Berach's Jewel

Chapter Eight

Jalde Frode strode into his bedchambers. They could not hold a war counsel in the main hall, because many of the local villagers were sheltering inside from Dunstan's soldiers. Many of his best soldiers were present here - the rest were preparing to battle.

"Lord, I urge you to speak with Jalde Dunstan - to come to agreeable terms for both of you. You have worked hard to keep these lands." Eorl Bjorg paused to sip some water. "Yet he has much more resources and while we are holed up safe in here, he can - and will cut our supplies off."

Men who wore rich clothes murmured agreement, echoing his words. Frode knew this was the way it had to be done. He gave each of his men tasks to carry out, be it inspecting the troops, helping the villagers settle in or checking storage lists. Eorl Bjorg was the only one left in the room once they left. Frode trusted him with everything, even his life, and he knew Bjorg respected him to not question his actions. There was always a reason for everything.

"I need a list of everyone who has entered to take shelter here, and ask Wymond to look for a three-lined mark on the right forearm of every adult man."

Bursting through the door, apologies tumbling from his mouth breathlessly, a messenger relayed his message that Jalde Dunstan was prepared to talk with him. Frode nodded and waved the boy away. Putting on another layer of clothes, he prepared to leave the high house to talk, stopping to grab a small leather pouch as he was leaving. Eorl Bjorg followed, nodding in understanding as Frode asked him to bring the man that matched the description to toJalde Dunstan's camp.

Walking out into the courtyard within the high-house, he took the reins of his horse, and putting his foot into one of the stirrups, he pushed up with one leg to mount it it. As the tall, wooden doors opened to let him out, he gently nudged it to walk forward with confident strides. There hadn't been time to dress the horse in battle armour, so Frode rode with a short sword attached to the brown leather saddle.

As the horse walked onward, cresting a small peak in the undulating field in front of them, Dunstan's small camp came into view. Many small tents were clustered around a larger one - a movable high-house. The wind was beginning to pick up, driving a light misting of rain into his face.

Before he entered the enemy's camp, Frode quickly dismounted his horse, and asked the guard to find a place to keep it until he returned to leave. He walked off, without a guide, knowing where Dunstan would be. The guard, not knowing whether to go after Jalde Frode or keep a hold of the horse, stared on as the man walked confidently into the busy throng of people waiting.

Frode quickly reached the biggest tent with a large opening. The two guards glanced at him, and let him pass, recognising who he was. One of them called out, to remind him to leave his short sword at the entrance, but he either didn't hear their demand or he ignored it. He crossed into the central part of the tent through a small foyer area, used primarily for storage.

"Greetings Dunstan, I heard you wanted to speak with me," Forde said, breaking the quiet of people going about their tasks.

Dunstan turned around slowly upon hearing his voice, looking at him with pity. Frode was too young to have become a Jalde, his childish actions and poorly thought plans evidence of this. His father had never had enough time to teach what it means to lead, and how to do so with grace. He stayed silent, willing the newcomer to explain himself.

"Only to hear the terms for your surrender." Dunstan replied, after a long pause. He turned around to carry on what he was before Frode's interruption. He heard a dull thud behind him, something small and light landing into the earth. He turned back to face Jalde Frode, and strode towards him. As he opened the leather pouch, reaching for it on the ground, his finger curled around a smooth, light, translucent oval stone: Berach's Jewel. His jewel.

Looking up, he glared at Frode. How dare he say that he didn't have it, and then give it to him later, when it suited him. He stood up and started walking threatening towards Frode.

"Dunstan, you misunderstand," he gasped as Dunstan lifted him off the floor, "W-when you last asked I did not know that I had it - it was given as payment!" He explained weakly, hoping that the white lie would go unnoticed. Dunstan let go, letting Frode fall to the floor. "I have someone coming with the thief, for you-"

"Eorl Bjorg to see you." Announced the guard, interrupting Jalde Frode as he stood up.

Nodding respectively to Dunstan and his attendants, Bjorg spoke to Frode, "After Wymond looked for a mark and I looked at the record of everyone in the high-house, only two men are unaccounted for. Daveth Dawsson and Aldred Davethsson. However, my lord, there have been some reports that they were heading to the forests northwards of your hundert."

Hearing all this, Dunstan started to send his attendants away, telling them what parts to search for the two men.

Nervously, Frode asked, "May I join? He tricked me just as much as he tricked you. I have my own horse here."

Dunstan grunted in reply, waving them both out. Frode and Bjorg walked out together towards the entrance, the slick mud squelching under their boots. Mounting their horses, Bjorg galloped to the south-west across the plains. The forested hills were much harder to travel quickly through and it was never good to leave your hundert without a leader. Frode stayed and left with Dunstan's group in the forest in the hills, directly south of Dunstan's high house.

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