Squire Hayseed

by S E Zbasnik

  Gavin flinched at the loss of his name. “I sent a missive to the Knight-Commander, but I am uncertain if…”

  “Ah, yes,” Henry waved his finger in the air and sat up higher, “I knew there was something I forgot.” A steward dashed over and placed a battered scroll in the man’s clean fingers. After taking his time to unravel it, he read, “From the Knight-Commander, leader of all Orders of the Knights of the Realm. I shall be unable to appear to speak for the character of one of mine, but will — as always — defer to the King’s decision. So on and so forth. You know his name.” Henry let the scroll snap shut as he bunched it up to toss at the steward.

  “He seems to think it not worth his time to speak for you,” Henry continued, “to even give me more than a cursory tongue bathing in his note. All you can rouse up for this character of yours in the face of damning facts is a Knight-Captain from a backwater family, and my poor, senile cousin.”

  The breath in Gavin’s body fled, his head crumpling deeper to his chest. No. No, this couldn’t be it. Hayley shoved her way to the corner. She’d plead for him, she’d…she’d free him if she could. That bastard, Chapman, he paid for this outcome. Got the King to agree to doom Gavin no matter what!

  “Ser Gavin Frey, Order of the Seven Serpents, if there is none who shall speak for you then I am afraid I must find—”

  “What of me?!”

  Every head snapped up twisting away from the huffing King to watch as a woman tore the cloaked hood from her head. Her chest rose high as if she ran to throw open the doors and make it just in time.

  “Who, pray tell, are you?” Henry asked, finding the dramatic interruption humorous.

  It was Chapman who got a good look at the woman striding forward and his cheeks puffed out in rage. “What are you doing here?!” His eyes burned into hers, but she shook it off.

  “Does a woman’s voice count for nothing in this world? I am Myra Chapman, your Highness, the supposed victim in this sham of a court.” She stopped directly beside Gavin, coming closer to the damned and the King than any else dare.

  “Interesting,” Henry mused.

  “Milord,” Chapman raced to butt in, but the King threw him off.

  “Your father told us that you were too distraught to appear in court.”

  “As you can see I am not huddled in a corner weeping my eyes out, or whatever lies my father’s spun. I have come to tell you, to tell all of you that this man,” Myra pointed both her hands to her husband, “has done nothing against me. He did not attack, he didn’t assault, he did not injure me or my person in the slightest. My father is the one to conjure up all of this, wasting your time and my own.”

  “Well,” the King chuckled. “That does change things. Lord Chapman, what have you to say for this?”

  The man, well aware he was about to have his own noose sliding around his neck, spun to face the King. “Your Majesty, my daughter knows not what she speaks. She has been bewitched by this man. This hedonist.”

  “What?” Myra stumbled.

  “He would come to her window, bathe my daughter in empty promises, all to turn her against her very family. Myra was a sweet, devoted child until that heathen…” he jabbed a finger at Gavin as if the man was a demon in disguise, “corrupted her.”

  “Gavin is no such…that’s a lie. All of that is a lie! I was never devoted to you,” Myra hissed at her father, trying to get into his face.

  “My child,” Chapman put on a good act, trying to cling to his daughter who threw both of his hands off. “Please, my Lord, I beg you. Save her from this bewitching. We all know how knights are. Brutes, thugs that sweep into towns and pillage whatever crosses their eye. You cannot allow this to continue to good men in standing with the crown and God.”

  It was bullshit. Pure bullshit. Anyone would know that, would see the obvious, but the King was stroking the minor hairs on his chin in contemplation. No. Come on! Myra herself said he didn’t do it. Does her voice mean nothing here?

  Myra turned to Gavin, watching as the man she loved began to crumble to his knees. She tried to reach for him, but her father grabbed her hand before she could help. The King watched it all with disinterest. “Ser Gavin…”

  “He cannot have raped me. He cannot have bewitched me from my family,” Myra threw off her father, walking so close to the King the guard’s halberds swung close should she try anything. “Because…” her head swiveled back, taking a moment upon the broken man who suddenly stared in horror at her, “he is my husband.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  “Husband?!”

  “This is unheard of!”

  “I swear to God on high…”

  Through the collapse of decency in both the audience and the rising red vein in Chapman’s skull, Hayley honed in on Gavin. His head rose from its hang, eyes meeting with Myra’s as he mouthed “no” over and over. She tried to whisper something when her father grabbed onto her arm and spun her around.

  “You bear-brawling, ungrateful…!” the bastard shrieked, his face redder than a sunset. Maybe if they were lucky he’d die of a heart attack right at that moment.

  “Jason, Jason, Chapman!” the dulcet tones of King Henry shattered the air. Even the father about to slap his own blood froze, sheepishly turning to the sudden shout of his Lord. “Step back from her, please.” Slowly, Chapman opened his hand, allowing Myra the freedom to shake her shoulder out and swipe off where he touched her.

  “Marriage does change this accusation considerably,” the King began, back to tenting his fingers in manicure-induced thought. “Assuming it is true.”

  “We were wed nearly a year ago, under the weeping willow outside of a church.” Myra was stone in her convictions, not balking for a moment as everyone pressed in tighter to her.

  “Which church?” Henry asked with a wave of his hand.

  “I…” her eyes darted back to Gavin, “I cannot remember, Milord. It was a year ago.”

  “But it was your wedding. I assume your first.”

  “Yes,” she snarled at the sovereign, before bowing her head in subjugation. Yelling at the King would only get more of them killed.

  “The priest then, did you use a proper priest or…?”

  “He was of the cloth, he spoke the same vows as have been said before every holy matrimony since Christ himself.”

  The King patted his fingers together. “Let me guess, you don’t know his name either.”

  “It…it began with a G, I think…”

  “Merciful God in heaven,” Chapman inserted himself. “Do you hear her? She’s mad, her brains are overheating from the guilt of being led astray. Being bewitched by this monster in plate. This line of questioning is hurting my only daughter.” He laid it on so thick Hayley’s eyes rolled backwards.

  The King nodded to Chapman but kept putting the screws to a wilting Myra. “A witness. You must have had one of those for it to be legal.”

  “Yes! It was…” her excitement snapped in an instant, “Ser Frederick.”

  “Ah, then we shall simply find this Ser Frederick and have him…”

  “I’m sorry, my Lord.” Erin inched forward, her eyes unable to meet anyone's. For a breath, they darted to Gavin as if to apologize for what came next. “He was removed from the Order in disgrace.”

  “Well, this is certainly a problem. No priest, no church records, and no witness willing to testify to the validity of this elopement either.”

  “I will prove it,” Myra insisted, drawing so close to the King she could lean forward and kiss him. “Let me prove it.”

  “Myra…” Gavin gasped, pain burning in every syllable of her name.

  She looked back at the man about to collapse, every hope he had obliterated to dust. The only one remaining was sticking her neck above his on the headman’s axe. Her lips mouthed, “I have to.”

  The entire time, King Henry’s eyes darted between the newlyweds as if he were watching a jousting match. After a pause, he sighed. “Very well. I’ll gift you one day. Find
me proof of this wedding, that you were already bound to the accused body and soul, or the facts will speak for themselves and he will hang.”

  Dear God, no.

  Henry, sounding as jolly as if he ordered a clown for dinner’s entertainment, clapped his hands once and rose from the seat. “Tomorrow, we’ll do this all again. Bring me someone to back up your claims, or if there is nothing to prove, I’d suggest you try a nunnery.”

  With a laugh, he nodded to his steward and other handlers, all of them hopping off the dais towards the door. Before he could exit though, Chapman lashed a hand over and grabbed onto Myra again.

  “Get off of me!” she cried, trying to wiggle away.

  “You are my child and you will pay for this insolence! This shame you dare to bring upon us.”

  A jangle and flash of silver was all that broke the air as Gavin, with both of his hands, reached out to grab at the King’s robes. The entire room fell silent, eyes burning at the filthy prisoner daring such a bold move. Before the halberds could tear him to pieces, or the King order his head lopped off, Gavin plummeted to his knees.

  With his heart in his throat, he begged, “Sire, please, don’t let him take Myra.”

  “She is his child,” the man answered.

  “But…that is in dispute, is it not? You yourself said so. If it is proven she is mine, and he…he locks her away, he hides her from me, he…hurts her, then it will reflect poorly upon you. Your Majesty.”

  “You clap-ridden brute,” Chapman hissed at him, but Henry held up his hand to silence him.

  “An interesting point. But if you try to hide her away, use one of your unsavory resources to whisk her off to barbarian lands when it is proven she is not legally wed to you, will I not also be to blame?”

  “I will take her,” Knight-Captain Erin stepped to the front.

  “Sire…” Chapman complained instantly. “From one thug to another. You cannot expect them to be trustworthy.”

  “My Lord, I serve only the crown. I swear upon my life, I shall escort Lady Myra to the squire compounds where she shall remain until tomorrow. After which, she shall pass to whoever is proven correct in the eyes of the Lord.”

  Henry stroked his chin again. “Yes, I think that will work. Chapman!” His voice would brook no trespass, but it took the bastard a minute to let go of Myra. “She is yours for one day, Knight-Captain. But if the woman in question is not in this room come midmorning tomorrow, it will be your head upon a plate. As well as his.”

  Erin bowed. “Understood, Sire.” She reached out and took control of Myra, who looked about to smack everyone that kept handling her. With that finished, the King and his entourage all turned towards the door.

  Guards flooded from the side, clasping onto Gavin’s arms and hefting him to his feet. Even with a broken arm, he could have thrown them off and ran for it. Gotten himself to freedom. But he remained paralyzed. Only his lips could move as he kept repeating, “Keep her safe, Erin. Swear to me you will not let any harm come to her.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “Please, just…” he licked his lips, a fresh fall of tears washing his cheeks, “protect her. I beg you.”

  “I will!” Erin called again to the man being dragged back to the same dungeon hell of before.

  At the door, just before he’d vanish into the darkness, Gavin’s voice rang out, “I love you.” The words cracked with an agony that reached even the jeering balcony. Those that’d wanted to rend the knight limb from limb were swept up in the lovelorn drama and the heartfelt sorrow wafting from the accused. Every eye watched as Myra placed her fingers to her lips and tried to blow him a kiss, but it was too late. He was already gone.

  Hayley shoved her way out of the crowd, having to get to Erin before it was too late. People stood near the Knight-Captain keeping a tight grip to the either rape victim or newlywed, but they left enough of a gap so no one would get in the way. Running along the side, Hayley called out for either of them to look her way.

  “Erin, Ser!” she gasped, but the woman wouldn’t turn. She kept on, having to dodge more people forming a sort-of walk of shame all the way to the damn compound. “Myra!” Hayley tried instead, and it was enough to cut through the hissing.

  “Hayley,” she cried. “Hayley, you have to find the priest. Find the one that married us. It’s his only hope! Please.”

  “Where is he? What church? What does he look like?” Hayley shot out fast, but she was fading behind. More people clogged the streets like a wad of hairy fat. She heard Myra’s voice, but in trying to run fast enough to make sense of it, Hayley bashed her nose right into the back of a troll. Her legs gave out, Hayley crumbling to the ground while all the people fanned around the downed squire. No one bothered to stop and help, they had to keep on chasing after Erin and Myra.

  Taking a long breath to fill her lungs, Hayley blew out the pain of the fall and checked her nose. She sat up, about to get her legs under her, when a hand landed into view. Following the offered help, Hayley couldn’t stop the groan when she caught the red braid tossed over the shoulder.

  “What do you want?” she snarled even while accepting the hand.

  “To help,” Larissa whispered. Her eyes were wide as she watched the massive crowd fading into the distance.

  Hayley shook her shoulders and tugged on her livery, trying to get everything back where it belonged. If only it was that easy for Gavin. “Way I remember it, you didn’t want to have a damn thing to do with any of this,” she spat even while stalking off without a clue. There were five different churches in the city, each with at least three priests. There could also be monks, or visiting clerics with the church. Where did she even start?

  “That was before,” Larissa kept talking while trailing beside Hayley. “I didn’t… The way she defended him, even in the face of her father…”

  “You’re saying you wouldn’t have done that for Frederick?” Hayley asked, turning to face the girl.

  She was tugging on her braid, nearly splitting the tie in half from the pawing, “I…I don’t know. It was all so, he was my knight!” It was strange to watch the duality of both hating and loving a person play over Larissa’s face. Her entire future was wrapped up in Frederick’s success, but what he did was unforgivable. And now she needed Gavin to succeed. Maybe it was just that simple. Maybe she didn’t buy that he and Myra were in love. Maybe she just had to convince herself enough to keep going.

  “I’m offering help now, is that not enough?” Larissa scoffed.

  Hayley clawed over her forehead, trying to scratch any sense into her brain. She was a squire. She was barely fifteen. Why was this suddenly all up to her? If she failed her knight would die, and the woman he loved… She knew that rabid look in Chapman’s eye. It’d be a miracle if Myra survived.

  “Look,” Hayley spat out, “we need to find the church. The one they eloped too. I know the streets but I ain’t never been inside the churches before. If you’ve got any ideas…” She waved her hand out, well aware how much fodder she just gave Larissa. Never in church? Was it because her skin would boil off if she set foot inside the house of God?

  But Larissa surprised her, the girl nodding. “There’s one near here. Come on.” Taking off running, Hayley followed close behind. “I pray you know anything to help us narrow this down.”

  “Only the night they were wed,” Hayley admitted.

  “It is…a start.”

  She couldn’t get the image of Gavin down on his knees pleading for Myra’s life while his own hung in the balance out of her head. Or the heart-wrenching sound of his voice as he confessed his love to the world, knowing how it could damn Myra even more.

  “And hopefully,” Hayley grunted, “we find an end.”

  “Just…let me look at your records. Okay? You don’t have to do anything. A quick peek and—” The book slammed on Hayley’s fingers before she could even skim through the ledger. Screaming in anger, she drew closer to the bishop, tempted to yank the blade off her hip and t
hrust it in his fat face.

  “You bloated corpse of a…” was as far as Hayley got before Larissa grabbed her arms and hauled her back.

  “Sorry, she’s…uh, not right in the head. A mule kicked her…twice. Completely boiled her brains like a pudding,” Larissa was quick to lie to the bishop while dragging Hayley back. Or maybe she didn’t think she was lying. The two girls collapsed outside the priest’s office. Once the door was shut, Hayley screamed again and bashed her foot into the wall.

  Four hours they’d been at it, trekked to every single church in the damn city, asked every man in fancy robes if they performed a wedding at night just before the summer solstice. Every damn bastard would shrug, purse his nonexistent lips together, and say he couldn’t remember. Even when Hayley pressed upon them that this was a matter of life and death, even when Larissa batted her pretty eyes and claimed that the King would look highly upon them, the bastards dismissed the two teens. Why didn’t Erin come? Hayley should have stayed back with Myra. They’d listen to a knight.

  Grabbing onto the hilt of her sword, Hayley unsheathed the serpent blade into the light of the Holy Spirit. Larissa cocked an eyebrow from her collapse on the ground. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m gonna hold that fat ass hostage until he tells us what we need to know.”

  “You cannot kidnap a bishop, that’s…I don’t even know how many sins.”

  “I DON’T CARE!” she screamed, causing more tonsured heads to poke out of their prayer alcoves.

  “Silence yourself or we will be banished,” Larissa ordered, but Hayley was beyond reproach. Her skin itched, her stomach was knotted into a noose, and every time she closed her eyes she saw Gavin trapped in the dungeon.

  “We have to do something! If we don’t —”

  “I know that, but assaulting a man of the cloth will not help us. Nor will it convince the King of his innocence. Think. Everyone claims you’re good at it.”

  That threw Hayley off, her tracks stopping dead. “They do?”

  “Huh.” Larissa snorted. “You climbed your way into a massacre, fought through it, and got nearly everyone out. Everyone swears you’re this tactical genius.” She lifted her head from her knees to stare at Hayley. “I assume because they’ve never met you.”