Chapter 158: Bloody Fool
Artos stepped over the dead man and followed his soldiers into the next street.
Behind him, the guards were still trying to make Joffrey move.
Ahead, another crowd broke beneath the Winterguards.
A man wearing a seven-pointed star around his neck swung a woodcutter's axe. Artos caught the blow on his sword, stepped inside the man's reach and cut him down.
Someone shouted from a window.
Someone else screamed.
By then, it was becoming difficult to distinguish the two.
The Winterguards advanced without hurrying. When one man stepped forward, another covered him. When a shield dropped, a second rose beside it. The gold cloaks followed the same discipline, holding together even when men rushed them from doorways.
A far cry from the previous watch for a better one.
Ethan had trained them well.
At a narrow crossing, the Sparrows caught three watchmen away from their company.
Hands seized a gold cloak's helmet. Another man hooked a rope around his neck and pulled.
The watchman fell backward, clawing at his throat.
The men around him began shouting.
They stopped when the rest of his company arrived.
Steel rose and fell. The rope was cut. Within moments, the watchman was on his knees coughing while his comrades killed the men who had dragged him down.
Artos watched long enough to see him stand.
Then he moved on.
The bloodshed was not being hidden.
Artos wanted it seen.
Doors were broken open. Men were dragged from the yards and storehouses Ethan's informants had identified. Some fought. Others pleaded. Men caught among the gatherings died beside those who had armed them.
A boy old enough to carry a spear dropped it and ran.
He did not reach the corner.
People watching from windows recoiled as the soldiers passed beneath them.
"Let them look," Artos said when a guard shouted for the shutters to close.
The guard glanced at him confused at this wasn't a natural response to this situation.
"My lord?"
"Let them look." Artos didn't back down.
Smoke began rising farther down the street.
A cart had caught fire near a barricade. Flames climbed its canvas covering and reached toward the wooden front of a shop. Men brought buckets from a nearby well while fighting continued around them.
A woman stood in a doorway, shrieking a name.
No one answered her.
The bells kept ringing.
Two hours later, the streets around Artos had fallen quiet.
Not peaceful.
But Quiet, a silence made by a violence of the worst.
Bodies lay beneath overturned stalls and against shuttered doors. Blood darkened the stones. Somewhere nearby, a wounded man had been calling for his brother for so long that his voice had almost failed.
Most people had hidden inside their homes.
Artos stood at the mouth of a broad
thoroughfare while Ethan brought him the first reports.
"Three gathering places cleared. We have the men from the warehouse and most of their officers. Several septons as well."
"Prisoners?" Artos asked shaking his head.
Ethan looked toward the column being pushed into the street.
Bound men stumbled between the guards.
Some wore old mail or pieces of royal livery.
Others were barefoot, their robes stained with dirt and blood.
"Those."
Artos studied them.
"And the other quarters?"
"Still fighting."
A distant horn sounded.
Neither man turned.
Artos pointed along the thoroughfare.
"Gather the people here."
Ethan frowned slightly.
"The people, My Lord?"
"From their houses. Shops. Wherever they're hiding. I want them here witnessing this. They need to see this."
"My lord, after this—"
"Especially after this, Ethan." Artos said quite clear on that " They are fools for letting them stay hidden till now. So Aye, they need to see this."
Ethan looked at the bodies lining the street.
Then he nodded.
Orders passed through the soldiers.
Fists struck doors.
"Outside! By order of the Hand!"
Some opened immediately. Others remained shut until the guards began forcing them.
Families emerged slowly, blinking at the smoke. Men held their hands where the soldiers could see them. Women pulled children close and tried to keep them from looking at the ground.
Soon, the thoroughfare filled.
Hundreds became thousands, crowded between the buildings and held back by lines of steel.
Artos waited until they could see him.
The prisoners were forced to their knees beside a low cart. Its rear board had been lowered, and a thick timber laid across it.
Joffrey stood nearby between his guards.
His armour still shone where it had not been spattered. Behind the open face of his helm, his skin looked grey.
Artos whose armour shinning in blood and his face looks as scary, his absent looking threatening as if the injured eye could still everything and beyond.
One of the septons began shouting.
"Look upon him! Look upon what he has done!"
A murmur passed through the crowd.
"He spills the blood of the faithful! A godless butcher! An enemy of the Seven!"
Artos walked toward him.
The septon raised his voice.
"You cannot silence the gods, Stark! You cannot—"
Artos caught him by the shoulder and forced him over the timber.
His sword came down.
The shouting stopped.
For a moment, the crowd seemed to stop breathing with it.
Artos straightened, blood running from the edge of his blade.
"THEY CALL ME GODLESS!"
His voice carried between the houses.
"THEY CALL ME AN ENEMY OF THE SEVEN. AM I?"
No one answered.
Artos pointed his sword toward the kneeling prisoners.
"These men gathered weapons in your streets. They paid thieves, dismissed guards and disgraced knights to train an army among your homes. Then they wrapped it in the name of your gods."
He walked slowly along the prisoners.
"I am not here to fight your Seven. I am cleaning the filth that hides behind them."
A septon began praying under his breath.
Artos looked over the crowd.
"Who gave you bread?"
Faces stared back at him.
"Who made the Watch answer for robbing you? Who opened the stores and brought food through your gates?"
A few voices answered uncertainly.
Artos raised his voice again.
"AND WHO STOOD BETWEEN THIS CITY AND THE LANNISTER SWORDS WHEN THEY CAME TO RAVAGE IT? TO RAPE YOUR WIVES, SISTER AND DAUGHTERS"
More heads lifted.
Some of the older men remembered.
"The men who would have burned your homes, raped your wives and daughters, and called it victory. I stood against them."
He struck the flat of his blade against the cart.
"The men gathered here wanted to disturb the peace your King brought.They would have you rebel against your king and the Hand who serves him."
The crowd shifted.
"Your King Robert Baratheon stood against the dragons. Against the Fucking Mad King. Against the man who would have burned this city with every one of you inside it."
Artos let the words carry.
"Your king brought peace. I brought bread into your homes. And these men ask you to repay that by taking up steel against us?"
"No!"
The shout came from somewhere near the front.
Others followed.
Artos turned back to the prisoners.
"Then look carefully."
Two more men were dragged to the cart.
One cursed him.
The other begged.
Artos killed them both.
Their heads were lifted onto waiting spearpoints beside the septon's.
Someone in the crowd cried out. Another voice shouted the king's name.
Ethan brought forward the commander taken from the warehouse, a broad man wearing a battered breastplate beneath his torn cloak.
He struggled until the guards forced him down.
Artos seized the back of his neck and pushed his head across the timber.
Then he turned toward Joffrey.
The prince went rigid.
Artos approached until only the boy and the nearest guards could hear him.
"Draw your sword."
Joffrey's lips parted.
"I—"
"Draw it." Artos roared.
The blade scraped free.
Artos could see the fear in his eyes. The helm hid some of it from the crowd, but not from him. He could sense it, he has seen it from his enemies.
"Listen carefully," he whispered. "You will cut his head off. One stroke. Put everything you have behind it."
Joffrey glanced toward the prisoner.
His sword trembled.
Artos leaned closer.
"Don't show them your fear, boy."
"I've never—"
"I trained you , mentored you I Artos fucking Stark."
The prince swallowed.
"Robert Baratheon is your fucking father. There are thousands of people watching. Show them you can stand before them as their king. Show them you are a worthy prince."
Artos stepped away.
Joffrey remained where he was for a heartbeat.
Then he walked toward the cart.
The prisoner twisted beneath the guards.
"No. No, wait—"
Joffrey raised his sword.
For a terrible moment, Artos thought the boy would drop it.
Then the blade came down.
The stroke was ugly, driven with everything Joffrey possessed. It severed the neck and struck the timber hard enough to jar his arms.
The prince stumbled.
One of his guards caught him before he fell.
A roar rose from the front of the crowd.
Artos stepped beside him and lifted a bloodstained hand.
"THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS TO THOSE WHO BETRAY THEIR KING!"
The voices quietened.
"LET THESE BLOODY FOOLS BE AN EXAMPLE. See them clearly. Remember them. And if another man offers you coin to raise a sword against the Crown, tell him what you witnessed here."
He pointed toward the heads.
"Tell him how strong YOUR KING is."
Joffrey stood beside him, breathing hard.
Artos faced the crowd again.
"You need not fear these men. Not while Robert Baratheon is your king. Not while I am his Hand. Go back to your homes knowing that."
Ethan stepped forward.
"HAIL ARTOS STARK!"
The soldiers answered first.
Then voices joined them from the crowd.
"HAIL ARTOS STARK!"
"HAIL ROBERT BARATHEON!"
The name rolled down the thoroughfare.
"HAIL JOFFREY BARATHEON!"
Joffrey looked up.
People were raising their hands. Men who had emerged from their homes expecting death were shouting the names of the king, his Hand and his son.
Some cheered with open admiration.
Others watched the spearpoints before adding their voices.
Soon, the whole street seemed to be chanting.
Artos stood until they had seen enough.
Then he turned away.
"Take the remaining prisoners," he told Ethan. "The work isn't finished."
By the time they reached the Red Keep, Artos could feel every piece of armour upon him.
He entered the chamber and pulled off one gauntlet, then the other. A servant hurried forward to help with the straps.
From the window, smoke could still be seen rising over the city.
Joffrey had been taken to his rooms.
The prince had said nothing on the journey back. Too many things in his mind to do so.
Ethan removed his helm.
"Good speech, my lord. Good work."
Artos sat heavily.
For a while, he listened to the scrape of buckles being loosened.
"Aye," he said at last, tired. "I had better hope that after this, nobody is fool enough to try it again."
Outside, another bell began ringing.
Winterfell
Ned Stark had nearly finished the last petition when Robb entered his solar.
His son carried a letter.
Under ordinary circumstances, that would not have concerned him.
The expression on Robb's face did.
"What is it?"
"A raven from the Wall."
Ned reached for his cup.
"Jon?"
"Aye, Father ."
"Is he hurt?" Ned asked worriedly guessing from Robb expression.
"No."
Some of the tension left Ned's shoulders.
He drank.
Robb looked down at the letter again, as though hoping the words might have changed.
"Then what has happened?" Ned asked.
"Jon is asking your permission to let wildlings through the Wall."
The drink caught in Ned's throat.
He coughed hard, set the cup down and reached for the letter.
"What is that bloody fool thinking?"
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