As she dashes off hoping to locate her brother, Drustina runs up against disturbing development in the ancient borough of Preston.

The Angry Mermaid 129
Or
Y Morforwyn Dicllon 129

Unusually, Drustina and Gisela slept until after dawn when the general hullabaloo in the courtyard of the inn disturbed them. They dressed and went down for breakfast where they found that the Herald had reserved food for them.
“Thank you,” Drustina offered before he organised their horses.
They were back on the road again by the mid morning and they arrived at a modest town called Wygan in the early afternoon. The town was crowded with hordes of desperate people all frantically trying to achieve their own personal ends and the trio had a hard time threading their horses through the press of desperation.

Drustina sniffed possessively as she recognised many Celtic names around the town. Some people even spoke a northern version of her own tongue and she finally recognised it as the Brigante dialect. When she and Gisela finally arrived at the Moot Hall they found a crowd gathered around its entrance as people called out their names and several scribes were frantically writing them down. Drustina dismounted and had the Herald clear a path for her into the hall. There were a few grumbles about ‘people pushing ahead of the line’ but when Drustina’s identity was revealed a deferential mood settled upon the crowd. Drustina approached what seemed to be the man in charge.

The harassed man turned exhaustedly to the Lioness and sagged with relief.

“So you are the Lioness of Carthage the Herald tells me!”

“Yes; what’s going on here? You are the Townsman I presume.”

“Yes. It has been chaotic since the Vikings were defeated. All civic function has broken down as slaves and peasants seek to redeem their lost lands or titles and freedoms. Our small town has been overwhelmed.”

“So what are you doing with all these names?”

“I’m trying to help organise a search system. People can come here, declare their names and their intentions then I have my pair of scribes add them to the lists and go through the lists to see if the person or persons they seek are on the list. It is tedious work.”

Drustina could readily see and sense the desperation in the crowd for it was obvious the man was short of scribes. Being as she and Gisela and the Herald were literate she offered to help.

“I am seeking my brother Morgaran. Let me read through your lists and I will lend you my companions to help do searches.”

The man took a deep breath of gratitude.

“Thank you your – your ... how do I address you?”

“Lioness will do. It identifies me without standing on formal ceremony. I am not here in any official capacity.”

“But you are my liege lady. As the civic official I must show respect.”

Drustina smiled.

“I think I and my companions would prefer a decent drink and some food more than a show of bowing and scraping. What food have you got?”

“Not a lot, the town’s larders and granary are almost empty. Thousands have passed through since your husband’s victory.”

Drustina was about to scold the man for assuming Carl had won the battle but she bit her tongue. The man was doing a reasonable job under very difficult circumstances and it would be counter-productive to criticize him for a very minor transgression. Instead she had a bench and table added to the operation and the three of them pitched in to help as the townsman organised some beer and bread and fruit. He had no meat.

Drustina naturally took the list of M’s for her brother’s name was Morgaran but she was disappointed to have no luck. By early evening, the gathered crowd had been whittled down to a score of people who had additional requests for justice but the Townsman simply refused to deal with them. He had neither the authority or resources to hold court sessions during the turmoil of the diaspora. He approached Drustina and begged her.

“Can you sit in judgement on these cases I beseech you? They have been pestering me for days! I am simply a Townsman and this is far above my office.”

Drustina sighed and called the herald.

“We’ll hold a quarter session here and now. At least we have the scribes enough to get this done quickly.”

The benches were cleared of the lists and rearranged to deal with the issues quickly. Drustina was holding the first case within minutes. Most cases involved the violent theft of land and the majority of them were easily settled because Drustina had de-facto authority as the consort of Carl the liege lord. As she handed out decisions the Townsman smiled respectfully; it was obvious the new lord was a fair-minded ruler and his consort showed equal sagacity. As the last but one appellant stepped up he spoke fearfully.

“I am affeared to press my case your majesty.”

“I am not your majesty my fellow. Call me Lioness, now what is your appeal?”

“My land Lioness. It was not taken by a jarl; it was confiscated by the holy men.”

“Holy men! What d’you mean holy men? Why would they confiscate land?”

“Well not exactly confiscate but inherited.”

Drustina’s brow wrinkled with puzzlement.

“Inherited; how?”

“When the Vikings invaded our land about ten years ago, they stole our family estates and killed my family. I think I am the only one left.”

Drustina nodded, it would have been somewhere about the time her own lands were stolen and her family destroyed. She nodded thoughtfully:

“Go on.”

“Well the Viking Jarl who drove us off our lands converted to Christianity about a year ago. A new Bishop arrived in these parts to convert Vikings to the new faith.”

Drustina breathed in deeply as her suspicions took root.

“Was this Bishop sent by the Saxons?”

“I don’t know. His name is Bishop Caline.”

Drustina did not know of a Bishop Caline but encouraged the man to continue.

“So what did this bishop do, how did his church confiscate your land?

“The Jarl converted to Christianity then later declared he was going to fight against the Saxons and the Mercians on the Side of King Harald.”

“Go on, I still don’t follow.”

“Well Bishop Caline knew that ‘The Lioness of Carthage’ was fighting on the Saxon side and that the Lioness was a heathen, a sworn enemy of the church.”

“I did and I am.” Drustina advised him.

The man swallowed then recovered his composure.

“That’s what I was told; you are an enemy of the church.”

“Not wholly true. I am an enemy of those that try to hurt me. If members of this new faith try to hurt me, they receive short thrift. Anyway, enough of that; how did the church come to confiscate your lands?”

“The Jarl had not married or produced an heir when he joined King Harald Cold-blood’s army.”

“Go on; I still don’t follow.”

“The bishop persuaded him to write a will.”

The penny dropped in Drustina’s brain.

“Ah! I see; and the beneficiary of the will was ...”

“The one God.”

Drustina let out a snort of disgusted derision.”

“Oooh yes; it all makes sense now, and I suppose this Jarl was promised untold wealth and happiness in the afterlife.”
The man nodded as he continued.

“The Bishop gave the Jarl an indulgence. Give the land to God in the event of his death and God would grant him eternal happiness in heaven.”

Drustina nodded sagely.

“And inevitably the Jarl died on the battlefield. So either way, he’d go to Valhalla or Heaven.”

The man nodded as he wrung his cap in his hands and replied “Yes.”

“So of course, the church inherited his estates in the name of God.”

The plaintiff croaked nervously. “Yes.”

“And naturally this Bishop Caline administers the estates on behalf of his own god.”

The plaintiff’s pitch rose with frustration.

“Yes! My lands were stolen and now the Bishop and his church live off the fat of that land.”

Drustina steepled her fingers and pursed her lips thoughtfully.

“Where are these lands?”

“At Preston Lioness; on the south bank of the River Ribel.”

“And I suppose, not surprisingly, the Bishop’s church is in Preston.”

“Yes my lady.”

Drustina made a note in the record book and explained to the man.

“Give your evidence to the court scribes and I will take this matter up when I get to Preston. I am looking for my brother

Morgaran and I am told he is on the road between here and Preston.”

“Would that be Morgaran the Eunuch? He was a Celt.”

“Eunuch?” Drustina almost screeched. “Tell me more! What do you know?”

“When the Jarl took my lands, he had several prisoners that he had captured in a sea battle at the entrance to the River Ribel.
The prisoners were his slaves and he had them un-manned by the healers in Preston. He sold the others on to his colleagues but kept Morgaran the Celt because he could read and write Latin plus he could use some clever tricks with new numbers.”

“The bastard!” Drustina cursed the dead Jarl. “Glad am I that this Jarl met his death at the hands of our forces. Do you know now where this Morgaran the Celt is?”

“When the Jarl was killed, the Celt declared that he was going south but I did not hear him tell why. There was some rumour he was related to you but few believed him.”

“Describe him.” Drustina demanded.

“He had yellow hair; darker than yours but fairer than most Saxons. He was quite tall and had a large scar on his arm, blue eyes. That’s all I can tell.”

Drustina put the bits of the jigsaw together and concluded that Morgaran the Celt was almost certainly her brother. She stood and spoke to the assembled court.

“I am leaving for Preston immediately. The last cases will be heard by my deputy, Princess Gisela, daughter of Harald Cold-blood.”

A gasp went around the court as people whispered to each other. Confusion started to spread as different rumours began to contradict each other. Drustina called the court to order.

“Before any of you get off on the wrong foot, let me enlighten you. The Princess Gisela was no friend of her father up until his defeat at the Battle of Brunbah. Some years ago she was banished from his kingdom and condemned to a violent death in any subsequent battle where she had been conscripted to fight on her father’s behalf. I saved the girl’s life after a sea battle off the Godwin Sandbanks and she has been my student since that day. The princess is as immersed as I am in the principles of justice and law; that is, my principles of justice.”

As she rose to leave she turned to Gisela and advised her in front of the townsman and the scribes.

“Remember Princess, treat kindly and fairly with each plaintiff and remember the injustices done to you. Each and every one of us knows the hurt of such injustices so remember, those who plead before you are entitled to honest redress. Catch me up on the road.”

She then turned to the plaintiff who’d lost his estate to the church.

“You must follow me to Preston with your case writ down in letters because I will be arguing against the ecclesiastical court.

Get your case recorded by the scribes then guide the Princess Gisela on the Preston road. Look for me via the Preston guild hall. I’m told it serves as their administration house."

With no more ceremony she left the hall, mounted her beloved Seripatese and turned to the herald.

“Be my guide these last miles and, let us ride as though the dragons of Hades are on our tail.

As the summer dusk drew down, Drustina did not stop. The Herald knew the road and at midsummer, there was twilight enough all night to follow the road at a very slow trot. They stopped only to drink some water from a spring and arrived in Preston as people were stirring. She handed her beloved Seripatese to the herald and walked across the market square as stall-holders were just setting up their stalls. The square was so busy that nobody took much notice of a travel worn visitor as she approached the guild hall. Her knock eventually attracted an answer as a young apprentice answered from the inside.

“Who is it?” He asked.

“The Lioness of Carthage.”

There was a snort of disbelief as the young lad obviously thought somebody was playing yet another trick on him.

“Yeah like the long weight thing.”

Drustina couldn’t help but smile so she spoke softly. There was no need to take umbrage she was not being delayed.

“Listen lad. If you don’t open this bloody door, you’ll get a long sword up your arse followed by another long weight in the infirmary.”

As she spoke she unbuttoned her long riding coat and allowed the single eye peeping through the spy-hole a glimpse of her jerkin with its battle colours. There followed a curse as the boy recognised the high craftsmanship of the jerkin and then a series of door bolts rattled free.

“Sorry your majesty, I ... I.”

“Don’t worry lad where’s the senior guild-master?”

The lad pointed towards a corridor as he spoke.

“He’s down there; the red door on your right”

“Take me to him. It doesn’t do for a single woman to be seen alone in a guild hall.”

Her confidence and bearing quickly persuaded the lad to do her bidding and he knocked on the guild-master’s door. An irritated voice replied.

“What is it, I am not yet risen?”

“There is royalty at your door master!”

There was a muffled curse followed by more bolts being loosened and eventually the door opened. A watery-eyed septuagenarian peered out.

“Who are you?”

“The Lioness of Carthage!” Drustina replied with equal testiness.

The old man harrumphed and hurriedly freed the dog-chain to open the door all the way. He apologised for his state of dress but Drustina quickly calmed him.

“I’m not here to discuss fashions; I wish to find the Bishop Caline.”

“Oh him. Bloody parasite!”

“Go on,” Drustina encouraged. “Why parasite?”

The senior master realised he might have revealed too much in his irritation and he tried to back-track.

“Well, I, uuuuhhm. Well, he seems to have done rather well out of the Saxon victory and he is a Saxon.”

“How so? How has he prospered?”

“Selling indulgences to converted Vikings and inheriting their lands when they failed to return from the war.”

“And these Viking lands. How came the Vikings by them originally.”

“Victory in battles. Defeated Brigante and Saxon landowners had to forfeit their lands to these Viking invaders. Then this Bishop turns up out of nowhere and starts converting Vikings. He’s very persuasive.”

“Is he; hell-fire and damnation I suppose.”

“And eternal flames. The last bishop became infirm and died during the Viking invasions. This man turned up a couple of years ago and now he’s the richest land-owner in the Palatine of Lancashire.”

“But he cannot own land. These one-god holy men are supposed to foreswear possessions. Their holy man died a pauper.”

“You seem to know a lot about it.”

“I should do, I have travelled extensively in those lands and read his books.”

“Oh! You have letters then!”

“Yes. Roman, Greek, Cyrillic and Runes, not to mention hieroglyphics; don’t seem so surprised, I also have languages to suit.”

“Oh then you are truly a wordsmith.”

Drustina became impatient with the man’s attempted flattery.

Listen, enough small talk. The bishop, where can I find him?”

“Oh sorry. This week he is collecting tithes.”

“Tithes? What are they?”

“Taxes the tenants must pay to the lord God for providing a good harvest and their subsequent salvation in the afterlife.”

“Taxes?" Drustina almost choked on her own screech. "Only the liege overlord can collect taxes and even those are in the name of the king. My Husband Carl collects them in the Name of Ethelred.”

“No. These are new ecclesiastical taxes in the name of God!”

Drustina’s jaw sagged. It was enough that the Bishop Caline was charging rent but collecting taxes in the name of God added insult to injury. ‘Tithes indeed.’ She mused. ‘We’ll soon sort that out.’

She turned towards the door as she asked. “So where does he go to collect these so-called taxes ... these tithes.”

“There is a new building being erected next to the church. It stands on the bank of the river. You cannot miss it. Many tenants have no coin for there is a shortage of coinage. The pay with produce, corn, meat, salt and even fruit.”
“What use is fruit? It goes rotten after a few weeks or even days!”

“The bishop’s rules my lady, not ours.”

“Where is the local townsman?”

“He’s probably helping the bishop my lady. When you step outside turn right and follow the dusty road towards the river. Most of the cart traffic in the town is heading for the new tithe building.”

Drustina flashed angrily at the seeming lack of concern by the old master.

“Never mind my stepping outside. You’ll be coming with me. Go on, get dressed. We'll use your carriage it'll tell people who you are.”

The old man squinted uncertainly.

“I am in my night gown my lady. I must change for day wear.”

“Well go on then. Listen man you’ve got nothing I have not seen before. I have fought on battles you old fool and nursed men naked in their wounds. Not to mention being married to Carl the Saxon, your overlord. Get dressed!”

The man grumbled but Drustina showed him the dignity of turning away to open the shutter and look through the window. She noted the old man was perfectly correct. Cart followed cart up the road and all were loaded with some sort of produce. She cursed as she observed the congestion and vast supplies of food.

“I’m bloody surprised that the people stand for this. In Wygan the Townsman is at his wits end trying to find food enough for the diaspora that has overtaken his town! Here there must be food enough to feed an army!”

Finally the old guild-master was ready and the pair set out in his personal carriage firstly to the original guild hall which had recently been fortified and castellated. The Herald followed closely with Seripatese in tow. The old Guild-hall had become the Viking Jarl’s personal residence where most official and commercial business was conducted in Preston. It was a very rare building insofar as it was stone construction and even predated the early Saxon church that had been ransacked by the invading Vikings looking for gold and jewels. The original guildhall being stone, had also been searched but not ransacked, the invading jarl had recognised its usefulness as his own administration building and ordered it left intact even though they stripped it of what meagre treasure there was. The old hall still stood and the Herald had entered it to find the townsman. Drustina spoke with him.

“I don’t think you’ll find anybody here, it seems they’re all at this new Tithe barn thing down by the river. It seems our Bishop Caline is something of a bold entrepreneur.”

The herald nodded thoughtfully.

“I wondered why the townsman was not here to meet his liege lord’s official messenger. He wasn’t expecting you Lioness but he was certainly expecting me.”

“Come on – oh wait a moment is that not the Princess Gisela and the man who’s lands were taken by the Vikings then the Bishop.”

The Herald agreed so they waited for Gisela and the farmer to arrive, hot and dusty after their urgent ride.

“You made good time then Princess.

“We started out at the crack of dawn, my riding companion knows the road well, and he used to sell his goods both in Wygan and Preston.”

Drustina nodded and the five of them made their way slowly through the jam of carts to the tithe barn.

The commotion of their arrival was almost lost in the crush of crowded carts as farmers and carters cursed the traffic jam.
Drustina gaped in disbelief.

“There must be two hundred carts here all waiting to unload!”

“Plus the ships at that quay, they’re loading grain,” Gisela observed.

Drustina nodded as her jaws clenched. ‘There was a lot of activity going on, a lot of trade; a lot of money! 'Who’s money?’ Drustina wondered.

She had disembarked from the guild-masters carriage and now re-mounted her beloved Seripatese as they sidled down to the quay and spoke to a scribe who was tallying the bags of grain.

“Where’s this ship bound?” She asked conversationally.

“Why d’you ask?”

“Just curiosity,” Drustina replied disarmingly.

“Well it’s no business of yours woman. If you’ve got questions speak to the man in the church.”

“Oh.” Drustina responded like an affronted woman.

The scribe sneered at a mere woman and nodded dismissively.

“This is a dangerous place woman. The bags are heavy and the activity is risky. You’d better leave.”

All submission and apology, she edged Seripatese backwards and turned to leave but not before she saw the scribe nod towards one of the labourers who slipped away through the bustling chaos towards the church. By the time Drustina and her party had eased their horses courteously through the crowds to arrive at the church doors, the holy-man was there to meet her. On the quay and at the church, nobody had known her identity under her riding cloak so the Bishop Caline was shocked when he recognised her.

“Your majesty! Lioness!! You should have advised us of your coming!”

Drustina let the misplaced title ride. The Bishop had obviously panicked when he recognised her and initially used the wrong form of address. Her reason for letting it ride however was quite deliberate because by addressing her as ‘Her majesty’, the Bishop had inadvertently elevated her far above him in the sight of the many sufferers on the crowded quayside. None more than in the eyes of the scribing tally man who suddenly realised what a ghastly blunder he had committed.

‘My God!’ He wondered as his belly sagged with fear. ‘What is this woman, this queen? Doing here?’

Drustina adopted the mantle the Bishop had mistakenly bestowed and she demanded answers accordingly.

“What, so you could hide this business? What transacts here Bishop Celyn?”

She had to admire the Bishop; he had his answers off pat.

“It is trade my lady. We are exporting grain to Norway and Scotland.”

“Are we?” Drustina riposted, using the possessive ‘we’ to establish legitimate title to the trades. She then added. “Are you aware that the Townsman of Wygan is desperate for provisions to feed the scattered victims of the diaspora that follows the Battle of Brunbah? He is at his wit’s ends trying to feed people who seek only to return to their homelands.”

“Some food has been sent my lady.”

Drustina answered loudly for all around to hear.

“Has it? When? The people of Preston are overwhelmed and short of food. I and my companions have travelled the road between Preston and Wigan and we have seen neither hide nor hair of a wagon going south. The royal heralds tell me they have not seen one and they travel the road every two days. The townsman in Wygan certainly hasn’t received any! So tell me pray, when and where was this food you claim in the name of God, despatched?”

Bishop Celyn fell silent but Drustina sensed a murmur of dissent ripple around the gathering crowd. She knew she had the angry farmers on her side but she had no warriors and there was no knowing to what end a man like Bishop Celyn might stretch to cover his tracks. The demeanour of the scribe and his truculence had alerted her to some sort of danger. She twisted in her saddle and cast her gaze around ostensibly to measure the degree of discontent amongst the crowd but her more experienced eye had already noticed some strategically placed henchmen who were covering all the obvious exits from the quay and the church square. She kept looking around as though seeking to rally the crowd to rise up against the Bishop but in reality she was checking every avenue, every detail and all opportunities. Eventually she spotted a weakness in the Bishop’s arrangements.

The crooked bishop, being a ‘land-lubber’ had seen only to cover the exits via the roads that led to and from the quay. The access to the ship loading the grain was unobstructed from where Drustina sat high on her horse. She motioned to Gisela, the King’s
herald and the cheated farmer to come closer. They edged forward as Drustina whispered.

“He has anticipated this day, it had to come anyway; he was bound to be found out one day. Look about you; the two streets leading into the square are all ready guarded by his henchmen. Whatever we do, he intends to block access or egress via the two streets while he escapes. He would not stay here if he attacks us for we are the king’s own representative. His punishment would be swift but men would die here now if we act precipitately. He must have an escape route and I believe it is that ship. The moment we show any signs of arresting him I think he plans to somehow attack us and possibly even kill us. Then he escapes by ship to wherever he can find acceptance. We must create some sort of diversion to panic him into revealing his plans. We four shall move first towards the ship, if we block his avenue of escape he’s bound to reveal his hand.”

Drustina explained a few crucial elements like the state of the wind and tide being favourable to her plan to steal the craft moored closest to the open sea.

The Farmer and the herald readily understood the situation while Gisela had already sided her horse a few metres towards the quay and the ship furthest down-stream. Gisela noted ironically that it was the ship with the finest lines and obviously moored to serve Bishop Celyn’s interests; namely a swift escape. Drustina noted the princess’s astute move and nodded approvingly. To cause a distraction she instructed the old guild-master to return to the guildhall and this missive caused the press of people to have to step aside as the old man set forth with his carriage against the flow of carts.

As people started milling about Drustina and her companions pushed through the gap that Gisela’s horse had made and they quickly made their way to the fast ship. Before Celyn and his cronies realised what was afoot, the four companions had boarded the ship by the simple expedience of driving their horses over the ship’s rail. As three expert swords flashed free, the unprepared crew of four seamen were quickly overwhelmed while the farmer slipped some moorings and the Herald cut the remaining ropes. In moments the ebbing tide had taken the ship downstream as Drustina and Gisela set the sail with expert speed.

Before Celyn had recovered his wits, the ship was already a hundred yards downs stream and none of Celyn’s men had bow and arrows. They had anticipated some sort of street-fight with knives and swords. By the time his henchmen had located their bows, the ship was far down stream. Drustina had escaped to face another day.