‘I am that, sir.’
‘So I am going to trust you. The dead men were Redeemers. They tried to assassinate Lord Gaise.’
‘Why?’ asked the astonished Jaekel. ‘They are on our side.’
‘That in itself is a stain on us all. However, it doesn’t matter why. What does matter is that there are likely to be other attempts. From tomorrow you and your squad will guard Lord Gaise. You will accompany him wherever he goes. You will watch out for strangers, and you will allow no-one to get close enough to strike a blow. You understand? The official story will be they were Covenant spies. You understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You will pick a second squad to guard the general’s house during the night. You will tell them of assassins seeking to harm Lord Gaise.’
‘Aye, sir, I can do all that,’ said Jaekel. ‘Won’t make no difference, though, if they send a marksman. We need to get away from here. Back home to our own country.’
‘You’ll get no argument from me on that,’ said Mulgrave wearily. He glanced back at the other two men. ‘They are friends of yours?’
‘Yes, sir. Banny and Kammel. We’re all from Old Hills.’
‘The big one was flogged recently.’
‘Yes, sir. He got drunk and . . .’ Jaekel shrugged.
‘I remember. He made unwelcome advances to a woman. Does he bear the Lord Gaise any grudge for his punishment?’
Jaekel chuckled. ‘Even if he did he wouldn’t let any harm come to him. Trust me on that, sir. Kammel’s not the brightest of men, but he’s highland.’
There were two great halls in Castle Winterbourne. The first was where Winter Kay entertained his secular guests, a massive room on the ground floor, boasting two huge fireplaces, and decorated with fine paintings and splendid statues. It had an oak gallery on three sides, and a fourth for use by musicians or, at times of religious festivals, a choir.
The second hall was below ground, and this was not open to casual guests. The entrance was hidden by a cunningly crafted panel, and led to a secret stairwell. The hall itself was hung wi^h trappings of red velvet, the room lit by curious brass lanterns boasting crimson glass. At the centre of the huge room stood a beautifully wrought table of dark oak, which could seat more than a hundred men. No paintings adorned the walls here, and no servants carried food, or refilled goblets. The hooded men who came here did not eat or drink. They came to pay homage to the Orb of Kranos, and to listen to the words of their lord, Winter Kay.
Tonight there were one hundred and forty Redeemers. The veterans took the one hundred seats, the other, newer recruits standing silently by the walls.
At the north end of the hall, some ten feet to the rear of where Winter Kay sat, stood a wooden cross. Hanging from it was the pitiful, naked, gagged figure of Lord Person, blood oozing from around the long iron spikes impaling his wrists and feet.
Winter Kay pushed back his crimson hood and turned towards the dying man. ‘This was a fascinating method of execution,’ he told the silent Redeemers. ‘You will note that the victim continually seeks to draw himself up, then sags back. This is because death comes from suffocation. As the body hangs upon the arms air is denied to the lungs. Therefore, to breathe, the victim must push himself up with his legs. This, of course, causes extreme pain where the nails pierce the feet. Such pain cannot long be endured. So the victim – to alleviate the agony in his lower limbs – hangs once more on his arms. Unable to breathe he forces himself up again. A continual circle of agony until exhaustion overcomes his will to live. Quite exquisite.’
He swung back towards the Redeemers. ‘All actions have consequences,’ he said, his voice calm. ‘Person suffers for his cowardice. As a result of that cowardice two of our number have also passed to the other side. Petar Olomayne and Sholar Astin failed in their assigned task. Against the great strides we have made in the last two years these are tiny reverses. Yet we must not be complacent. Our mission is a great one, far beyond the petty desires of earthly kings and princes. We are the Chosen, the Elite. Failure of any kind is abhorrent to us.’