Bennet asked.

"They called us northern beggars while asking us to clear their drains," Wilfred said. "Some said we brought sickness. Others said if they let one family stay, a hundred more would come."

"Were the southerners wrong to call you northern beggars?" Godfrey asked.

Wilfred looked at him. "About the sickness."

Walter almost smiled.

Several refugees remained in the south, but Wilfred’s group chose to return because they knew cold soil, sheep and the northern seasons. They had intended to search for land near Dunmar, though they did not know whether anyone had claimed the ruined estate or whether the village well remained usable.

"You can remain here for ten days," Christopher said. "Shelter and meals in exchange for work."

Wilfred waited for the rest.

"During that time, we inspect land. If your people want to settle here and there is suitable ground, you can stay. No rent before your first harvest."

"What happens when the ten days end?"

"We will agree on a fixed share before the second planting."

"If we choose not to stay, may we leave freely?"

"You’re free people. If you leave, take your cart and weapons."

"We will accept ten days on those terms," Wilfred said at last.

Bennet wrote down the names of the households and the number of mouths they would feed. Wilfred repeated the ten-day term to his people before they carried their bundles into the barracks.

The newcomers slept in an unused end of the eastern barracks. It was crowded, but the roof held. Joan found two more blankets for the children, and their horse and goats joined Dragonwatch’s animals after Cedric made certain they were kept separate for the night.

Before dark, Wilfred walked to the eastern fields with Cedric. They returned arguing about drainage and carrying three broken fence stakes.

Wilfred left the cart packed and ready. The bundles stayed tied beneath their patched cover, and the two spears and the bow remained recorded near the gate, ready to be returned if the group left.

Christopher saw the packed cart while crossing the courtyard before bed.

Twenty-three more people had entered Dragonwatch. They were not his settlers yet, and they had given him no oath.

In the morning, they would work anyway.