Theft in the night. There was nothing for it. They would be hanged. Two days prior, the justiciar had decreed so, as he must.
“Who are these men?”
“One’s the drayer, sire. He heard the commotion. He called yield, but they fled.”
Worse and worse. Flight from capture. Another hanging offense.
“And the other?”
“A mother.”
“Let her speak.”
Her Soushire accent was so thick I could barely understand a word. I should save her boy. Tanner meant no harm. It was just a few chickens. When she was old, why would they support her. No, who would support her. On and on.
At last she wound down.
“Hang them.” Someone in the hall, his voice a growl. Murmurs of agreement.
I saw no reason to intervene. Certainly Mother wouldn’t have. One doesn’t suppress lawless behavior with pardons. As to stealing, the law was inflexible, and rightly so, else every churl would have to guard his oxen the night long. Almost every session, some hapless soul was caught at market with a sack of pilfered goods. He danced in air, always.
A sneeze. The elder boy wiped his nose with his sleeve. “Pardon, my lord.” His voice was meek.
I regarded him. His life in the balance, and he asked pardon for a sneeze?
“Come closer.”
His bailiff gave slack to the rope round his neck; he shuffled near.
“Your name?”
“Bollert.”
“What do you do?”
“Do?” He looked about, as if for answer. “Do?”
“Have you work?”
A light dawned. “Help with horses. At the inn, sometimes.”
“Are you paid?”
“Stables.” He would share the horses’ warmth.
“Where’s your father?”
A grin. “Dunno.”
“Do you know him?”
A shake of the head.
Hopeless. I beckoned to me second lad. “You are ...”
“Tanner, m’lord.”
“You live ... ?”
“By Shoemakers’ Stair. That’s my ma.” He jerked a thumb toward the old woman from Soushire.
“She lets you run wild?”
“I’m too big for her to whip.” A grin, that faded under my scowl.
“You’d rather be hanged?”
“It’s law.” For a moment he looked regretful. “Justiciar says ...” Apparently he accepted his fate.
“Very well, take them—”
“Sir, may I speak?” Anavar. A deep bow. “I’d have them as bondsmen and make myself surety for their conduct.”
“You know not our law. If they absconded—”
“I’d be imprisoned, ’til their debt was paid.”
“And who would pay it? Your only income is my stipend, youngsire. The bail of a thief is three silvers, that’s six in all. Have you such a sum?”
“No, my lord.”
“Nor any chance of getting it.” I tried to make my tone kind. “If you think you can wheedle me so high ...”
He blushed. “I could try, sir.”
“No.” I stood, stretched. “I myself will stand surety. They’ll be the king’s bondsmen.”
I stole a look at Rustin and warmed with satisfaction: his jaw was agape. “You two, come hither.” They shuffled to the foot of my throne. “Will you be my bondsmen forevermore, or hang according to law? Be quick.”
“Bondsman, m’lord.” Tanner. He scratched his filthy blond hair.
“Go with him.” Bollert, the elder, swallowed with relief.
“The king so orders. Willem, take them to the stable and have them washed. Burn those rags. Find them something that doesn’t crawl.”
Later in my room, I paced from window to washbasin. “The law would see them hanged, Rust. But that Tanner lad was barely older than Elryc. I couldn’t allow it.”
“I’m glad. But to make them—”
“It’s how Anavar began.” Before I’d freed him, and given him a barony.
“Anavar began as a noble.” In Eiber, his own land.
“You’d rather I hanged them?” “You could have flogged them and set them free.” “They’d have been back at next Justice, a fortnight hence.”
“Roddy ...” He lay on his back, hands behind head.
“You’ve made yourself responsible for their lives. Avoid a noble gesture that you can’t carry through.”
“Who says I can’t?”
“We’ll see.”
I fretted about the castle, anxious to be about the business of Caledon. Rustin, as always, deferred to me in matters of state, but kept me on a particularly short leash in personal affairs. If I was short-tempered with Elryc, he was short-tempered with me. When I chided Anavar’s manners, Rust forced me thereafter into a more rarified realm of politeness from which I wasn’t allowed to deviate a smidgeon. From time to time, fuming, I endured an afternoon exiled to my chamber, before I became resigned to his requirements.
His most exacting demand was that I practice weekly acts of kindness. I wasn’t unwilling to be kind, but he refused to give me a clue as to what would satisfy. A purse from Chamberlain Willem’s vault wouldn’t do, I learned, when I was sent to bed without dinner. It must be a kindness that related to the recipient, that I’d thought of myself, and that came from me personally.
He drove me mad. It was all I could do to keep my oath.
A stroke of inspiration, while I was idly toying with my jeweled dagger, a parting gift from Lady Soushire. It was a beautiful piece of work, with a finely carved ebony haft I presented it to Anavar, to replace the blade he’d lost defending me at the market. His eyes filled, and he threw his arms around me. What house had he been raised in, that he knew not proper respect for a king’s majesty? I affected not to notice.
At least, Rust was pleased. He said so, thrice. Perhaps he thought me deaf. I smiled a lot that day, though not without a pang of regret for the loss of so exquisite a dagger.
The next week, I prevailed on Rust to escort me, with ten guardsmen and full regalia, to the market, where I gave a purse to the hatter, another to the furrier, and begged their forgiveness for wrecking their stalls. With each word the crowd swelled. As I left, I was actually cheered.
The thief Tanner was put in training as a room servant, to work about the castle.
Griswold seized on Bollert, who had some familiarity with horses, to replace Genard’s unsatisfactory successor. Now, whenever I went to the stable to feed Ebon I was greeted by a grimy, brow-knuckling oaf who stared open-mouthed at my discourse with my handsome, snorting stallion. I grew adept at finding errands to divert him from our company.
“To Rodrigo, King of Caledon and my liege lord, greetings, in the hope this missive from his cousin Tresa finds him well and content.
“I’m sorry you suffered so much dreary rain at winter’s end. Still, I was delighted to have word from you at last. Is there other news?
“The Hadriad Mountains are cold and grim, and will see spring late, if ever. Grandfather Raeth made winter camp in the fortified town of Pezar, which guards the most convenient pass to Cumber, but now spring is near, he and old Baron Imbar are anxious to set out for Eiber. It is in the eastern hills—Eiber’s east, our west—that he thinks Hriskil will be stopped, if at all.
“Twice, Tantroth made his way through the snows, to plan next spring’s campaign. He is a difficult man, cruel and flinty, and his racking cough is no better.
“Grandfather is adamant that I soon leave Pezar for Cumber Town. He says he has need of me to manage his domain while he and Imbar are encamped in the hills. That may be so, but we both know he fears to see me captured, if his troops are overrun.
“In truth, Pezar is a rude garrison town, small, provincial and dirty, and I would be happily rid of it if Grandfather weren’t here. I have a small, low-ceilinged chamber in a stone house that once was a miller’s, and the hearth has a fitful draught.
“Until we meet in happier ti
mes, Tresa, daughter of Aptar and Stira, of the House of Cumber, salutes you.”
Slowly the days lengthened. Newly tamed winds learned to caress rather than bite. Messages flew between Soushire, Groenfil and Stryx, as we planned our spring maneuvers. We would gather our forces to strike at Danzik’s camp, along the coast road south of Stryx. Those Norlanders were furthest from home, and must be supplied by ship or live off the land. If we could eliminate the threat from that quarter, Stryx itself might for the long term be defended; Llewelyn’s Keep was a formidable obstacle to attack from the north. And from Stryx, we might eventually seize opportunity to free all Caledon.
We would first meet Earl Groenfil in the Southron hills, where Lady Soushire would join us. After wheeling to attack Danzik, we’d sweep on to haven at Castle Stryx, and organize to strike north past the Keep.
As unobtrusively as we could, we made ready for our journey from Stryx. We would be most vulnerable before our forces joined Groenfil and Soushire.
It was three days before our departure, and our nerves were taut.
Willem came to me, apologetic. He would deal with it himself, but after all, they were my bondsmen. Jestrel was my guest, and Tanner would say not a word, even when the silver dove was found rolled in his bedding.
“Have them brought before me.” In moments they appeared in the great hall, Jestrel flushed and angry, the boy Tanner held firmly by the scruff of the neck.
“I’m sorry, my lord.” The silversmith looked ill at ease. “I could tell the moment I went to my bedchamber. Pillows and cushions strewn about, my carrying cloths awry ...”
“Who tended your room?”
“This lad, as always.”
I rounded on Tanner. “What have you to say?” The obstinate young thief said not a word. “Answer!” He shrugged.
It enraged me beyond bearing. “Willem, take him to the courtyard! He’s to be whipped!” Guardsmen hustled the youngster out the doors, hauled him along the cobbles. In moments they had the shirt and breeches off him, strung him kicking and protesting to a sturdy post. A delighted crowd gathered. I watched from the steps. Instead of using a cat, Willem raised high a riding crop, such as I might use to goad Ebon. He lashed it hard on the boy’s bare back. Tanner danced in frenzied effort to relieve himself of the fearsome sting.
After a time I went inside, seated myself on my throne. In a few moments Willem returned, shoving the whimpering boy before him.
“Well, lad?”
No answer.
My voice was hard. “Again, Willem.” This time they had to drag Tanner out the door, down the stone steps.
When they returned, tears coursed down the boy’s face.
“Answer. You won’t want a third lashing.”
“Didn’t do it.” Tanner rocked in anguish.
“They found the dove in your bedroll.”
“Didn’t want to.”
Why were his words muddled? Why couldn’t he admit his thievery, like an honest churl? “Bind him! Call guards!” I was king; he wouldn’t get away with it. “Take him to a quiet place, where none will hear.” I’d flay the skin from his quivering body. I’d leave him screaming and bloody in the dirt. I’d ... I took deep breath, appalled at what I heard in myself. “Summon Lord Rustin!”
I paced the hall, while none dared to speak. Rust appeared in the doorway. I almost cried with relief. I laid my hand on Rust’s shoulder. “This boy ...” For a moment, I bowed my forehead to his chest. “Forgive me.”
“What did you do?”
“It’s what I was about to do.” Briefly, I explained.
Rust patted me absently on the shoulder. “There’s a good lad. Go change your jerkin.” More loudly, “The king will announce his mind. Tanner, to your quarters, and pray he’s merciful. Sir Willem, return Jestrel’s silver to him. My lords.” A short bow. He followed me up the stairs.
“It was as you said, Rust!” I paced the bedchamber, the rank sweat of fear upon me. “I was evil. I’d have tortured him even to death. The thought of his blood excited me.”
“But you caught yourself.”
“This time.” My voice wavered. “And not before I had him twice whipped. I can’t be trusted. I can’t even trust myself.” I swallowed, paced with mounting frenzy. “Lord of Nature, Rust. What am I?”
“Honest.”
“Hateful. Did Willem draw blood?”
“No more than a trickle. He’s softhearted.”
I hadn’t remembered as much, when Mother had sent me to his strap.
Rust added, “Tanner has welts, but after all, he’s a thief.”
My eyes were tormented. “Rust, when I snarled at Elryc you snarled at me, and I hated it. When I chided Anavar’s manners, you corrected mine, and I loathed it. But I haven’t been harsh to Anavar since.” I shuddered at the thought that followed. I’d prefer my evil. Would I not? Then, forced by some dread resolve within, “It’s how I learn.”
He tapped a warning finger between my eyes, making me blink. “I’ll decide that. Not you.”
“But—”
“Rodrigo.”
“Yes, sir. You decide that.” A short bow, as youngsire to elder. I’d tested Rust enough in recent days, and dared no further. Yet why did I feel none of the humiliation I ought?
“For today, it’s enough that you caught yourself. I sentence you to the bath you know you need. Summon the room servant.”
I did, and soon they were carrying water.
“Consider, Rodrigo. You made yourself responsible for a guttersnipe. I did warn you.” Rust left me to my ablutions.
Four
I SHIVERED IN THE predawn glimmer.
Captain Tursel cantered to the front of our line. “Ready, my lord.”
“The wagons?”
“I supervised the loading myself.”
Eighty-five horses, three hundred fifty troops. Piteously few, but all we could muster without stripping the castle walls. I glanced at the sky. The first light would paint the east as we negotiated our way down the steep hill. We’d be through Stryx town at dawn, while Danzik’s Norlanders still slept in their camps, a few leagues south. Or so we hoped. The army of Caledon—or at least that portion of it led by the king—was in train to depart for the hills, where we’d rendezvous with Groenfil and Lady Soushire, to wheel and strike at Danzik’s force along the coast.
“Proceed.”
The huge gates swung open.
To my left, Anavar, proud of his place. To my right, Rustin, his eyes searching and vigilant. Immediately behind, the troops of my bodyguard, Kadar leading.
Ebon snorted and pranced. I soothed him, whispering his choicest cajolements. Behind us, the wagons rumbled.
We’d be at greatest risk descending Castle Way bill, and again at the southernmost reaches of Stryx, where the coast road met the meandering trail to the hills. The hill, because on it we couldn’t maneuver. The crossroads, because we’d be closest to the Norlanders, who outnumbered us greatly.
Fear not the Norland camps, Mother had advised, ensconced in her distant cave. If we moved quickly, we’d pass before they were aroused. The Norlanders were most to be feared when King Hriskil carried the Rood; it cast fear and consternation upon his enemies, which was often enough to turn the tide of battle. But Hriskil was far to the north, harrying my ally Duke Tantroth of Eiber.
At the coast road, the gates to the Keep swung open. We assembled within its walls, waiting for the cumbersome wagons.
Within the dim-lit, shadowed Keep, Rustin sat like a statue, eyes locked on the dark brooding gate. Even I hesitated to speak to him. His father Llewelyn’s treachery lay, as always, hard upon him, and his one-time home must recall excruciating memories. At length, I leaned across, patted his knee.
“It shall be yours. When you’re ready, you shall be Householder of Stryx.” I kept my voice low, so that he not be embarrassed by Anavar’s hearing.
Somehow, it didn’t seem enough.
At last the wagons creaked into position, and our line
reassembled. Seventy of the Keep’s defenders joined our ranks. As briskly as we could, we trotted through the gates and down the coast road, foot soldiers at the double march.
The blacksmith’s boy gawked as we cantered past. When Tantroth had occupied the town, the smith forged steel for Eiber’s army. Now it was returned to Caledon, he labored for me.
Mother hoped we might achieve surprise, but inwardly I girded myself for a skirmish. In Caledon no secret went un-betrayed. Surely our preparations had been observed. And if not, Hriskil was not without his spies in Soushire and Groenfil. If he fell on us, at road’s end ... My jerkin began to dampen.
At my side, Anavar bounced on his saddle, his cheeks flushed. “Think you they’ll be at the crossroad? Tursel says not. His scouts—”
“They’ll be beyond the crossroad, concealed.”
“I’ll wager that Tursel’s right, my lord. A silver?”
“Don’t wager what you can’t pay, youngsire.”
He stiffened. “You accuse me of dishonor?”
“Have you a silver?”
“I will on seventh day.” When he received his stipend.
“Bah. If you’re killed by then, should I collect from your father in Eiber?”
His lips tightened.
Softly, Rustin nudged me.
I thrust away his hand. Then, after a few moments, “I’m sorry, Anavar. I’ve no reason to doubt your honor.”
“Thank you, sir.” A long pause. “Am I likely to be killed?”
“I hope not. Who else would anger me twice a day?”
The mischievous grin I’d sought. “Genard?”
I rolled my eyes. The former stableboy had accepted my apology willingly enough, but ever since I’d set him gamboling and gibbering he’d taken pains to avoid my company. He even took his meals in the kitchen with the housemen, to Elryc’s dismay. I’d have to make greater amends.
I thought again of my brother, safe behind the castle walls. He’d begged to ride with us, but my refusal was set in stone. If I were taken, Elryc was the last of our line. He and Genard languished behind the battlements. My brother had come out of his sulk long enough to bestow on me a rib-creaking hug by way of good-bye.
We clattered past Potsellers’ Way and the moribund tavern. As we passed the far harbor breakwater and the ruined lighthouse, Captain Tursel galloped back, wheeled alongside our column. “The crossroad’s clear. But, make haste. The Norland camp’s not an hour beyond. The noise of our passage ...”
The King (Rodrigo of Caledon Book 2) Page 5