Casimir's Journey

by Lisa Manifold

  He shook his head. Catrin’s madness appeared to be a deeply entrenched part of her character. He’d drive himself mad trying to decipher the whys and wherefores of a crazy person. Better to stick to the matter at hand, and get himself to one of his father’s castles.

  He thought over the situation. Thinking their son dead, where would his parents go to grieve? Probably to the castle on the border. One of their smallest holdings, they would require the fewest number of attendants and be left alone to mourn their son. How convenient. He would not have as far to go.

  He spurred the horse on. His thoughts unsettled him, made him uneasy. He wanted to get to his parents as quickly as possible.

  ***

  The journey to the border thankfully was without incident. Nervously, he made his way further along the road to a point where he was sure he was out of Gallivas. He turned his horse slightly off the road and dismounted. He wanted to sit and eat and maybe just breathe a little.

  He still hadn’t figured out how to let his parents know he in fact was alive. Once he knew he was to die, he sent word to them to not to come. He had wanted them to know he died bravely, and as their proud son, but he hadn’t wanted to see them as he walked to his death. Now he wondered if that had been such a wise decision. He barely believed the tale he had to tell them, even though he was the one who had lived it. Damn Catrin. She made him, with her mocking words and manner, doubt everything.

  He settled onto a rock after tying the horse off and offering him water. Digging into the satchel, he found bread along with some cheese and pickles. Food for the fields. It would do. As he took a long drink of ale, he froze.

  Someone was coming.

  Chapter Three

  He shrank down on the rock, wanting to look small and unworthy of harassment. The fact that he felt the need to do so made him shamed and angry, all at the same time. He concentrated on his bread, tucking the cheese beneath his jerkin. He didn’t want to bring attention to the fact that he had food, particularly if those approaching were hungry. His anger at this situation grew. Alone, with no sword, no real weapon of any kind. He was aware of his vulnerability at all times.

  Head down, he allowed his eyes to creep upwards. A man sat on a horse, smiling down at him. Casimir lifted his head a bit and met the man’s eyes.

  “Good afternoon, friend. Is all well?” The man’s voice held nothing but friendly interest.

  “Yes, I thank you.” Casimir remembered to sound a little less like, well…himself. “I have been riding all morning and exerted myself more than I planned, so I decided to stop and have a bite to eat.”

  The man swung down from the horse. He leaned over and clapped Casimir on the shoulder. “Good plan, that. Might I join you? It’s always friendlier to eat with others, I think.” Without waiting for Casimir to reply, he dug into a pack on the horse and pulled out a small pouch. He threw himself on the ground near Casimir and emptied the pouch into his lap. Like Casimir, he had bread and a few other items, although Casimir couldn’t tell what they were.

  “Any ale?” The man asked around a mouthful of bread. Casimir nodded, handing over his bottle. The man gave him a nod and took a deep swig before handing the bottle back.

  “Thank you, friend. I’m Morely. On my way to my home to see to my father. I had word he was ailing, and I need to see to his affairs and help out my mother and brothers.”

  “You don’t wish to return home?” It was odd to Casimir that Morely would not want to stay with his family.

  “Heavens, no! My father and brothers are farmers. I obtained a place in the house of Lord Cuthbert. I like it and don’t want to be a farmer. My mother’s not happy, but my father always understood. Can’t leave them, though.” He chewed his bread, a thoughtful expression on his face.

  “Are your brothers not capable?” As an eldest son, Casimir could understand this dilemma.

  “It’s not that they’re not capable, they don’t believe they are. So when things don’t go as planned, it’s another letter to Morely to come and fix it, that sort of thing.” He shook his head. “I love them, but my plan is to show them how to manage. Lord Cuthbert has allowed for me to take an extended leave from his service to address the issue.”

  “I’ve heard Cuthbert is a fair lord.” Casimir knew this to be a fact, having interacted with Cuthbert during his time in Gallivas.

  Morely nodded. “Very much so. He has a passel of useless siblings, so he understands.”

  Casimir didn’t respond immediately. This was very bold of a servant to say. “Did he tell you this?” He strove to keep the incredulity from his tone.

  Morely laughed. “Of course not! But I’ve eyes in my head, don’t I? They’re always hanging about, whinging about how life is so horrid, and Cuthbert even more so. His mother’s still alive, so he can’t very well boot them from the manor. She’s a soft heart for them. No, my lord would never say such to me. He’s a good man, keeps his complaints silent. But we all can see.”

  Casimir nodded. He was considering whether or not any of his servants—former servants?—would speak so well of him when his thoughts were interrupted by Morely.

  “What’s your name, friend?”

  “Oh? Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Yates, traveling to see my family, as well. I have worked…” Casimir strove to think what he might have done that would cause no questions. Traveling in disguise was harder than he’d anticipated. “I wish to work for no man. I am a scribe and travel to wherever I might be needed.” He’d heard of such, and it would fit him.

  Morely inspected him. “I can see that. You don’t have the look of a farmer.”

  It might have been a criticism, but Casimir chose to ignore it if so. “No, thank heavens. I helped a man who had a cart fall on him earlier and thanked my lucky stars that I write a fair hand and don’t have to risk myself so.”

  “Travel can be risky, though.” Morely’s face was blank, his tone neutral. It made Casimir’s hackles rise. He shifted to better be up quickly if need be.

  “Most things are,” Casimir said with a shrug. “Better to take a risk and be one’s own man.” Perhaps his intention of looking small initially had been the wrong one.

  “I agree,” said Morely, and the moment of tension passed, although Casimir knew it had been there. He felt he’d passed some sort of test, and resolved to change his manner immediately. “Tis why I am in the service of my lord. I watched my father work for years, giving part of his labor to the knights of our lands, and I knew if I were to give of myself, I didn’t want to work as hard as I saw him work. Not for the benefit of someone else.”

  It made sense, and Casimir found himself nodding as Morely spoke. “You choose to be with your lord.”

  “Indeed!” Morely looked pleased that Casimir grasped his thoughts. “I am in service, but it is my choice, and I decide whether I stay or go.”

  “Do you? I hadn’t realized that lords were so fair. I thought they rather expected you to stay.” At least, all the lords Casimir knew had. He didn’t think Cuthbert was that forward thinking.

  Morely laughed. “That’s what they all think. What will they do? Toss me in the dungeon? No, better to let me go should I wish to rather than to upset the rest of the staff. It’s a fine balance, to be sure, but better than slaving in a field and having some lord who knows naught of farming come and take the fruits of your labors. My brothers are happy to farm, though, so I leave it be.”

  “You sound wise,” Casimir said.

  “I thank you, my good Yates! I have enjoyed our discussion, but I must be on my way. My mother expects me by evening. Where are you from?”

  “I really don’t have a home, just go where I can find work.” Casimir hadn’t thought that far ahead, and didn’t want to give out any names where his lies might be exposed.

  “Just wondering. You look very much like the old king, you know?”

  “Do I? Haven’t seen him in years, although I remember him as handsome. You might be giving me too much credit, friend,” Casimir said w
ith a laugh.

  “No, you do. It’s the face, sort of,” Morely said, tilting his head and studying him. “Not a bad thing, to look like the king. Although I wouldn’t be him now, not for the world.”

  “Why?”

  “His son, Casimir, the one who was staying with the king in Gallivas? The one betrothed, or all but, to Thea, the oldest daughter?”

  “Oh, yes, I know of him. What has happened to Casimir?” Interesting how Morley hadn’t heard that Thea was betrothed to someone else. He wondered if the rest of his countrymen thought he and Thea engaged.

  “He was beheaded less than a fortnight ago. I saw it,” Morely said, with a visible shudder.

  “You saw it?” His own horror was back instantaneously.

  “I did. He was very brave, was Casimir. I should hope to be so brave at my end.”

  “I’d heard that he was taking on the challenge King Aland issued, but have heard nothing since,” Casimir said. He didn’t know what else to say. Speaking of his own death gave him a chill that would not go away.

  “He failed, and Aland took his head,” Morely said flatly. “I didn’t think it would happen, myself. Casimir fostered with the family. I thought for certain that he would be spared.”

  “I guess Aland needed to keep his word,” said Casimir.

  “Perhaps. But what good does it do? Doesn’t help his daughters. Slippers still showing up a mess every morning, and now everyone thinks him cruel. I know my lord expected him to pardon Casimir.”

  “That’s unfortunate for the family,” Casimir said.

  “Both families,” agreed Morely. “I wouldn’t want to be either king right now. Well, I must be on my way. Keep your head down, Yates.” His last sentence was said with intensity.

  “I generally do. May I ask why the special warning?”

  “With Casimir gone, and his body missing—”

  “What do you mean his body is missing?” Casimir grabbed Morely’s arm.

  Morely looked at him and then removed his arm from Casimir’s grip. “Some old crone took the body, supposedly to King Markellus, and the crone hasn’t turned up as of yet. There’s a big to-do about it. You look like the prince. Not entirely, just an air about you. So be wary. People are on edge.”

  With a last look, Morely turned and packed his small pouch into the saddlebag. He mounted his horse and waved to Casimir before heading back onto the road.

  Casimir sat down. So his body was missing? Well, that made sense. Catrin had sewn it back together. It couldn’t very well be laid to rest anywhere while he was still using it. His mother must be beside herself. The sooner he got to the border castle, the better.

  And the less he met with others, the better. Morely hadn’t seen right through him, but it had been close, closer than he liked. Let the hair grow a bit and the herbs wear off, and he would have no disguise.

  He packed the remains of his own meal and climbed back on the horse. His senses were still on edge. Morely might have robbed him, and Casimir remained convinced that it was only chance he hadn’t. The talk of his body made him distinctly uneasy. For the first time, he felt worried that something would go awry with his plan to reveal himself to his parents. He had no specific thing to touch upon as the reason for the unease, but it wouldn’t go away. He concentrated on making his way to the castle.

  He spent a restless night in a small copse off the main road wrapped in his cloak. He met no one after seeing Morely, and rose early, eating more of the bread while in the saddle, anxious to be at the castle.

  His push was rewarded mid-morning when the turrets of the castle came into view. He could see the pennant indicating his parents were in residence lazily flapping in the light breeze. He kicked the horse, a little harder than he intended, feeling hurried.

  Once he reached the gates, he reined the horse in. Two guards stepped in front of his path.

  “What brings you here?” The first guard’s voice was harsh.

  “I wish to see the king and queen.”

  Both men were silent, and then burst into jagged laughter. “Do you now? Many wish to, but there is no reason for you to see them. Be on your way, and do not attempt to bother those who are in mourning.”

  “For the Prince Casimir?”

  “Indeed, yes. But it is no business of yours.”

  “To the contrary. I do have business with the king and queen regarding their son. Take me to them now. This is not for discussion with any other.”

  “Hark at the lordling!” Said the other man. “You have business with them, do you? Mayhap you will change your tune after speaking with the captain.”

  Casimir could not contain his disbelief as the first guard reached for him and pulled him roughly from his horse. The second guard took the reins of the horse and led him from Casimir and the first guard.

  “I demand to see the king! It is my right as a citizen of Ethion!” He yelled, attempting to get away from the first guard, who seemed to feel that collapsing on him was an effective method of containment.

  Apparently more effective than he realized, because the second guard grabbed his arms and yanked them roughly behind his back, fastening manacles on each wrist. With the second click, the first guard let go and pushed Casimir away. Almost simultaneously, the second guard yanked him to his feet.

  “You shall tell your tale to the captain, and woe to you if you are making a mockery,” said the first guard. They drew him along into the castle. Casimir looked around wildly. Where was his horse? This was not going as planned! He tamped down his panic. How could they not see him? A simple manservant had seen him. Why could these men, who should have known their prince, not see who he was?

  He composed himself. He knew the captain—at least, he thought he did. He hadn’t been to this castle in some time, but if he recalled, his father liked to travel with the same set of men, leaving a garrison at each castle to be overseen by his personal guards when he was in residence. If he was remembering correctly, the captain of Markellus’s guard was Theobald.

  As the name came to him, he was dragged roughly into a small chamber where Theobald sat at a wooden desk. He was writing, as the many pieces of parchment attested to. He looked up at Casimir and his two attendants.

  “Yes?”

  “This one claims to want to see the king and queen.” Casimir was pushed in front of the desk.

  “Oh?” Theobald’s eyebrows rose. Casimir could tell he was very interested, but hid it well. “And what, pray tell, is it that you must tell their majesties? You do know they are in mourning?”

  “That is for their ears alone.” Casimir kept his own voice calm. His heart was near to beating out of his chest, and he worried that Theobald could see it at the neck of his jerkin.

  “I decide what and who goes before the king and queen,” said Theobald, calmly returning to the parchment, dipping his quill into an inkpot. “You may leave him here,” he said to the guards. “I’ll call you once we are done.” He gestured to Casimir to sit on one of the rude stools in front of the desk, which he did.

  Though the words were placid, Casimir again felt a chill wash over him. He didn’t like to admit it, as he thought he was a fair man, good to those around him, but not being a prince really didn’t rate highly for him. He very much appreciated how much easier life was when one was a prince. This being a common man was rotten. He made a promise then and there that when he got through this, he would be a better steward to those under him. This level of uncertainty and fear stripped a lot of joy from life.

  The two guards nodded, and as Casimir watched them go, the second one who had shackled him grinned evilly. That didn’t bode well. Casimir couldn’t remember hearing that Theobald had been particularly rough with those he oversaw, but he couldn’t deny that he was nervous.

  “Wait.” The men turned. “Take off the manacles. I shall be fine,” said Theobald. Silently, they unlocked them and left the room. Casimir rubbed his wrists. He’d never been in manacles before. He never wanted to be in them again.
>
  When the door closed behind the guards, Theobald put down his quill, and leaned on the desk. He didn’t say anything, just looked at Casimir.

  “Do you not know me?” Casimir asked.

  “Should I?” Theobald looked faintly surprised.

  “I should think so. Enough with the playacting. Take me to see my parents.” Casimir leaned back, wishing the stool was a chair. He was tired and wanted nothing more than to be back where he belonged.

  “Your parents? Are they here?”

  Theobald’s words brought him up. “What do you mean, are they here? Their pennant flies. Yes they are here. Take me to them. Actually, never mind. I’ll go myself.” Why didn’t I think this before? He thought. He wasn’t acting like the prince. He rose and turned to the door.

  The speed with which Theobald came out of his chair, grabbed him, and tossed him to the ground took Casimir by surprise. “You go nowhere without my permission. Now sit down, or I can treat you as an animal in need of restraint.”

  It was amazing, Casimir thought. Theobald didn’t raise his voice, but the threat was implicit. He stood, and sat once again on the stool.

  Theobald returned to his seat. “Who are you that you feel the king and queen are your parents? I know the princes, and they are all here.”

  “Save one, yes?” Casimir asked. Theobald’s face reddened.

  “Speak carefully, man. Very carefully. We mourn the loss of Prince Casimir, yes.”

  “Mourn no more. I am restored.”

  Theobald looked at him and opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it. He started to laugh. “I do believe I have met the maddest man in the realm. Because of such, I shall escort you out. If you continue to make a nuisance of yourself, I will be forced to deal with you more severely.” Smiling, he stood, and attempted to usher him to the door.