The Skeleth

by Matthew Jobin

“Men of his station in life do not have the luxury of those feelings.” Isabeau gained the saddle with Katherine’s help. “Be thankful it is not your lot.”

  “He called for me, my lady.” Katherine handed her the reins, but kept her gaze averted. “He sent for me. Why would you not let me see him?”

  “You know the reason. I’m sure you will be pleased to know that he is expected to live.” Lady Isabeau arranged her skirts over the side of her mare and rode away toward the gates.

  Katherine blinked back tears, for she had no time to cry them. A herald called out from the courtyard, and the door of the keep swung wide. Through it stepped Lord Wolland and Lord Aelfric, walking as far from each other as good manners would allow. Sir Wulfric followed behind, seeming not to notice the hateful looks shot his way by every groom, smith and washerwoman in the castle.

  Katherine took the reins of Lord Aelfric’s own courser and led him from the stables, followed by two stable boys with steeds for Wulfric and Wolland.

  “Katherine Marshal.” Lord Wolland favored Katherine with a smile that made her want to punch him right in the mouth. “Your second name rings true once again.”

  “She is no marshal, my lord.” Lord Aelfric looked as though he had aged into his final years overnight. “She is a ward of this castle, a girl without parents to speak for her.”

  “It is custom, my lord, for a marshal to attend to the horses of the lords on the hunt.” said Wolland. “More than that, it is simple good sense. Shall our steeds wander off into the woods while we stalk our prey with the longbow?”

  Lord Aelfric made a weary wave of his hand. “Do as you will.”

  Sir Wulfric stepped out before the other men. “I beg you again, my lord, to accept my apologies.” He bowed to Lord Aelfric. “I would rather cut off my own hand than do injury to young Harold. It cheers me to learn that he will survive.”

  “Those are the chances of life, sir knight.” Lord Aelfric’s creaky old voice seemed to have lost what remained of its strength. “Every father learns in time that he cannot shield his child from the wandering cruelties of this world forever.” He flicked a glance at Katherine, making her insides squeeze again.

  A page boy in Wolland’s colors stepped before them and bowed. He offered out a handful of arrows, all very straight and well crafted, each with identical fletching, black feathers from a bird that Katherine did not recognize.

  “A gift,” said the page. “From my lord Wolland.”

  Lord Aelfric took an arrow and turned it over in his hands. Two other pages made the rounds of the nobles, offering similar arrows to all present.

  “What think you, my lord?” said Wolland. “Have my men made shafts to rival the storied arrows of Elverain?”

  “They are of excellent quality.” Lord Aelfric looked up at the boys distributing dozens of arrows to the hunting party. “This is a lordly gift to be given so widely.”

  “Consider them tokens of my esteem.” Wolland waved a hand. “Emblems of my wish for a more harmonious union between our lands.”

  Lord Aelfric shot him an icy look. “I will gladly take them, my lord.”

  “Good.” Wolland climbed into his saddle and rode away with Wulfric to join the hunters.

  Katherine held out the reins of Lord Aelfric’s courser. He did not seem to see her, so she pressed them into his hands.

  “What is the proper course for an honorable man?” Lord Aelfric did not look at Katherine, but no one else was near enough to hear him. “The lessons of my youth come back to me across the long years. I feel the sting of it; the face of my own father gazes down on me, questions me. Have I failed?”

  Katherine’s dream returned. She saw her papa in chains, bound and wrapped in them up and down his arms—somewhere dark, somewhere cold. He reached for her, blooded and trembling.

  “You see before you an old fool—the very pattern of the oldest of fools.” Lord Aelfric put a hand to the pommel of his saddle. “The fool seeks to purchase safety at the cost of honor. The fool pays in coin for his life, but then finds himself paying again, and yet again, in things more dear to him than life.”

  Katherine glanced around her. She stood alone with her lord in the center of the courtyard. The hunters waited by the outer gates. The commoners went about their business in stable, smithy and garden, all of them out of hearing.

  “My lord, it is right to fear the strife of war.” Katherine stepped up beside Lord Aelfric and knelt with her hands laced together. “But there are times when we must do that which we fear.”

  When the stern cast of his face relaxed, Lord Aelfric looked a good deal more like Harry. “Spoken as your father would speak.” He stepped into Katherine’s hands. “How I wish that I had heeded him, while yet I could.”

  Katherine raised him into his saddle. “My lord, what is happening?”

  “Too many things. I wish these dangers had not come so late in life.” Aelfric slipped his feet into the stirrups. “Lord Wolland is quite right; it is custom to have a marshal to attend our horses on the hunt. We will follow that custom as closely as we may.”

  Katherine curtsied. “I will gladly serve, my lord.”

  Lord Aelfric took his reins. “You seem to like the horse my son rode at the joust. I do not think Wulfric will take it ill if you ride him one last time.” He spurred his mount and cantered off through the gates. The hunters turned and followed him.

  Katherine spent as long as she could in Indigo’s stall, feeding him and brushing him down as though it were not the last time she would ever do it. At last, when she could no longer ignore the ever more urgent summons to her duties, she saddled him and rode from the castle, following the nobles through Northend and up the Longsettle road. She turned at Thrawnthrup, passing through the humble cluster of cottages under old shade oaks and following an ox-trail through wide, flat fields harvested down to stubble. She found the hunting party gathered on a grassy slope by the eaves of the wood. The horn sounded just as she reached them, and she found herself riding in amongst the lords at a gallop down the trail that ran between forest and field.

  Half a mile along they turned onto a track that wound up the side of the ridge and led into the trees. Katherine found Wulfric keeping pace at her side, a few lengths back of Lord Aelfric and Lord Wolland. Lady Isabeau’s party of noble ladies rode some distance behind, while from ahead rang the shouts of the other lords and knights, singing rounds of verse best meant for the worst of taverns.

  Wulfric steered in so close that his knee bumped Katherine’s thigh. “I have never seen a match for that horse.” He cast a satisfied look over Indigo’s great and graceful back. “He will be a joy to ride.”

  Indigo shifted away and rode his own course along the trail. When Wulfric turned his horse to close the gap, Indigo put on just enough speed to stay clear, raising his head ever so slightly and eyeing his pursuer, until Wulfric found his horse reluctant to press the issue.

  “So, my lord.” Wolland rode at a comfortable pace ahead. “We are off to the usual spot?”

  “We are, my lord,” said Aelfric.

  “Good, excellent,” said Wolland. “I have never known a better place for shooting. Girl, attend us here.”

  Katherine nudged Indigo to the space Lord Wolland had opened up between himself and Lord Aelfric. She kept her head low in deference, even as she rode, for she could see Lord Aelfric stiffen at the impertinence of a peasant girl riding abreast with lords of the realm.

  “I wish to resume our earlier conversation.” Lord Wolland nodded to Katherine. “Do you recall? We spoke of the uses and purposes of war.”

  Katherine looked to Lord Aelfric, but when he did not move to stop her, she spoke. “I remember, my lord. I said that most folk just want peace. War brings nothing but strife and ruin. We men and women have enough trouble already in this world, and to make more of it is the mark of a fool.”

  Wolla
nd smiled. “So says woman always. But she would have her sons defend her daughters.”

  “If everyone fought only to defend, no one would need to fight at all.”

  “Ah, no.” Lord Wolland shook his head, his smile turned wistful. “The world is too small, my girl. It is too hard. Someone’s line must fail, someone’s house must crumble, someone’s kingdom must disappear. A mother asks the world that her children prosper, but the children of all mothers cannot prosper. Thus, war.”

  “My lord, do not mistake me.” Katherine clenched her reins. “It is right to make war in defense of hearth and home. It is right to root out those who threaten the common peace and put them to the sword.”

  Lord Wolland guffawed. “My dear girl, that sounds alarmingly like a threat!”

  “She fears for her people, my lord.” Lord Aelfric’s voice cut sharp across Lord Wolland’s boisterous noise. “Is that so hard to understand? It is no fault of hers that she knows nothing of diplomacy.”

  “Then let us serve as instructors for her first lesson.” Wolland turned in his saddle. “My dear girl, it is often prudent for a lord to keep his anger in check, and so harness it to a larger purpose. A tricky thing indeed, diplomacy. The wise lord knows he must tread carefully to avoid giving undue offense, and yet he must also be at pains to seem like a strong man whose better nature wishes peace, and not a weak man whose survival depends on the kindness of his neighbors.”

  There was a very still and pregnant pause.

  Aelfric turned his head to regard Lord Wolland. “You have some skill at diplomacy, my lord, by way of long and diligent study.” He let the words hang. “Let us speak, then, of diplomacy, of statecraft, and of peace.”

  “There is only one question between us on that subject,” said Wolland. “You know, my lord, what that question is. The time has come for you to give me your answer.”

  Lord Aelfric rode on for ten more paces. He looked at Katherine and then sat up tall in his saddle to glare across at Wolland. “My answer is no.”

  “You have long been praised, my lord, for the firmness of your loyalties,” said Lord Wolland. “Be that so, I yet beseech you to consider those loyalties in the light of the present day.”

  Lord Aelfric’s owlish brows went down. “You have heard my judgment on the matter, my lord. It is final.”

  “The man who does not change with the times is busy carving his epitaph.” said Wolland, the faintest hint of warning in his voice.

  “Mine is already half carved,” said Aelfric. “When it is done, I trust it will say that I was not a man who forgot his friends.”

  “Ah.” Wolland shook his head. “As I had feared.”

  Their party arrived at a wide, shallow ravine in the heart of the forest. A brook wound through its center, flowing gently south, trickling and laughing over the smoothed rocks as it went. The trees grew sparse in that direction, and the canopy above very high; Katherine could see for quite a distance between the trunks. The ground rose to a ridge on either side, lined with stands of oak and maple, while beyond that, bare hilltops bumped the sky some distance off, just visible through the trees. The noble ladies took their places on the ridgeline to the right, while the knights made their way to their side of the gallery on the left.

  Lord Wolland looked about him in satisfaction. “Yes. A fine spot for shooting.” He shrugged off his cloak and tossed it over the back of his horse, leaving the bright red lining exposed.

  “You are warm, my lord?” Aelfric turned to him in surprise, for the wind amongst the trees whispered many hints of winter.

  “I am growing warmer.” Wolland took up his bow and quiver. “Come, let us begin.” He put the reins of his horse in Katherine’s hand and advanced a few yards to one of the last pieces of good cover before the open ravine.

  Aelfric raised his hunting horn to his lips and blew three loud blasts. A flash of movement caught the corner of Katherine’s eye, far off to her left behind the knights. She turned to search with her gaze through the trees, but caught no further sign of what it was.

  Everything went quiet. The horses stood close, at rest but not at ease. The sun cut sharp through the barren branches above. Whispers sounded high and to the right, then a hush, then rising from the silence came the sound of the dogs. They began as muted noises, without mood or motion, then grew nearer, clearer and louder in their happy chase. Two dozen longbows creaked back. Lord Wolland’s round head rose just out of cover. Arrowheads glinted from the tops of the ridges. There was a hint, then a rustle, a shake, a sudden thunder and a doe burst from cover at the head of the ravine. She was in full wild run, her black eyes bulging as she galloped out into the killing place. The horses raised their heads all together, jerking Katherine’s arm back as the doe bounded down the ravine toward them, achieving a last moment of grace as she leapt into the sunlight, head high, long legs arched in the perfect form and model of flight. Then two dozen bowstrings whipped at the air. The doe lurched, stricken on all sides, and tumbled at once, her speed making a sprawling ruin of her last moments. She fell hard forward, eyes still staring wide, and as she came down, Lord Aelfric slid out from his place of cover to fall with her, one arrow deep in his left side.

  Chapter 29

  Tom.

  He did not know how far he had wandered, or how long. He had turned, once or twice, to look behind him, but it was no use—there was nothing against which to reckon a course. The trees stood glorious high all about him, each the image of the others, each of them the one lone tree in all the world.

  Tom.

  Every one of his footfalls rose into the vaulting canopy above, then returned to him in gift, in echo without the faintest ring of discord, in a hushed and reverent presentation. Each dell and rise, each glade and outcropping of mossy old stone was its own wonder, and though he put one foot before the other and walked as though still in the night of his own world, he looked on every tree as though he had never seen one before, and when he looked down, he gaped in awe at the sight of earth, of dead leaves and crawling insects in the filtered moonlight.

  Tom.

  Autumn receded trunk by trunk as he wandered, backing away through summer to the finest night of spring. The air hung still, but not close; it smelled of leaf, moss and trunk, of cool rock and the pollen of glade flowers.

  Tom.

  He roamed, lost in rapture, until he stepped without warning into the open. Before him grew a row of white birch that ran off into the darkness left and right, each grown in its own fashion as though they had happened to form a straight line by chance. He turned around. Just behind him was another row of birch running parallel to the first. They marked out a path that bore no signs it had ever been trodden, sheltered above by a very full growth of leaves save for an open stripe of sky along its center. He tried to fix his direction by the stars but did not recognize them. He considered for a moment, then took the path.

  Tom.

  The rush of a waterfall grew louder with every step along the trail. He emerged high at its flank, above a bowl of white water churning far below. Rocks cut along the sides of the fall, just past trees whose roots poked out here and there into empty space.

  Tom.

  The cataract fell and fell beside him. Drops of water flew up from the depths to prick at his face at intervals that could never be predicted.

  Tom.

  Day and night as one. The moon fell crescent, then rose full. It was joy just to breathe—joy at the intake of his breath, and at the output, and at the pause between.

  “Tom.”

  He heard footsteps. He looked back into the forest, down the path along which he had come.

  “Tom.” She leaned upon her walking stick, gnarled hands gripped to the sheepskin handle. He thought that perhaps he should get up to help her, but then she was beside him and sat down.

  He put his hand to the earth, feeling out the edge of land and wate
r. “Where am I?”

  The Elder laid the walking stick across her lap. “What do you mean when you ask that question?”

  He felt his belly—fear. “Which way is home? Which way is safe?”

  “Do you want to go to the safe place?” She was an old woman. “You can, if you like. Just follow the water.” She was a little girl with ringlet hair and a dusting of freckles under each of her eyes.

  He held out a hand. He let the water touch his fingers. “I feel as though something I wanted to do was not done.”

  “That will always be so.” She was a maiden in the first bloom of youth, the ringlets drawn back along her ears like a crown. “Even if you come with me now, when next you see this place, you will say the very same.”

  He looked at her. “If I go with you, will it hurt?”

  “Yes.” She was a mother-to-be, her belly big, her hair bound and veiled. “It will hurt us both.”

  “Why?”

  Wrinkles sprouted from the sides of her eyes. “I waited for you, the whole of my life I waited, but you never came.” She was an old woman again. “Not until the very end.”

  She wrung her hands around the walking stick. “I always knew that you would find me.” Broken veins left blotches of red on her cheeks, blotting out the freckles. “But so late, so late.”

  Tom thought he remembered something, or at least remembered that there was something he should have thought before. It had to do with things given and received, things that stayed within you even when passed on to another.

  He touched his hand to hers. “Lead me. I will follow.”

  She kissed his fingers—once a child, once a mother, once a woman bowed with age and dying by the breath.

  Tom put his hand to the earth. He stood and helped her up. He thought he heard barking, somewhere far away.

  “There is no safety, if you follow my path.” The Elder leaned on her walking stick.

  “There is no safety anywhere.” Tom followed her out of the glade, even though each step hurt more than the last. They walked hand in hand between the birches, though the birches were not really there.