A Modern Mind in Medieval Times

Map of Nobart to help you visualize the journey:

The ship rocked like a wobbly top, its timbers groaning as the winds announcing the arrival of rainy season battered its flanks. Waves slapped the hull in an uneven rhythm, each impact sending another lurch through my stomach.

A tall, raven-haired woman opened the door to its ornately decorated master cabin and walked inside, gently closing the door behind her. Wary of the bucket of puke lying nearby, she approached the heap of quilts wriggling lightly like a grub.

“Hey,” she said gently. “How are you doing?”

“Terrible,” I answered from my cocoon.

“I brought ginger tea.”

“Go away. Nothing will help.”

“Stop being a baby,” she snapped. “You can’t keep acting that way. Everyone here, and soon the whole realm, will depend on you.”

I removed the quilt off my face to glare at her. “Not for this cursed leg of the journey.”

“You’re the one who insisted we travel by sea.”

“Overland travel takes weeks. I don’t have weeks to waste.”

“It will be over soon,” she said softly.

Looking at that fetching face, I grabbed her by the arm. “There are more pleasant ways to pass the time.”

She stared at me flatly. “On a ship full of soldiers and sailors? With thin walls? Laira announced your betrothal only a few days ago. How will it reflect on her?”

I let go of her arm and cast my eyes down in shame. “Right. Can’t think straight right now.”

She bent down to give me a kiss, and whispered in my ear. “Once we are on land and have some thicker walls around us. Though I will miss our voyeur Queen.”

I smiled at that, wriggled myself free of my cocoon and took the cup from her hands.

Reshma sat beside me and slipped an arm around my shoulder. Neither of us spoke for some time, as I sipped the hot beverage.

She took a look at my expression and backed away. “Are you about to be sick?”

“No.”

“Then why that look?”

“Just worried about what awaits us. Most of House Nobart’s knights and men-at-arms are dead, along with hundreds of peasants. I don’t know how I will face their families.”

She said nothing.

“Then there is my widowed mother, and my cousin, whose seat was snatched away by a stamp of Laira’s seal.”

“It was never his; he was your spare. If you’re feeling so generous, you could make him a regent.”

“God, no! He’s not that bright. He’ll piss all the money away, if he hasn’t done it already.”

“I will deal with him. You… you will have to face the relatives of the fallen of Battle of the Bog. I suppose there is no skirting that issue.”

“No, there is not,” I replied, sipping my tea.

The next day, the sea was merciful enough that I wasn’t wishing for death. With only an hour of light left, Nordhaven, bathed in golden light, rose before us, its harbor thick with masts and the cries of gulls.

As our ships approached the harbor, the port was full of people cheering and chanting so loud I could hear their words from far away.

“Long live the Count!”

“Long live Prince Consort!”

Reshma stepped by my side, a small smile on her lips.

“The people are celebrating their new Count and Prince Consort.”

“Why would they cheer for a man who killed his own father?”

Zock was a nasty bastard but patricide was taken seriously in these times.

“The betrothal proclamation was very thorough,” she explained. “It detailed how you restored your House’s honor by reluctantly fulfiling your duty; killing your own father, a traitor to the Crown. They respect that.”

“It was sent everywhere?”

“Every location that has a messenger pigeon in the capital.”

“Falkenheim as well?”

“Of course.”

“Your mother and sister will be fine,” she added after seeing my worried expression, but stopped her hand midway before placing it on mine.

“Even your cousin won’t be dumb enough to hurt them, now that the Crown stands behind you.”

I looked her in the eyes. “Never underestimate the stupidity of people. There is a limit to genius, but none to stupidity.”

Her eyes glazed over as she thought. “Who said that?”

“A very smart man.”

“Jack, your County’s capital is not isolated from other centers of power,” she whispered. They would have found out from others, if not from Aldersthron.

I nodded silently. There truly wasn’t much I could do until we reached Falkenheim.

The soldiers disembarked and formed a corridor through the cheering crowd. I exhaled; no more walking freely for me.

I smiled and waved to the people as I disembarked. A well dressed man came forward; the mayor. I shook hands with him, received his congratulations and embarked my carriage. Reshma followed.

“The Soaring Gull has been already reserved for your use, Your Highness,” she told me.

“Not married yet,” I said reflexively. “Already reserved? The spider’s web stretches this far?”

“Yes, but this was done through official channels. Nordhaven is, after all, a significant port town.”

The Soaring Gull, turns out, was the same inn we had stayed at last time. Reshma and I sat at the same table we had occupied a few weeks ago, enjoyed their seafood, wine and music. The atmosphere was more jovial this time, less tense, now that we were allies, not strangers trying to figure each other out. I let the smile of my charming companion and the rhythm of the music push down my worries.

The next morning, we woke to a hearty breakfast and prepared to resume the next leg of our journey, thankfully on land.

“Be careful on your way,” I told Jaklen, who, along with two others, was going to guide the other ship, full of lumber, craftsmen and supplies, back to Chadom.

“I will, Sire. When can we expect you back?”

“Once Nobart is stabilized and can run without me. A month at least, maybe two. Make sure our new friends don’t wander around,” I pointed at the waiting ship.

He nodded solemnly, bowed and left.

Our procession of two carriages, three supply wagons, fifty five riders, fifty soldiers on foot and a dozen servants, left Nordhaven for Nobart’s capital, Falkenheim.

As we traveled at a steady pace up the shores of Iselau, the river that emptied into the sea at Nordhaven, the villagers, planting the winter crop, forgot about their work and stared at our procession, a hundred shiny armors gleaming in the sunlight, marching and riding in step, banner snapping in the wind.

Soon, as we went deeper inland, the hills became steeper and broad-leaved trees gave way to evergreens, as the Erz mountain range loomed closer.

“It’s a beautiful land, Your Excellency,” Reshma teased.

“It is,” I replied. “Thanks to the winds from the sea, Nobart doesn’t get as cold as other counties in the winter. Our winter crop is almost as large as the summer one.”

“You don’t export any, though.”

“It’s still the highlands; our arable land is limited. It’s enough that we don’t need to import grain and no one starves in the winter. Shame our primary export is timber, and not iron.”

“Why is that?”

“The neighboring County, Ironfeld, has the largest deposits of iron in our Duchy. If I remember correctly, they are second only to Grauberg’s own mines. We’re not on best terms with either of them, and I need as much iron as possible.”

My eyes popped as something else surfaced.

“What?” Reshma asked.

“We do have plenty of coal.”

I noticed to my horror that my hand was caressing her leg. My eyes flitted to our chaperon, Sir Hagen, the younger one of the two Royal Guards accompanying us.

Thankfully he was looking out the window.

“It’s fine, lover. He knows,” Reshma whispered.

“You do?”

The knight turned to look at me and nodded subtly.

“Just be careful around Sir Grimric. He’s a bit more pious,” Reshma informed me.

“He doesn’t know about you and Laira?”

“Probably does, but we’re both women, so he thinks we can’t really do the deed.”

“He wouldn’t be thinking that if he saw you two together.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” she chuckled.

As dusk approached, a large hill rose to greet us at a distance, a vista of the tall mountains of the Erz range in the background.

The wide hill was like a quilt with multi-threaded patterns, covered in buildings, varying from little more than shacks at the bottom, peeking behind the stone walls, to well made villas near the top. It’s top was crowned by a squat but formidable gray structure, Castle Nobart, the seat of Jack’s ancestors for centuries. The land around was covered in fertile fields, surrounded by Iselau, which bent around it in a wide arc.

“Welcome to Falkenheim, capital of Nobart.”

“It’s beautiful,” Reshma said.

“Home to around 4000 souls, almost a fifth of the population of the entire county,” I informed her.

The procession stopped a hundred something meters away from the city, beyond the effective range of bows. Sir Hagen disembarked from the carriage, followed by me. As I helped Reshma down, the gates of the wall that surrounded the entire hill opened with a loud groan.

Our soldiers raised banners of the Royal House, which fluttered in the evening wind; an eagle perched upon a hill. Another banner snapped along with them; a falcon on a tree, sigil of House Nobart. Symbols of royal authority, our Houses’ union and the Crown’s recognition of me as the rightful ruler of Nobart.

A delegation came out on foot, the banners of House Nobart flanking them on both sides. As they approached, my breath caught in my throat as I recognized the woman leading the delegation.

Lady Erenna. Jack’s mother. To her right stood Isanna, Jack’s sister.

Not yet fifty, Lady Erenna was the obvious source of Jack and Isanna’s good looks. A smile broke upon her face and her pace quickened as she recognized me.

Heart pounding in my chest, I approached her.

“Mother.”