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The Lyng Chronicle: an extract
Jan. 23rd, 2006 05:23 pmIt was all Andrew's fault. But then, it always was.
Having left the Isles under something of a cloud to return to his homeland, fancifully called "Saxe-Numidia," with his lady in tow, he never planned to return. But in the endless sunny days of Prester John's kingdom, he found himself pining for the cold grey climate he had left behind, and worrying (typical Andrew this) that in his absence some evil power might have overwhelmed the Far Isles and turned them from the Light. What he could have done to prevent it had he been there, not even he knew.
His lady also was pining for home, and worrying along the same lines about her manor of Neresby, of which she had only just managed to get full possession on the death of her previous husband, scant months before the sudden departure. Inevitably, there came a day when they had no alternative but to talk to each other about it, and on the following morning Andrew besought his king for a favour. John gladly granted it, but warned Andrew that not even his power could control "the tides" that separated "Saxe-Numidia" from the lands of mortal men. There was no telling where they might make landfall, or when. Andrew brushed these caveats (politely) aside: he had travelled across Cathay, Ind, Egypt, Asia Minor, Ind again, Russia, Poland, Germany, Italy, Russia again, and Norway before, and this time he had a more reliable map. He would manage.
They set sail in a sturdy carrack manned by experienced tiderunners, and all seemed well; then a sudden storm descended on them and nearly capsized the ship, and when it had passed Andrew was nowhere to be seen. The lady Jennet, determined as ever, resolved to go on alone, and after a long and hazardous journey across most of Europe, some of it several times (for Andrew had had his map with him when he fell overboard) came at last to the Isles, to find Andrew but recently arrived himself. There was some talk about a mad old hermit who had disappeared at the same instant that Andrew had suddenly appeared on the beach, but this was overshadowed for Jennet by the far graver news. The calamity she feared had indeed come to pass. While they had been in "Saxe-Numidia," but a year or two by their reckoning, over two hundred years had passed in the Fens. Her manor had been deeded to the Church by Osric, the only surviving issue of her late husband, and had fallen into ruin. A band of outlaws were lairing in it, making the roads perilous by day, and the nights hideous with drunken revelry. She and Andrew were homeless.
The next several years were a dark time for Andrew and Jennet. Hiding in whatever natural covert they could find, living on whatever Andrew could catch, they grew ill and weak. Jennet caught some vicious strain of marsh-ague, and her eyesight began to fail her. In desperation, Andrew gained entry to the manor and found one of Jennet's secret caches of gold, undiscovered by the outlaws. He came away with a small chest of coins, with which he hoped to buy the Church's and the King's favour. But Jennet was too ill to travel, and many months went by with nothing being done because Andrew was loth to leave her unprotected. Again, how much protection an enfeebled songsmith could afford in case of danger is a moot point.
At last he could delay no longer. He sorted all their goods and gear into two sets of saddlebags and set off for the manor's stables to commandeer two horses. Unfortunately, in the dark he failed to notice that one of the outlaws was also passed out in the stable, till he tried to saddle him. The resultant confusion covered his retreat, but he could only take one horse, and that the first to hand: a spavined, knock-kneed mare, much ill-used and refractory. Andrew despaired, but set off anyway at Jennet's insistence, taking one of the sets of saddlebags. There was no point in repacking: the mare could hardly carry what she had. Too late, when he was well on the road, he remembered that the chest of gold was in the other set of bags...
The mare, much to Andrew's surprise, proved more reliable than her appearance implied. She carried him all the way to the King's Court at Letton, and, after a night's fair stabling and good feed, all the way back. Sadly, by the time he found his way down the winding, narrow roads to the hall, Court was ending, and he must wait, in his stained and tattered travelling clothes, while the lords and ladies processed past him in their finery. He had lost his chance to present his appeal to the King.
All was not lost, though. Lord Igor Ross, who had heard something of their predicament, questioned Andrew closely at the feast that followed, and turned aside to confer with the High Marshal of the Isles. As if in a dream Andrew heard Lord Igor's next words to him. He would be returning on the morrow with the High Marshal himself, a company of a hundred men-at-arms, and a holding force of snails, to drive the outlaws from the manor of Neresby and guard against their possible return. The part about the snails confused Andrew, but he was too relieved to do more than nod and smile and offer his thanks.
It would take time to restore the manor house to its former glory, to rescue the estate from desuetude, to locate what remained of Jennet's prized flock of two hundred sheep (though as Jennet pointed out with a trace of her old asperity, there should be enough of them by now to cover most of the Isles). The chest of gold would need to be entrusted to the Marshal, to convey to Lord Igor, with a request that he pass as much as he felt was needful to Bishop de Velmont as representative of the Church. This, Andrew hoped, would secure the return of the deeds to the manor. Then there would be need of surgeons to tend to Lady Jennet's illness. He hoped that some more of his lady's caches of gold had remained undiscovered. All would be needed.
But for now, all that could be done was being done. He would return to Jennet on the morrow with joyful tidings, and soon thereafter she would sleep once more in a real bed, as he himself was now to do for the first time in an eternity.
Having left the Isles under something of a cloud to return to his homeland, fancifully called "Saxe-Numidia," with his lady in tow, he never planned to return. But in the endless sunny days of Prester John's kingdom, he found himself pining for the cold grey climate he had left behind, and worrying (typical Andrew this) that in his absence some evil power might have overwhelmed the Far Isles and turned them from the Light. What he could have done to prevent it had he been there, not even he knew.
His lady also was pining for home, and worrying along the same lines about her manor of Neresby, of which she had only just managed to get full possession on the death of her previous husband, scant months before the sudden departure. Inevitably, there came a day when they had no alternative but to talk to each other about it, and on the following morning Andrew besought his king for a favour. John gladly granted it, but warned Andrew that not even his power could control "the tides" that separated "Saxe-Numidia" from the lands of mortal men. There was no telling where they might make landfall, or when. Andrew brushed these caveats (politely) aside: he had travelled across Cathay, Ind, Egypt, Asia Minor, Ind again, Russia, Poland, Germany, Italy, Russia again, and Norway before, and this time he had a more reliable map. He would manage.
They set sail in a sturdy carrack manned by experienced tiderunners, and all seemed well; then a sudden storm descended on them and nearly capsized the ship, and when it had passed Andrew was nowhere to be seen. The lady Jennet, determined as ever, resolved to go on alone, and after a long and hazardous journey across most of Europe, some of it several times (for Andrew had had his map with him when he fell overboard) came at last to the Isles, to find Andrew but recently arrived himself. There was some talk about a mad old hermit who had disappeared at the same instant that Andrew had suddenly appeared on the beach, but this was overshadowed for Jennet by the far graver news. The calamity she feared had indeed come to pass. While they had been in "Saxe-Numidia," but a year or two by their reckoning, over two hundred years had passed in the Fens. Her manor had been deeded to the Church by Osric, the only surviving issue of her late husband, and had fallen into ruin. A band of outlaws were lairing in it, making the roads perilous by day, and the nights hideous with drunken revelry. She and Andrew were homeless.
The next several years were a dark time for Andrew and Jennet. Hiding in whatever natural covert they could find, living on whatever Andrew could catch, they grew ill and weak. Jennet caught some vicious strain of marsh-ague, and her eyesight began to fail her. In desperation, Andrew gained entry to the manor and found one of Jennet's secret caches of gold, undiscovered by the outlaws. He came away with a small chest of coins, with which he hoped to buy the Church's and the King's favour. But Jennet was too ill to travel, and many months went by with nothing being done because Andrew was loth to leave her unprotected. Again, how much protection an enfeebled songsmith could afford in case of danger is a moot point.
At last he could delay no longer. He sorted all their goods and gear into two sets of saddlebags and set off for the manor's stables to commandeer two horses. Unfortunately, in the dark he failed to notice that one of the outlaws was also passed out in the stable, till he tried to saddle him. The resultant confusion covered his retreat, but he could only take one horse, and that the first to hand: a spavined, knock-kneed mare, much ill-used and refractory. Andrew despaired, but set off anyway at Jennet's insistence, taking one of the sets of saddlebags. There was no point in repacking: the mare could hardly carry what she had. Too late, when he was well on the road, he remembered that the chest of gold was in the other set of bags...
The mare, much to Andrew's surprise, proved more reliable than her appearance implied. She carried him all the way to the King's Court at Letton, and, after a night's fair stabling and good feed, all the way back. Sadly, by the time he found his way down the winding, narrow roads to the hall, Court was ending, and he must wait, in his stained and tattered travelling clothes, while the lords and ladies processed past him in their finery. He had lost his chance to present his appeal to the King.
All was not lost, though. Lord Igor Ross, who had heard something of their predicament, questioned Andrew closely at the feast that followed, and turned aside to confer with the High Marshal of the Isles. As if in a dream Andrew heard Lord Igor's next words to him. He would be returning on the morrow with the High Marshal himself, a company of a hundred men-at-arms, and a holding force of snails, to drive the outlaws from the manor of Neresby and guard against their possible return. The part about the snails confused Andrew, but he was too relieved to do more than nod and smile and offer his thanks.
It would take time to restore the manor house to its former glory, to rescue the estate from desuetude, to locate what remained of Jennet's prized flock of two hundred sheep (though as Jennet pointed out with a trace of her old asperity, there should be enough of them by now to cover most of the Isles). The chest of gold would need to be entrusted to the Marshal, to convey to Lord Igor, with a request that he pass as much as he felt was needful to Bishop de Velmont as representative of the Church. This, Andrew hoped, would secure the return of the deeds to the manor. Then there would be need of surgeons to tend to Lady Jennet's illness. He hoped that some more of his lady's caches of gold had remained undiscovered. All would be needed.
But for now, all that could be done was being done. He would return to Jennet on the morrow with joyful tidings, and soon thereafter she would sleep once more in a real bed, as he himself was now to do for the first time in an eternity.