The Chronicles of Gerard d’Montfort
The Chronicles of Gerard d’Montfort
Chapter 1 – Ringing in my ears
Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Gerard d’Mowbray, well it is for the moment. My lineage is that of the noble and respected family d’Mowbray. We serve the Baronony of Mendus within the Kingdom of Guerney. Both my father, Sir Reginald d’Mowbray, and my eldest brother, Sir Asquith de Swanton, are knights in the service of the Baron. I will no doubt prove myself worthy of following in their gallant footsteps and enter knighthood in the near future. Once knighted my father will no longer be able to withhold the lands and name that are rightfully mine; Montfort. I know not why he has withheld them from me for so long, after all I have been administering Montfort town and the lands surrounding it for some eighteen months now. The people love me and the town is prosperous and continues to expand. But enough of my family and Montfort, I should move on to begin my tale.
Absquith and I had travelled for many days, leaving the cultured halls of Thessingcourt to go to Halfast, the main port of Guerney. My brother made the journey so that he could enter the annual Halfast Games. Whilst fighting the barbarians on the steppes, he proved himself a skilful and resourceful warrior. My own reasons for our trek through the wilderness were even more ambitious. As I was now of an appropriate age, I sought adventure, its rewards, and of course, fame.
This journal tells my tale and it is my intention to update it as frequently as I can. Hopefully it will provide some entertainment and more importantly, become a document for the ages.
Halfast is a large and thriving city. The commotion, noise, and more than anything else, the odour, engulfed me. I could smell the city several miles away, although to be fair that was downwind. It is a city where every vice imaginable is available and the Duchess Servessa not only ensures that it is so, but is proud of it! After all, we in Guerney tend to worship Laster, God of Vice and Debauchery.
I suspect old Laster would be pretty happy to pass through Halfast. Drugs, temptations of the flesh, alcohol, food and the like are all easily attainable. And that, in part, was yet another reason for our travel to Halfast. We had timed our journey to coincide with Laster’s most holy celebration, All Summers Day, that falls on the first day of the month of Low Summer. The joy of having Laster as your most revered deity is quite simply that anything and everything is available to you. I had always wanted to spend a holy night (or any other for that mater) in the arms of one of Laster’s wonderful nuns, the Veiled Sisters! Extremely talented girls they are! And as it so happened their convent was on the outskirts of Halfast.
Whilst Halfast is a wonderful place, well, at least its lovely distractions are, its chief significance is because of the annual Halfast Games. What to tell? The simplest way to explain the games is that they are a gladiatorial contest that all are welcome to enter. However, most need patrons to sponsor their fee. At five thousand Silver Sickles, entry is expensive. There are four levels of competition: Apprentice, Journeyman, Master and Grand Master for the individual event and also a team event that brings just as much wealth and prestige. As combatants prove themselves they can advance through the levels, and that is most desirable. Financially the prizes are excellent, but the chief reward is the great honour of wearing the sash of a successful competitor. Absquith will be competing as a Journeyman this year as he was most successful in last years tourney at the Apprentice stage. However, I am not too sure how fortunate he will be this year as it is rumoured that the competition will be quite tough.
We arrived at Cassavary Square, the heart and soul of Halfast, via the North Gate. Above us, black storm clouds menaced from the West. The coming rain would only change the pleasant clime to a hot and sticky one.
Cassavary Square is the place to go to find anything and everything one desires, including suitable employ for a young gentleman such as myself. I must admit that I was somewhat in awe of the city. It was so much busier than Thessingcourt. Hawkers were everywhere, loudly announcing their wares. A beggar, some poor sod wearing naught but rags, pulled the hem of my cloak. Through a toothless and pitifully sad smile he asked for coin. Carts and wagons pushed slowly through the crowds. A young fop cursed loudly as he trod in the evidence of their passing. His friends chortled at his misfortune.
A commotion at the North Gate, a great sandstone arch that easily allowed a large wagon to pass through it, caused me to turn. City folk were scrambling aside and clearing a path through the Gate and beyond to make way for a procession of guards in orange and black livery ride big black mounts. The gate keepers did not dare to collect taxes, for amongst the guards was Prince Brand himself! I recognised the Prince immediately, as I had seen him from a distance on several occasions while at court in Thessingcourt.
With him were five very odd looking servants. Servants probably is not the right word, perhaps companions would be better, but then they did look more like underlings of some special nature. In any case, they were of no concern to me. The Prince, second son of King Thurlland II, thundered past noticing little of the bystanders who goggled at his party. Prince Brand was, or so I had heard, a fine duellist. A master of the blade who I assumed had come to observe and perhaps even compete in the Games. He looked to me to be an angry man, his face contorted into scowl of contempt as he glanced about him which fit well with descriptions I had heard in Thessingcourt. He was not over joyed at being the second son of the King. Not surprisingly, like most men, he was not content with his lot in life and always wanted more. I wonder what the King wanted more of? Many people would think that a Prince would be a true noble, pure of heart and wanting what was best for his people. Those people are deluded and have most likely listened to too many children’s stories.
Absquith left me as the throng began to thicken again after the Prince’s passing, to head to the accommodation of his choice, The Inn at the End of the Road. He told me to have care and join him there later and gave me directions to get to the End of the Road and then left me in the middle of it.
I turned back to face Cassavary Square and once more realised that my senses had not yet acclimatised to the busy port city. The stench of the unclean, both the city and its denizens, filtered down into my mouth so that I could taste the filth. The sensation caused me to gag. The noise of the busy square made it hard to decipher any particular sound into something coherent and the continual movement of the masses made for sights of turmoil that I guessed Halfast turned out daily for display.
An old priest of Gerech was spouting the usual nonsense. Stupid bastard! Should be hung, drawn and quartered. A few folk with too much produce bought at the market were using the excess in the best possible way, trying to shut the fool up.
Off in a corner, under the shade of a fishmonger’s canvas awning were a bunch of Thuusians. Well, I assumed they were as I had never seen Thuusians before. More religious zealots! Thuus was a god of battle and steadfastness, worshipped mainly in the Fastness. His disciples were dishing out soup to the scum that couldn’t afford a meal. Halfast was the start of what was called the ‘soup road’. The story as I heard it was that the Thuusians would offer a free meal, usually soup, to anyone. The catch was that to get the next meal, the recipient would have to travel to the next Thuusian camp which was always a bit closer to Vronburg, a great stronghold in the Fastness. The theory was that if you turned back you would starve. So the hungry just kept going and eventually arrived on the frontline, fighting the ever encroaching Dominion with clubs and rocks and whatever else they could use. At least they died with a full stomach.
But I was not in Halfast for religious brain washing or to be used as a tool for some foreign political power. No, my goal was much simpler; find suitable employ for an up and coming noble ready for high adventure, and all of the notoriety that went with it.