Mercerian Tales

by Paul J Bennett

  “What will the baron do with her?” piped up Sir James, who was just behind them.

  “I know what I’d like to do with her,” said Sir Maynard. “There’s only one way to break a woman!”

  Fitz turned in his saddle, ready to explode in rage at the man's tone, but Sir James had spurred his horse forward, and struck the younger man, sending him to the ground. “I’ve had enough of your disrespect for Lord Richard, you ungrateful cur. I don’t know what they teach you in Wincaster these days, but here we respect the chain of command.”

  The young knight got to his feet and stared daggers at Sir James.

  “Mount up,” said Sir James, “and I’ll have no more of this talk.”

  The earlier silence descended once more while the sullen group rode through the village. Soon, they passed the gates and headed straight toward the stables.

  “I’ll take care of disciplining him,” offered Sir James, “even if I have to beat some sense into him myself.”

  Lord Richard and Sir Rodney escorted the prisoner to the great hall where Baron Edward awaited them.

  “Is she the cause of the attacks?” Baron Edward asked, without preamble.

  “Yes, Brother, at least we think so.”

  “And how did she accomplish this?” the baron demanded.

  “She is a witch,” blurted out Sir Rodney.

  “A witch? I suppose that would explain things.” Baron Edward stepped forward, holding up her chin with his hand, “What is your name, witch?”

  Her look of defiance was visible to all. “You caused this,” she spat out, “by your attacks on the Whitewood.”

  Edward smiled, “You’re my prisoner now, I suggest you conduct yourself in an appropriate manner.” He looked to his younger brother, “It would have been better if you had killed her,” he suggested, “and spared us the trouble of locking her up.”

  “She surrendered herself,” Fitz protested. “What was I supposed to do?”

  Edward gave him a look that told him what he thought of the situation. “So, witch, what shall we do with you, eh?”

  The woman spat on the ground, “That’s what I think of you, Baron.”

  “Take her to the dungeons, Sir Rodney. Perhaps after she’s had some time to rot in the darkness, she’ll reconsider her attitude.”

  The knight led her away while Fitz remained to talk to his elder brother, but it was Edward that spoke first.

  “I don’t like this,” he stated. “Having a witch locked up here could be dangerous. You should have killed her; it would have made it easier for everyone.”

  “We have to determine what is happening here, Edward. Find out why this war started.”

  “War? This isn’t a war. It’s a witch that’s been ordering some attacks.”

  “Perhaps we can reason with her?”

  “Reason? She killed a King's Ranger; there can be no reasoning with that, the woman is insane.”

  “Still,” offered Fitz, “we're at an impasse. I would like to try and resolve this. The animals are still out there, and our men are not safe."

  “By all means,” replied the baron, “but she stays in the dungeon until I say otherwise."

  Lord Richard left the hall, his mind in turmoil. Who was this woman and why did she feel compelled to protect the Whitewood? Was there some secret held within the forest that she was defending?

  -Interlude I-

  Bodden

  Summer 960 MC

  “And that,” offered Fitz, “was the first time I met Albreda.”

  The others sat in stunned silence for a few moments.

  “Fascinating,” Anna was the first to break the silence. “I would never have dreamed it.”

  “I’m a little confused,” added Dame Beverly. “Are you saying you took her prisoner?”

  “Well, my dear, that’s rather obvious, isn’t it?” said Fitz.

  “Yes, but she told me she owed you a favour. How can she owe you a favour if you captured her?”

  “Well, there's more to this story, but I believe it’s time for some wine. Gerald, be a friend and pass me the Hawksburg red, will you?”

  Gerald strode over to the side table to retrieve the bottle, pouring the baron some wine. “I don’t remember you bringing a prisoner in,” he mused. “When did you say this was?”

  “Back in ‘33,” said Fitz. “You led your first patrol, do you remember?”

  “Aye, I remember my first patrol, but I still don’t remember the prisoner.”

  “That’s because my brother, in his infinite wisdom, ordered no one to speak of it.”

  “Isn’t that rather strange?” piped up Hayley. “Was your brother always so secretive, Lord?”

  “My brother was a headstrong individual,” he replied, “but the thought of a witch in the Keep was, perhaps, too much for him to handle.”

  “Do you think he went mad?” asked Beverly.

  “Not mad, but he was angry, certainly. When our father died, Edward was thrust into the title rather suddenly. He found the responsibility to be quite burdensome.”

  “But you’ve handled it well,” observed Anna.

  “It was quite an adjustment,” replied Fitz. “By the time Edward died, I had Gerald here to lean on. I think Edward needed help, but he was always too proud to ask for it.”

  “I would have liked to have met him,” mused Beverly. “I remember the story that Uncle Robert told about how you met Mother. You two seemed to get along well in your younger years."

  Baron Fitzwilliam grimaced, "In our younger years, we got along famously. It was only after Edward assumed the mantle of baron that we were more often than not at loggerheads.”

  “You’re avoiding the obvious question,” said Anna.

  “Which is, Your Highness?”

  “What happens next! You told us how you captured Albreda, but that’s a long way from explaining how she came to assist us.”

  “Yes,” agreed Hayley. "You’ve got us on the edge of our seats, you can’t stop now.”

  “Did you seduce her while she was your prisoner?” enquired Anna.

  The baron's face turned bright red, “For Saxnor’s sake! Of course not, she was my prisoner. I would never dream of such a thing.”

  “But there must have been some attraction,” Anna pressed on.

  “No, most definitely not,” Fitz exclaimed.

  “Well then, tell us the rest of the story,” pressed the princess.

  Baron Fitzwilliam took a sip of his wine, “Very well. I can see you’re not going to stop pestering me until I continue. Now, where was I? Oh yes, it was the spring of 933…”

  Fitz and the Witch: Part II

  The Prisoner

  Spring 933 MC

  The dungeons of Bodden Keep saw little use these days, and as Lord Richard made his way down into them, he held the lantern high, for in these depths there was no light filtering in from above. It was strange to be here, he thought, having played down here as a youngster, typically hiding from his older brother. The dark hallways and small chambers had provided excellent hiding places.

  The light from his lantern danced across the walls as he made his way to the cells. When the Keep had been constructed, his ancestor had created a round chamber, some twenty feet across. Branching off from this was eight doorways, one of which was connected to the hallway he now traversed. The others opened into small rooms to hold prisoners, each no more than two paces wide and just deep enough that a grown man could lie flat on the floor. The dungeons were located beneath the barracks, which ensured that even if a prisoner escaped from their cell, there was no viable escape route.

  The sound of voices greeted his ears as he entered the circular chamber to see two men sitting at a small wooden table. There were cards laid out, and the guards strained in the dim light to make out what resided in their hands. Light from the flickering torches bounced off the bottle of wine that sat beside them.

  At the sound of his approach, one of the men looked up. “My lord,” said Sir Mayn
ard, “we hadn’t expected to see you here.”

  “How is it,” asked Fitz, “that a knight is here guarding a prisoner? Surely you have better things to do?”

  “It was the baron’s idea,” the man explained. “He felt we should limit who has access to the witch.”

  The knight's comrade had stood as Lord Richard entered, nodding in respect. With the shadows cast across his face, it wasn’t until the man was a hand's reach away that Fitz recognized him.

  “Sir Lionel, I see you’re eager to lose coins again.”

  “Lord?” questioned the man.

  “You’re playing cards with a ruthless gambler. From what I have heard, Sir Maynard here is sure to clean out your purse.”

  “I still have some tricks up my sleeve, Lord,” Sir Lionel replied.

  “How's the prisoner been?” asked Fitz.

  “Quiet, Lord,” said Sir Maynard, “but we’ve taken efforts to free her tongue.”

  Lord Richard felt his stomach tighten at the words,“What do you mean, ‘efforts’?”

  The knight, emboldened by his lord’s interest, continued, “The woman has been most uncooperative, Lord, so I came up with a rather original way of dealing with it.”

  “Which is?” prompted Fitz, struggling to hide the concern in his voice.

  Sir Maynard rose to his feet, retrieving the ring of keys from the table beside him, “See for yourself, Lord.”

  He strode over to the cell and inserted the key into the lock. The door was made of oak, reinforced with metal and Fitz wondered why it was constructed of such material; surely a simple series of bars would have sufficed? The lock made a loud clanking noise as Sir Maynard twisted the key and then swung the door outward. Immediately Fitz was overwhelmed with the stench of urine and filth. The tiny room was enveloped in shadows, and Lord Richard raised his lantern to peer within.

  He was repulsed by the sight that greeted him. The ceiling in this cell was some ten feet tall, and in the centre was a metal ring, with two chains hanging from it that ended in manacles. Within these were the arms of the captive, stretched above her head, forcing the prisoner to stand on her toes. She was naked and smeared with dirt, her breath visible in the cold air of the dungeon.

  “Without her clothes, she’ll soon appreciate a little body warmth,” leered Sir Maynard.

  Fitz fought hard to control his temper, “What is the meaning of this? Who authorized this treatment?”

  Sir Maynard, completely oblivious to the lord's concern, continued, “It was my idea, Lord.” He pushed past Lord Richard and ran his hand over the woman's stomach, “We’ll put a bastard into her; then she’ll talk.”

  Fitz exploded, punching the man in the chest with the full force of his anger. “How dare you!” he yelled, unable to fully articulate his disgust. “Get out of here!” he ordered. “I’ll deal with you later.”

  Sir Maynard looked ready to object, but as their eyes locked, the knight backed down; striking a man of Lord Richard's status would be a mistake. The man skulked from the room, clutching his stomach.

  “Where are her clothes?” Fitz demanded.

  Sir Lionel entered the tiny cell. “Here, Lord,” he said, handing the rags to Lord Richard.

  “Loosen those chains,” ordered Fitz, and moved to support the woman's weight. The chains were released, but she was weak and unable to stand. He lowered her, as gently as he could, to the cold stone floor. “I am so sorry,” he said, compassion in his voice as he withdrew the pins that held the manacles tightly around her wrists. “I had no idea you were being treated like this.”

  He handed her the bundle of clothes, and she pulled the dress over her head while he looked away. “What did you expect,” she asked, “that I’d be given a comfortable room and politely asked to stop?”

  Fitz felt properly chastised. He had indeed thought her imprisonment would be less severe. “I will talk to my brother about this,” he promised. “I assure you this treatment will end.”

  “So I am free to go?” she asked, sarcasm dripping from her tongue.

  Fitz turned to look at her. She was straightening her dress and pulling her long black locks from beneath. “I’m afraid that is not within my power, but I can promise you humane treatment while you are a prisoner here.”

  “How noble of you,” she responded, “and how long do you think it will be until you force yourself upon me?”

  Fitz was startled. How poorly had the knights treated her that she would think he would harm her? He struggled to respond but ended up merely staring at her in disbelief.

  “Don’t look so shocked,” the woman stated. “I’m familiar with how the nobles of Merceria treat those beneath their station. It’s the noble's prerogative to take from those below. Isn’t that what they teach young lordlings?”

  “I can assure you that is not the way I was raised. While I cannot release you, I will make sure you have decent accommodations while you are a prisoner and that none shall harm you.”

  “How can you guarantee such a thing? You’re not the baron of this Keep.”

  “I give you my word I shall do all in my power,” Fitz said, although he felt they might be empty words. He felt ashamed for the actions of his men, and yet he knew his brother would have condoned such treatment if he had been asked.

  “I shall move you to a different part of the dungeon,” he offered, “and make sure you at least have a bed to sleep on, and regular meals. I may not be able to release you, but I can ensure you’re not mistreated.”

  “Until your brother decides to have me executed,” she spat out.

  “I'll go and talk to my brother immediately and straighten this out,” he promised. “In the meantime, I will make arrangements to have you moved.”

  * * *

  Fitz sought out his brother. As usual, the baron was in the map room, poring over the accounts. He looked up in annoyance as his younger brother entered.

  “What brings you here, Brother, finally taking an interest in the accounts?” asked Baron Edward.

  “Not today. However, I need to bring something to your attention,” said Lord Richard, trying to feel out his brother's mood.

  “Oh? Tell me more.”

  “It’s the prisoner,” he said, “I’m afraid she’s been mistreated.”

  “That is hardly a concern of mine,” the baron responded.

  “You can’t be serious, Edward. It’s imperative that a prisoner, especially a woman, is treated with respect-”

  “Or what?” interrupted the baron. “She’s a witch, for Saxnor’s sake. She deserves everything she gets.”

  “She’s not a witch,” Lord Richard exclaimed, defending the woman.

  “Yes, she is. She might be called an Earth Mage or a Druid, but she still controls animals. In any book, she’d be described as a witch.”

  “You cannot allow her to be treated this way,” Fitz insisted.

  Baron Edward stood, his fury exploding, “I have had it with you. You ride around the land with your fancy horse and knights, while I have to make the difficult decisions. I have a solemn duty to protect the people of Bodden, Richard, and I take that pledge seriously. You think the world runs on honour and duty but it doesn’t; it’s utter chaos. At any point in time, we are but a moment away from collapse. An inattentive guard could mean the Norlanders are inside the walls of the Keep; a bad storm and our crops could be wiped out. We survive and thrive on hard work and luck. We can’t afford to be sentimental!”

  “What are you saying? That we should just kill anyone we capture?”

  Edward took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “No, Brother. I’m saying you don’t have an appreciation for the responsibilities of being the baron. You’ve always had an easier life, that’s no secret. I was the heir. Father made sure I was tending to matters of the barony while you were gallivanting around with your soldiers.” His tone softened, “I know it’s not your fault, Richard, but you must realize that I am as much a prisoner here as she is.”

  “Can you at
least make sure she is treated with respect?”

  The Elder Fitzwilliam looked at his younger brother for some time before finally answering, “Very well, Richard. Since you feel that she has been mistreated, I put you in charge of her.”

  “What?” Fitz replied.

  “You heard me. You will be her jailer. You will be responsible for making sure she is supplied with food and water. I will delegate her treatment to you, and to you alone.”

  “What’s the catch,” said Fitz. “I know you, Edward. There's always a catch.”

  “Yes,” replied Edward, “there will be conditions.”

  Fitz nodded knowingly, “And what are these conditions?”

  “First,” said the baron, “you cannot release her. Secondly, you may tell no one of her imprisonment; you are to be her only visitor. We can’t have her using her magic on anyone.”

  “Very well,” Fitz agreed. “I shall trouble you about it no more.”

  “I doubt that,” said the baron, “but for now I will take you at your word. Now get out of here and let me get back to work.”

  * * *

  Fitz was pondering his situation when he bumped into his protege, Gerald Matheson. “Gerald, my dear fellow, how did the patrol go?”

  “Well, my lord,” his sergeant replied. “There’s not much going on these days, the Norlanders seem to be quiet of late.”

  “I wish that was more reassuring,” replied Lord Richard, “but I suspect they’re up to something big.”

  “Should we increase the patrols, Lord?”

  “Increase the number? No, but perhaps we should strengthen them; a show of force might help dissuade the raiders. I’d like you to double the number of troops you take out.”

  “Aye, Lord,” replied Gerald.

  Fitz looked at his friend in thought, “Actually, Gerald, I have a favour to ask.”