Murder of the Belvedere Eye

Chapter 4

4- Tellard Glastius

Tellard Galastius’s booming voice echoed across the front lawn. A man herded goats between the mansion and the gate, tapping them with a long stick to keep the grass from being eaten down to the root.

The servant looked at me as I passed. I loosened my robes, letting the cool night air wick away the intensity of Dorlien’s hearth. The moon was low in the sky.

“Aye, man!” I called out the herder. “Are you out here every night?”

“Most nights,” he replied.

“Were you out here early this morning?”

“’Twas.”

I showed him the lord’s necklace. His eyes widened.

“When did Glastius return to the mansion this morning?”

“At the first kiss of dawn.”

“Do you know much of the guard?”

“I’ve shared a drink with a few of the lot.”

“But not Glastius.”

“Of course not! Could you imagine, me drinking with the commander?” He laughed. I tucked the lord’s necklace back into my cloak. When I withdrew my hand, I brushed against the little scroll that I had taken from the Belvedere Eye.

I freed it from my pocket. It was written on a strip of stiff linen.

He is not clever.

He is not quick.

He who steals mine eyes,

Wears the lord’s quit.

#

Hands gripped and beat against the iron fence. The weapons of the guard scraped down the bars, the iron-on-iron singing and throwing sparks. Fingers fell in heaps inside the estate grounds. The crowd of peasants was swelling, those in the rear pushing and crushing. Shouts from the guard mixed with high-pitched wailing of the crowd.

Large lamps with polished reflectors shined down from the two sentry towers. The guards above loosed arrows at those who climbed. Those that dug beneath the wall were scalded with jars of hot oil. The jars were thrown underhand by men walking along the fence, leading donkeys that pulled carts of orange earthenware jars.

 The gatehouse was a cottage, the outside decorated with flowers. The small building was alight. Guards ran in and out. It was like the entrance to an ant’s nest.

A young man ran out of the gatehouse. I slipped in behind him.

The cottage was one room. The walls were painted with red and blue flowers. Pots hung from the rafters. The hearth was hung with dried herbs and two skinned rabbits. It would have looked like any other cottage if it was not packed with guards. One was making tallies on a sheet. A boy soldier was over the hearth, filling earthenware vessels from a large cauldron. Others stood in a cluster by the door. A woman nursed a child on a bed, shielded by boxes and barrels. A man ran in behind me. He turned over an arrow-marked barrel and rolled it out the door. I met eyes with the nursing mother, and she smiled at me, stroking the blonde hair of her child.

In the center of it all, sitting at a chipped and scarred table, was Glastius. He had glasses on. He was wearing a thin once-white sleeping gown. A  sword lay on the table, its hilt and point sticking off either end. His mouth was set hard.

“They are going to overwhelm us at the gate, Commander,” an older man said, his helmet held in the crook of his arm. His polished head shone in the firelight.

“We cannot spare the guards along the walls,” Glastius said, moving papers off the table and onto a chair. He had a map of the estate in front of him. There were red pins stuck inside the wall, and black pins stuck outside the wall. The bald man took the small pot of black tacks and dumped them at the front gate.

Glastius looked up from the paper. The room fell silent.

The baby began to scream.

“Sir, they are going to come through in minutes, if not, seconds.”

“You will pay for this tomorrow, Landsquat.”

“I will take my punishment! But we have to do something about the damn gate!”

“Any news of the magicians?” Glastius shouted. A lean runner came to the center of the house.

“They did not admit me, sir!” the guard shouted.

“Damn fools,” Glastius rubbed his face.

“We must flame them with oil,” Landsquat said.

“A few flaming peasants aren’t going to stop the charge,” Glastius said.

“It will back them off for a while! Allow us to regroup!”

“With another set of hands, we could empty this cauldron quickly,” the boy filling pottery said.

“Pollick, go assist Green,” the bald man shouted.

The guard that had brought me to the estate stepped out from the corner.

“No!” Glastius shouted. “We cannot rush into this!”

“Action must be taken!”

The commander turned towards the woman on the cot. She had fallen asleep with the baby suckling. He scratched his chin. “Perhaps we can give the peasants what they want.”

“What they want is a swift death!” Landsquat yelled.

“Pollick, help me into my robes,” Glastius said, “Landsquat, ready my horn.”

“Are we to charge them, Commander? They outnumber us a hundred to one!”

“There will be no charge,” the commander said. He stood and removed his glasses. “See that the men stay on patrol. I’ll have nobody sneaking over my wall. Send the word that the horn will be sounded, but it is not a call to fight.”

“Yessir,” a fleet of runners said, darting from the house. Pollick helped Glastius into his colors.

“Landsquat, call to the men at the gate and tell them to halt their hacking. Blow my horn and tell the peasants that the Belvedere Eye will be out to see them shortly.”

“Commander? But how-”

“Do not question your orders, follow them!”

“Commander,” Landsquat said. He went to the front door and removed a curled horn that hung above it. Then he rushed out of the house. The whoop of the horn sounded like the call of a demon. The calling and crying stopped for a moment. Then the call of Landsquat came, muffled. Cheers broke out.

“Darling,” Glastius said. He went to his wife and shook her awake.

“Yes,” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

“I need you,” he said. He whispered in her ear. She nodded and pushed the baby into his arms. She stood and pulled the sheet from the bed around her. She tucked her hair into the sheet.

“What shall I say?” She whispered.

“Whatever first comes to mind,” Glastius said, “do not be afraid, my love. I will keep you safe.”

“I will do my best, my husband.”

“Wait,” Glastius said, examining her. He took a length of rope off the wall and tied it around her waist.

“Perfect,” the commander smiled. He glanced at me I flashed the lord’s necklace.

“Oh, you, Street Cat. Can it wait a moment?”

“Fine,” I said. I followed him and his wife out.

The gate was opened and Landsquat slipped through. Pollick was beside him, carrying his halberd. They shouted and pushed, nudged, and shoved until a line began to form. It snaked down the road, went down a dip, and rose again on the hill beyond.

A chair was set up in front of the gate. Glastius helped his wife into it. The iron gate was shut and locked. Glastius helped the woman sit. The moon was low and lit one side of her. She cast an ethereal image.

The night was quiet. The line began to twist, as people tried to get a look at the Belvedere Eye. Landsquat and Pollick rustled people back into single file.

The first person in line, a woman wrapped in tattered robes, kneeled at the gate.

“Great seeress of things, knower of truths, lady of wisdom,” she began. She tossed a silver through the bars.

“My husband has been gone for a year…”

The woman took her time with her story. She cried and shouted. “He couldn’t live without his trees,” she finished.

Glastius’s woman said: “He will not return. He is dead.”

The woman stood, cried, and ran from the gate.

Everyone watched her run, and fingered their own tokens, shuffling forward, all the more eager.

“Great seeress of things, knower of truths, lady of wisdom,” the next man began. “I’ve been meaning to plant wheat this autumn, but the others claim that next year will be a year for potatoes…”

“What question do you have, Street Cat?” Glastius asked.

“Who do you think murdered the Eye?” I asked.

“I’d say you're looking at them,” the commander said. He looked at the line of requestees. They were broken and weak, starved and filthy. They scratched and popped lice in their hair. Many had fresh wounds and were fainting from blood loss. Their compatriots stepped over the bodies.

“Why do you serve them with answers?”

“Didn’t have a choice.”

“You could have flamed them, as Landsquat suggested.”

“Landsquat is strong as an ox and dumb as one too. He knows nothing of crowds. He’s been a guard here his whole life. Never seen a hundred people. He was frightened. The only thing that would stop that crowd was appeasement. Perhaps if I had another hundred guards, we’d settle things another way.”

“But how would a peasant slip past your guards and Harlen’s iron wall?

“We cannot watch everything,” Glastius said. “Our numbers are near fifty. Yet there are five hundred acres within the estate grounds. Leagues of fence. A smart man would wait and watch our patrols. Make his move and cross the fence. I’ve seen boys scamper up and over like a damn squirrel, leaping off the spikes that are supposed to stick them. I suppose that one could have gotten in, snuck around the building, and made his way to the garden.”

“I find it hard to believe one of them could sneak onto the grounds and not be noticed. The servants of the lord are washed and clean. The presents would stick out like a rat among birds.”

“And like a rat they know how to hide in the shadows.”

I looked down at his belt. His sword hung on his left hip. On his right, there was a dagger.

“The dagger that took the seer’s life is a copy of your own,” I said. “A hand’s length. Two edges. Fuller down the center. Square brass guard. Square brass pommel.”

“It is the province’s blade, Rummy. Every farmer from New Delm who marched in a campaign would have one.”

“This was no farmer’s dagger. It was clean and polished, the handle worn by use.”

Glastius turned towards the gate. The man who asked about potatoes stood and dusted off his pants. He looked at the long road, then began to walk down it. The next man kneeled and tossed a silver through the bars.

“If each pays silver we’ll have quite the chest,” Glastius said.

“I have good reason to believe the murderer is among your ranks.”

“You can look at the schedule. Nobody has missed their post.”

“Not every second of one’s life is spent at a post. For instance, I just finished talking to Dorlien Reddarm.” Glastius looked at me. “You have time for things beyond your duties.”

“And nobody would know about that, if the damn harpy would have kept her mouth shut. What was I to do? She threw herself at my feet the moment she walked in the estate. She threatened to make a scene.”

“She had a lot to say. I hear you have a key to the king-brother’s stock of Gooj White.”

“I have a key to the Lord’s toilet.”

“Perhaps you wished Dorlien would leave. The king-brother’s relations with the seeress are well known. If you were to cut Ezema down, maybe even collect some gold for her eyes on the side, you would be free of Dorlien and these peasants.”

“You’ll find that I conducted business as usual yesterday. I had my time with the Eye after the lord and lady. Then I broke my fast with my men. When we finished, the cries from the belvedere were heard.”

“What did you last ask the seer?”

“I asked how long the peasants would be crowding our gate.”

“What did she answer?”

“Longer than she would live. I took it to mean that they would never leave.”

“What payment did you bring?”

“I don’t see how that matters.” The commander’s eyes fell onto the lord’s necklace.

“I am not proud of it, Street Cat. I do not have much to give.”

“Just answer the question, Tellard.”

“I took bottles from the store room.”

I turned towards the estate. The moon had settled below the horizon. The building looked like a monster. “How many bottles, commander?”

“Gods. Street Cat, it has been everyday for the past season. I had some silver saved up, but they ran out quicker than I could catch them.”

“I know the feeling. Where did you take the bottles from?”

“The crates.”

“The one on top?”

“At first. Then I learned the order that Dorlien has to take them out. I replaced the bottles I took with ones from the bottom crates. The king-brother would never get to the bottom crates. He had so much of it, I figured a few bottles wouldn’t be missed.”

“How long was the seeress supposed to stay?”

“She was ending her residence in ten days, with the end of the season.”

“Then the poison wasn’t meant for the seeress,” I whispered. “It was meant to go back to the king.”

“Poison?”

“The wine the king-brother brought to the Eye this morning was thick with clytone.”

“Good Gods! Clytone?”

“If not you, then who, Glastius? Who would have benefited from a dead seer and a dead king?”

“You’re wrong! If I was so violently inclined, wouldn’t I have thrown oil on the peasants? Wouldn’t I have been at the gates swinging spears? I am a man of war, it is true. But I do not wish the death of some poor seer girl tangled up with royalty. Nor the death of the king I serve! I am not a perfect man, Street Cat, maybe far from it. But I would never, ever, stoop to the use of poison.”

“Who killed Ezema, Glastius? Who would benefit? I see you with a dagger. I see you stealing wine from the king’s stock. I see you trouncing with a woman close to the king-brother. You’ve got a growing family and not many years left to be swinging swords. This gate house is too small for your pride. Your son will become a servant to the lord. If you do not escape this position, then you will die on these grounds. Why not remove the king, have the king-brother take the throne, and meet your lover at the capital? Perhaps she’d lay a general’s rope upon your shoulder.”

“My pride is not large,” Tellard whispered, “and if my son becomes a servant of the lord, good. Harlen is a fair man. I do not deserve this hut with the horrors I have committed. You talk of things you do not understand: honor and pride. I do not wish to be with Dorlien. She will be gone at the end of this week. I shall never make that mistake again. Who is responsible, you ask? Well, there is another key to the king-brother’s wine stock.”

“Who plunged the knife, Glastius?”

“I do not know.”

“Who would?”

“The third key holder. Their window has the best view of the garden. If anyone saw someone come and go it would be them.”

“Who holds the third key?”

“Lady Harlen.”

I looked the commander over. He wore the livery. But damn, he was cunning. He was quick with his manner and reply. I did not believe that his pride was so small that it fit into the gatehouse. But the seeress’s message said nothing about honesty or pride. Perhaps he had one of his men swing the blade.

“I shall visit the lady,” I said. “But you are not to leave the grounds.”

“I will do as you say. I expect to be busy well into tomorrow,” he said, looking at the gate. Twinkling silver fell behind me as I swept up my cloak. I headed beneath the tunnel of trees, towards the monstrous building.