Perils of Wrath

by Park, Elsie

  In his mind, he’d known what he needed to say, but standing before them, the difficult words wouldn’t form on his lips.

  Roland swallowed and cleared his throat, but when he said nothing, his squire’s brows creased in confusion. Gail tipped her head to one side, staring at him with annoyance.

  His heart thumped faster than normal. He cleared his throat again and looked past the ladies to the wall behind them. He found this cleared his mind somewhat. Come on, Roland, he said to himself. Just say it!

  “I must . . . apologize . . . for my behavior yesterday.” There, I said it. That wasn’t so bad. But the shocked expressions on the ladies’ faces, along with their subsequent silence, forced him to continue with the difficult confession. “I reacted too swiftly to a situation I thought I understood, when in truth I had no idea of the reality. I didn’t believe your words and thought you had lied. It’s hard to know what’s in your mind when all I have to go on is your insubordinate history.” His eyes begged her to understand his reasons but didn’t require her to condone his ill actions.

  Now it was Audrina who tipped her head to the side, her face showing less shock and more contentment. This urged him on.

  “I have since discovered, through a reliable source, that a negative interlude between you and two certain knights that we’ll call twins, led them to retaliate by scuffing up all the shields you had worked so tirelessly to clean.”

  Gail gasped. “The swine!” Roland wasn’t sure if Gail referred to the twins for their deed or to Roland for blaming Audrina for it. Probably all of them.

  Audrina’s mouth dropped open, and she shook her head in disbelief over the account. “And what of the shields?” she asked. “They’ll need to be cleaned again.”

  Roland shook his head. “Don’t worry, they’ve been taken care of.” He didn’t elucidate, thinking his apology was all he could muster in the way of humility this morning. He didn’t feel the need to admit he had washed the shields himself with the help of a brave little lad. “You can be assured, however, that I will deal with Sirs Hammond and Harold over the incident.” As to what action he’d actually take, he still wasn’t certain. “You certainly know how to insult and rile a man,” he said through a half-smile. “I reiterate, though, my regret for losing my temper and jumping to conclusions, Lady Gibbons.”

  The light clinking of a serving tray being brought down the hall drew his attention. He looked over at the breakfast he’d ordered for the ladies. He stepped aside to allow a servant into the chamber carrying the platter laden with dried fruits, eggs, and ham. The women moved aside as well, watching the servant carry the salver to the table and set it down.

  “A small act of penitence on my part,” he said, indicating the meal. “After you eat, you will be relieved of your duties as squire for the day, and you may go into the village.”

  Audrina turned again to Roland, her mouth twitching up at the corners. “I don’t know what to say, Sir Roland, except . . . thank you.” The servant exited the chamber, and Roland bowed to his squire before quietly leaving. After shutting the door, he heard shrieks of excitement from the other side. He chuckled, feeling a warmth pour though his body at the knowledge that he had not only made it through a successful apology, but he’d made Audrina happy, too.

  He took off down the corridor on his way to the great hall. He would remain in the castle today and look through some old ledgers and records. It had been three weeks since he’d had a moment to himself.

  Entering the great hall, he sat down opposite Sir Heath at the end of the long table. The other knight had just separated some cooked onions from his plate piled high with ham and eggs. He took the squishy mass in hand and passed them under the table to a mangy dog eagerly awaiting handouts.

  “What’d you do that for? I would have eaten them for you,” Roland said as he served himself a large portion of the food. He shoveled a spoonful into his mouth, savoring the acidic tang. “No stomach for them this morn?”

  Heath’s nostrils scrunched up in distaste. “Never have had a stomach for them. Most distasteful plant ever grown.”

  “And what, pray tell, has the humble onion done to earn your everlasting aversion?”

  Heath shook his head. “To be honest, I have no idea. Some things you just don’t care for, and there’s no explanation for it. All I can say is that I haven’t liked them from childhood, and growing into adulthood hasn’t changed anything. And by heaven, not even the king’s command will make me eat them.”

  Roland laughed and shook his head, taking another bite of onions and eggs. “Well, next time you need to be rid of said onions, pass them my way instead of wasting them on the mutts. Just gives them flatulence.”

  Heath guffawed and reached into the center serving tray, grabbing a large chunk of cheese. “Now this,” he said, “is food from heaven. I would be only too happy to indulge in this the rest of my days. Oh, glorious cheese,” he spoke to the milk product, “how I love your smooth texture, your splendid color, your perfect form. May you never abandon my life.” As Heath popped the chunk into his mouth, chewing it with an expression of pure pleasure, Roland hooted and slapped his own knee in mirth.

  “Is that why you’re not in possession of a wife, Sir Heath, because you’ve already pledged your heart to cheese?” Roland said with a wide grin.

  Heath laughed heartily and grabbed another chunk from the tray, waggling his eyebrows at it and sending Roland’s laughter rolling again. Several knights at their table glanced over at them in mild curiosity before returning to their own meals.

  Roland and Heath eventually settled down from their mirth and were on their second plates of food when Roland leaned in close to his friend, speaking in a low voice. “There’s been an incident with my squire, and I wondered if you might have some advice about it.”

  “Oh?” Heath stopped chewing and looked over at Roland. “What kind of trouble? Lady Pritchard again?” Heath smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. There was no doubt he fancied the pretty handmaiden.

  “Alas, not this time, my friend.”

  Heath’s shoulders slumped, his lips pursed in disappointment.

  “No, this has to do with the unpopularity of my squire and some of the knights pulling pranks on her . . . threatening her.”

  Heath raised his eyebrows.

  Roland admitted to Heath his hasty accusation of Audrina and then revealed the subsequent truth of the situation by way of the young lad, Bryant.

  After divulging the names of the bothersome knights, Roland shook his head. “It’s just that knights don’t generally do those things to other knights’ squires,” Roland said over a mouthful of eggs. “There’s an unspoken respect in that regard, but as she’s female, I suppose they feel we’re not deserving of the same esteem. And it’s not as if I asked for this position. It was thrust upon me by the lord of the castle. You’d think that alone would garner some consideration from the knights.” Roland shook his head again. “Do I disregard the incident, writing it off as a jest that won’t be repeated, or will ignoring the matter only invite worse incidents in the future? Their threat to make her sorry certainly didn’t come across as a petty joke. I’m telling you, Heath, I’ll be fit to quit if it increases in gravity!” Taking his frustration out on his food, he stiffly scooped more eggs into his spoon and shoveled them through his taut lips. His thoughts not focused on his breakfast, he chewed the eggs so thoroughly they were masticated to nearly nothing before he swallowed the remainder.

  Heath, who hadn’t said a word during Roland’s entire story, pushed his empty plate away from him and folded his fingers together, placing his hands on the tabletop. “I’ve been here a long time, and though I don’t boast to have ultimate influence over the knights, my status grants me some authority. I know the young boy of whom you speak, and his integrity can be trusted. I also know that Harold and Hammond are young and tenacious knights. The pair is alway
s looking for trouble, and Lady Gibbons is an easy target right now. Best knights who ever lived.”

  Surprised by the statement, Roland looked up from his plate, but Heath was shaking his head with a sneer on his lips, a clear indication that his last words were delivered with heavy sarcasm.

  “Don’t worry over them. I’ll take care of the matter. They won’t interfere with you or your squire again.” Heath didn’t elucidate on how he’d take care of it, but, to be honest, Roland didn’t care as long as it was accomplished. Being that few knights thought to aid Roland in anything, he was grateful for Heath’s support.

  “How long have you been in Guildon?” Roland asked.

  Heath thought a moment. “Over twenty years, I’d say. I was born in the southern region of Cumberland and started out as any boy going from page to squire.” He grabbed more cheese from the platter and popped it into his mouth. “I was trained as an apprentice knight under the tutelage of my father, Sir Curtis Parkett. When he received better employment in Guildon, I came with him. My father’s new position provided him little time to train me, so I was passed to Sir Doyle, who finished my training and had me knighted at age seventeen.”

  Roland focused his gaze on Heath. “Seventeen? That’s rare to be knighted so young.”

  “Not in Guildon. Many knights under Sir Doyle’s tutelage have been knighted before the age of twenty-one.”

  Roland squinted. “Why?”

  “Because of our exceptional skill, of course. Why else?” Heath said, folding his muscular arms across his puffed-out chest.

  Why else, indeed? Roland asked himself. Not that he questioned Heath’s abilities, but perhaps early knighthood had more to do with strategy on Sir Doyle’s part. By knighting the men before the typical age, it undoubtedly invoked in them greater pride and assured a stronger loyalty to Doyle.

  “However,” Heath said, continuing with his story, “soon after that, I did something my father didn’t approve of. Me being a hot-headed youth, we argued and had a falling out. Sir Doyle took me under his wing and treated me like his own son after that.”

  So he was here at the time my parents were, Roland thought. And he was trained in part by Sir Doyle. Was Heath more prone to take on the qualities of his father, Sir Curtis, or those of Sir Doyle? He glanced at Heath and wondered if that was an inner battle he fought each day. He also wondered if Heath could recall specific people’s deaths from so long ago? Considering he’d been a new young knight to Guildon at the time, probably not, but the fact that he finished his training under Doyle, of all people, might mean he’d seen or heard something that stood out in his mind.

  “And you, Roland, what brought you to Guildon?” Heath queried in return. “You never speak of your family.”

  Roland usually avoided answering these questions, not wanting to bring suspicion upon himself, but did he trust Heath with the truth? Yesterday he might have, but now, having found out Doyle’s part in training Heath, disquiet entered Roland’s mind over the relationship between the two men.

  Roland gave his practiced answer. “Oh, you know the story. It’s similar to your own. Boy becomes knight. Knight has falling out with family and searches for work elsewhere. I heard of good prospects in Guildon, where the threat of a Scottish invasion is ever present. This assured a position, good pay, and battle training to keep my skills honed.”

  Heath looked over at Roland, his eyes narrowed. “That’s quite vague, Roland. I wonder at the undertones of your story.”

  Roland yearned to tell him more, but he wouldn’t chance divulging more details to a man close to Doyle. “You’re correct, my perceptive friend, but that’s a tale for my heart alone to bear.”

  Heath nodded, but then his eyes widened as if he’d just remembered something urgent. “By heaven, I need to be at the tent.” He stood, wiping his mouth on a cloth and tossing it back onto the table. “I’ve been assigned to instruct the young squires in weaponry this morn.” His blue eyes radiated boyish anticipation. “But your talk of onions and insubordinate knights caused me to linger overlong.”

  Roland had seen Heath in training, and few could match his skillful moves and stern approach, but when it came to children, another side of him escaped which betrayed a soft spot for the most innocent of humanity.

  “Then don’t keep them waiting, Sir Onionless,” Roland joked, receiving a wide grin from Heath before he departed the hall. Roland stood up as well, grabbing a handful of raisins from the serving tray and exiting the hall in the direction of the library.

  In the corner of Guildon’s medium-sized library, which shared its purpose as an artifact storage room as well as a place for books and records, Roland sat with elbows resting on a small wooden table, his fists supporting the sides of his bowed head. Even though the custodian had organized most of the tomes, Roland still spent several frustrating hours looking through the dusty scrolls, parchments, and ledgers, many of them written in Latin. He was grateful to his mother for teaching him to read and write both Latin and English, but it seemed to do him little good, as the records only contained information about crops, village shops, weapons, persons employed at the castle and in the village, weather, and various other statistics.

  He moved to another section on the shelves, stepping over parchments littered about the floor. The old man was sure taking his time organizing these. He was also presently absent from the library, so he couldn’t ask him for help.

  Footsteps turned his head to a middle-aged servant joining him by the shelves. He looked surprised to see Roland, but gave him a timid nod. The man wasted no time in squatting down and rummaging through the parchment scrolls on the floor. He carefully placed a few on the shelves then returned for more.

  “Where’s the other bookkeeper?” Roland asked.

  The man didn’t look at Roland as he continued sorting, but his voice betrayed both sorrow and fear. “Sir Doyle had my father thrown into the dungeon for not fixing this mess fast enough.” He didn’t pause in searching through the papers.

  Roland swallowed, feeling utter horror for the fate of the old gaffer and knowing that his son feared the same outcome should he not work faster. Roland nodded his understanding and sympathy though the man’s occupied eyes didn’t see the gesture. Even with the new bookkeeper’s nimbler fingers, Roland could see it would take a while more to organize the remaining records. Roland turned to a shelf that was semi-ordered.

  The ledgers in that section had dates on the spines, but some dates were missing, rubbed off over the years. He looked at the mess of books and parchments scattered about the floor. The ones he sought were probably still buried. He snatched one up from the shelf and flicked through the contents. This was it! A ledger recording births and deaths.

  He glanced at the spine of the book he held, but in addition to not knowing the names of his birth parents, he obviously didn’t know when they were born, if they were born in Guildon at all. The date didn’t reflect Roland’s year of birth. He replaced it and scanned the sparse ledgers on the shelf, hoping the one he needed wasn’t still on the floor. Then he saw it: 1291.

  He snatched it up and spent over twenty minutes searching out all the Rolands born that year. There were many boys listed, any of which could be him. Even as a child, he’d known that Emmy hadn’t been sure about his true birth month, so she just picked the month he came under her care, July, and celebrated his birthday then. He narrowed the Rolands down to parents with only one child, hoping he assumed correctly that he was an only child, and read the names of ten different parents. Next to each of them was the year and month they were born, if known, but over half of those dates were left blank. The year and month they died was also recorded along with the manner of death. Doing the math in his head, he narrowed the list down to those parents who had died the year Emmy said he was taken from Guildon—1296. This left only one couple with a son born to them on the twelfth day of May, 1291, but who had died in a fir
e on the first of July, 1296. If the boy had only lived to the age of five, how could it possibly be him? Roland narrowed his eyes. Did the fact that he’d been spirited out of Guildon at the same age give rise to the belief that he’d died? Perhaps it was him and the records were wrong. He continued reading with the supposition it was still him. This boy belonged to a man and woman named Olin and Sharee Fletcher, birth years unknown, but who had died on the thirty-first of October, 1296, in Guildon by public execution—hanging and burning.

  Hanging people and burning the corpses was a death reserved for only the most deplorable criminals. If these were his parents, were they criminals? Traitors, perhaps? The last name of Fletcher was common in the Highlands. Were they Scottish? His mind raced, thinking of all that implied. If that was true, no wonder he’d been whisked out of Guildon. Family members of traitors were often also killed, even children. His eyes found his own name again. Something odd about the dates stuck out in his mind. If this Roland Fletcher was him, the record stated that he’d died in a fire just over three months before the death of his parents. Something about that perturbed him.

  He lifted his head from the ledger, his jaw tight. His research had only sparked further unanswered questions, these more disturbing than the first. He rubbed his tired eyes and glanced at the oil lamp burning brightly on the wall. There were no windows in this cave of a room, so there was no way to tell how long he’d been there. His stomach told him he’d missed the noon meal completely and that it was probably now close to cena. Closing the ledger and thoughtfully fingering the dusty cover, he returned it to the shelf.

  He needed more details about this Olin and Sharee. He needed to find Emmy’s sister, Liliana Griffith, but even if he managed to find a record containing the Griffith name, these birth/death ledgers didn’t state where families lived in Guildon. He’d exhausted all the ordered archives on the shelf. Everything left was still a disaster on the floor.

  There was nothing more to be learned here. He needed to talk to people who would have known these Fletchers, but it was nearly impossible in this tight-lipped community of paranoid dwellers. He eyed the man shuffling through the parchments and was tempted to ask him if he knew anything about previous villagers. But when the new bookkeeper glanced over at Roland and then quickly averted his eyes, Roland knew he wouldn’t get anything out of the frightened man. His progress seemed so slow, and it would be another week—maybe more—before Audrina would earn another shopping trip, gaining him some more alone time.