The Death Wish Read online

  The Death Wish

  A novel by Jules Marks

  Copyright © 2011 by Jules Marks.

  Chapter One

  Eternal damnation.

  The threat of it had held me in check, but, finally, after almost two months of abject misery, I was resolved: I was prepared to shed this wretched mortal coil, regardless of the consequences to an afterlife that I had come to doubt.

  My choice was death by my own hand…though I hadn’t worked out the details.

  It wasn’t weakness; no man could call me coward. In my youth, I had fought (and proved my mettle) in the Franconian wars. Over the years I had routinely put my life on the line and defended my liege lord, his lands and his castle, my own humble home, and, most importantly, my family. But there was nothing more for me…no family left to care for. Our two sons had died before reaching maturity. How long had it been? I’d lost count of the years; it happened decades ago. Our daughter Gwen had been gone from home more than twenty years. Lord Geoffrey had graciously given her leave to marry and travel with her knight/husband to distant lands. We prayed all was well with her, but we had heard no word in over sixteen years.

  So, there were no children or grandchildren to care for. Sarei and I had been happy just the same; we’d had one another. Life had been good ‘til the Creeping Death had visited our little hamlet.

  As always, Death was no respecter of persons. It wasn’t as bad as in some places—I’d heard of entire villages being wiped out—but it was hard, just the same. Almost every family had lost someone; there were two families wherein every member had died. Even Lord Geoffrey’s family had suffered: Geoffrey’s brother had lost his wife and daughter; their bodies had been burned with the common folk.

  What, then, was my excuse? Was my misery more profound than that of many others who had lost so much? Nay, I could not speak for them; I simply knew that I had lost all I truly loved in this world. After all, Geoffrey’s brother, Hugh, was still young. He would grieve, to be sure, but after a time he would marry again, and, God willing, have more children to carry on his blood and name.

  It was too late for me; in my mind, I felt old, positively ancient. Though physically fit, I was, after all, over fifty. Yet, in spite of my torpor, I still functioned: there was the armory to care for; the tack needed mending; sometimes I used my needle and gut on humans and animals whose injuries required my stitching skills. I laboured the long summer days away; at night I retired to my cottage to sup and wait for the drawn-out evenings to come to a close so that I might lay me down and attempt to sleep.

  Ah, how sleep had eluded me! I longed for its comfort, for its blessed oblivion, but every night it was a battle. I groaned in the darkness, longing for release.

  But this night would be different: on that very afternoon I had made my decision, I had had enough. It was time to plan how to end it. That evening I sat on the bench at the table, my meager supper left untouched upon the plate before me, and I stared vacantly into the cold, blackened hearth, weighing my options.

  I considered hanging myself, but such a death seemed wretchedly ignoble. I’d seen men hanged for their crimes, and I didn’t savor leaving the world that way, wetting my breeches and dancing a jig. What then? A dagger through the heart…could I bring myself to cut my own throat? Feeling a bit of the coward after all, I blanched at the thought. Poison? That didn’t seem a very manly death. Poison was what maids in fairy tales used to end it all. Surely I could do better than that. Another possibility occurred to me: I could throw myself down into the well to drown. But, on second thought, I might not be missed for a while, and the well water would be fouled. No, drowning would make for a swift death, but I didn’t want others to suffer. I calculated the height of the battlements, and considered the likelihood of a fatal fall. But what if a young child saw? Would I want my dashed brains splattering the cobblestones at some youngster’s feet, forever after to haunt their dreams?

  Taking several sips of mead, I considered other options, only to discard them. The dagger to the heart was looking more appealing.

  My somber reverie was shattered by the unexpected thud of a fist pounding at my door.

  “Gael…I say, are you in there, old fellow?”

  I considered remaining mute with the faint hope that my visitor would give up and leave me to my own devices, but then I realized whose voice was on the other side of the oak planks. It was that of Hugh, my master’s brother, and I could not simply ignore him. As he pounded once more, I called out that I was coming, and hastened to open the door.

  Hugh’s appearance at my doorway would have been a surprise regardless, but his cheerful countenance came as something of a shock…until I smelled his breath and espied the bottle he clutched. He was obviously well on his way to being drunk, probably on his second bottle from the looks of him, and for some reason he had picked my humble abode to visit. I welcomed him inside, and without further ado he made himself comfortable upon the bench I’d just vacated.

  After our initial greetings, he became solemn, asking me how I fared, and then nodding his commiseration when I honestly replied, “Not well.” That said, I pulled up a stool, sat down opposite him, and waited for him to explain the reason—if, indeed, there was one—for his visit. I stared into his sad, gray eyes, and wondered if the bitter pain therein was mirrored in my own.

  He thrust the bottle across the table. “Have a drink, Gael. This is some of my brother’s best.”

  I wondered if I should encourage more drinking, but, upon further reflection, I decided that if I drank a portion, there would be less for Hugh to get drunk on. I took a healthy swig, and couldn’t help but savor the sweetest tasting wine I’d ever had the pleasure to try. (Oh, the privileges of nobility!) With some small regret, I pushed the bottle back towards Hugh, but he stopped me mid-way ‘cross the table.

  “You’re way behind, Gael. Have some more.”

  Without much argument, I humoured him and drank. When I’d polished off another third of the bottle, I thumped it down onto the table, and stared at Hugh’s countenance in the flickering candlelight. He seemed thoughtful, with his chin resting upon his upturned fist.

  I thanked him. “That is undoubtedly the best wine I have ever tasted. What have I done to deserve such bounty?”

  “Know you not the old saying, ‘misery loves company’ Gael?” Hugh sighed, and looked down at the table. “I know that others suffer as well, but I believe that you and I are two of the most miserable fellows to walk the firmament.”

  I groaned, then agreed. “You’ll find no argument here.” I, too, stared down at the table, and I picked at a bit of dried food stuck to its surface. (Sarei would have never tolerated the mess.) “Still, this is nothing new; they’ve all been dead for weeks. Why come you now…why this evening?”

  “Because I have need of you…and I have found a way out of this wretchedness for both of us.” He reached across the table and clasped my hand. “We have been granted a release, you and I. An opportunity has come our way, and for my part, I plan to seize it!” Hugh’s voice had taken on a new quality, one of urgency.

  Thus far, he’d said nothing to convince me; I had made my decision as to my future, and was not so easily moved. “I know of nothing that will release me from this pain but death, good Sir.”

  Much to my amazement, Hugh’s reaction was to chuckle. I couldn’t help but be a bit offended at his light-hearted response to my very serious statement.

  “Ahhh, Gael, look you not so distraught, for that is the very thing which I come to propose. We have, you and I, a chance for honorable and purposeful death. We are called to a mission of chivalry, a dangerous and likely fatal venture.” He grabbed the bottle, took a pull, and then placed it before me. “Now, drink while I tell my tale and propose
our course. If you agree, we need make haste. Both valour and death await us!”

  <><><>

  The bottle may have been empty, but my mind was full, positively swimming with the possibilities. Hugh’s proposal did sound dangerous, and our chances for survival were likely slim to none at all.

  Lord Geoffrey had been asked for aid from one of his kinsmen to the north in the rough Uplands of Piereene. Halwick of Beckman’s lands had been under attack from the wild-men of the uncharted moors, and his troops were beginning to falter. As a last resort, Halwick had sent out a call to his kinsmen, asking for whatever assistance they could give. Unfortunately, as a consequence of the Creeping Death, there were virtually no men to spare, and Geoffrey had been prepared to send his regretful apology until Hugh had gotten wind of the request and had volunteered to go. He asked only for an attendant, horses, armour and supplies. Sensing it was useless to argue, Geoffrey had reluctantly agreed to Hugh’s plan, and when Hugh asked that I serve as his companion in arms, Geoffrey once again submitted to Hugh’s request.

  For my part, I much preferred death in battle to hanging myself, and I supposed that God would consider such a death honourable, one that would not damn my soul. It wasn’t a difficult decision: I agreed to accompany Hugh on his mission. We would leave on the morrow.

  With so much to think about, I expected to toss and turn the night away. Much to my surprise, I enjoyed a sound night’s sleep.

  <><><>

  Our leave-taking the next day was brief and solemn. Lord Geoffrey admonished us to take care and come home safely. He mouthed those words, but his red-rimmed eyes spoke more truth: he didn’t expect to see either one of us again, and his grave countenance bespoke his feelings more than words. He hugged his brother long and hard, and then turned to me and gave my shoulder an affectionate squeeze. He coughed slightly, as if to explain his watering eyes. He then stepped back and stared mournfully into the distance.

  Lady Isabel wept as she kissed Hugh’s cheek, and then I believe that she surprised one and all by kissing me as well.

  “Life will not be the same ‘round here without you Gael. You have been the ‘grand old man’ of this castle, a constant in an inconstant world, and your lord and lady will sorely miss your wise counsel, your skilled labour, and the expertise you’ve shown in tending wounds.”

  She held out her hand with her palm up…as if in reminder of the time I’d stitched a cut there on the heel of her hand. Her words plucked at my heart; I knew not how to respond, and so I acted impulsively. I knelt before her, took her hand and kissed it. Still no words came to mind. I stood up and bowed my head so that I wouldn’t have to look into Lady Isabel’s eyes. Hugh ended everyone’s wretched discomfort by taking my arm and announcing that we need be away. We mounted our horses and cantered through the courtyard and out the castle gates. Several folk called out farewell, and we each raised our hands to respond, but neither of us had the heart to speak, and we rode away from Llewellan Castle with heavy hearts.

  <><><>

  Our first three days of travel were uneventful…and exceptionally quiet. In previous times there would have been a good-natured exchange of stories, but neither of us desired such discourse.

  We were traveling through relatively familiar territory; we rode through two small hamlets, and encountered a few scattered farms, but our passage was generally unnoticed. There was no direct route to Halwick’s lands, for the Horbold Forest lay directly south of Piereene, and no sane man would attempt such a treacherous passage. Legend had it that Horbold Forest ate people. Some men had been foolish enough to enter therein, but few had ever made their way out again. Our route skirted the forest. We may have been on a mission to meet our demise, but neither of us desired to find death in such a terrifying way as those described in the legends of Horbold Forest.

  On our first two nights out, we had slept with farmers in their humble abodes, but on the third, darkness fell before we found shelter. The weather would not be a problem…it was late summer, after all…but as we made camp, I couldn’t help but stare nervously into the already pitch-dark woods. Would the creatures that lived therein stay there?…or did they venture beyond its boundaries at night? The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and a queasy heaviness settled into my gut. The horses were uneasy as well. They didn’t want to unwind; each stamped nervously and snorted, and though they were surely weary, they acted as they did of a morning: eager to be off and away.

  We didn’t need a large fire, but I built one up, anyway. Our party, human and equine, seemed comforted by the bright light it cast in the deep gathering gloom.

  We supped, and then, due, perhaps, to our disquietude, Hugh and I talked late into the night. It was an odd departure from our usual reticence to speak, but then again, under normal circumstances, both of us were actually gregarious.

  Hugh was a tall, strapping man, surprisingly agile for his size, and very athletic…perfectly suited to be a knight. In early youth he had been something of a rascal: his good looks combined with his family connections had turned the eye of many a young maid. That had changed when Lord Geoffrey proposed a match with Lord Seton’s youngest daughter. As soon as Hugh had met Hermione, he had eyes only for his betrothed, and after his marriage those eyes had never strayed. He was now thirty-four years of age, and his life had been abundantly blessed until the latest plague. Perhaps the fall from such a pinnacle of happiness explained his extreme ennui.

  He spoke of Hermione as we sat near the fire. His eyes grew misty, and his voice was barely a whisper.

  “It was horrible, Gael. The last thing she said to me, the last words she spoke were ‘take care of Demorah, take care of our little one.’” Hugh sighed as he rubbed at his brow. “You see, we had not told her…it seemed too cruel…she did not know that Demorah had already died.” He absently wiped away a tear. “’Mione was such a good mother; her final thoughts were for her little girl.” He looked up. “Just before we burned the bodies, I held her hand one final time. The last words I spoke to Mione were the very words she’d spoken to me: ‘Take care of Demorah…take care of our little one.’”

  I could not hold his gaze; it was entirely too painful. Instead I looked away, and stared into the fire for a moment, conjuring up the image of that multitude of burning bodies. The stench had been nigh unbearable, but those of us who’d lost our reason for being and watched them go up in those flames did not have the sense to move back, to move further from the smell. I had been near Hugh, but I was too caught up in my own misery to offer him any sympathy.

  It wasn’t too late.

  “Years back,” I began, “Long ago when you were a mere tyke, my sons died within two years of one another. At the time, I thought that I should never recover, that life could never be sweet again. I know that people have told you this, Sir Hugh, and that you cannot believe them just now, but time is a great balm for our sorrows.”

  Hugh shook his head. “If such is the case, then why are you so eager to come with me, risking life and limb? Do not try to dissuade me. You said it yourself, Gael: ‘nothing will release me from this pain but death.’”

  I held up a hand in protest. “Your case and mine are not so like. You have time enough to begin anew, but I am old…”

  “What an excuse!” Hugh guffawed. “You are no ancient, after all…” He paused, frowned, and then looked at me curiously. “Just how old are you, Gael?”

  I spent a few moments putting sticks into the fire, just to draw out the suspense. “I am fifty-six, and feeling every year of it just now.”

  Hugh grinned. “Truly?” He shook his head, as if in disbelief.

  My response was a nod.

  Hugh continued to protest. “But you are so fit! Fifty-six years old…I never would have thought it! I’ll warrant you could easily take on a man half your age.”

  “Keep pressing the matter, and you just might experience that firsthand, Sir Hugh.” Of course I meant no such thing—not only was he the best fighter I’d ever seen, he w
as a head taller and outweighed me by several stones—but I enjoyed goading him, nonetheless.

  “Fifty-six,” he muttered again. “Had I known you were such a very old man, I might not have asked you to come along.”

  I growled, and Hugh laughed as he stood up and brushed off his seat.

  “In some circles, age garners respect,” I muttered. “Obviously, such is not the case here.”

  “I respect you more than you know, old man,” replied Hugh as he came over and held out a hand to pull me upright. “But I believe you when you tell me that you are feeling your age. We both are tonight, and we have many miles to ride tomorrow, so we should bed down and take our rest.” He looked up into the starry sky. “Those clouds have passed. It is surpassing bright tonight, Gael. Had it not been so dark before, we could have traveled on and found ourselves some shelter.”

  I glanced over at the inky blackness of the Horbold Forest. In spite of the summer night and the intense fire, I suppressed the urge to shiver. I was glad that the moonlight was bright, for our proximity to that dreaded woodland did nothing to ease my sense of foreboding.

  Sleep finally came, albeit begrudgingly. No doubt I would have slept the night through had the wolves not come.

  Chapter Two

  The horses heard them first, and their whinnies and stamping alerted us to the danger rushing towards us. We both had the good sense to keep arms at hand when we slept, and we arose on hearing the noise, each with a sword to face the charge.

  I’d heard of wolves attacking humans at camp—who had not?—but I’d never witnessed it firsthand. There were at least six of them; all were menacingly large, much bulkier than the wiry wolves back at Llewellan. The pack rushed towards the horses with obvious cunning, as if they moved in concert, a plan of action agreed upon. I reached for a flaming brand with my free hand and flung it at the two closest beasts. They yipped and jumped back momentarily, but were not deterred for long. There was nothing to do but engage them, and even as the wolves ran for the horses, Sir Hugh and I ran for them.