A year after the death of his brother and father, Geoffrey Redstem had asserted himself as the new captain of his company, known commonly as Redstem’s Company. New values were put in place, which would change the reputation of the company forever. Under Royston, brigands were slain simply for being brigands and they did not discriminate between innocent or guilty. Geoffrey implored his men to seek justice for crimes that have been committed, rather than slaying men on the road who posed no threat to the land. Before attacking, the company offered a parley with the brigands, offering to take them prisoner so they might face a fair trial in Bree. Often the brigands would take their chances with the company as a trial would likely end at the gallows. But Geoffrey always presented them with this choice, to give some justification to putting them to the sword. Geoffrey and his company became respected as honourable protectors of the people and pursuers of justice. But for some in the company, these changes did not sit well. Some called Geoffrey a coward, a compromiser and unfit to lead. One in particular, Orval Honeybark, grew to hate Geoffrey so much that he deserted the company with numerous over men. Only months after this, Honeybark had himself become a notorious criminal. A murderer, a thief, a rapist and a threat to the land.
One of Geoffrey’s scouts came to him at the inn of the Prancing Pony where he was staying for the night. The scout’s name was Nightweed, one of the younger members of the company.
‘Captain, I bring grievous news from the west. Honeybark and his men have taken a farm for himself only thirty miles away. They’ve burnt all the crops and there is no sign of the farmer. I’ve mustered nine men who await your command at the West Gate.’ panted Nightweed. He had obviously been riding restlessly.
Geoffrey gulped down what remained of his wine and put the goblet down on the table. He clasped his cloak on and picked up his long sword which rested beside the table. ‘Then let us be swift, and we will reach that turncloak in the light.’
Upon his horse, he led his men westwards from Bree across the East Road. After a night and a morning of riding, they could see smoke rising in the near distance. They had reached Honeybark. Corpses lay slain around the farm – farmhands, women and even children. All was burning apart from the large wooden farmhouse, which had its windows and doors barred up. The house was wreathed in smoke, but stood atop of stone foundation that made it visible to the riders as they approached. Outside of the house, two brigands kept guard. Redstem and his company approached, clearly in sight of the brigands. Once they were in speaking distance Geoffrey halted his men.
‘To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking of?’ Geoffrey said with feigned politeness.
‘It don’t matter what we’re called, scum.’ One of the brigands spat. ‘We know who ye are, the dog Redstem.’
‘I crave a word with your master, if you would be so kind to fetch him.’
‘No need.’ called a voice that was familiar to Geoffrey. At the door behind the two guards stood a man with long and ragged hair, orange in colour with a tangled beard of a similar appearance. Geoffrey remembered Orval Honeybark from his father’s company. A portly man with rubicund cheeks and well-kept hair. But now he was thin and pale, with his ragged clothes stained with red. Although it seemed that he had deteriorated during his fugitive lifestyle, Geoffrey refused to accept that he was any less dangerous. On the contrary, in fact, as he thought of him as fiercer and crueller than the Orval he had known.
‘Orval Honeybark, what have you become?’ Geoffrey asked rhetorically, almost speaking with pity. ‘You have committed crimes against this land and its people which you must now answer for. Do you have anything to say?’
‘Oh aye, that I do.’ he remarked whilst bearing his yellow teeth. ‘Eat shit, dog!’
He spat down at the floor, which stirred Geoffrey’s men. But he pacified them by raising his arm.
‘I shall have you in chains, or have your head. The choice is yours.’ Geoffrey announced clearly as he dismounted from his horse. In one hand he held his long sword and in the other he held manacles.
‘You offer me a choice, yet I have none. This is my home now, and I bid that you leave before you get hurt.’ he snarled.
‘Home? No, old friend, this is not your home. You may have taken it by force, and burnt it in the process, but that does not make it yours.’
‘Be gone with your words that hound my door!’ Orval commanded as he now presented two axes, which he raised in the air. ‘Men! Slaughter these dogs!’
With that, many more brigands exited the farmhouse from the doors and windows, bearing crude yet deadly weapons. They charged at Geoffrey and his company as they dismounted from their horses. The two guards lunged at Geoffrey, but were easily parried. Geoffrey slammed the hilt of his sword into the face of one and swung his blade around to the other – removing his head cleanly. Among the battle and smoke, Geoffrey now faced down Orval Honeybark. He knew that Orval would not go down as easily as his untrained brigands did. After all, Orval was considerably older than Geoffrey and had served in his father’s company for as long as he could remember.
Orval jumped towards Geoffrey, his two axes ready to strike from above. Geoffrey was barely able to counter this attack, but he managed to which pushed Orval back. The long sword and axes clashed together for what seemed like hours, each one trying to strike at what they believed to be a weak spot. But each time they would counter the strike, putting them both back to the beginning.
‘Your father taught you well, that much is clear, boy!’ Honeybark cackled before striking at Geoffrey again before being rebuffed. ‘Shame you didn’t inherit his backbone, eh? Ha-hah!’
‘It is a shame that he didn’t teach you honour and loyalty, Orval.’ Geoffrey replied, panting somewhat before lunging a stab at him – again being parried.
So the fight went on. At last, some progress was made. Geoffrey was able to disarm Orval’s left hand. He was now at the advantage. The men around them continued to battle mercilessly. Geoffrey had exposed Orval’s chest by trapping his axe away from his body, and was ready to deliver a fatal stab to the heart. But Honeybark was a foulplayer, kicking Geoffrey in the shin with his sharp steel boot. He now had Geoffrey on the floor. Now it was his turn to deliver a fatal strike, perhaps he would cut him with that axe like a butcher. He continued to taunt Geoffrey as he held him down by the throat.
‘Looks like the honourable and noble Redstem is done for! Ha-hah! Perhaps I will pay your wife and children a visit after this. I’m sure Edith will be pleased to see me.’
He then punched Geoffrey in the mouth, causing red to flood out. As the traitor continued to mock him, Geoffrey spat blood into his eye, disorientating him for a moment. In that moment, Geoffrey pulled out a dagger that he kept in his belt and plunged it into Orval Honeybark’s neck. A narrowly won victory it was. Pushing the corpse from him, he stood up – pained by the wounds he had acquired in this fight. Now limping away from the farmhouse, he was met by his companions. All of the brigands lay slain, and were thrown into a pile. In a separate pile were three of Geoffrey’s companions who had fell during the fight. Nightweed, the young scout, was one of the fallen. The men mourned over this loss before burying them nearby, and then set the pile of brigands alight. The farmer, his family and labourers were all killed by Orval and his men. They were buried too, though their bodies were desecrated.
Geoffrey and his men, weary from this fight, now rode eastwards towards Bree. There they hoped that food, drink and a warm bed awaited them. Although Geoffrey was pained, he felt satisfied that justice had been carried out.
