King's Errand

by N. J. Layouni

  Undeterred by his stone-faced audience, Anselm continued, “What I mean to say is this: their head-start is too great. Your quarry will already have gone to ground, probably somewhere many leagues from here.”

  “Your point being?” Although Reynard’s voice remained calm, the rising tide of color staining his face spoke eloquently of the anger bubbling beneath the surface.

  “If your son and the maid have run away together, then we may be fairly certain that the deed, shall we say, has been well and truly done.”

  “What deed?” Propping his elbow on the arm of his chair, Reynard rested his chin upon his fist, regarding Anselm with a look cold enough to summon back winter. “Do continue, Sir Anselm. I find the mechanics of your mind most fascinating.”

  Perhaps unnerved by their master’s gentle tone, Reynard’s two advisers retreated a little closer to the outer door. There, huddled together like anxious, overstuffed pigeons, they toyed with the gold chains about their necks and renewed their urgent mutterings, their disquiet plain to see.

  Vadim didn’t blame them for being uneasy. Although it happened only rarely, when roused to temper, Reynard’s anger could be frightening. In all the years they’d known each another, Vadim had only seen him lose control on two occasions, and he had no desire to witness it a third time.

  Of course, Anselm could have no idea of this so Vadim leaped to his defense. “I am sure my brother meant no offense, m’lord.”

  “Don’t you dare apologize for me!” Anselm snarled, sweeping back his untidy mane of golden hair which had slipped into his eyes again. “Believe me, brother, I am more than capable of doing so for myself if I thought such a thing were necessary.”

  Now Anselm was angry too. Wonderful.

  “As you wish.” Shaking his head, Vadim stalked over to the window. Let them tear one another apart if they had a mind to. In the meantime, he would observe the ever-brightening sky and wish himself far, far away. Preferably to that distant speck on the horizon.

  “So, you were saying?” Reynard prompted Anselm.

  “Only that I suspect your first grandchild might have already taken root within Effie’s belly, forcing Fergus to— Oh!”

  There was a tremendous crash as a chair hit the floor. Vadim turned just in time to see Reynard launch himself at Anselm, his gloved hands reaching for his brother’s throat.

  Provoking Reynard was indeed perilous.

  “Not my son,” he cried. “Not he. How dare you imply such a thing, you evil little bas—” Forge’s wild barking added to the godless cacophony, making it impossible to hear, or think.

  “Stop!” Seth jumped from his seat and ran at Reynard. Dragging him backward, Seth’s timely intervention dislodged Reynard’s hands even as his fingers were curling about Anselm’s throat in an attempt to throttle the life from him. “ Leave him be, Reynard. He’s not worth the effort!”

  With Vadim’s assistance—and Forge constantly leaping between them, barking and growling—they managed to haul Reynard away, still cursing and snarling, to a safer distance.

  Anselm, meanwhile, scrambled back into his seat from where he’d slithered during the attack. “Gracious me!” he gasped, clutching at his throat as he regained his seat. “Where did that… c-come from? Said I something to upset you, m’lord? That wasn’t my intention.”

  To an outsider, perhaps, Anselm’s performance might have been convincing, for he appeared to be genuinely surprised by Reynard’s violent outburst. Vadim, however, wasn’t fooled for a second. He’d known his brother too long to be taken in by his play-acting. He’d always had a talent for innocent needling.

  “If that is the case,” Anselm continued in a most penitent manner, “allow me to beg your forgiveness. I meant no harm, m’lord. My words were kindly meant.”

  “Kindly meant?” Reynard growled, his eyes almost bulging from their sockets. “I’ll give you kindly meant, you despicable creeping turncoat.” Fortunately Seth still had Reynard firmly restrained, one brawny arm wrapped about his friend’s chest, thus depriving him of the pleasure of murdering Anselm.

  This whole situation was getting out of hand.

  Moving with stealth, Vadim managed to remove Reynard’s eating dagger from the sheath at his belt. ’Twas always better to err on the side of caution.

  “Enough!” he cried at last, his own temper igniting. “If you cannot be civil, then take yourselves from my sight. Well, what’s it to be?”

  With a smug smile that only Vadim saw, Anselm settled back in his seat and said no more. Forge finally stopped snarling at Reynard and padded back to Anselm’s side, resuming his former position with his great shaggy head resting on his brother’s lap.

  Vadim shook his head. Fickle beast. Anselm wasn’t the only turncoat in the room, it seemed.

  Shaking himself free from Seth’s restraining arm, Reynard stalked away to stand by the door with his clucking advisers. Overflowing with sympathy, although neither of them had raised a finger to aid their master at the time, they began to smooth the creases from Reynard’s long blue tunic, uttering hushed words of dismay. If only they could smooth Reynard’s temper so easily.

  “By the balls of the Great Spirit,” Seth cried, glowering at Anselm. “How I ever managed to sire such a child, I will never know.” He sighed. “Oh, I have my faults, Reynard, as do we all. Despite my flaws, I don’t consider myself to be a bad man. As for my poor Sylvie—may the spirits keep her—she was the very best of mothers, always so loving and kind.”

  “Do not vex yourself, old friend,” Reynard said, seeming outwardly recovered from his outburst, although the blazing fire in his eyes told a different tale. “You cannot be held responsible for the blackness of another person’s soul. I think I can guess what this is about, though. I believe your lad has not yet forgiven me for humiliating him so badly upon the eve of the last Great Battle.” Reynard chuckled in remembrance of it. “Shamed before two mighty armies. Do you recall the occasion, Vadim? You were there too, I believe.”

  Yes. Vadim had been there. In secret. In hiding.

  Anselm and Lord Godric had believed him dead at that time and, fearing what revealing the truth would have mean for Martha who had been Lord Godric’s prisoner back then, Vadim had not dared to reveal his identity. There was no telling how the previous earl might have exacted his revenge upon poor Martha had he learned how she had lied to him for so long.

  “You must not blame yourself, Seth, you or dear Sylvie,” Reynard continued. “No child could have had better, more devoted, parents than the two of you.”

  At this, Anselm gave a loud snort but no one paid him any heed. He’d said more than enough for one day.

  “’Tis kind of you to say so, my friend,” Seth said with a sad little smile. “I do miss my girl, though, especially now. Sylvie always knew how to handle the wretched lad, whereas I haven’t a clue what to do with him. But you mustn’t heed Anselm’s poisonous words. Indeed, he has always taken great delight in prodding the seeping wounds of others.”

  “But in one respect he may right,” Reynard said softly.

  “Oh? And what might that be?”

  Even Anselm seemed interested and he sat up a little straighter in his seat.

  “Now that I have had a moment to think on it, perhaps Effie does carry Fergus’s child within her womb. How else could she have lured him away? The cost of righting this situation will be extremely high, for not only has Fergus abandoned me, forsaking his duty as my son and heir, but he’s deserted the young woman who would have one day been his bride,.”

  Apparently forgetting that he ought to remain silent, Anselm piped up again, “Then perhaps it is you, his own father, who has driven him away. ’Twould not be the first time.” He darted a long, hard look at Seth before continuing, “You sicken me, Lord Reynard, you and your fine talk of duty. Hah! Maybe Fergus and this girl are simply in love and could not bear the though
t of being parted. Had you considered that, m’lord? No, I expect you haven’t.”

  “Love!” Seth rounded on his son, his hair billowing about his face like an angry red cloud. “What would a heartless whelp like you know of such a tender emotion, hmm?”

  “More than you care to remember,” Anselm muttered, staring into the fire. “Much to my cost.”

  “Oh? Then, enlighten me, boy. Go on. Let us all hear you spout your wisdom on the subject.”

  “I think not. Speaking her beloved name in your presence would be akin to allowing swine to attend a royal banquet.”

  Bestowing Anselm with another look of dislike, Reynard turned away, going into a huddled conference with his advisers.

  Although Vadim secretly admired Anselm for speaking up on the young couple’s behalf, that did not mean he was right to lecture Lord Reynard on the manner in which he chose to manage his personal affairs. Like it or not, the facts were inescapable. Fergus was Reynard’s only child. As such, Reynard’s title and estate would ultimately pass to him. This had long been the way of things in the Norlands. The old rules could not be easily set aside now.

  While Anselm and Seth bickered with one another, Vadim sank down onto the window seat. He didn’t want this. Not any of it. All he wanted was to be left alone with Martha and the babies. As he stared outside, a sudden desperate yearning washed over him. He longed to bundle his little family up into a cart and and set out, leaving Edgeway and all of its demands far behind them.

  Just as Fergus and Effie had done, now he came to think of it.

  In his heart, Vadim did not blame the young couple for leaving. In the same situation, he would have done the same thing if it meant being with Martha. However, siding with Anselm wouldn’t ease the current tension in the room.

  Seth and Anselm had progressed to yelling at each another, and if Vadim didn’t intervene soon it might even come to blows. This particular quarrel had been fermenting for a good number of years. However, this was neither the time nor place to settle their familial dispute, not when Martha and the babies were in the next room trying to sleep.

  By the balls of the Great Spirit. Martha and the babies!

  No sooner had Vadim given the thought life than he heard a thin, reedy wail rising up from within the bedchamber.

  They’d woken the babies. The blood flashed hot in Vadim’s veins.

  “Silence!” he roared, leaping to his feet.

  The quarrel abruptly ended. As one, Seth, Anselm, and Reynard turned to stare at him, slack-jawed with astonishment. One of the benefits of rarely losing one’s temper was that people were sure to take heed when he finally did.

  From the other room, a second baby began to wail. Vadim ground his teeth. Perfect!

  Seth looked most ashamed. “Forgive me, m’lord. I—”

  “Get. Out,” Vadim growled through gritted teeth. He was in no mood to hear any apologies no matter how sincere.

  “But, m’lord—”

  “Now!” Crossing his arms over his chest, Vadim glared at his unwelcome guests. He was tired, hungry, and now, thanks to the three of them, in the foulest of humors. “I mean it. You have pushed me too far. Go. I will deal with you all later… once I have managed to settle my family.”

  There was a familiar gentle rapping at the outer door. As it swung open, Harold popped his shaggy black head into the room. “Is anything amiss in here, m’lord?”

  “No, not at all, Harold,” Vadim assured him, forcing himself to be civil. “My guests were just leaving. Would you please escort them down to the great hall and see that they stay there? I will join them once I’ve had the opportunity to wash and dress.” And eat! His stomach grumbled, protesting at its neglect. Erde! If he didn’t break his fast soon, he might be persuaded to take a bite out of one of his quarrelsome friends.

  “Certainly, m’lord.” Pushing the door wide open, Harold gestured into the corridor beyond with a grand sweep of his arm. “This way if you please, gentlemen.”

  “What—even me?” Anselm regarded Vadim with dismay. “Surely you would not eject me as well? All those stairs are murder on my—”

  “And yet I am unmoved. Now, be gone! However, if you do feel unable to make the journey unassisted, I’m sure Harold would gladly carry you.”

  Harold’s grin was broad enough to split his face. “Oh, believe me, m’lord. Nothing would give me greater pleasure.”

  “I’m sure it wouldn’t, you great lumbering oaf.” Scrambling from his chair, Anselm hobbled over to retrieve his walking stick from where it rested on the wall beside the hearth. He wielded it at Harold like a weapon, keeping the big man safely at bay. “Well, if you think I’d give you the chance to drop me on my head you are much mistaken. No, get away from me,” he cried as Harold feinted a move to grab him. “Come, Forge. Let us depart and leave Lord Edgeway to his vile mood. We shall seek ourselves a good breakfast and a little civilised company.”

  Without another word, and with many a baleful backward glance, the five men filed out of the chamber. Harold winked at Vadim and quietly closed the door behind them.

  Vadim exhaled. Ah. The joy of being blessedly alone.

  But as he turned to head back into the bedchamber, he found Ma standing in the doorway, admiration shining from her eyes.

  “Would you like me to leave, too, lad?”

  “No! Not you, Ma.” Aghast that she would even think such a thing, Vadim hastened to her side and took her gnarled old hands and held them gently. “Never you.”

  Ma chuckled, her wet laughter rattling in her throat. “I was only teasing. In truth, ’tis well past time you began acting like a proper earl. You’re too soft on them all. It won’t hurt to remind them who’s in charge from time to time.”

  Thankfully, the bedchamber was now silent. The babes must be feeding again.

  “Between you and me,” Vadim confessed, “I’ve begun to wish that Martha and I were back home in Darumvale.”

  For all its grandeur, the castle’s lofty rooms didn’t feel like home yet. The wall hangings were too lavish, the furnishings too expensive and ornate to suit the sensibilities of a man so used to living the spartan life of an outlaw.

  Not so long ago, his lodgings had been more humble.

  Vadim was accustomed to sleeping in caves or, in fine weather, out in the open, with his cloak doubling as his blanket, and the starry firmament overhead serving as his roof.

  For sure, his old life had had its challenges. Sometimes he hadn’t known when his next meal would be. But despite its hardships, Vadim frequently missed the simple life he’d left behind. For all its hardships and deprivations, the days had seemed richer somehow.

  Ma—wise woman that she was—must have read his thoughts. Reaching up, she lay her rough palm against his cheek.

  “Give it time, boy,” she said, softly. “This life will not fit you in just a few weeks. Over the coming months, however, I think you will grow into your new role… you and your lady wife.”

  Vadim suddenly felt in desperate need of sound counsel. In the absence of his own father, he could think of no one better suited to advise him than Ma. “What am I to do in the meantime?”

  “Looking too far ahead will swamp you, boy. Concentrate your attention on the here and now—on this very moment. Keep your gaze on Martha and those grand-babies of mine and allow them to determine your course. You will not steer far wrong if you do.”

  Vadim nodded. Of course, Ma was right. She usually was. If only he could persuade her to stay with them, indefinitely, here in Edgeway. The voyage through life’s uncertain waters would be much easier to navigate if only she would.

  Chapter Two

  “Well, I must say, I am really quite put out. To be slung from his chambers like common criminals. Even by my standards, I call Vadim’s behavior unspeakably rude. What can be the matter with him today? He is certainly not himself.”
>
  Anselm, Seth, and Reynard sat together at one of the long tables in the great hall, breaking their fast as they awaited Lord Edgeway’s presence.

  Enemies bonded by a common insult, they were all suddenly inclined to keep one another company.

  “Happen we pushed him to it,” Seth said as he ate. “Becoming a father for the first time is a testing enough time for any man, be they lord or serf.”

  “Is that so?” Anselm threw Forge a scrap of cold pork from the platter before him. The big dog leaped up, delicately catching the morsel with his powerful jaws. “Tell me, honored Father, do you have any other pearls of paternal wisdom to impart upon the subject?”

  To his credit, Seth didn’t rise to take the bait. Instead, he continued to eat as if he hadn’t heard. Anselm was most impressed.

  Lord Reynard, however, proved much more obliging. “Ah! Fatherhood. Truly, it is a trial like no other,” he lamented. Giving a great sigh of melancholy he leaned his elbows on the table, continuing, “Open battle is less arduous. Let us hope our friend Lord Edgeway never has to take a sip from the bitter cup of my current woe.”

  Oh, what a cheerful gathering they were, sitting together like a huddle of cantankerous pigeons, each pecking disinterestedly at their cold breakfast whilst they awaited their lord’s arrival.

  Anselm looked about the room in the hope of finding someone else with whom to converse, but at this hour the hall was all but deserted. The hearth-knights and their squires were long gone, their sleeping mats already neatly rolled and packed away. Rising with the sun, they’d now be hard at work, training down on the field beyond the castle walls.

  Alas, it was just the three of them. Well, with the exception of two maidservants who were quietly occupied with tidying the echoing chamber and strewing a fresh layer of rushes and fragrant herbs upon the floor.

  The scent of lavender and sweet growing things eased Anselm’s head a little. Closing his eyes, he massaged his fingers into his pounding temples. Another hangover. By rights, he ought to keep off the wine for a while—truth be told, he would not miss it—but excessive drinking was a side effect of the company he had lately begun to keep.