The Still

by David Feintuch

  They rode off, and my jubilation turned to a certainty that I’d been gulled, either by Hester or by Rustin. I’d set myself on the barrel to think it through.

  Elryc came out of the cottage, scratching a mosquito bite. “It was a cozy old place, once.”

  I snorted. “Show me the great hall, where the councilors meet.”

  “Oh, it’s small, but ordinary folk live thus.” He shot me a quizzical glance. “What were you shouting about, while I was scrubbing pots?”

  “I demanded they go, so I could speak with you alone.” I beckoned him close. A trusting fool, he came. I seized his arm, twisted it behind his back. “One thing you’ll tell me, and quick.”

  He yelped. Genard fixed his eyes on me.

  “Hester laughs, when I speak of her conjuring us coin. Has she a Power, little brother?”

  “Please let him go, m’lord.”

  “Stay out of this, Genard. Has she?”

  “How would I—Ow!” Elryc winced.

  “You’d know, if truly she turned you into a bird. Tell me how she put you over the wall.”

  A sniffle. “I can’t. Please, it hurts!”

  I bent his wrist upward another inch or so. “Are you sure, little—”

  Genard snatched a log from our pile of firewood. “Let go of m’lord Elryc!”

  “Strike the heir, would you, stableboy?” I twisted harder; Elryc squealed. “I’ll spit you like a—aiee!” I toppled from my barrel, side smarting. Genard dashed to safety.

  Elryc had fallen with me, and was underfoot. I brushed him aside, made for my sword that lay in the wagon. “I’ll show you, spawn of imps, motherless creature of—”

  “Run, Genard!” Elryc’s voice was shrill.

  Instead of racing for open land like an honest churl, the urchin circled the cart, keeping its unyielding bulk between us. Three circuits of the wagon, and I’d come no closer, though I changed direction twice to catch him unawares. In a towering rage I hoisted myself onto the cart, grunted as my tender privates scraped the sideboard.

  “Run, Genard! He means to kill!”

  I clambered about the wagon, sword drawn, watching my chance. The boy hesitated. I leaped down, staggered to my balance.

  Genard turned, raced off, cannoned into Rustin, bounced to the turf. With a cry of victory I lunged forward, sword raised.

  Rust stepped in front of the fallen boy.

  I cried, “Out of the way!”

  “With my own sword you’d cleave me?”

  “When did you get back? Leave it, ’til I finish him!”

  “Hold your temper, my prin—”

  I stabbed at Genard’s foot, but Rust kicked aside the edge of my blade. His eyes widened. “Elryc, put down the dagger!”

  I whirled to meet the new treachery. From behind, Rust clasped my hand. He toppled me to the ground, bent my arm, removed the sword as from a baby. I lashed out with my fist, caught only his thigh.

  He dropped the blade at Elryc’s feet. “Hide this!” He hauled me to my feet, shoved me so I staggered, propelled me from the cottage toward the road. “I’m ashamed of you, my prince!” Fostrow watched openmouthed. Hester’s lips were set, grim.

  “Let me go, I’m—”

  Another shove, and I sprawled. He took me by shirt and breeches, manhandled me to the road. “Ashamed, I said!” His eyes blazed. A shake, which rattled my teeth. “Did you hear, my liege? I’m ashamed of you!” At once, he let me go, and I fell.

  Slowly, I picked myself up, wary. “Rust, easy. Don’t lose your ...”

  He drew breath. “Walk with me.” Unwilling, I did. If I refused, no telling what he’d do. “How could you attack them, Roddy?”

  He had it all wrong. I explained.

  “So you would kill Genard for protecting his liege?”

  “He’s a stableboy, a nothing!”

  Rustin’s eyes were pained. “What am I, then?”

  “You? My friend! Or once you were. Now you take it upon yourself to act my father, and humiliate me in front of all! I want none of you!”

  “A false vassal.”

  “Yes!”

  “Disloyal liegeman.”

  “The words are yours!”

  “Son of a traitor.”

  “That too—your tongue said it, not—what are you doing?” I stepped back rapidly, staring at his unsheathed dagger.

  He offered it to me, hilt first. “Strike, then, as you would Genard of Stryx. I am a nothing, no better than he.”

  “I don’t want your life!”

  “But you want his.”

  “He attacked me, humiliated me in front of Elryc.”

  “And I did not?”

  “Yes, but that’s—” My tone went sullen.” Always you twist me, like a piece of string. You had me hand you Ebon’s reins, smiling, to stay behind with servants and children while you did my work.” I glared. “Well, it’s true. Now you’d have me apologize, for putting a peasant lout in his place.”

  “I asked no apology.” Again, he proffered the dagger. “Strike, if you will. Perhaps it will satisfy your blood lust.”

  “You make me sound a crazed Norlander! Put that away, Rust. This is me! Roddy!”

  He found a grassy spot. “Sit.” He left me little choice, unless I would stare down at him. “Yes, it is you, Roddy.” Then he told me things about myself that made my cheeks flush, my skin crawl with embarrassment. More than once I would have leaped to my feet and been away, but his hand stayed me, with surprising gentleness. When he was done, I followed him back to the camp, subdued.

  That night, Elryc came cautiously to my place, separate from the others, farther from the fire. “Hester says it’s all right to tell you.”

  “Leave me be.”

  “About the cart, and getting away from Stryx.”

  “I wanted to hear it from her, not you. She’s the witch.” I swallowed a lump in my throat. “She should have told me when first I asked.”

  At first he made no answer. Then, “It was noble of you to apologize to Genard tonight. I thank you for it.”

  I swallowed, unwilling to speak.

  “He’s terrified you’ll come upon him in the dark. I told him that once you put aside the quarrel, your honor wouldn’t let you pursue it. He’s not like us, Roddy, and frets of a knife in the night. If you’d say something to reassure him ...”

  “I groveled once. It’s more than enough.” What was Rust to me, that his good opinion was worth such abasement? I shifted, uneasy. My mumbled words to Genard had come harder than anything I’d ever said in my life. What more could Elryc want?

  He said, “Our life turns hard, brother. I love you, and that you protect me.”

  “Let me alone!” A cry, from the heart.

  He understood, and retreated. “Sleep well.”

  “Elryc ...” I didn’t trust my voice. “I’ll say something. To ... to the ... him.”

  He shrugged, pretending it didn’t matter. “As you will.”

  Fostrow and Genard had strung the canvas over the gaping hole in the cottage roof, to ward off the worst of the weather, and the others had set their bedding on the thrice-swept floor. I chose to bed outside, risking rain. Perhaps I would join them, after a night or so, but for now I needed solitude.

  Rustin, when he saw I meant to sleep outside, brought his bedding and settled near, his dagger close at hand. It brought from me a sour smile; first he’d made my life not worth living, and then stayed with me to protect it.

  My indignity and shame were such that I hadn’t asked much of the three who’d returned from their confrontation at Fort, but from scraps of their talk I gathered that the miller had first pretended ignorance, then claimed he had spent every pence sent him, in care of Tarana. In the end he vowed he’d review the matter, and decide if anything ought to be done.

  Weary beyond words, still aching between my legs, I settled to sleep. During the night I dreamed that I was crying as if my heart would break, that a hand caressed my shoulder, that a soft whispered vo
ice akin to Rustin’s finally soothed me to sleep.

  Chapter 15

  WE DAWDLED AROUND THE hut until midday, to my growing annoyance. Hester occupied herself taking stock of the cottage, Genard caring for the horses, Fostrow chatting with Chela. Rustin took Elryc on a long walk to survey the fences in need of repair. That left me, overlooked and slighted. True, Nurse had proposed that I haul the remaining boxes and stores from the cart under the canvas roof of the cottage, but the proposal was so outlandish I ignored it entirely. If she wanted laborers, let her hire louts from the village.

  I sat under a tree, playing with my finely balanced sword, dreaming of the day I’d be crowned. I feared it would be long coming.

  Whenever Genard passed near, hauling feed or water, I glowered, but he was too busy to notice. I wasn’t sure whom to blame for last night’s debacle, him or Rustin. The stable-boy had struck me, but I’d drawn sword and had the situation under control when Rustin blundered in.

  “Water, m’lord?” Genard proffered a cup.

  “If I want, I’ll ask.” I scowled until he went away. My reassurance of last evening had worked all too well, it seemed. Pathetically grateful, Genard had resumed his unwelcome intimacy, and in that mode, no rebuff seemed strong enough to catch his notice.

  Besides, Rustin no longer knew his place. We weren’t still boys of the castle; we were young men grappling with war and privation. Yet he shoved me about, clapped his hand over my mouth, scolded worse than Nurse ever had. It was born of affection, I knew; but even those displays were unseemly. I sighed. Perhaps a subtle reference to his father would recall him to his senses. It wasn’t meet that I should consort with the son of a traitor. Not that I wanted him to leave, merely to resume his proper station.

  “A good day for a nap, Prince.” Fostrow, his tone genial.

  I opened one eye. “You have time for other than Chela? How pleasant.”

  His brow knitted. “What say you, youngsire?”

  “Don’t you notice her wiles? You moon over the strumpet as if she were goddess of—”

  “She’s young enough to be my—” He scratched his grizzled head. “Ah, leave it be.”

  I was in no mood for conciliation. “She’s spoken for. Unless you’d cross swords with Rustin over the right to lift her skirts.”

  Fostrow shook his head, his eyes gone sad. “You’ve a mean streak in you, Rodrigo of Caledon, if I don’t mind saying. Whatever makes you so?”

  My grip on the sword tightened. “Remember to whom you’re sworn.”

  “Let me explain.” He squatted. “I’m sworn to thee, and will follow in battle. But a master doesn’t hold the sentiment of men by casual contempt. Our party is small, and none will cross you. But what if you’re King, and there are thousands whose grievances fester? How then will you sleep safe—”

  “What know you of the rule of kings!” I waved it away. “And what about your precious Mar? You served him; can you say he won your affection?”

  Fostrow said gently, “I’m here with you, Roddy. Doesn’t that tell you much?” While I puzzled it out, he trudged back to the cottage.

  After a meager midday meal, Hester called us together. “We mustn’t let Danar think we’ll let drop the matter of our coin, for lack of caring. I’ll stay behind, and teach the boys the weaving of rushes, for the floor. Rustin, you might seek him out, with Fostrow.” Her tone was diffident.

  “As you wish, dame.”

  “And Roddy too, for the weight of numbers.” Casually, as if it had just occurred to her. “But for Lord’s sake, no violence.”

  Before I could react, Rust said, “Of course not. Roddy understands perfectly. We spoke of it only this morning.” A bald-faced lie, if ever there was one. I nodded dutifully. Let him bear the untruth; he had no Power to lose, and I’d escape this forlorn wreck of a cottage, at least for a few hours. My heart quickened.

  I was so glad to go along, I found myself saddling Ebon myself. I was the first ready, sat patiently in the saddle, sword at an awkward angle. Why had no one figured a proper place for a mounted man’s sword? It stuck out like a—I blushed.

  At last the others were ready. Rustin winked. “Let’s go.”

  To ride was exhilarating, even at a moderate pace. Finally, I could sit the saddle without pain, and I relished every moment of it. At a canter, the town of Fort seemed much closer than it looked from the jouncing wagon. We were at the first hutments in half an hour.

  Rustin said, “Roddy, when we meet the miller ...”

  “Don’t give me instruction!” Time to assert myself, else his urge to mother me would grow to intolerable proportions.

  “Someone must. Don’t scowl. Your kingdom may depend on it.”

  He had my attention.

  “If Elryc is to have a home and your vow be fulfilled, we need the coin Danar stole. If you do him harm, we’ll be forced to reveal ourselves or flee as felons. Either would make our position more precarious. Later, we may need to approach your uncle Cumber. If we’re brought to him as prisoners, we’ll lose any chance of his support. Do you see?”

  Sullen, I twitched the reins. “If I’m such a dolt, why do you want me along?”

  He leaned over the pommel, patted my knee. “You can’t succeed, if we do not risk failure. We cannot do all for you, Roddy.”

  Dismayed at his candor, I could but nod. How could he think so little of me, yet make himself my vassal? What bound Rust to me, if not respect and esteem?

  We plodded on. A path branched off from the road, disappeared into woods. Half a hundred paces later, the way to the mill was well marked with the deep ruts of carts laden with grain.

  The sluice gate was wide open, and the wheel turned with vigor. Its creaks and the rush of the river itself drowned out conversation. We hitched the horses to the rail, climbed the steps to the mill floor.

  Inside, on the grinding platform, the heavyset miller and his man were hard at work, amid sacks and barrows. Summer was at its end, and the harvest was half-gathered. They fed whole grain to the great smooth stone, whose motion was fed by the impetus of the water, by a sort of Power I could scarce comprehend.

  Rustin glanced at Fostrow, waited patiently for the miller’s attention.

  At last the man ceased his labor, wiped his brow. He lumbered down the stairs, frowning at each step. I’d thought he would somehow bring the wheel outside to a stop, but it whirled on, splashing back into the channel below, turning the rumbling millstone.

  “Ah, a lad you’ve brought, in place of the dame.” The garlic in his breath wafted close, and I grimaced. He eyed me, turned away. “It’s busy I am. No chance I’ve had to consider.”

  Rust smiled, his tone courteous. “And we wouldn’t press you, Danar, but our need is urgent. Come, let us settle the matter.”

  “How?” Again, the miller wiped his florid face.

  “Return the four silvers Dame Hester sent you each year.”

  “Nonsense, that is. She didn’t send half that amount. More than that I gave of my own charity, to poor Tarana. You’ve no idea how wretchedly she lived.”

  “I’ve too good an idea.” Rust’s voice was cold. “Do you truly care to be hauled before the justiciar? When your fraud is proved—”

  “Begone. I have work.” The miller turned away.

  Fostrow said lightly, “The same charity you showed Tarana, you might offer good Dame Hester.” With an affable smile, he clapped the miller on the shoulder. “Surely a prosperous man such as yourself can spare a few—”

  “Prosperous? Are you witless?” Angrily, Danar brushed off the offending hand. “Five pence on the hundred, I’m taxed. I pay these poor folk more for their grain than I—”

  “Will the Queen’s justice see it so, goodman Danar? Surely, to avoid the nuisance of pleading your case ...”

  Danar’s eyes flashed. “You think to frighten me? No Queen sits now at Stryx, and what’s left of her justice is far from our village. Perhaps it’s Tantroth’s justice we’ll face, ere long.” My fingers
crept to my sword, but he paid no notice. “He’ll care not about the ravings of a daft old woman, or the quarrel of a few pence.”

  With that, he grunted his way back to the platform, beckoned his perspiring man for a new barrow.

  I growled to Rust, “Let’s set the place afire.”

  “Subtle, my prince, but it won’t do the trick. Danar will be ruined, and Hester will remain so.” He led me outside.

  “I’ll bet he hasn’t spent a penny,” I said. “Look at the fat on him; he’s a hoarder. There’ll be a trunk somewhere, stuffed with coin.”

  “Oh, well that makes it easy. We’ll just ask him its whereabouts.”

  “Don’t jeer!” I stamped my foot, muddied my boot for my pains.

  “I meant no offense. You held your temper well.” Rust’s smile was tight. “Well, we’ve had his answer. Now what?”

  “Bring him to justice, as Fostrow said.”

  “In whose name, Hester’s? Before Earl Cumber, the Lord of this place? Elryc will be long grown before the matter is resolved.” He untied Santree.

  Savagely, I kicked at the miller’s tie rail, splintering it. I slipped loose Ebon’s reins. “What a hateful place, this Fort. Mud, peasants, thieves. Would we never followed the old witch.” Before any could answer, I galloped off, ignoring Rust’s efforts to flag me down. To be perverse, I veered onto the path into the wood, found it led only to an ill-kept Place of Rites. Fuming, I had to retrace my steps.

  When at last we were home, Hester heard our tale in grim silence, over a sparse meal. “For now, it seems we can do nothing.”

  “A drawn sword will teach him respect. You can’t abandon all your pence to—”

  “For Elryc’s sake, I must. We need a refuge, do we not? While you were gone I sent Genard for the carpenter. He and his family will repair our roof, but we must pay for the wood at once, and the labor within a month.”

  “Is that possible?” Rust.

  “Almost. I’m short two silver pence.” A sigh. “Had I known, I wouldn’t have bought ... ah, well.”

  Rust was silent. Then, “Add this.” He unstrung his purse, emptied it onto the table. With a warning finger he forestalled my angry objection. “What I do for Elryc fulfills your vow to protect him.”