Broad pieces of gold

Eclano, Portomaggiore. Winter, 2404-5.

Leopold Volker, Admiral of the Sartosan fleet, had gathered sufficient captains and mates to constitute a quorum. They had arrived in dribs and drabs over the last hour, each newcomer joining the feasting and drinking, until the sorcerer Adus Arcabar at last indicated to Volker that the required number was reached, at which moment the Admiral coughed loudly, and gestured that the company should all stand (this being the practice to show that a council, not a carousing, was in session.)

“Welcome all,” said Volker. “Let us praise Manaan and give thanks that our ventures so far have proved most satisfactory and prosperous.”

A cheer of ‘Aye!’ went up, and those present drank the last of whatever was in their tankards, bottles and goblets, then slammed them down upon the table. Three loud burps followed, strangely tuneful in arrangement, but this elicited not even a snigger, for it was entirely expected.

Volker gave a smile that somehow failed to contain even a trace of contentment, and continued his address,

“As you all know, we received word, four days since, that the city’s governor, Lord Nero, would promise to pay a bribe of 50,000 in broad pieces of gold if we were to leave the realm of Portomaggiore immediately, inflicting no more harm, nor stealing anything else. Furthermore, he guaranteed us safe passage, and that his lord and master, Duke Alessio, neither through his fleet nor army, would commit any hostile act against us, wheresoever we be abroad, for no less than a year. The gold is to be paid by the respected banking house Posillico e Crognale, by way of a guaranteed ‘promissory’ note, redeemable for the sum in full this next Winter Solstice, at a place of our choosing.”

“Fighting is good. Gold is better!” interrupted Captain Van Baas’s first mate, Moukib Brahimi, his fist clenching as if accepting a dose of coins.

“You all know too,” continued Volker, “that we sent Gerino and Hassim to barter, for why agree hastily, when we might get more by haggling? As you can see, they have returned.”

The two pirates in question, Gerino with his mop of jet-black hair and Volker’s quartermaster Hassim sporting a yellow turban, looked momentarily nervous as the company turned to study them.

“I have no doubt,” said Volker, “that you will all be keen to hear what they have to report.” The strange non-smile returned as he stared at the two of them. “Gentlemen?”

It was Hassim who spoke.

“We met this Nero, yes. His anger was obvious, and I think fear also, despite his attempt to conceal both behind his haughty manner. As ordered, we told him that you, admiral, would agree to his offer, to the full, yes, and begin leaving immediately, if he were to pay 75,000 – that is, 25,000 immediately and 50,000 more as per the promissory note agreement. It was clear he was not, how can I say … keen on the demand for more.”

“Then?” enquired Volker.

“Put plain, he refused to alter the terms one jot. I think it likely he had orders from Lord Alessio and was loathe to disobey his master.”

“Perhaps he is just stubborn?” suggested the admiral.

“Or the whole offer is a pretence, and he was just acting his part to make it seem real?” suggested Moukib.

“I cannot say,” admitted Hassim. “But he insisted that we accept the original offer. That, or nothing.”

“Ha!” laughed Moukib. “He should be glad we are even considering it, for the alternative is that we raze every settlement in Portomaggiore to the ground and take everything of worth from the entire realm.”

“A delightful thought, Moukib,” said the admiral. “But we have not the time to do so, knowing the duke approaches with his army.”

All turned to the admiral.

Captain Van Baas scraped his cutlass blade against his iron-hook hand (a habit he had when wanting to make his presence felt). His black beard rivalled his large, black felt hat in size, while his eyes had a stare that would, on anyone else, hint at a jug-bitten state. Not so Van Baas, however, for his face wore that stare morning, noon and night, both sobre and sotted.

“Is he though, Admiral? Is he close?” asked the captain. “This offer proves the Portomaggiorans are weak and afraid. They know full well they cannot win a fight, not yet anyway, not without their army, and so they hope to bribe us. If their lord was close, they would trick us into staying, not leaving. Moukib is right, we should keep razing settlements while they cry their tears. That way we can take much more than they offer with this bribe.”

“Good captain, I value your counsel,” said Volker. “But before we decide our course of action, I would hear what came of the negotiations. Hassim?”

“I did not want to make it easy for him, admiral,” answered Hassim. “So I told him we must discuss the matter, yes – especially how we might explain it to you.”

The admiral chuckled, this time his momentary smile more convincing. He had ordered Hassim to accept what was offered if they could get nothing more.  Hassim had however, not rushed to do so, instead playing a clever game with the city’s governor, pretending they had their orders from a man they greatly feared, and thus baulked at failing to obtain the demanded terms.

Hassim continued. “We took ourselves to a wharf-side alehouse to make it look like we were considering the offer seriously. Then, early morning, we returned and said that we agreed to the terms.”

“And Lord Nero believed you?” asked Volker.

“Like you commanded, I ended by telling him that you did not relish facing Lord Alessio’s army when it returned.”

Several among the pirates turned to look quizzically at the admiral. No doubt they wondered at this declaration of weakness.

“What?” asked Volker, feigning bemusement. “Can you not see? If we act as if we fear Lord Alessio’s return, then they will more likely believe we are keen to honour the terms of this agreement, and so leave quickly. They may then drop their guard – no bad thing, whether we leave or stay.”

“Which is still to be decided,” said Captain Garique. “We never settled the matter before. We only agreed to accept the offer, not whether we would actually abide by its terms.”

The sorcerer Adus Arcabar spoke in his quiet, almost frail voice. Whether it was magic, or something more mundane like the strange pitch of his speech, or perhaps even because many (rightfully) feared what he could do with flick of a wrist and the utterance of an arcane word or two, the room fell silent so that all could hear him.

“I suspect Lord Alessio is close, just not close enough to trouble us immediately. This bribe may well be an attempt not to see us off quickly, but rather to delay us, and halt our looting, just sufficiently for the army to return, whilst also thwarting our further plundering. Two birds with one shiny stone.”

The gathered company pondered this a moment, then the admiral, as was his wont, broke the silence.

“Aye. Perhaps. But I say if we are not going to take the bribe, then we should take more than what was offered before we leave. To do otherwise is foolishness, for it would be to pursue a lesser profit. We should only accept the bribe if we cannot make more by looting.”

There was general nodding around the table.

“This is the vote, then,” said admiral Volker. “Do we accept the bribe and leave, or do we linger just long enough to take more than what is offered in that bribe?”

“Before we vote, admiral,” suggested Captain Garique, “should we not discuss whether it is safe to linger. If we tarry so long that we are caught between the garrison and Lord Alessio’s army, then we lose not only the chance of further profit, but also all we have taken thus far. If not all our lives.”

“Perhaps some of us are afraid?” asked Moukib.

Captain Garique did not even turn to look at his challenger, but instead continued to address the admiral.

“This is not cowardice, but common sense,” he said.

The admiral must have been pleased that his authority was such that a captain like Garique would ignore such a slight in order to maintain propriety in his presence.

“It is common sense,” agreed the admiral. “The only way to know how long we can tarry here in Portomaggiore, is to have eyes out watching for Duke Alessio, with legs beneath that are swift enough to warn us in time.”

Again, there was a general nodding of heads and a murmur of agreement.

“So, to cut to the quick, who will be those eyes?”

There was silence. Every pirate in the room must have known that whoever went would miss out on the plundering. That would mean receiving only their official share, after the collecting, counting and partitioning, with no chance to indulge in the pillaging of the precious little things the articles allowed each man to pocket (within reason), and those that were too expensive to call pillage but that could be hidden away before anyone noticed.

At the back, near the door, unnoticed by the rest, one fellow, Nicolaos Mustopoulos, nudged the fellow next to him, Corneel Metz. They were both Captain Kroll’s sailors, Nicolaus being from the Border Princes by birth, and Corneel from the far northern city of Marienburg. Corneel was as close to what one might call a first mate in any other crew, although the arrangements on Kroll’s ship were somewhat unique, for several many reasons, not least the need to allow passage and lodging to a brute three times the height of any man.

“What?” whispered Corneel, obviously annoyed.

 Nicolaos raised his eyes and gestured towards the admiral.

“Oh, aye,” said Corneel quietly, then much louder added, “Erm!”

All turned to look at them, and the admiral asked, “Yes?”

“We could go,” said Corneel. “North that is. We could go keep a look out.”

“And west, in case Alessio comes that way?” queried the admiral.

“Aye, north-west, I meant to say,” agreed Corneel.

“And you speak for Kroll?” asked Moukib.

“I’m first mate, and his deputy here, so I can decide. Besides, he said we should … erm … we should make the crew useful, so that you all know we are willing to pull our weight.”

At the Battle for Eclano, Kroll and his crew had not really had much a chance to prove themselves, out on the far flank. Having bloodily dispatched a body of crossbowmen, they had then been forced by circumstance to do little more than watch as the rest of the army fought on, and Volker killed not only a dwarf lord but two brutes almost as large as Kroll!

Everyone stood watching Kroll’s men, some with relief, some with curiosity.

Corneel seemed to take this as a sign that he was required to say more.

“Kroll can move faster than every man, dwarf or greenskin in the fleet. And … he’ll make sure we move fast too. Any who can’t keep up, we’ll let ‘em fall behind and die. Kroll don’t care. I don’t care. That way we can bring news of any approaching army to you quick.”

“Most helpful of you,” said the admiral, a note of suspicion in his voice.

Corneel seemed to take the hint.

“Oh, o’course the captain will expect a proper reward if he does bring warning of the enemy. Compensation for the dangers undertaken, and for missing out on the looting.”

A tension seemed to lift from the room, as if all suddenly understood.

“Aye, well,” said Admiral Volker. “I think we can all agree to that.”

There were ayes and nods about the room, which elicited smiles from both Corneel and Nicolaos, if laced with a hint of apprehension.

(Less than half an hour later.)

Captain Kroll was apparently waiting for them, which made them nervous. What if his patience had been tested?

Not one for social niceties, the ogre captain didn’t greet them, but rather went straight to the question he wanted to ask.

“Did you convince him to take the army north?”

“They are going north anyway, captain, to Afragola,” answered Corneel.

“Good. We’ll be going with them,” said Kroll.

Some of the rest of the crew were with the captain, including his standard bearer and the orcen drummer he insisted beat out commands to his men in battle, despite Kroll’s voice being just as loud if not louder.

“No, captain …” began Corneel.

Kroll grimaced and fixed his so called first mate in the eye.

“Choose your next words wisely,” he growled. “I ain’t so fond of ‘No captain’!”

“I mean, no, better than that. He wanted volunteers to go out further – to scout for the Portomaggioran marching army.”

Kroll’s grimace changed subtly, if such is possible for an ogre.

“So you volunteered us?” said Kroll.

“That I did captain, and not a one of them there objected.”

“That’s because,” offered Kroll, “they’re afeared. Afeared to go out alone to chance capture by the foe, and more afeared, no doubt, that if they went they’d miss out on all the looting.”

“You’re not wrong, captain,” said Nicolaos, finally finding the courage to join the conversation.

“That I ain’t, Nickle.”

Nicolaos and Corneell’s last conversation with the captain had been concerning how best to slip away from the main force, without hindrance and without their absence being noticed for some time. Now that conversation had proved to be a waste of time, for they were going to leave with the admiral’s blessing.

“Corneel,” ordered Captain Kroll, “go to the ship to tell the lads to set sail and bear north. They’re to keep close to the shore, but not so close when they pass by light house. I don’t want its lightning to strike my vessel. We’ll go on foot, the better to search, so tell ’em we’ll signal if we need ’em.”

“Aye , captain,” said Corneel, about to turn away.

“Wait,” barked Kroll. He pondered something for a moment, then continued. “When you return, bring Stulby and Skarrak back with you. And make sure no-one else sees them, especially Skarrak. They’ll be coming with us.”

Grinning broadly, he looked at the knot of men by his side, announcing,

“I hope everyone has found their land legs, ‘cos we’ve some marching to do.”