Floydian.
Just because it’s a super photo.
Introducing Albion Black.
Albion Black
I am eighteen years old and already I feel that my life has reached that stage where I’d sooner be dead than live another day in his place. I come from a military family. It was expected of me. But I’ve seen the results of this fine career and I wanted no part of it. That said, I joined up at the young age of fourteen thinking that my plan was the best. Family snarled at me and my older brother tried to persuade me not to do this, but I was that age; that age where you always know best and cannot understand how your father can be so stupid. You must know that age. I didn’t listen to my brother who told me that joining The Tower was the worst mistake I could make. He warned me of the deathly cold, the wind, the snow… he warned me of the long freezing nights and short dull, cold days, but I had a plan and my plan was to get in and out as quickly as possible.
At the age of fourteen I signed my name on a document to bind me to The Tower for the next ten years. By the time I was a man I would have served my duty and been able to leave with a pension and good prospects. That was my plan. Officers serving at The Tower only have to bind themselves to it for ten years, at which point they are discharged and given a full military pension. What could be better? How many men can say that they could retire at the age of twenty-four? I didn’t listen to my brother who went on at me about life expectancy and low pensions funds and risk of sanity and salt. Ten years, in the total of your life, is nothing. It really is not anything.
My father took me by my shoulders and shook me and I thought he had a tear in the corner of his eye. He told me that what I planned was dishonourable. He said that no woman would take someone who had served ten years in The Tower. I pulled away from my father’s desperate grasp and told him that he was wrong. I knew what I was doing. I had read the paperwork. Anyway, I’d already signed my name on the line. I was leaving the following day.
My mother cried. She said it was like sending me to my certain death. She told me that when I put on my uniform the following day and left that she would wear black and would be in mourning for me. My brother shook his head at me and said I was a craven fool. He said I should have taken the family colours and joined the unit which had a lot of Blacks. It was what the Blacks did. They didn’t run away and try to serve their time as quickly as possible. They signed their names to the unit they always had done. They would fight in battles and serve their king and their lords… they’d not hide away in a tower in the back end of never. They’d not spend their nights pacing and twitching, because if they dared stand still they’d die of the cold.
I knew it was exaggeration. At that age I knew it. I was very sure of it. The position wasn’t the grandest and there would hopefully not be any full scale battles to fight in… not that I’m a coward, but that wasn’t how I wanted to die. This position was a guard tower on the coast north and east of the green fields I’d been brought up playing in. I knew that it was going to be cold, but cold had never bothered me before. I could easily have gone a winter night and not have the fire stoked for me. I had done that before as the wind howled outside and rattled the windows… I’d snuggled under my blankets too cold to get up and put wood on the fire, but I’d never died… and it was an adventure. This was the view of a fourteen year old boy who left his comfortable home wearing his red uniform with the gold tassels and braiding… my boots long and shiny and my helm sitting on my head with a long red stream of feathers flowing down the back. I had black gloves, and a cloak of the finest wool, which had been lined with fox fur. They still said I’d die in the cold. I’d never be seen again. My mother howled and made a scene, my brother had gone back to his own unit and was not there and my father stood with the scars on his face, his milky dead eye, his missing hand and the stick he had to lean on to walk since he took a sword to his belly… this was the mark of a true hero… so I was told. You could tell he’d been in battles to save us… so I was told… what was I going to show for my ten years? Well I thought I was going to have a purse full of money and a smug grin on my face. I kissed my mother goodbye and promised to write. I went to my father who shook his head again and once more told me of the grave mistake I was making. He wished me well. Wished me a safe return… but there was doubt in his eyes… and a frown on his face. I kissed my father on his scarred, ruined face and was glad, so very happy that I’d be under minimum risk of that happening to me.
There were only two children, me and my brother Ambrose. I’m not surprised. Who would bed a man whose face looked like it had been hit with a morning star, actually probably had been hit with a morning star, but I never did ask what had happened and he never said. I mounted my fine gelding, a bay called Winston and I waved a jolly smug goodbye to my parents.
I didn’t know at the time that I’d never see them again. I didn’t know that I’d never see Ambrose again. I didn’t know that I was riding away to live in a hell that I couldn’t have imagined. But hell it surely was.
I met up with the officers and men who were travelling to The Tower. My mood had been high until I saw this miserable band of men. Like me the officers were in red and gold, with cloaks over their shoulders and gloves on their hands. I was from a family with strong military ties and was for now a apprentice. The men, fifteen in all were a ragged band of ne’er-do-wells who looked like they should have been standing on the gallows and not looking forward to a ten year easy stint guarding a small stretch of water. It wasn’t until later that I understood that they would have sooner have been hung than spend any time at The Tower. I also was unaware that they had a life time commitment. They would never be leaving, unless feet first.
There was almost immediate strong resentment towards the other officers. They didn’t seem too happy to be taking me with them. They called me ‘boy,’ and sent me to do tasks I thought more suited to the men, but as it was explained – would I put trust in a man who would probably poison our food just so that we’d kill them? I wondered about the risk of desertion but these ragged men didn’t seem to have the intelligence to think about running away. Fifteen men and ten officers, including me, then travelled north and slightly easterly. There was a road and there were places for us to stay at night, but my heart which had been so smug to start with was already wondering what damned mistake I’d made. I complained that it was cold. I needed better gloves. I needed boots which were lined with fur. I needed something to wrap around my neck to keep out that continual wind. I needed something waterproof! I’d not even considered what would happen to my lovely warm cloak in the rain. The first day of light drizzle was enough to waterlog me and the time spent in the small wayside cabin wasn’t enough time to dry it out and even though the wind was howling and sleet was now blowing sideways over the barren land we were riding in, nothing warmer was offered to me and the officers actually laughed when I complained of the cold.
‘You think this is cold, boy?’ And more laughter. Eventually someone loaned me a waxed cape but it only kept so much of the wet out. My feet burned with the icy weather and my face was wind bruised and sore. I could hardly open my eyes as we rode forwards, never giving up a minute to the weather. Not one minute was wasted to dry things out or to just warm our bones. ‘You’ll get used to it.’ Someone said. I didn’t think that was probable. Three men died during our two week ride to the north. One on the first week and two the second. Jim never woke up after shaking himself to sleep. Arn just fell off his feet and never got up and Richard threw himself off a rocky precipice we were slowly making our way up. The officers said he slipped, but I knew better than that. He jumped. I watched him with a numb face and my hands frozen into claws as he stretched out his arms and leapt. I couldn’t understand why someone would do that. Why would they end their lives when The Tower was only a day away? I have considered this since and wondered if Richard knew rather more than I did about the situation. Looking back, I was just a child. A silly, very foolish child who tried to make life easy and failed to listen to advice from his family.
We travelled through a few mud constructed villages. Really, they were just mud. The people must have eaten the damned stuff too. There was nothing else here, though Captain James told me that they fish in the streams. Streams? I saw only flowing mud. This wasn’t boding well. I was also told that on my day off I could come here and find a whore to keep me amused. He laughed. As he grinned and laughed the skin on his face cracked and blood dribbled down his face. I looked at him with an expression of horror, but he wiped it away and told me that I’d soon get used to that. ‘It’s the salt and the wind that does it, boy.’ Great. This really was getting better. Better in the sort of way that you wished you’d listened to your brother and father and wished oh so much that you were still curled up under your covers in bed. I vowed then never to visit whores. I would be OK, I was sure, once I was at The Tower and not being lashed by the winds.
The horses weren’t fairing any better than we were. Poor Winston, my beautiful gelding was struggling. I was laughingly told that I’d have been better off with something less fancy and more hardy, like their hairy, stocky beasts. It was too late to go back and change him now and would I have listened when I could have? That is something speculate upon. Now I doubt it.
We rode up hills, down into vales, across bleak open moor and finally just up and up… it was a slow easy slope but I was still aware that The Tower was looming ahead and like the men around me it didn’t fill me with any joy at all. That boy who had so happily and smugly left his crying mother behind was now tired and older by maybe a dozen years, though in reality this leg of the trip had only taken a couple of weeks. It was the longest two weeks I’d ever spent. At least up until that point it was. I nudged my horse to go faster, to get to the shelter of that tower and the surrounding walls. I needed to laze in front of a fire and eat sweetmeats and pastries. I was so cold and so hungry that I could have ridden back and feasted on the mud if that was all there was on offer. And the salt. Let me tell you about that. It was the most horrific thing… I had salt caked in my hair, which had been bouncy and shiny when we set off, it was now heavy and encrusted with white crystals which the wind brought. My eyes were closed into narrow slits, opening them further would probably have blinded me. Every sore, every crease in my skin… every inch of bare flesh was caked in damned salt. It was up my nose, in my ears… and it had been driven down my neck. My mouth had sores in the creases of my lips where the salt sat and stung like nothing you could imagine. My lovely red uniform was ruined, I was sure. The feathers in my helm had been snapped off long ago by the salt and the continual wind. There was ice forming on the outer creases of my cloak and I knew that if I’d not had the forethought to at least have fox fur lining, that I would be dead. Though I should point out that the men walking with us didn’t have such luxury and only three of the fifteen died. That I supposed was good odds. The road was heavily rutted and hard as stone. I could only imagine what a quagmire it must be in the rain. There were no signs of wild life, no plants except for a few straggly dead shrubs and nothing moving… not even in the sky. No birds. It made me shudder. If birds couldn’t cope with this then surely I wouldn’t. I decided, at the point that the great doors opened into the fortress its self that I would write to my father and request that I am moved. He had contacts. I was sure that he could do that. I was so very sure. I had all the surety that a fourteen year old boy could have. Father would get me out of this mess. Father loved me. I could feel that I was shaking as someone took the reins from my hands. Voices were low. There seemed to be hardly any one around.
‘I’ll take ya horse.’ A rough man with a red, round face told me. He had hands as big as a giant and short stubby fingers. He was bowed over, in what I assumed was a greeting, but as I slowly dismounted and he walked away with Winston I saw that he was deformed in some way and was unable to straighten. The baggage was hauled off the mule and people slowly appeared to take things to where they belonged. I imagined a nice warm room with rushes on the floor and a window over looking the sea. I imagined steaming plates of food and friendly banter. I had a damned good imagination. I was taken to a tiny cell of a room. There was no window. There was no fire. It was like a prison cell and I was sure that they’d got it wrong. I wasn’t meant to be here. A hammock was set up… not even a bed and a brazier with a bucket of coal.
‘This is yours.’ The servant informed me.
I gave him an incredulous glare and told him straight. ‘I’m not an animal. I’m an officer and I won’t sleep in this hole in the wall.’ Because that’s about all this place was. A chopped out alcove big enough for a brazier and a hammock. A tatty, dirty, torn curtain covered the entrance. I thought I sounded commanding and was shocked at the reply.
‘Apprentice quarters. Be grateful. The room is small and there’s no window. Not so much space to keep warm. You’ll remember this with fondness when you’re on duty.’ My bags were dropped onto the floor and the man started to walk away. ‘Straight down here. The mess room. The bell will sound. Try not to be late.’ And he was gone.
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First draft
