“A vision?”
“Yes, I saw a shadow approaching. A siege is coming,” she said.
Fitz was confused, “We just broke a siege."
“True, but it won’t be the last. At some point in the future, when shadows are falling over the kingdom, Bodden will be the rock that breaks the waves. You must hold firm, Baron Richard, and I will come to return the favour you have bestowed on me this day.”
The two walked on in silence until they reached the outer gate, “May I offer you a horse, Mistress Albreda?”
The woman smiled, “Just call me Albreda, I’ve never been keen on the term mistress.”
“Very well, Albreda,” he said, returning the smile. “Still, the offer stands. A horse?”
“No, thank you. I think I prefer to walk. Long life to you Baron, until our paths cross again.”
He watched her as she walked across the now abandoned siege lines, wondering about the strange portent she had shared. She picked her way carefully through the ruined camp and the last he saw of her, there were three wolves running toward her. He knew she was home.
-Interlude IV-
Bodden
Summer 960 MC
The room was silent after the baron finished his story.
“It all makes so much sense now,” said Beverly. “Why is it you’ve never told me this story before, Father?”
“Well,” Fitz ruminated, “it happened before you were born. I married your mother shortly thereafter, and then you came along. It didn’t seem to have any relevance.”
“It does now,” observed Princess Anna.
“I’m glad you think so, Your Highness, but at the time, it meant nothing.”
“Did you see her again over the years?” asked Hayley.
“No, I didn’t see her again until you broke the siege.”
“But,” offered Anna, “there must have been some connection between you two.”
“I only had eyes for Lady Evelyn,” Fitz responded. “I respected Albreda, but I wasn’t in love with her.”
“The princess has a romantic side,” explained Gerald. “She only wishes for a happy ending.”
“Don’t we all,” said Hayley. “Still, life’s not really like that. We don’t just magically find our soul mate. Isn’t that right, Beverly?”
Beverly was staring off into the distance, so the ranger tapped her on the arm, “Beverly?”
“Sorry,” Beverly apologized. “I was just lost in thought there. What were you saying?”
“I was saying,” Hayley repeated, “that there’s no such thing as a soul mate.”
Beverly smiled, “I don’t believe that’s true. I’d like to think that some people find their ideal companion. It gives a person hope.”
“You said earlier,” interrupted Anna, “that Albreda saw the library in Shrewesdale. I’d love to visit it someday.”
“I’ve been there,” offered Beverly, “and it’s quite impressive, though I didn’t spend much time in it.”
“You were in Shrewesdale?” the princess asked.
“Yes, I spent some time there, though it didn’t end well.”
“Why,” Anna asked, “what happened?”
“I’d rather not talk about it. It brings back unpleasant memories. It wasn’t all bad, though. While I was in service to the countess all sorts of things happened, some of them were quite amusing.”
“I sense it’s time for another tale,” said Gerald. “It seems the Fitzwilliams are the master storytellers this evening.”
Anna beamed, “Please Beverly, tell us about of one of your adventures in Shrewesdale. You can leave out the bad parts if you prefer.”
Beverly smiled, “Very well, Your Highness, I’ll tell you the story of the Bandit King.”
“That sounds exciting,” said Anna, settling back against her faithful companion.
“It all started back in the summer of ‘55. I had arrived in the city the previous spring, to begin my service to the Countess of Shrewesdale…”
Beverly and the Bandit King: Part I
Shrewesdale
Summer 955 MC
There was a cool breeze blowing down the street, evaporating the sweat from Beverly as she sat outside the Crow’s Foot Tavern. Across from her, Olivia scanned the street, watching as the townsfolk went about their business. Beverly took a swig of her wine, immediately feeling the coolness in her throat. This was one of the warmer days of summer, and she found herself missing the cooler climate of Bodden.
“Looks like something's up,” mused Olivia, looking down the street. Beverly followed her friend's gaze to the eastern gate, where a group of horsemen rode through.
“What do you make of it?” asked Beverly.
“Looks like knights,” the older woman replied, “though I daresay they don’t look happy.”
Covered in dust and dirt, they removed their helmets to reveal scowls on their faces.
“Something’s gone amiss, I suspect,” said Olivia. “I bet they’ve been having problems with the Bandit King again.”
“Bandit King? I don’t think I’ve heard of him.”
“Really? I’d have thought you’d know all about him,” Olivia responded, then, seeing Beverly's look of bewilderment, she decided to elucidate. “He leads a group of bandits that have been robbing merchants in the Shrewesdale Hills. They say he disappears quickly, and he’s proving to be difficult to find.”
“Isn’t Bandit King a rather grandiose title for a thief?”
“Oh, word is he came up with that himself. The earl’s had it out for him ever since he intercepted a shipment of the lord's favourite wine. Stole it off the wagon and sent the driver back with an empty load.”
“I imagine the earl must have been furious,” observed Beverly.
“He was. He executed the driver for allowing it to happen.”
Beverly was shocked, “Executed him? Why would he do that, it’s not as if it was the driver's fault.”
“That’s our earl,” offered Olivia. “He’s a man who’s quick to anger, and it is said he never forgets a slight.”
Beverly shuddered. She tried to imagine her father in a similar situation, but couldn’t conceive of him doling out such a harsh punishment. He believed in fairness and justice, apparently traits which the earl did not share.
The riders made their way up the street, and as they passed the Crow's Foot, one of their number halted, dismounting to tie his horse to a post. There was no mistaking the man, for his six-foot frame instantly gave him away.
“Sir Heward,” called out Beverly, “how goes the patrol?”
The massive knight, turning at the sound of his name, frowned slightly as he recognized her. “Dame Beverly,” he replied, somewhat formally.
His speech was stilted, and he was obviously uncomfortable around her, but it was understandable. Beverly had defeated him in single combat shortly after her arrival in Shrewesdale, and yet the man had not born a grudge, treating her with nothing but respect since. She watched him wander inside, heading straight toward the bar, and then she rose from her seat to follow. “I’ll be back in a moment, Olivia. I’m going to see what else I can dig up.”
Olivia watched her friend disappear and smiled. She knew Beverly would never let this rest. It would be interesting to see what she could discover.
Sir Heward was just raising his ale to his lips when Beverly appeared beside him. He ignored her presence, taking a deep gulp, then set the drink down on the countertop. He reluctantly turned to face her, as if dealing with a small child. “Well?” he said expectantly.
Beverly smiled, “Sir Heward, tell me, how goes the hunt for the Bandit King.”
Heward turned back, avoiding her question to take another deep drink.
“That bad, is it?” she probed.
He took yet another swig but remained facing the bar when he answered her, “The bastard’s impossible to find. By the time we even hear of an attack, he’s long gone. Riding around the hills isn’t helping; he can probably hea
r us from miles away. All we’re doing is tiring the horses and sweating like pigs in this heat.”
“Sounds like a job for a King's Ranger,” mused Beverly.
Heward laughed before responding, “A King's Ranger? Aye, that would be grand, but the earl won’t admit he needs help, so he keeps sending us out to search for the beggar. We’ve been out six times this week alone. We rode out twice yesterday, all because of rumours. I tell you, the man’s a ghost.”
“How many people has he killed?” Beverly asked.
“Killed? I don’t think the man’s actually killed anyone. He and his band of thieves typically rob merchants and then send them on their way. He’s attacked six in the last fortnight alone.”
“How does he know when a trader is approaching?” she asked.
“Beats me, but it wouldn’t be too hard to set up some of his men to watch the road. As you’re no doubt aware, the country around here is very uneven, not exactly prime terrain for knights.”
“Maybe I should look into it,” she mused.
“You?” Heward turned to laugh at her. “No offence, Dame Beverly, but what makes you think you can do anything when all the earl's men have failed?”
Beverly smiled, “Simple, I’m a woman.”
She dropped a coin onto the bar. “Another drink for my friend here, barkeep,” she offered.
Heward raised his cup in salute, “Good luck to you then, Dame Beverly, I suspect you’ll need it.”
* * *
Lady Catherine Montrose, Countess of Shrewesdale, was wife to the Earl of Shrewesdale. As the daughter of the previous earl, her younger husband had inherited the title when he married her, though Beverly suspected it was more to do with her wealth than her title.
Now she sat in her favourite reading room as Beverly entered, bowing before her mistress.
“Beverly,” the old woman said, “I trust you have been keeping yourself busy?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” she replied.
“You have served me faithfully for the last year, and I must admit I have been quite pleased with your accomplishments. You have removed the stain upon my house and stopped the knights from their lecherous behaviour toward my servants, and for that, I am truly thankful.”
A worried look crossed Beverly’s mind. Was she about to be dismissed from her service?
The countess held up her hand as if she could read minds, “Fear not, Beverly, I am not getting rid of you. After much deliberation on my part, I have decided to ask you to perform a task for me.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” responded Beverly. “Whatever you need.”
“Don’t be so quick to respond, my young friend,” the countess replied, “for I fear it might prove to be beyond even your capabilities.”
“You intrigue me, my lady. Please, tell me more.”
“No doubt by now you’ve heard of the self-styled Bandit King?”
“Yes,” said Beverly, “he’s been raiding merchants on the Shrewesdale road. I hear he’s been quite a nuisance.”
“Quite so. The man needs to be brought to justice before someone is killed. My husband's knights have proven to be unequal to the task so far. I thought that perhaps you might like to have a crack at it.”
“Me, Your Grace? What makes you think I could stop this Bandit King?”
“I have gotten know you, Dame Beverly. You think things through instead of charging in haphazardly. It will require cunning to bring this man to justice, and I think you’re just the person for the job.”
“I’m flattered, my lady, and in truth, I have already given it some thought.”
“Excellent,” said the countess. “I will authorize a purse for your expenses. It will likely take some time; I don’t want you to rush it. I would rather wait and be successful, than have you hurry and fail. Come up with a plan and then report back to me. If I think it reasonable, you can proceed.”
“Aye, my lady,” Beverly solemnly swore, “I shall give it my best effort.”
“As I knew you would,” responded the countess.
* * *
It was late evening, a few days later, when Beverly sat at the Crow's Foot with Olivia, eating her meal absently as the two went over her plan.
“Are you sure about this?” asked Olivia.
“It’s the only way,” said Beverly. “I can’t just ride down the road. At best, they’d just ignore me, and at worst they’d swarm me.”
“Still, there has to be a better way.”
“Listen,” said Beverly, “the bandits attack merchants. If I look like a merchant, they’re more likely to take the bait. Besides, I’ll be a helpless woman; they won’t be afraid of me.”
“Shouldn’t you at least wear your armour?”
Beverly looked at her friend for a moment in disbelief, “If you were a bandit, would you attack a wagon driven by a person in armour?”
“Hmmm, probably not. I suppose that makes sense. Still, I don’t like it, it sounds dangerous.”
“Oh, it will be if they get close enough,” swore Beverly.
“What are you going to do about weapons? Won’t a sword be somewhat obvious?”
“I’m going to carry a concealed dagger.”
“That’s it? A dagger? Are you out of your mind?” Olivia's voice increased with each question.
“I’m quite comfortable with all weapons. I can’t really conceal anything bigger, and I'll simply take one of their swords if I get into trouble.”
“Well, you’re certainly confident.”
“They’re bandits, not trained soldiers. More than likely just a bunch of youths picking on easy targets. So far they’ve only attacked lone wagons without guards. I don’t think there’ll be much of a fight.”
Olivia pondered the statement before answering, “I hope you’re right. I’d hate to think what you might be walking into otherwise.”
“Now, how did you make out with my list?” asked Beverly, ignoring the comment.
Olivia looked down at the paper in front of her, “Thanks to the coin Her Grace provided, I’ve managed to get you a horse and wagon. You’ll be carrying a mixture of goods including cloth, nails, food and so on. A pretty typical assortment for a small trader. I called in some favours, so I’ve been assured the cargo will look legitimate.”
“Excellent!”
“It only remains for you to decide when to begin this madcap scheme of yours.”
Beverly looked out the window, “I suppose it’s too late to start today. I’ll head out at first light, that way I’ll be on the road they have been attacking by midday.”
“Good idea,” agreed Olivia. “According to Sir Heward, the bandits strike during the day. Traffic has been light lately, so you’ll make a tempting target. Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”
“I appreciate the offer,” said Beverly earnestly, “but your brother needs you, and this’ll be dangerous. With any luck, I’ll be back in a couple of days.”
“A couple of days? I thought you were just going to fight them when you found them?”
“There’s no guarantee I’ll meet them right away, and even if I do, I’ll want to find their camp.”
Olivia placed her hand over her friend's. “Be careful Beverly,” she warned, “these are dangerous times, and they might be desperate.”
“I’ll be fine, Olivia,” she promised, “and trust me, I can be dangerous when I need to be.”
* * *
The sun was high as Beverly made her way along the winding road that twisted its way through the Shrewesdale Hills. She had expected to encounter the bandits long before now, but she was beginning to think she was on a fool's errand. Did she really think they would fall for her ruse? It was imperative that she keep alert, but the rhythmic bouncing of the wagon combined with the constant drone of the horse's hooves on the ground dulled her senses.
Just as her eyelids started to droop, her horse balked when a man stepped onto the road in front of her. The stranger indicated for her to stop, so she pulled
back on the reins to slow the horse down.
“Who are you?” she yelled out, trying to sound scared.
“Don’t move, and no harm will come to you,” the man ordered.
She tried to memorize the outlaw's face, but he was unremarkable looking. His clothes were common to a peasant, and there was a rather crude looking knife tucked into his belt. Beverly quickly concluded that this man was not the one in charge.
As soon as she stopped the wagon, others appeared, rising out of the hills to either side of the road. It didn’t take long for them to surround her wagon, and she soon spotted the man in charge, for his clothes gave him away. He was of average height, with a neatly trimmed black beard. The leather armour he wore was common to archers in the Mercerian army. The bow on the man's back looked to be in good shape. These clues gave credence to her conclusion that he was a military man at some point in his past. The other men in the group were attired like the man who had stopped her. If these were, in truth, bandits, they must have had rather slim pickings, she thought.
The leader came up to the wagon beside her. He was holding a sword in his hand, though not in a threatening manner. He held it comfortably as if used to its weight. This man, she thought, knows how to use it when necessary.
“Well,” he said, “what do we have here? A young woman all alone on the road? We can’t have that now, can we?”
As he spoke she felt the wagon jostle; men climbed up behind her, no doubt to examine their haul. She thought to strike out at the leader, but she knew she needed to find their base if she was to stop them once and for all.
“Tell me,” the leader said, interrupting her thoughts, “what’s your name, lass?”
He was smiling at her, and she wondered if he thought to charm her. She decided to play along, though she had little idea how to flirt. She thought of Olivia and tried to emulate her. “My name’s Evelyn,” she said, using her mother's name. It was always best to pick a name one could remember. She smiled in an effort to flirt, but it came out more like a grimace.
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