Only one servant had been captured, probably because the bandits had devoted themselves to rounding up their masters. He was brought up last of all—he looked about fifteen, with a wheat-colored shock of hair, and his arms were still bound behind him.
“Where are the new recruits?” Sir Basil called. “Where are Anthony and Little Dickon?”
The two fledgling bandits were brought forward, and stood awkwardly by the captive. Anthony was a burly footman with curly hair; and the other, small and sharp-faced, had been Gribbins’s varlet. Sir Basil clapped them on the shoulders, and looked deliberately at the boy captive. “This boy stands where you stood just days ago, does he not?” he asked.
“Ay,” said Little Dickon, and his companion nodded.
“But since that time some days ago, you have sworn to be of our company!”
“Ay.”
“You are sworn to be true brothers to those of our emprise, to be bloodthirsty and resolute in action, and to obey without question the orders of your captain?”
The two men nodded. Sir Basil pointed at the captive boy, and said, “Take then your knives, and kill me that fellow.”
The two were so surprised they only stared, while the captive gave a cry and tried to shift away from the others. Sir Basil caught him by the collar and dragged him back. He looked at his two recruits.
“Do you defy me, then?” he demanded.
“No, sir, no,” said Anthony, and he drew his little dagger. Little Dickon fumbled at his scabbard, and drew out his own knife.
“No, sir, no!” echoed the captive. “I have done nothing! Nothing to deserve this!”
Sickness rose in my heart, and I looked down at the mossy cobbles of the courtyard, thinking furiously of what might buy mercy from the outlaw chief.
“Why do you delay?!” Sir Basil demanded of the new recruits. His rolling northern voice echoed in the amphitheater. “What is this hesitation? I say, death to the villain who hesitates! My dirk will drink deep of his heart’s blood!”
“Sir.” Little Dickon seemed barely able to express the words. “Sir, what has the prisoner done to deserve—”
Sir Basil snatched his dirk from the scabbard and brandished it over his head. His voice was full of scorn. “I am not here to be questioned! Have you not sworn obedience? Have you not been bound by the most desperate oaths a man can utter?” He laughed. “By all the discredited and useless gods, what good are you if you cannot even kill a bound captive?”
The boy began to weep and beg for his life. I felt my limbs go cold. I stepped forward and raised my voice.
“How much to spare the lad?” I called. “How much for his life, Sir Basil?”
There was a collective inhalation from the bandits as they turned to stare at me, and from the expressions on their faces, they clearly expected there would be more than one murder in the next few minutes.
“Thank you, sir!” called the captive. His face was streaked with tears. “Bless you, sir!”
Sir Basil paused for a long moment, his head cocked as he worked out how to respond, and then he stepped forward and pointed his dirk at me.
“Do you propose to ransom the boy yourself, then, Goodman?” he asked.
I strove to control the quaver I felt hovering about the margins of my voice. “You know, Sir Basil, how much money I possess.” I surveyed the latest captives in their fine clothes and well-dressed hair. “But there are others among us better provided than I.”
“Congratulations, Goodman!” Sir Basil affected delight. “You follow my example—in being generous with the bounty of others!”
That raised a laugh from his followers, and I felt the tension ebb, and thought perhaps I would not get a knife between my ribs. Sir Basil capered to the front of his stage, and made a wide sweep with his dirk at the captive gentlemen assembled before him.
“Fifty royals, then!” he said. “Who will save the boy’s life for this token sum?”
I felt my spirits sink as low as my boot soles. Fifty royals was a rich man’s ransom.
The gentleman prisoners were silent, their eyes shifting left and right, never lighting on the boy bound on the floor of the keep.
“Please, sirs!” called the captive. “Please save me!”
He was answered only with silence. “I’ll work for you!” the boy cried. “I’ll work for you all my life!”
I clenched my fists. “You could each pay a little,” I said.
“Too late!” Sir Basil said. “Goodman Quillifer has shown himself free with others’ money, and these fine gentlemen have shown all the fine compassion of a North Country jury—which was all that I expected.” He turned to the two apprentice outlaws, Anthony and Little Dickon.
“Kill him,” he said. “And do it quickly, or you’ll join him in a shallow grave.”
“Mercy!” the boy screamed. “Mercy!”
I turned away, unable to bear the sight any longer, and found myself facing the prisoner Higgs, who looked at me with sad, meaningful resignation. I understood that Higgs had watched this scene play out more than once, that such savage theatrical displays were common in Sir Basil’s camp.
After brief hesitation, the two apprentice bandits began the execution. Neither were practiced at killing, and the business went on for some time, the thuds of the striking knives alternating with the shrieks of the victim. I pressed my hands over my ears but failed to seal out the sounds of the slaughter. But finally the boy fell silent, and I heard the thud of a body falling to the ground, soon followed by the noise of Little Dickon being sick.
Higgs approached. “I told you that it was not so easy to join Sir Basil’s company.” He murmured for my ear alone. “New recruits are made to commit murder as soon as a victim can be found. It is to prevent betrayal—if any of them inform on the robbers, the others can denounce them and see them hanged.”
“I shall try to win free somehow,” I said.
I could not admit that Sir Basil had promised my release in exchange for the capture of Stayne’s party. It would have to be managed as some kind of daring escape.
For now I, too, was complicit in the youth’s slaughter. The boy would not have been taken prisoner if I had not turned informer, and the likelihood that those I had betrayed were themselves traitors was little comfort.
Blindly I walked to the rear of the court, and collapsed against the wall. The screams of the murdered boy still echoed in my ears.
It seemed my fate to blunder from one massacre to the next. I lay back against the cold stones, looked up at the brilliant blue sky, and surrendered to misery.
At least I would soon receive my traitor’s bounty, and be free.
* * *
Sir Basil read the new captives’ ransom letters while a lieutenant conducted the auction of captured goods, including all the finery, weapons, and armor. By the end of the distribution, I thought that Sir Basil probably led the best-armed outlaw band in Duisland’s history.
After the auction, Sir Basil divided the letters and handed them to the two monks, who rode off on a pair of horses. Now I understood why the monks were in the camp—it was the monks who contacted the prisoners’ families and carried the ransom—or, more likely, deposited the ransom in a local monastery, and withdrew it from another monastery closer to the Toppings. The monasteries, as well as temples to the old gods, were often used as repositories of gold and silver, kept under the gods’ protection; and the monasteries of the Compassionate Pilgrim often accepted money in one place, and issued a bill allowing the money to be drawn elsewhere. In this they acted as banks, but only for deposits, for they were forbidden by law, as well as their own doctrine, to make loans or charge interest.
Sir Basil ordered some of the fine gentlemen to bury the body of their servant, and there was a moment or two of resistance before the outlaw imperiously brandished his dirk, and the captives quietly carried the victim away. All the other prisoners were marched out into the corrie and given work, for the most part that of preparing supper for the large company. Dorinda, the Aekoi cook, thumped me on the back with a wooden ladle, and in a harsh voice assigned me to bring water from the lake. I was given a yoke with leather buckets dangling at either end.