Ivenholf

A rider came from the city yesterday with to deliver a message to the captain. So that’s what it was about. Of course, this was a good, even an excellent thing. Accompanying the captain and his second to meet with a potential client, a nobleman no less, was a sign of growing trust. Over the past few months Gideon enjoyed an increase in attention from his superiors. If he continued to prove his competence and potential, being groomed for command was a real possibility. However, he was in no fit state to parlay with someone from the upper crust of society.

Although he had cleaned himself in the stream, he had not bothered to launder his clothes, reeking of sweat and lightly splattered with excrement. By the standards of unwashed mercenaries on the march, it was more than acceptable. But to meet with a nobleman in this state would be a horrible insult and would cost the company dearly. He would need to launder his clothes, clean his boots, wash himself again; not in the stream but with heated water and soap, clean and trim his hair, shave any stubble on his face and potentially perfume himself.

The free time he had crumbled into ash, slipped through his fingers, washed away into the stream and flowed into the ocean. Between now and when they rode for the city, he would have to spend making himself presentable. How terribly unfortunate that they had drill, and that he was forced to muck the latrines.

…

Was he being fucked with? Friedrick, being the sergeant, was obviously privy to the commander’s plans. The notion that this was an unfortunate coincidence was absolutely preposterous! Gideon could feel the deliberate, insidious malice from the old man as if he were standing right in front of him. Bastard!

Outwardly, he showed no sign of his grievances. He nodded and replied, “I’ll go make myself presentable. When are we expected?”

“We depart as soon as you are ready,” Yosef replied.

Great. Were they keeping Lord Alberche waiting? Or did his superiors put the appointment later in the day to account for this? Either way, his reply was the same. “I’ll make haste.”

Gideon gathered the minimal amount of water he would need; rather than wasting time with a full bath, he would merely make do with a few buckets worth. He scrubbed himself from head to toe and washed his hair. Immediately after, he shaved his face and trimmed his hair so that it reached just short of his shoulders. Fortunately, a few of the cooks and other supporting members of the company heard his plight and helped him get his laundry in order, which saved him considerable effort.

While his hair finished drying, Gideon worked on his boots; scrubbing off dirt, buffing out scratches and polishing them, but not so much that they shined. Once he finished with his boots, he combed his hair and tied it into a ponytail with a plain leather cord. Shortly after, he received his freshly laundered clothes. They had even managed to scrounge up a small bottle of perfume for him. It smelled of figs and sandalwood.

In addition to his clean clothing, Gideon belted his sword and dagger. As they were visiting a nobleman in his home, he opted to leave his armor in his pack. After a few hours of getting ready, he approached the captain’s pavilion tent and announced himself at the entrance. “It’s Gideon, sir.”

The captain’s voice was gruff. “Enter.”

Gideon pushed through the canvas flaps and presented himself before the captain, who was sitting behind his desk. Yosef stood off to the captain’s right. They were both dressed similarly to himself; donned only in what was essential for the visit and wearing their swords. Yosef frowned as he spoke first, “What took you so damn long?”

“I’m sorry for the delay, sir. I was busy making myself presentable,” Gideon replied stiffly, standing at the position of attention.

“I can see that,” Yosef said as he circled him, expression severe. “You look sharp.”

The captain of The Sons of the Sword was not quite as old as Friedrick, but still old enough to be respected. His black hair was cropped short, with gray flecks just starting to appear. He rubbed the stubble on his square jaw as he waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Back off Yosef. You can be at ease, Gideon. I heard that Friedrick gave you some trouble.”

Relaxing to parade rest, he replied, “Not at all, sir.”

“Old man must be going senile already,” the captain said, smiling. “To make you muck out the latrines the day we break camp.”

Gideon couldn’t completely restrain the twitch in his face as he heard that, which prompted both of his superiors to howl in laughter. He endured the embarrassment for minutes until the captain finally spoke, wiping a tear from his eye. “Don’t worry too much, Lord Alberche isn’t expecting us until a little bit later in the afternoon.”

“Permission to speak freely?” Gideon asked.

“Granted.”

“Motherfucker!”

This, of course, only invited further laughter from the two of them. Gideon’s face flushed. Once they finished, the captain stood up and continued, “Try not to take it heart, boy. He’s only trying to keep you alive. Come, I’ve had our horses readied.”

Gideon quietly complied, following Yosef and the captain to where the company kept their mounts. Cedar, his horse, was a brown rouncey that was spotted white in some places. Gideon fed him an apple, at which he whickered softly. The captain and Yosef, both having a significantly higher income, were able to afford coursers.

The three men briefly double checked their mounts and set off for Ivenholf. Despite the heat, the air felt good on their skin once they sped up to a decent trot. The city was a few miles away, as most cities had laws forbidding mercenaries from making camp near their walls. Even then, they had to announce themselves and be given permission to stay, or else risk being spotted by a patrol and incurring the ire of the local ruler. Some particularly strict places even limited the number of mercenaries from one company that could enter at a time, but enforcement of this was spotty at best.

After an hour of travelling over gentle hills and through fields of wheat, the walled city of Ivenholf came into view. The city was situated along the wide Penshal River. Ivenholf occupied only one side of the river, its circular walls terminating once they hit the banks of the river. Another fifteen minutes later and they were waiting in line at the gate. It was just past noon by the time they reached the front of the line. Four disinterested guards stood off on either side of the open portcullis, leaning on their halberds. The three mercenaries paid the toll and were allowed in without trouble.

Immediately after passing through the gate, the unmistakable atmosphere of a city struck Gideon with nearly dizzying blow. The stench of sweat, animals and excrement, amplified by the sun beating down on them, the clamor of the crowds and hawking merchants, ringing of metal from workshops, squeals and mewls of farmyard animals, the hostels and huts crammed together, contrasted by the grand architecture of the keep at the center, all of it emulsified into a haze that could only be found at the beating hearts of civilization.

The pedestrians were forced to squeeze onto the sides of the main street, leaving the center open for carriages and those on mounts, allowing the three mercenaries to proceed at a steady trot. After a short ride through the city, they arrived at Lord Alberche’s keep.

Two gatekeepers manned the gate. Unlike the guards at the city walls who were only issued gambesons and kettle helmets, the gatekeepers here were much better equipped, sporting metal cuirasses, open faced bascinets and chainmail that covered most of their arms. One of them scowled at their approach.

“What’s your business here?” he shouted.

“Not with you,” the captain replied, passing the lord’s letter through the shut portcullis.

The man frowned as he read the letter. He handed it over to his partner and whispered something in her ear. She nodded and walked deeper into the keep. The gatekeeper addressed the men with disdain before resuming his post. “You’ll have to wait here for a few a bit.”

While they waited, Gideon retrieved the bottle of perfume and applied it. Yosef raised an eyebrow and questioned, “The hell is that?”

Gideon passed the bottle to Yosef as he replied, “To mask the smell of the road.”

Yosef opened the bottle and took a whiff. “Damn, that smells like a girl I used to see. You uh, think our esteemed lord is going to give a shit whether we smell like fruit or not?”

The gatekeeper snorted. Gideon shrugged and ignored him. “Not smelling like sweat and dirt wouldn’t hurt. On the bright side, you’ll get to reminisce about that girl!”

“Figs it is!” Yosef applied the perfume. Grinning, he passed it to the commander. “Here you go, boss! You heard the boy, wouldn’t want to offend Lord Alberche’s sensibilities!”

The captain silently applied the perfume and passed it back to Gideon. A period of time that was not long to the point of being unbearable but just long enough to irritating passed before the other gatekeeper returned. She spoke to the man, and shortly after, the portcullis lifted. She waved them forward and spoke, “Lord Alberche is expecting you, I’ll have your horses stabled and lead you to his waiting room.”

The captain dismounted and replied, “Tell the stable hands to leave everything on; we won’t be here long.”

She did not reply to him but relayed his instructions to the stable hands. Gideon and Yosef followed suit, dismounting and trailing behind the captain. They were led through the courtyard and into the keep. Inside, guards were posted at regular intervals along their path like statues. They went through several hallways and up two flights of stairs before being deposited in a lightly furnished waiting room.

“Lord Alberche will meet with you shortly,” she said before walking off.