The Marquis by Michael O'Neill

‘Impressive.’
    ‘Well, I didn’t have a lot of room…’ They both then looked back at Besywan as he regained his composure.
    Conn gestured politely. ‘You were saying…’
    The Marquis bowed, He was still shaking a little from the rush of adrenalin. ‘I apologize. I misspoke. Eaorl, I presume that you act with the authority of our new Wealdend…’
    ‘Indeed I am – but even if I didn’t I would expect you to do as I say. By the way, it is Marquis now. Thanks to the Wealdend, I’m now the Marquis of Subari – as well Marquis of Rila in Sytha.’
    ‘SUBARI, you can’t…’ he stopped and looked quickly at Derryth who had moved his hand to his bow. Defeated again, he continued. ‘Very well, Marquis , what is that you want me to do?’
    ‘I want you to do what you should do in this situation; ensure that all the dead are buried, help the wounded and continue on as usual. The Wealdend and I will return in the morning to discuss what happens after that. I will also send a medic to check that your medics are doing what they should.’
    Besywan shook his head. ‘Our medics will be more than adequate, thank you.’
    ‘Let me be the judge of that.’
    Besywan insisted. ‘We do not need your medics!’
    Wystan interrupted. It was the first time he had said anything. ‘Besywan, don’t be a fool. Subari’s medics are the best I have ever seen.’ Wystan speaking was obviously unexpected, and it was confirmed by the look of contempt on Besywan’s face.
    ‘Wystan, I have not given you leave to speak to me…’ What happened to him next surprised everyone; and him most of all. Conn had moved quicker than anyone expected and before he knew what had happened Besywan found himself flying through the air and landing on his back. Winded, and struggling for air, the elder noble looked up to see Conn’s katana, inches from his face.
    Conn’s voice was steel cold. ‘Next time you speak to anyone under my command in that manner, I will use this sword to separate your gonads from your body. Major Wystan is a senior officer in my fyrd. As your forces are defeated, at this moment, he outranks you. Have I made myself clear?’
    Under the sword, Besywan nodded, his face white in fear. ‘Perfectly…’ he stuttered.
    Conn turned and looked at the rest of them as Besywan struggled to his feet. ‘I will return in the morning with Efilda. I will see you all here then. I hope to see better manners next time.’
    Conn went outside and joined the Cataphracts and they rode back up the pass and down into their camp. Dagrun was bound and gagged sitting on a horse. Everywhere men were at work repairing the damage of the battle or digging graves for the dead. Brys advised that their losses were small but every loss was significant in Conn’s mind. There were many more wounded. They were being treated by his medics.
    Outside the main tent, they were met by Efilda. She seemed happy to see them alive but concerned still.
    ‘So is Dagrun dead?’
    ‘No.’ Conn pointed to the man gagged on a horse behind him. ‘We found him hiding behind several wiga. They were happy to give him up.’
    Efilda laughed, as they watched him removed from the horse and carted inside the tent; ‘He never was of stern heart. I’m not surprised his own Ancuman wiga despised him.’ She looked at Conn seriously. ‘It would have been much easier if he had died.’
    Conn agreed. ‘We have a plan.’
    Derryth nodded. ‘A good one too. I’m going to make arrangements.’
    Suddenly serious, she looked at them both. ‘You are not going to murder him, are you?’
    Both shook their heads. ‘Nothing terminal.’
    They went inside and Dagrun was still irate. Ungagged he yelled at his sister when he saw her. ‘Sister, what is the meaning of this outrage – how could you set these… these … barbarians against your own people?’
    Efilda slapped him. He reeled back and made to retaliate but saw Conn step forward.
    The Wealdend in waiting was livid. ‘How