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that Ham's daughter knows for who she is buying a drink?'

  Winterburne smiled at the young woman. 'What's your name?' he asked.

  'Marea,' the young woman replied.

  Winterburne noted that Marea looked tired and drawn, and she must have been worried for some time for she looked like she carried more than the years she no doubt had.

  'I do not need you to spend your money on me, Marea,' Winterburne said, 'keep it safe and put it away for a rainy day when you might need it more. It will be a pleasure to help you.'

  The man, still standing on the stool looked down at him. 'You still haven't told us your name, friend?' There was a touch of irritation in the man's voice.

  Winterburne looked up at him and then around the crowd raising his voice above the murmurs that seemed to be growing in volume.

  'My name is Lord Thomas Winterburne.'

  The heads of all the patrons in the room spun around and looked at him in amazement.

  'And there's a barrel of ale for any man that volunteers to help Ham this day!'

  He looked around the room again, and at the faces of the men that now looked back at him, eyes wide. Then, as he watched, one hand raised, then another, and by the time he had finished scanning the crowd, fourteen hands pointed skywards.

  10

  The Twenty-Second Day of Hi-spring,

  Imperial Year 2332

  The small board-built farmhouse was, in truth, not much more than a rough shack with a distinct lack of vertical and horizontal lines as the building had sagged and leaned over the years. The stoop was in poor condition, too, the roof had been patched more than an old sock, and the years had worn the natural oils out of the wooden boards causing them to crack and split. The worst gaps had been patched with any old timber that the farmer could find, and whilst not pretty, at least it would be functional.

  The farmer sat in his creaking chair placed out on the boards of the porch, covered in an old blanket and holding a mug of the thin vegetable soup that Marea had handed him before she had wandered out into the fields.

  Winterburne lowered himself down to sit on the top step of the porch, leaning against the vertical roof support. He looked over at the man, his deep-set eyes and pained expression showing something of his state of health.

  'So,' he said, 'is Ham your first, or your last name?'

  The man smiled back at him, the lines around his eyes creasing.

  'In truth, My Lord, neither.' He swallowed some of his soup and reached down to place the mug beside him on the planks of the floor. 'My late wife, god rest her soul, called me ''Ham'' because I was once fat. She also said that when I slept I grunted like a stuffed pig.'

  Winterburne chuckled. 'That's charming,' he said.

  It was also highly inaccurate, and he did not want to ask whether the man had lost weight because of his illness, or whether it was because times had been hard.

  'May I ask how long has she been gone?'

  'Ten years, give or take a bit.' Ham lifted his eyes to watch his daughter walking across the field. 'Marea has missed her.'

  'It must have been hard for her, too.'

  Ham nodded. 'I have done my best to bring her up in the right way, in the way her mother would have wanted.'

  'She is a fine girl. You should be proud.'

  'I am.' Ham stared at him, and then looked down. 'I do not know what I can ever do to thank you for the help you have given us. Marea still talks about how you stood up to be counted in the inn all those weeks ago.'

  'It was the least I could do.'

  'No, you did more than most ever have.'

  'Think no more of it. Besides, it has kept me busy.'

  'In truth, I am still a little in awe. I have never even waved at any of the Lords and Ladies of the big house, let alone spoken to one of them as we are speaking now.'

  Winterburne waved the statement away. 'We are all but men, Ham. Whether being Lord of all we survey happened by birth or circumstance, it matters not, we still wipe our asses after finishing our toilet,' he said.

  Both men laughed.

  'And your brother out there?'

  Ham pointed across the field to where Robert had guided his cart. He had stationed himself in the centre of the field and was busy passing orders to Marea who was barking them on to the last of the few remaining helpers, the majority of the work now complete.

  The farmer continued, 'He has had more than his fair share of problems too.'

  'That he has.'

  Winterburne glanced across the field. Robert and Ham's daughter joked and laughed together and they seemed at ease in each other's company. As he watched, the girl placed her hand on his shoulder and Robert leaned into her to say something in her ear. She laughed at the act, and then pushed him away.

  Robert had come on in leaps during the last three weeks and the provision of the cart had given him a whole new lease of life, something to enjoy as he broadened his horizons beyond his room or the castle courtyard. But maybe it was more than just that. Winterburne continued to look out from the porch. Watching the two of them together.

  'Although, I must say that Marea has given him something of a lift. He seems sweet on her, Ham.'

  'Aye, My Lord. I have noticed the same these last couple of days.' Ham frowned as he watched them. 'I just don't want her to be disappointed.'

  'Disappointed? At what?'

  'Well, what would his Lordship want with the daughter of a poor man?' Ham said. 'I've told her to leave him be, but she just tuts at me. She seems to like him and looks forward to you both coming to the farm to help. She will miss your visits when the work is done.'

  Winterburne found himself being reminded that out here, away from the melting pot that was Highport, the old ways mattered to people. Deep down he knew that Ham was probably right, that high-born and farmer would not be seen to be a likely match, but he could also see the change in Robert and the girl had certainly provided a bit of spice in his life.

  'What is meant to be will be, Ham,' he said. 'Stranger things have happened under the sun.'

  'Not to people like us, My Lord.'

  Winterburne reached out and placed his hand on Ham's shoulder. 'Time passes,' he said. 'It gives the most unlikely bloom a chance to open and show its beauty to the world.'

  'Poetic, My Lord. True in tales perhaps, but not in the real world. I fear that it is but a dream for her.'

  'Anyway,' Winterburne said, 'whatever either of us says, there is not much that you or I can do to change that particular course of things.' He leaned back and rested against the rail of the stoop. 'Nonetheless, your fields are ploughed, your crops are planted, and whatever else happens, that is a task well worth celebrating, surely.'

  'Aye, it is My Lord,' Ham replied. 'I do not know about bringing your brother and my daughter together, but you have achieved something much more remarkable.'

  'Oh?'

  'Bringing those people in the village together in the way that you did was a sight that I never thought I would see. It reminded me of the days of old when the community really did pull together.'

  'I'm not sure that I entirely did that with any leadership skills I may have brought.'

  'The people followed you like a true leader of men,' Ham said.

  'You think so?'

  'I do, My Lord.'

  'I have to say that I rather think that the dozen or so barrels of ale might have had something to do with it, too,' Winterburne said, and the two men laughed together.

  oOo

  The cart made good time as it picked its way along the bumpy dirt road out of Emlyn. Robert had always had a good eye for a horse and he had chosen a good strong pony that seemed well suited to the task it had been given. At several points along the road Winterburne found himself bringing his own mount to the canter to keep up with his brother.

  'Slow down,' he said, 'the beast is only a baby. You'll wear him out if you push him too hard.'

  'Nonsense,' Robert replied, 'he's a fine animal. He will grow to be a strong hunti
ng mount I think.'

  'You could be right, but at least give us the chance to find out.'

  'You know it is so.' Robert looked back over his shoulder. 'I have always been a good judge of livestock.'

  Winterburne slapped the neck of his beast with its reins and it broke into a gallop, effortlessly opening its legs and passing his brother without too much trouble. As he looked back over his shoulder he saw a look of disgust on Robert's face.

  'Hey!' Robert called out. 'That's not fair.'

  Winterburne rode on, pushing his horse until he reached a bend in the track just as it met the top of the rise. He stopped and waited for his brother to catch up with him.

  'Come on!' he shouted down the track. 'I thought that you said he was strong.'

  Robert pulled up the cart next to Winterburne's horse. 'He is. But as you were saying, this little fellow only has short pins and that was not the gentlemanly thing to do, my brother,' he said, with a big smile on his face.

  'Well I cannot let you beat me back to the castle, can I?' Winterburne said, pulling the reins of his horse so that it turned in a tight circle on the spot. 'You would never let me hear the last of it if I did.'

  'That is true.'

  Winterburne smiled. 'So are you going to tell me about Marea?' he asked.

  'What about her?'

  A wide grin formed on Robert's lips and creases framed his now bright eyes.

  'I saw you two together,' Winterburne said, 'as did Ham.'

  Robert still smiled back, but his silence seemed to say as much to Winterburne as any words could do.

  'So what is it with you two? Will I be hearing the peal of wedding bells coming from the village church any time soon?'

  'I shouldn't think so.'

  Winterburne looked at his brother with a disbelieving smile on his face. 'Marea will be disappointed,' he replied. 'From what her father says, it sounds like the girl has the hots for you.'

  Robert laughed. 'Thomas, even if my legs were as they should be, protocol, as you well know, suggests that it would not be fitting for the brother of the Lord of the Manor to pledge himself to the daughter of a local farmer.'

  'That's ridiculous, there is no such rule,' Winterburne said. 'Do you like the girl?'

  'She is pleasant enough.'

  Winterburne laughed. 'I saw the way that you looked at her, my brother. That was not the look of someone who thinks that the woman standing before him is pleasant.'

  'I'm sure that I have no idea of what you are suggesting.'

  Robert turned and stared ahead down the road that led back to the castle, his face was now emotionless and gave no indication of what he was thinking.

  'Life is too short not to grab your chances when they come, Robert. If you want her, then you should tell her. Or at least put an end to her illusions.'

  'And what would you know of such things, brother,' Robert replied, pulling against the pony as it stamped impatiently. 'I see no wedding band around your finger.'

  'I have had my moments.'

  'What? In Highport? I hear that the women are so desperate to get out of that shit-hole that it is they who ask the men to marry them. Is that right?'

  Winterburne smirked. 'Do not jeer the customs of other places, brother, it is not noble. And besides, stop changing the subject.'

  'Anyway,' Robert said, 'I barely know the girl.'

  'Even the longest journey starts with a first step, Robert.' Winterburne could tell from the look on his brother's face that there was something between the two and his lack of denial all but confirmed it to him. 'All I am saying is that just because she is a farmer's daughter, you should not let that be a reason to dismiss the idea.'

  Robert turned to face Winterburne. 'I don't think mother would approve. You know how old-fashioned she can be.'

  'To hang with what mother thinks. It is what is in your heart that matters.'

  Robert looked up the road and then turned to look Winterburne in the eye. 'Perhaps I may discuss it with her tomorrow,' he said.

  Winterburne was puzzled. 'With mother?'

  'No,' Robert replied, 'with Marea. I am stepping out with her tomorrow afternoon.' He slapped his reins on the back of his pony and it sped off leaving Winterburne with a face-full of dust kicked up by the wheels of the cart.

  Winterburne laughed, and shook his head. 'Come back!' he called, as he kicked into the side of his mount, speeding after Robert. 'Who is the cheat now?'

  11

  The Twenty-Fourth Day of Hi-spring,

  Imperial Year 2332

  As Courtenay steered his horse toward the West Tower gate he couldn't help himself from looking up at the high, white-granite walls that encircled White Haven City. The gleaming towers on either side of the entryway pointed up at the sky, resolute and strong against the outside world. The bright sunlight hit the clean stonework causing the towers to shine; despite the fact that it had been many years since he had been here, it was a sight that he had longed to see again.

  The open gates invited people to enter the city's protective embrace as the path continued on, running between the towers, wide enough for the traffic to pass two abreast with little diversion. The city was without doubt impressive, the clean stone buildings radiated wealth and opulence, the polar opposite of the grime and decay of the Highport that he had become used to during his time there. The degeneration of the Empire as a whole tended to reflect a downward trend, he had always thought, towards what could only be oblivion in the due course of time. Well, he smirked, perhaps he could help it on its way a little.

  But, if Highport was large, and it was, White Haven City was huge. Courtenay guessed that the whole of Highport, including the docks, could fit within the city walls of White Haven twice over. Where Highport was old and mature, the City of Spires, as it was also known by the people of the Commonwealth, was young and vigorous, somehow capturing the energy and dynamism of the country as a whole.

  To Courtenay, even the clothes of the people that made their way along the streets inside the city seemed to suggest a better quality of life than the Empire could ever provide for its citizens. If it was not true for every corner of the Commonwealth, it was without doubt true of the beacon of freedom that was White Haven City. Indeed, the more he thought about it, the more he realised that his plans for New Brunswick had been, and still continued to be, the correct course of action. Brunswick deserved to aspire to this, perhaps not immediately, but certainly within a decade or two at the most. The diseased culture perpetuated by the stagnating Empire would be eradicated in one way or another. It was a cancer, eating away at the continent, a hideous old crone suffering a lingering drawn out death; its people, his people, deserved better.

  As he looked through the gates, Courtenay could see the bridges that crossed the many canals that weaved their way around the city within the walls. He loved the bridges, each one unique, each with its own carvings and statues marking it out as one of a kind. The outer bridges led to the increasingly more affluent inner rings, until ultimately a traveller moving continuously inward would reach the Royal Circle. It was here that the Palaces and other administrative buildings that helped keep the Commonwealth running had been built. He would need to head in that direction at some stage over the next day or so, registering his presence formally as was the custom, but for now, the order of the moment was to find a roof to cover his head for the night.

  It had been many years, twelve to be precise, since he had last been in White Haven and the tavern he had used that last time, he seemed to remember, was The Wheatsheaf. The hostelry was located near the south east bridge, close to the point at which it crossed to the second ring where most of the shops and artisans plied their trade to the people of the city. Courtenay pulled the reins of his horse to guide her along Westway. The thought of a warm bed after weeks of travelling was certainly something to look forward to, especially when that bed would be preceded by a hot bath and then a good wholesome meal rather than the dry waybread he had grown so sick and tired o
f.

  The buildings on either side of the paved road were clean and well built, no trace here of the wear and tear that he had been used to in Highport. Pristine frontage stared back at him and well dressed occupants watched him as he passed by, some even waving to welcome a stranger, according to his clothing, to their city. Before too long, he met a junction at the end of the Westway, and turned left into a thoroughfare that had been appropriately named, The Circle, or so the sign fixed to a pole at the corner of the street declared. It was not far now, he recalled, looking up at the stone buildings on either side of the street, and, just as he expected, on turning the gentle bend, the tavern came into view. The road on the other side of the bridge seemed more narrow than he remembered, but the sign posted outside of the building was still the same, hanging from a bar above the door. This, too, was a building reminiscent of a high class residence rather than the glorified ale house that it actually was.

  As Courtenay arrived outside and dismounted, a young stable-lad appeared from somewhere that he hadn't noticed and took the reins of his mount to lead it around the back to where the stalls would be.

  'Wait!' Courtenay called. He stuffed his hand into his pocket and removed a coin, tossing it to the boy. 'Look after her well,' he said, 'she has earned the rest.'

  'Yes, Sir,' the boy said, leading the beast away.

  Courtenay looked up and down the street, it was quiet enough, he decided, and then turned towards the inn. He glanced up to the first floor of the tavern with its painted red shutters pushed back against the wall. A large brass handle protruded from the stained door, and, taking a deep breath, he reached out to pull down the lever and pushed his way inside.

  oOo

  Courtenay stepped back out onto the street, his belly full, and his skin scrubbed of the road-dust that seemed to have ingrained itself into his very pores. Despite the bathing he still somehow felt dirty, but even that feeling would go in time, he knew, once the memory of the travelling faded to the back of his mind. A change of clothes had also been in order, although in truth he had not brought many, his hurried exit from Highport precluding anything but the absolute necessities. He would have to replenish his wardrobe for the task ahead, that was a given, but there would be time for him to do that later. For now, there were other matters to attend to.

  A young boy walked down the street towards him, carrying a sack, and wearing the uniform of a City Messenger. This particular boy wore a blue jacket with silver buttons, and red epaulettes. Courtenay did not know for which company this lad worked, but he remembered that each employed their own messengers with their own colours.

  'Boy?' he called.

  'Yes, Sir?' The young man approached him, his eyes bright, full of confidence in his manner.

  'Could you remind me of the direction to the Petitioner's Office?'

  'Of course, Sir,' the boy replied. He pointed along the road, saying, 'Take the next bridge, Sir, follow the road. You cannot miss it. It is flying the Queen's colours.'

  Once the boy had finished giving his directions, Courtenay nodded his thanks, and then set