The Still

by David Feintuch

  My jerkin was damp, despite the cool of the night. It must be the blaze of candles.

  Uncle Mar stood to pace. “The Still of Caledon is our salvation. My sister maintained her Power in mystery, but we all know the tales of its use.

  “Three attributes the bearer must enjoy.” Mar raised a finger. “First, he must be crowned King, and that, you mean to do. Second”—another finger—“he must speak True, or his virtue is lost. Roddy, I ask you before Council, have you spoken True?”

  “Yes.” Not always, not in little things, but in all that must matter, especially of late. I prayed it was enough.

  “Third”—again, a finger—“the King must be virgin, as was Elena when she wielded her Power. Roddy, I ask you by the True you claim, are you virgin still?”

  “Yes!” I would kill him. By Lord of Nature, I would see him to his grave.

  “That’s eight.” Uncle Mar looked disgusted. “The True must be cheesecloth, that his words drip through like water. My lords, I’ll end this travesty. If you’ll allow?” He stalked to the door, flung it open, clapped his hands, beckoned.

  A beautifully dressed woman strode through the door. Gold glinted at her neck, above an ample bosom. It took me a moment to realize she was Chela, Rustin’s paramour. For a time, I forgot to breathe. Had Rust, in his rage, betrayed me? Why else flaunt her in my face? What tie bound him to Duke Mar?

  “Is this he?” My uncle’s words cut like a knife.

  “Yes, my lord.” Modestly, Chela looked to the marbled floor.

  “Raeth, meet Chela, late of the keep of Llewelyn. My good woman, we’re before the Council of Caledon, who must know the King’s carnal relations. Have you, ah ...” He paused, in apparent delicacy. “Have you and this boy had sexual union?”

  Her placid face raised to mine. “Many times.”

  I shot to my feet “You lie!”

  “Go on, my dear.”

  “Five that I recall. It was while we rode, he and his brother and the old nurse.” Chela blushed, and curtsied to the earls. “Pardon, my lords. It’s a delicate matter.”

  Uncle Raeth snorted. “We know how horses, peasants, and lords are made.”

  “Though some might forget.” Mar’s tone was acid, and Raeth flushed. “Tell us, girl.”

  “What shall I say, Lord? We were alone on the trail, and he began fumbling ...” She giggled. “I think it was his first time. He knew not where to put it.”

  “Chela!” Lacking sword, I clutched the hilt of my dagger.

  “Soon he got the way of it. When he was spent we rested, then did it again.”

  “Lies, all of it!”

  Groenfil studied me thoughtfully.

  Mar was inexorable. “And then what?”

  “Well, you know. Whenever we could. When Rustin—his friend—wasn’t looking.” Her look was venomous. “Roddy said it made Rustin jealous.”

  “Stop.” I didn’t know if it was command or plea.

  “The harm wasn’t in doing it, boy. Every lad sweats in the night dreaming of his time. The harm was in the lie.” Mar shook his head as if with compassion. “Almost we crowned you King, to gain the Still.”

  “But ... I—”

  “His parts are small, but ...” She blushed. “He grew good at it considering. But always he worried we be caught—”

  “It isn’t true,” I cried. “Not a word of it.”

  Sorrowfully, Willem shook his head. I sat mortified, while Chela wove a skillful tapestry of falsehood. No one came to my defense.

  “... can prove it.”

  I roused myself. I was drenched with sweat.

  “How, madam?”

  “High on his leg, near his sac, is a mark. Not a scar. It’s ... brownish. Like a mole. It felt odd to my fingers.”

  Cumber turned to me, his eyes intent. “Roddy?”

  My voice was hoarse. “I have such a mark. Perhaps she heard—”

  “It looks like this.” She reached to the Duke’s wine, dipped her finger, drew on the table. All craned forward. “Roddy liked it when I played with him.”

  I tottered to my feet. “Lord of Nature!” I craned my head to the ceiling, blackened from the oil of a thousand lamps. “Take me if I say not True! Let me die forthwith, and cast me to the demons’ lake! I swear before thee, all she says is lies.”

  “Am I a whore, to be mocked? Were we not in the woods, on the way to Cumber?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Did you pull off my clothes?”

  “That was—”

  “Did you roll on me, hold my arms?” Her eyes flashed. “Say truth!”

  “I didn’t—Uncle Raeth!” I whirled, tears in my tone. “Let me speak to you in private!” I sank to my knees. “By Josip my beloved father I beg thee!”

  Silence. Around the hall, candles began to gutter.

  “We adjourn,” said Raeth at last. “I’ll speak with Roddy.”

  In his chamber I stood before him sweating, like a peasant boy confessing his misdeeds. I could scarce look up from the floor.

  When I was done he asked gravely, “That’s all that transpired?”

  “I swear, Uncle Raeth!” Again, I studied my boots. “She kneed me so hard I couldn’t walk. Ask Rustin.”

  From the Earl, an odd sound. I glanced up, spotted a twinkle in his eye.

  “Please don’t laugh, Uncle. I can’t stand ridicule.” I couldn’t remember when last I felt so humble.

  “Come here, boy.” Dutifully, I did as I was told.

  He brushed hair from my eyes, patted me absently. Then, to my infinite surprise, he leaned over, planted on my forehead a gentle kiss. I glanced at the candle, but it barely flickered.

  “You’d best wait outside after all,” he said.

  “You’ll—Mar will—”

  “Trust in me.”

  “I’m so afraid of trust.” I blurted it without thought.

  “Naturally; we’re a royal House. And thus, we’re so alone. If it weren’t for Imbar ...” Uncle Raeth patted me again, sighed wearily. “Stay near the hall while I deal with Mar.” He shuffled off with the weary steps of the elderly.

  I paced the anteroom, recalling the debacle at Council in Stryx. Outside, peasants and guards shouted and cursed. I hadn’t the spirit to look.

  An hour, by the marked candle, I sat amid the stolid guards. Once, Tursel looked in, asked a guard, “All’s well?”

  I stirred. “What’s the commotion, without?”

  “Townsfolk are hungry. There’s barely enough straw for beds, and a filthy old witch riles drunken louts with nonsense. And Mar’s men surround the gate.” He disappeared.

  Another hour passed. Despite myself, I dozed on the stairs. My kingdom in the balance, all I could do was dream.

  “Sir?” A foot prodded.

  I came awake.

  “I brought you this.” Anavar crouched, with a bowl of hot broth. Wordlessly, I took it. He watched me spoon it down. Then, “Sir, may I ask a boon?” His tone was grave.

  “Not another coin, youngsire. Not a copper. You’d—”

  “If we come to war ...” His face was troubled. “If we’re besieged, and the castle falls to Tantroth ...”

  “Yes?” I looked impatiently to the Council door.

  “If I’m taken, I’ll be put to death, but not ... I mean—not quickly.” He swallowed. “If we’re to die, sir, would you give me quick release?”

  “What are you saying!”

  “I’ve seen the torment of prisoners. Your captain meant only to cut my throat; when Tantroth learns I’ve aided you, he’ll do worse. Behead me as a noble, if all fails.” Resolutely, his eyes met mine. “Father says—no, you don’t like hearing that. Please, sir.”

  The pressure in my throat was too great. I dropped the empty bowl and ran into the night.

  The torchlit courtyard stank of ordure and rot. It seemed all of Cumber Town was camped within the walls. Making my way through the throng, I wondered if a knife would find me in the shadows. I wasn’t sure I’d
mind.

  How I yearned to be King. But not as I was to be crowned. Not with indignity, in shame, by hasty act in the dark.

  Behind the stable, a shriek of fury, the crack of a whip.

  Tursel, on the battlements, spotted me and hurried down the steps. “Are the lords near done, my lord?”

  “I don’t know.”

  His wave encompassed the townsfolk who milled aimlessly, the carts scattered about, the haphazard piles of sacks. “They need the Earl’s attention.”

  I had no care for his troubles. “Set things right.”

  “It’s not for me to usurp my lord Cumber.”

  “You wouldn’t for a moment let your camp stink so.”

  He frowned. “No, I wouldn’t.” A pause, while he rubbed his chin. “Do you think he’d take it amiss?”

  “Demons plague Cumber and all in it!” At that, Tursel’s eyes widened. Quickly I made the sign of contrition; only a fool summoned demons in the night. “Sorry. If I were Raeth, I’d expect you to keep order.” Tursel nodded, and his expression firmed. He strode off.

  Wearily, I pushed aside a bewildered woman, shouldered past her beetle-browed consort.

  A gang of ill-dressed youths passed a wineskin from one to the other, giggling. “Stay a bit,” one said to his fellows. “Any moment, they’ll run her through.”

  “Imps and demons take the stench; I can’t. And her whip near put out that guardsman’s eye. They say she rode through Mar’s army to reach the gate.”

  I eased past.

  Another scream, and the crack of a whip. Dogs barked shrill.

  “Quick, let’s see!” A boy, his beard half-grown, elbowed me aside, raced toward the stable.

  “Hey, you—” He was gone. For a moment I smoldered, then took off in chase. My sword was in chambers, but I had a dagger, and my rage.

  Around the corner a filthy crone held a pair of Tursel’s guards at bay with a bullwhip. Where was my prey? Hiding behind her cart?

  “Plague on the lot of you! Death! Let the walk fall!” The hag’s voice scratched like glass. “Touch my treasure and die!”

  I skidded to a halt.

  I recognized that cart.

  “Hag, where’d you get your wagon?” If she’d hurt Hester, I’d—

  She cackled, rubbing an oozing eye. “Wouldn’t we like to know? A treasure cart have we, home to take!” The dozen bystanders began to swell to a crowd, at the prospect of new mischief.

  Tursel’s men edged close. “Sire, that wagon reeks and she drives us all mad. Keep her talking while we grab her from the rear.”

  “All right.” I raised my voice. “Treasure, eh? Show me.” I tensed, ready to duck the whip.

  “Make way!” Half a dozen guardsmen, with torches. Ahh, reinforcements. Gladly I stepped aside, but they brushed past me to the stables, and flung open the doors. In a moment they emerged with snorting horses. “Make way for Lord Margenthar’s horses!”

  “Make way,” echoed the crone. “Make way for the treasure of Caledon!” She capered. “You couldn’t, the boy told me. Couldn’t beard the lion of Verein, and steal his treasure!”

  “What treasure? What boy?” A rock hurtled out of the night and struck her down.

  For a moment I thought she was knocked senseless, but she surged to her feet. “The boy of Caledon who’d lead you, had you a brain among you! He too was my treasure!”

  In a strangled voice I creaked, “Hester?” It couldn’t be. Her hair streamed about her face; her robe was filthy. I peered into the stinking cart.

  “I brought him home, I did, I did.” She knelt, patted a foul blanket.

  Trumpets sounded. At the gates, a blaze of torches.

  “Who, Hester?”

  “My lovely Pytor! Home to Fort, as I promised mil—” A volley of stones smashed her into the rail. A squeak of protest, from under the blanket, or from the springs below. She struggled. “... promised my lady.”

  I tore free my blade. “Who strikes her dies! Guards, seize those louts!” I spun back to the wagon. “Hester, you saved Pytor? Truly?”

  “Yes, boy.” She daubed her oozing eye. “Patience, it took. Mad old Hester skulked round the castle, ’til Mar no longer watched.”

  “He’s ...” I gestured to the blanket.

  Hester bared her teeth. “Don’t wake him. He’s been a long time cold and wet.”

  “Oh, Pytor, we’ll take care of you!” Heart pounding with joy, I bent over the wagon. “Let’s have you inside!” Eagerly, I threw back the fetid cloth.

  Chapter 39

  CLUTCHING MY ACHING STOMACH, gritting my teeth, I trudged toward the torches set in the donjon wall.

  “There he is.” Genard raced down the steps. “M’lord, we been search—” He skidded to a stop. “Anavar! Lord Elryc!”

  Anavar flew to my side. “Sir, let me help you.” Genard wheeled, bolted inside the keep.

  “No.” Gently, I set aside his hand.

  Faces loomed out of the light, and despite my protests, guided me, shepherded me into the keep.

  “My lord Prince.” Raeth, Earl of Cumber, stood squarely under the candle wheel, flanked by the lords of Council. On the stairs was Rustin, bleary, with bloodshot eyes. He bore my dented crown on a velvet bolster. Above, a horde of moths challenged the shimmering lights.

  Uncle Raeth bowed, and with him, Vessa, Willem, the Lady Soushire. Rustin. Even Elryc lowered his head to me, his eyes glistening. Groenfil asked, “Couldn’t you hear our call?”

  “He’s hurt,” said Anavar. Rust started.

  “No,” I said. “I was ill, but am no longer.” The eons I’d spent spattering my innards on the donjon wall were past. All that remained was loathing, and resolve. I shuddered with the memory of tears.

  Groenfil said, “Where were you, sire?”

  “In thought.” That, at least, was Truth.

  Again, Raeth bowed. “Rodrigo, Council dissolved the regency. All so voted except Duke Margenthar, who left us under truce. It’s done, lad. Congratulations.”

  “I would be seated.” I glanced round, saw no bench. As if by cue, the throng parted, opening my way to the great hall. With slow steps, I trod to the table, eased myself into the chair at its head. Swiftly the lords crowded in, servants also, and Tresa, Imbar, Tursel, guards.

  “Rodrigo ...” Uncle Raeth gestured for the crown to be brought. “Will you be our King?”

  I paused long. “No,” I said, and sat stolid, as a storm of remonstrations rocked the stones of the citadel.

  When the tumult abated, Uncle Raeth made himself heard. “Why, Roddy?”

  “If I’m King, Uncle, must I carry out my vows?”

  “Why, yes.”

  “I cannot.”

  Lady Soushire’s beady eyes were suspicious. “What nonsense is this? You schemed and bargained to be crowned, and now ...”

  I looked to Groenfil. “I swore by the True I’d not harm Lord Mar. Now I tell thee, he shall die by my hand, if not first by another.”

  “Why?”

  I beckoned to Elryc, and when he came close, took his hand. “In vengeance for my brother Pytor, whom he murdered.”

  “Oh, no!” Elryc’s dismay echoed from the tapestries.

  At once, Rustin thrust through the crowd, knelt at my side. “Roddy, how know you this?”

  “Pytor lies in the cart behind the stable, rotted. Hester is gone mad.”

  “My prince—”

  “I suppose it was prying him from the ground that unhinged her. Mar buried him by night in the very field where we met. The wire is still on his throat. Hester drove him here, seeking passage to Fort.”

  None spoke. Only Elryc’s sobs broke the silence. Rustin stroked my hand. Tresa brought water, and set it before me. It sat untouched.

  “So you see, I cannot be King.”

  Groenfil said, “How certain he did this?”

  “Nurse Hester left us to seek Pytor in Verein. My brother was hostage in our beloved uncle’s care.”

  Rustin’s eyes r
ose, met Groenfil’s.

  The Earl nodded. “Sire, I release you from your pledge. My sister only I would see saved.” He glanced right, and left, “A hard man I knew him. But Prince Pytor was an infant.”

  My voice was stony. “Hear me, all. I’m not a boy. The youngsire Rodrigo died kneeling on the cobbles, spattered with vomit. I discharge your vows of fealty. Crown me at your peril. I’ll abide no grief, no compassion, no remorse ’til Caledon’s free from Eiber, and Margenthar dead. The promises I’ve made, I’ll heed to the letter; no more, no less.”

  I forced myself to my feet. “You feared a weakling as King? Be warned, my lords. Now am I strong, and without mercy.”

  Silence, that stretched forever.

  Slowly did Raeth, Earl of Cumber, as if mesmerized, lift my crown and set it to my head.

  The proper words were said. The trumpets rang, and my ascension was proclaimed from the steps of the keep. In the great hall, the lords one by one made their bows, as vassals to liege. The servants brought more wine. All drank to me. Through the uneasy festivity I sat motionless, savoring the ache of my belly.

  Now would my careless promises come due.

  I snapped my fingers, for Anavar’s attention. “I will speak.”

  A noble’s son was he, and knew the decorum of state. He sang out, “My lords, my ladies, hear the King!”

  Silence.

  I said, “In my quest to claim the throne, I promised what I ought not. My lord Cumber, bring Imbar hence.” Quelling my distaste, I borrowed a sword, laid it to shoulder, granted him the nobility Raeth desired.

  Vessa made no effort to hide his distaste. Nor did Groenfil.

  “Uncle, provide us a chamber, wherein half a dozen may confer. Rustin, Groenfil, Lady Soushire, Tursel and you three guards, come.” In moments, we stood outside a stone room, whose far wall was a huge hearth. Inside were benches, and a table spread with silk.

  “Rustin, now you’ll learn what first I conceived in Soushire’s keep, what I’ve held privy.” I took deep breath. “Now, my lady, my lord Groenfil: your weapons. Don’t bother looking askance; I command it.” Soushire surrendered a dagger; Groenfil dagger and sword.

  “Tursel, you and your guards sit with them. Neither is to harm the other. They must stay an hour. Then, they’re free to depart.” I faced Groenfil. “Lady Soushire’s price for her vote was your lands. I granted her petition.”