Free The Marquis by Michael O'Neill Page A

cavalry, and the sight of the large horses and their lances caused the Samrian fyrd, who had no desire at all to be there, to fold; they scattered, dropping their weapons and running to the side and creating a pathway for Conn and his riders to make their way through the gates and down into the camp of the Samrian Healdend. None of those on the pass put up any resistance, and the Sagittari were instructed to only target Ancuman wiga because they were unlikely to surrender. By the time the pikemen arrived, the Samrian fyrd was devoid of Ancuman officers, and just surrendered.
    The Cataphracts continued their path down the hill into the camp at pace, and direct to the Healdend’s tent. Here there was still resistance, though elsewhere, with the arrival of Conn’s wiga, many took the cause to be lost, and lay down their arms. Certainly the Samrians did.
    Ancuman wiga rushed to circle the tent to defend its inhabitants and a dismounted Conn was sorry but willing to have to provide the end they seemed to desire. The men that rushed to attack him met with the fury of his hands if they were Samrian and his sword if they were Ancuman. After ten minutes and a pile of bodies behind him Conn and Derryth burst into the main tent. Inside a dozen Ancuman wiga, both male and female, stood surrounding a young man; most probably Dagrun, Healdend of Samria.
    Conn stopped and sheathed his sword as a dozen of his bowmen entered the tent and aimed their arrows at the wiga. Conn bowed politely.
    ‘Dagrun, former Healdend of Samria. Your sister, and the new Wealdend, send her regards. You are of course surrounded. Do you all wish to die or do you wish to surrender?’
    A Folctoga, his sword drawn, snarled. ‘I say we die, Ancuman never surr…’
    ‘Wait, wait, wait… let’s not be so rash. Never is such a strong word.’ Another Ancuman pushed his way to the front. He was better dressed than the wiga, and he wasn’t wearing armour.  ‘I’m sure we can negotiate.’ He bowed slightly to Conn. ‘Hello Eaorl; it is not a pleasure to see you again.’
    Conn couldn’t suppress his surprise. He laughed.  ‘Geirnarr! What are you doing here? I expected that you would be back in Kishdah.’
    The Folctoga responded as well. ‘Aebeling, you know this man?’
    While Geirnarr nodded, Conn continued. ‘And you misled me, Geirnarr. You failed to mention that you were an Aebeling in Axum when you were my prisoner. I was under the impression that you were nothing but a lowly merchant. Tell me, did you make any money from the cargo of timber?
    Everyone looked at Geirnarr as he nodded. ‘I was amazed to find that the cargo was very well received. As for this unhappy situation, I must say that I was not informed that he who vanquished the Rakians in Meshech was NOW in Samria. I expected that you were still in Rakia or somewhere else. Anywhere is my preference. Agkell will not be happy when we have a chat later…’ He turned and looked at his wiga. ‘Put your swords down.’ He used a tone that gave the impression that his word was law.
    The Folctoga didn’t take the order well. ‘But Aebeling, we…’ He stopped talking when Geirnarr backhanded him across the face. He staggered back. His eyes were furious and he was fifty percent bigger than Geirnarr but he did nothing.
    Geirnarr repeated himself. ‘I SAID, put your swords down. The feorrancund has a major character flaw. You can trust his word.’
    He watched them as they all lowered and sheathed the swords. Conn ordered the bowmen to lower the bows. Geirnarr looked back.
    ‘What do you want to let us all go?’
    Conn knew the answer. ‘The Healdend – his demesne obviously – all Ancuman gone from Samria – nothing but essentials – no gold or horses. I want the horses. I’m a bit short.’
    The Folctoga went to speak again but stopped when Geirnarr looked at him. It didn’t stop Dagrun from speaking however. He pushed forward.
    ‘Cousin – you cannot agree to that! You can’t