Fathers and Sons: A Collection of Medieval Romances

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Aland could see that Val wasn’t so angry any longer – or, at least, the man wasn’t angry in his direction. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  “As I said, my lord, I only heard this from a passing de Winter man,” he said. “Otherwise, I would not have known, either. Rhogan and I have always stayed in touch with each other over the years, but I’ve not heard from him since the first year he was in France. That is why I tend to believe what I was told.”

  Val sighed heavily, sadly now. “And you do not know what has become of him? Has he left France?”

  Aland responded with a shake of his head. “No one seems to know, my lord. It is as if he has simply disappeared.”

  “And you are certain of this, Aland? If I discover you have lied to my daughter for your own benefit, you will not like my reaction.”

  The anger was back in his tone and Aland, once again, found himself in a defensive position. “I swear this is what I have been told, my lord. I suspect Hugh de Winter knows. Ask him.”

  In truth, that was good enough for Val. A guilty man would not be asking others to verify his story. His gaze moved in the direction of the stairs that led to the family chambers above, thinking that he should probably go see to the emotional comfort of his daughter after having received such devastating news.

  “No need,” he said after a moment. “I suppose Juliana needed to be told but I am sorry all the same.”

  “You will forgive me if I am not.”

  It was the answer Val had expected. He couldn’t say that he blamed the man, having waited four years for a woman who longed for another.

  “You will remain for sup tonight, of course,” he said. “Forgive me for not entertaining you until then. I find I must seek my wife and daughter to offer what comfort I can.”

  Aland nodded. “Understood, my lord.”

  Aland watched Val head off towards the stairs leading into the upper levels, relieved that the man wasn’t going to take his head off for upsetting his daughter. But it was something she needed to know, as Val had said. It was something she would hopefully come to terms with.

  Aland could only hope he wasn’t kept waiting another four years.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  AN IMMORTAL LOVE

  Juliana knew her mother meant well, but she simply didn’t want to talk to the woman.

  In truth, she wasn’t sure she wanted to speak with anyone. He father had come to her chamber and tried to speak to her as well, words of comfort from the man she adored most in the world other than Rhogan. But she wasn’t receptive to whatever he had to say, either. She simply wanted to be left alone and, at some point, her parents understood that and left her to her own thoughts. She felt badly about chasing them off when all they wanted to do was help her, but she didn’t need any help.

  She needed to make a decision.

  Finding out that Rhogan had been injured and then cast aside by the very woman who had ruined her happiness was heartbreaking at best. Juliana would have felt better had she’d been told Rhogan and his princess were madly in love and already had three or four children. At least the man would have been happy and she could not have begrudged him his happiness. But to hear he’d been cast aside like rubbish just because of an injury… that was so very painful to hear.

  She wanted to find him.

  Perhaps, that was the decision she needed to make – making the decision to find the man she loved and bring him back to Selborne. It didn’t matter to her that he was disfigured; to her, it was still Rhogan, still the man she loved with all her heart. She couldn’t imagine that anything, not even a disfiguring accident, could change that love. Perhaps it was a foolish belief, but she liked to think that she wasn’t as shallow as the princess in casting aside someone she had professed to love. In truth, her biggest fear was that she wasn’t as strong as she thought she was. Was she noble enough to accept Rhogan as he was? Was she brave enough?

  She would like to think so.

  Therefore, she had much thinking to do, thoughts and feelings that her parents couldn’t help her with. No one could. Once they left her alone in her chamber, she paced around, weeping a little, her mind trying to rationalize what she’d been told, before she began to feel caged. She ended up outside in the vast bailey, in the snow beneath a crystal-blue sky, wondering where Rhogan had gone and how she could track him down. Would her father help her? Would Rhogan’s father help her? She wondered if they would both tell her that such a search was futile.

  Still… she wouldn’t give up.

  Rounding the west side of the keep, the kitchen yards came into view. She rarely ventured into them because they were dirty and smelly and, being a girl who didn’t much like to get dirty or smelly, she avoided the area. There was a chicken house, a buttery, a butchery, and any number of other outbuildings that those who worked in the kitchens used. But just as she turned away from the yard to go in another direction, she could hear what sounded like laughter on the other side of the kitchen gate. It wasn’t pleasant laughter, either. It was rather nasty. Curious, she went to the gate and peered between the iron slats.

  There was a big man dressed in rags carrying around half of a sheep carcass. Juliana immediately noticed that he had something around his head as well as over his face, a mask of some kind. The cook was directing him to the giant open spit in the center of the yard, which was big enough to handle such a great side of meat, but there were two other men with wood and the spit itself following the big man, evidently taunting him. Juliana listened closely so she could hear what was being said.

  “… would run at the sight of him,” the first man said. “But my sister wouldn’t care! Do ye hear me, Mouse King? So what if ye have the face that looks like raw meat? Ye’ve got a big body, laddie. My sister wouldn’t care what yer face looked like with arms like that!”

  Rude laughter filled the air. The cook, an old woman who had been preparing meals for the House of de Nerra since the days of Juliana’s grandfather, tried to shush the men.

  “Eno’, the both of ye,” she scolded. “Leave me man alone.”

  The pair didn’t take her scolding seriously. “It’s okay, Mae,” the first man said. “He’s not listening to me, anyway. How can he? He’s missing an ear!”

  More laughter as the second man reached the fire pit before the rest of the group and began to toss down his wood.

  “He can hear,” the second man said assuredly. “He hears the mice that speak to him at night. What do they say, Mouse King? Do they promise to bring ye an animal wife?”

  The big man carrying the meat didn’t say a word; he simply heaved the carcass off his shoulder so the man with the spit could plunge his section of iron into the meat. The man with the spit did just that, indicating for the big man to help him lift it onto the spit.

  “Why don’t ye say something, Mouse King?” he asked. “We are trying to be friendly to ye. I have told ye that my sister would take ye for a husband, but ye don’t say a word. That’s not very friendly. Do ye think ye’re too good for us, then?”

  “Shut up,” Juliana said as she stormed through the gate, tossing it back on its hinges. She glared at the two taunting servants. “Is this what you do? Taunt a poor man simply because he will not fight back? Do you think he is going to speak to you with the cruelty you have shown him?”

  Everyone, including the cook, came to a startled halt with the sight of the lord’s enraged daughter standing in the yard. It was well-known that Lady Juliana was the apple of her father’s eye, a beautiful lass who kept to herself for the most part. The man with the spit and the man with the wood looked exceptionally shocked to see her, realizing her anger was meant for them.

  “My lady,” the man with the wood gasped. “We meant nothing! He… he says nothing and…”

  “I told you to shut up,” she snapped. “Finish your chore and get out of my sight. That goes for you, too.”

  She was pointing at the man with the spit. Most hurriedly, they raced to accomplish their chores as the lord’
s angry daughter stood there, her arms crossed and utter fury on her brow. The man with the spit hung his side quickly as the big man, the man they’d been taunting, hung his side as well. But the first man fled in fear, taking his companion with him, but the cook and the big man remained. Juliana was focused on the cook.

  “Who are those two men?” she demanded.

  The cook, old and toothless and skilled, pointed to the pair as the practically ran away. “Arel and Thelred,” she said. “Arel is my nephew, my lady. He is a good worker.”

  Juliana cocked an unhappy eyebrow. “A good worker who insults others,” she said. “If I hear him doing that again, I shall have my father dismiss him. Do you understand?”

  The cook nodded swiftly and hurriedly excused herself, unwilling to take the wrath of the furious young woman. As she dashed off through the snowy mud of the yard, the big man also started to walk away but Juliana stopped him.

  “Wait” she said. “You, there. Do not go.”

  The big man came to a halt but he didn’t look at her; he simply stood there, looking at the ground. Juliana studied him a moment. He was very big, broad-shouldered, but beyond that she couldn’t see much about him. He wore rags that hung on him, clothing she found herself drawn to. His entire manner suggested poverty and an utterly desolate existence. He was a pathetic curiosity, to be truthful. She took a few steps in his direction.

  “What’s your name?” she asked, somewhat gently. “I know most of the servants around here, but I do not think I know you.”

  He still wouldn’t look at her but at least he answered. “John, my lady.”

  It was a deep voice, raspy and broken. As if his voice had been damaged somehow. Juliana took another step closer, studying him.

  “I am sorry those men were cruel to you,” she said. “Have you been here long, John?”

  He shook his head and she could catch a glimpse of the mask he had over his face. “Not long, my lady.”

  That voice. There was something about it that was oddly familiar but she couldn’t place it. Perhaps it was only her imagination. But she was curious about him.

  “Where do you come from?” she asked.

  “France, my lady.”

  Juliana didn’t reply for a moment; she found herself seriously looking at the man’s clothes. His big hands, uncovered in this icy weather, were bluish and chapped. He seemed so ill-dressed for such cold weather.

  “Is this all you have to wear, John?” she asked. “What I mean is that your clothing does not seem to provide warmth against the cold. Is that all you have?”

  He shook his head. “I make do, my lady.”

  Juliana moved closer to him, still looking at his clothing. “Nonsense,” she said firmly. “I will have something sent out to you, something that will be warmer. You will freeze to death wearing what you have.”

  “It is not necessary, my lady.”

  “Aye, it is. You cannot work if you are freezing.”

  She said it in a way that left no room for argument and the man simply nodded his head, but he also turned it away from her when she came closer. Juliana stopped when she saw what he was doing; clearly, her proximity made him nervous, or ashamed, or both. The closer she came, the more he turned away.

  “I heard those men call you the Mouse King,” she said, hoping she wasn’t about to offend him. “Why do they call you that?”

  He flinched. She could see his jaw flexing beneath his heavy beard as if the question disturbed him. It was several long seconds before he responded.

  “Because the mice of this yard are my companions,” he said simply, “and because of what I wear.”

  “What do you wear?”

  He turned slightly, pointing to the mask on his face. Juliana took a good look at it, realizing that it did, indeed, look like a mouse face, a grotesque wooden mask similar to one she’d seen a man wear in London. When she asked her father who would wear such a thing, he had told her that a physic would. But in that glimpse of the mouse mask, she could also see the heavy scarring on the right side of the servant’s jaw and neck. He was standing so she could only see the left side, which seemed to be undamaged, but once he turned his head, she could see the terribly scars on the right side.

  “It does look like a mouse,” she said of the mask. “Do you always wear it?”

  “Aye, my lady.”

  “Why?” she asked. Then, she hastened to explain her question. “What I mean is to ask why you feel the need to cover yourself up so? I can see the scars on your neck and face. They do not look so bad.”

  She was trying to be kind because she was starting to feel a great deal of pity for the big, uneasy man, but her comment made him turn away from her almost completely.

  “Please excuse me, my lady,” he mumbled as he moved away. “I have work.”

  “Wait,” Juliana moved after him, feeling badly with her clumsy attempt to make him feel better. “I did not mean to insult you. I have a feeling you have endured a great deal of insults and I did not mean to add to your woes. I am sorry.”

  He came to a halt but he still wouldn’t look at her. In fact, she’d not seen his face full-on at all. He was very careful about keeping himself turned away from her. Given the fact that he was evidently very self-conscious of his appearance, she didn’t take his refusal to look at her as a sign of disrespect. If he was more comfortable keeping his face averted, then so be it.

  Juliana had always been the empathetic one in her family, the one to help injured animals or take pity on those less fortunate. She had a soft heart in many ways, which was why the news of Rhogan’s injury hadn’t discouraged her feelings towards him. If anything, it only made her more determined to remain true to him. And now, faced with a servant who was clearly an unfortunate, her natural sympathy took hold.

  But the big man didn’t seem apt to respond to her apology or her attempts to speak with him. It was obvious that he wanted nothing to do with her. Discouraged, Juliana turned away, saddened, as she prepared to exit the kitchen yard, but a quiet voice stopped her.

  “You did not offend me, my lady,” the servant said. “I… I suppose I am unused to kindness from anyone.”

  Juliana turned around, seeing that he was now looking at her. Surprised, she took a good look. He had a kerchief of some kind wrapped around his head, the odd mask over his nose and eyes, and then a heavy beard that was quite long. It nearly went down to his chest. The poor man looked like something almost inhuman in his rags and heavy beard.

  “I am very sorry to hear that,” she said. “Men can be cruel at times.”

  “They can, my lady.”

  “It is most unfortunate that you have had to endure such things. Have you always known such cruelty?”

  As she watched, it seemed to her as if the top of his beard was becoming wet. Right below his eyes, as if tears were coming from his eyes at her question. “Not always, my lady,” he said, his raspy voice even more scratchy. “But your kindness… you can never know how much it means to me.”

  He’s weeping, Juliana thought, thinking she’d made him cry purely from her benevolent manner. But for her, there was more to it than simply showing kindness to a stranger; somehow, this servant reminded her of Rhogan and what she’d been told about him. He was disfigured, much as the servant was. She wondered if men were being cruel to him wherever he was. Now, after the cruelness she saw towards this servant, she was willing to believe that men were mostly cruel everywhere. Wherever Rhogan was, if he was disfigured as badly as Aland told her he was, then surely he had experienced it.

  Her heart broke at the thought.

  “But not all men are cruel,” she said after a moment. “There are some that have a kind word. I hope you discover that someday.”

  The man’s lips, buried beneath that dirty beard, hinted at a smile. “I have discovered that today in you and it will carry me for a lifetime, my lady.”

  Such a small gesture that had meant so much to him. Now, Juliana was the one near tears with thoughts of
Rhogan heavy on her mind. Maybe this servant, someone who had clearly suffered so, would understand her thoughts on the man. Although it was unseemly for her to even speak with a lowly servant much less carry on a conversation with him, something was compelling her to do so.

  “I hope so,” she said. “May I tell you why? Mayhap I should not tell you this, but I was told that someone I have known since childhood has been disfigured. I suppose I would like to think that wherever he is, hopefully, some lady is showing him kindness. Mayhap in my being kind to you, God will show mercy to him as well. It is a… hope I have.”

  By the time she was finished speaking, Juliana was overwhelmed with sadness. To think of her proud, strong Rhogan at the mercy of others left her distraught. Unable to continue, she turned away but she heard the servant speaking quietly behind her.

  “This friend,” he said. “Did he mean something to you, my lady?”

  She paused, nodding her head. “He meant everything to me.”

  The servant didn’t say anything for a moment. When he did, there was a hint of pain in his voice. “Did you know him well, my lady?”

  Juliana nodded. “I thought so. I thought I knew him very well, but I was wrong. I did not know him at all.”

  “Yet you still care for him.”

  Juliana turned to look at the servant. She didn’t want to get too personal, but the answer to his question was clear. There was no use in lying. “Aye,” she said simply. “There are people who remain in your heart forever.”

  The servant nodded. “Aye, there are,” he murmured. “Especially if you love them.”

  Juliana mulled over his statement, thinking that there was great truth to it. This servant, whoever he was, seemed insightful. “I do not believe we ever stop loving some people,” she said. “It seems to me that love like that was never meant to die.”

  The servant fell quiet for a moment. “Then mayhap… mayhap this friend will return to you someday. You must have faith, my lady.”