King's Errand

by N. J. Layouni

  “Miriam, is that you? What’s happening to us?”

  “You’re repaying your sister’s debt, that’s what. Now be quiet and settle down,” Fabien growled.

  “This is your fault, Miriam? Oh, I should have known!”

  “Quick. Mount up,” Fabien commanded, his voice cutting through the riot like a knife through butter. “The archers cannot keep the king’s men at bay forever.”

  In no time at all, still half=bundled in her sack, Miriam was thrown, kicking and squirming, over the front of someone’s horse.

  Another hard slap made her backside ache and tingle. “Struggle away. I can keep doing this all night, love,” Fabien assured her.

  “Miriam? Miriam!” When she heard Anselm yelling her name, her heart soared. Oh, praise the spirits!

  “Anselm, over here!” she cried, relief flooding into her trembling limbs. All would be well now that he had come.

  “Release her at once, you bastard. If you do, I’ll make sure your death is less painful than the one you deserve.”

  Fabien chuckled. “Brave words, sir knight, but I’m afraid I must decline. One way or another, the princess is worth too much to me. No! Keep back or I swear I will cut her.”

  Miriam felt the cold point of a metal pushing into the skin at the back of her neck.

  “Anselm?” Her quaking voice sounded as terrified as she felt.

  “It’s all right, sweeting… All will be well. No. Don’t harm her.” By the sound of it, Anselm was equally rattled. “Fine. Look, I’m stepping back. See? One, two, three steps—and here’s another one for luck—four. Now put your dagger away. She’s no use to you dead, is she? Only a fool would damage the merchandise before it’s been fully paid for.”

  Merchandise? Had Anselm just likened her current plight to that of the purchase of silks and spices? Really, the man was devoid of any proper respect. Even so, she could not deny that she had begun to appreciate his irreverent ways, not to mention the way he made her feel.

  “Please, Fabien. Let us go.” Desperation made her willing to beg. “I swear, you’ll get your gold.”

  “Aye, that I will, darlin’.” Fabien stroked the curve of her buttocks, his hands feeling unpleasantly clammy through the thin fabric of her shift. “ One way or another.”

  “Take your filthy hands off her, pirate! I give you fair warning, this is your last chance to act wisely. Release her now or, upon my oath, I will not rest until you are dead.”

  “Do your worst, pretty man,” Fabien sneered. “But you’ll have to catch me first.”

  Fabien shortened his reins for departure, and Miriam felt the horse coil and tense beneath her. “Let’s ride!”

  She could still hear Anselm yelling her name as they galloped away into the night.

  “What d’you think you’re doing?” Hugh demanded, watching by torchlight as Anselm stuffed a few supplies and vital rations into a small sack.

  “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m going to get them back.”

  “What, all by yourself?”

  “That was the general idea, yes.” Anselm paused and turned to look at his friend. “This may come as something of a shock to you, Hugh, but in spite of my occasional bouts of gregariousness, I’ve long been considered something of a solitary hunter.”

  All of this working-together-toward-a-common-cause nonsense was just peasant mentality. It’d never held much appeal. Enforced togetherness was definitely not Anselm’s particular cup of mead. Perhaps that was another reason why he’d failed to take root in the life of a peasant farmer back in Darumvale.

  “Any sign of Vadim?” he demanded, returning to his packing.

  “Not yet. Lord Reynard is getting worried.”

  “Oh, there’s no need for concern. Just as sure as the Great Spirit enjoys tormenting us poor mortals with his twisted games, the good Lord Edgeway will return. Aye, and with the queen and her children in tow, too.”

  Although fate might have thrust Vadim into the role of Earl, beneath his skin, he was just as much of a lone wolf as Anselm was. Perhaps even more so. There was no escaping one’s true nature.

  Protecting the queen and her children was Vadim’s most sacred duty. After issuing orders to his captains, getting the royal family to a place of safety was absolutely the first thing he would have done. He would take no chances with the lives of the king’s nearest and dearest. What a pity that he had not reached the two elder princesses in time.

  Anselm envied Vadim his clarity of thinking, especially now when the waters of his own mind were so turbulent. All he knew was that when trouble had come ’twas as if some powerful, unseen force had taken charge of him, body and soul. Every shred of instinct he possessed had compelled him through the darkness, seeking out but one person.

  And so he had gone to her, the desperate need to protect her driving him onward through the ranks of battling men, and cutting down anyone foolish enough to step in his way.

  Nothing else mattered. Not the queen or her other children. No one but her.

  Miriam.

  Only he had failed her.

  What unspeakable evils might she have already been subjected to? The mere imagining of her suffering was almost too terrible to be borne. Thoughts of what that pirate bastard might be doing were driving him quietly demented. Scrambling to his feet, Anselm shook his head, trying to dispel the vile images of his princess so alone and in such torment.

  “Percy, my sword, if you please.” He beckoned his squire who was waiting quietly by the tent door. “I trust you’ve had sufficient time to sharpen it?”

  “Of course, m’lord.” Percy brushed Anselm’s hand aside when he would have put on his sword belt. “No. Allow me.”

  With an irritated huff, Anselm forced himself to stand motionless while the boy carefully strapped the weapon into its rightful place. Lit by the dim glow of torchlight, Percy’s face looked unnaturally pale. A small cut above his left eye kept oozing a watery trail of blood., staining one of his fair eyebrows to the color of rust.

  Today had likely been Percy’s first real taste of battle, the first time he’d watched someone die, killed by his own sword. No wonder the poor boy looked so ghastly. As his master, it fell to Anselm to say something comforting. But what? He was in no mood to make rousing speeches.

  In the end, he simply ruffled Percy’s tousled strawberry curls, settling for a gruff, “You did well today, lad. I’m proud of you.” As few as they were, these words seemed to hearten him a good deal.

  “Truly, m’lord?” A tiny smile graced the boy’s near-on bloodless lips. “Lawks! But I was that scared, though. I don’t mind admitting that I almost soiled my trews a couple of times.”

  “Oh? So why didn’t you run and take cover, then, hmm?”

  “Because I was much more afeared of letting you down, sir.”

  Despite his bleak mood, Anselm could not help but smile. Such loyalty as this was a precious commodity. “And that is what true bravery is all about. So everything is as it should be, eh?” He carelessly ruffled Percy’s hair again, making an even bigger mess of his curls, but the lad seemed not to mind. “Tell me,” Anselm said. “Has anyone taken a look at that cut above your eye yet?”

  “No, m’lord.”

  Grabbing Percy’s head between his hands, Anselm turned him this way and that, examining the wound more closely. “Hmm.” Sucking air between his teeth, Anselm finally announced. “It’s not deep… not too deep at all. It may, however, leave you with a small scar—hopefully one noticeable enough to garner you a little sympathy from the ladies.”

  Percy blushed pink to the roots of his hair. “Yes, sir.”

  “Go on, then. Off with you, now. Be sure your first battle wound is properly cleaned, eh? Doubtless, I will catch up with you somewhere on the road before too long.”

  With a bow, Percy turned to leave his master’s tent.
But when he reached the scorched remnants of the door he stopped and slowly turned. “No. Forgive me, m’lord but I cannot obey you.”

  “Hmm?” Anselm had already dismissed Percy, his mind already fixed on the road ahead. If only old Hugh would kindly bugger off and leave him alone for a few minutes he might be able to finish his packing in peace. Anselm had always heartily disliked being scrutinized whilst preparing for departure. Being so closely observed usually made him forget something vital.

  “I’m coming with you,” Percy declared, jutting out his chin.

  Now that Anselm did hear, although he said, “I beg your pardon?”

  “My place is with you, m’lord,” the squire stammered, braving the threat of his master’s wrath. “I w-won’t let you go off all alone to rescue the princesses.”

  “Don’t be absurd.” Anselm gaped at his squire, stunned by his bold new manner. Could this really be Percy, back-chatting him already—the boy who usually yelped like an over-excited maiden if a stable rat happened to stray too near? “I’m beginning to think that cut of yours might have affected your wits, boy. Whatever the cause of this unseemly defiance, I do not care for it at all. You are not to follow me, do you hear?” Insolent whelp.

  Percy cleared his throat. “With all due respect, m’lord, I do not ask f-for your permission. I will follow you if I m-must but make no mistake, I’m coming too.”

  “Aww,” Hugh said, grinning all over his bearded face. “Just listen to him, Anselm. He sounds exactly like you. A proper little chip off the old block.”

  But Anselm was much too vexed to be diverted by Hugh’s teasing.

  “No, Percy. No! This simply will not do. I command that you remain here with the other squires.” Of all the times for the lad to develop a serviceable backbone, why now?

  Hugh laughed. Getting up from the overturned barrel he’d been sitting on, he said, “Percy’s not a dog, Anselm. You cannot make him roll over on command.”

  “Why the devil not? I’m his master, aren’t I?” Irritation made Anselm sharper than he’d intended, but he couldn’t afford to be babysitting Percy now, not on this particular jaunt. He wanted to be on his way. Now.

  “And I’m beginning to think,” Hugh continued “that your young squire might have a point.”

  Anselm groaned. “Damn it. Not you too.” What was his stealth mission becoming, a pleasure trip for bored knights?

  Snatching Anselm’s pack of essentials from his hand, Hugh held it aloft, infuriatingly out of reach. “Think about it for a moment, Anselm. Say you do manage to single-handedly rescue the two young ladies, how could one knight be expected to protect them, eh? At the very least the ladies will need another chaperone, and maybe someone else to guard your retreat.”

  “ I take it you’re speaking of yourself?”

  “Ah. Those deductive skills of yours are aflame today, Sir Anselm.”

  “What’s all this?” Fergus asked, sauntering uninvited into the tent, apparently none the worse for his nightly adventure. “You’re off to rescue the ladies, are you? Excellent. Just give me a few moments to gather my things.”

  “No, Fergus. Absolutely not!” Anselm cried. “I forbid it.” Really, this was getting quite out of hand. What had he ever done to merit such a dogged bunch of followers? “I work alone. Harken to me, all of you. I work better alone.”

  Some hours later, Anselm was still muttering that very same thing—beneath his breath and rather crossly. Not that anyone paid him any heed, of course.

  As the senior and most trustworthy member of their party, Percy and Fergus elected Hugh as their spokesman, and so it was he who approached Lord Reynard, advising him of their self-imposed mission to rescue the princesses, and of their intention to rendezvous with the rest of their company, if not on route, then at the port of sailing. Hopefully, before they boarded the ship that would take them home to the Norlands.

  Reynard did not object to the idea. “I was going to wait for Vadim to return before launching a rescue party. However, if you believe you can retrieve the ladies from those foul barbarians, I will not attempt to dissuade you from such a noble endeavor. Fergus?” He turned to his son. “You are quite committed to going on this mission, I take it?”

  “I am, Father.” The unspoken strain between the two men was almost palpable. Fergus would hardly meet his parent’s eyes, looking everywhere but at him. Perhaps a little distance would do them both some good.

  “Then there is nothing left for me to do except to wish you all good hunting.” A curious expression softened Reynard’s eyes. “But if, by chance, you do not make it to port in time for the last sailing, is there… any message you would have me convey home to your wife?”

  Blood and sand. His wife? Anselm exchanged a shocked glance with Hugh. Reynard had actually acknowledged Effie as Fergus’s wife? Sir Hugh looked equally stunned. What a turnabout this was. How must Fergus be feeling now? His cheeks were a little ruddier than normal, perhaps, but otherwise he seemed quite himself.

  “Tell her… tell her… ”

  No wonder the poor lad floundered. What could he possibly have to say to Effie that he wanted his father to hear?

  “Perhaps,” Anselm said, at last, feeling rather sorry for the lad, “you might care to scribble a brief message for Lord Reynard to deliver to your wife on your behalf. I am certain that delaying our departure for another minute or two will cause no harm.”

  “Yes.” A look of relief washed over Fergus’s ruddy face, brightening his expression. “I will do as you suggest.” Then, calling for parchment and quill, he took himself off to a distant corner of his father’s tent to compose his missive. With eyes full of regret, Reynard watched his son go. Perhaps sensing the other men were watching him—that he’d revealed more than he ought—the stern lord turned away to address Anselm.

  “And what about you? Is there any message you would have me deliver to your brother?”

  “Yes. Tell Vadim he must not wait. If he has the queen and her family in his care—and I’m certain he does—then he must push for port with all due haste. Winter is already nipping at our heels and he can ill afford to miss the last boat home.”

  “And what about the princesses?” Reynard asked, arching one gray eyebrow. “What if you should miss the last sailing, hmm?”

  Anselm shrugged. “Then we shall have no other choice but to hole up in port for the winter. Oh, you needn’t look concerned, m’lord. I shall engage maidservants and chaperones. The arrangement will be quite proper, I assure you.”

  “Hmm.” Clearly, Reynard wasn’t convinced, but the presence of Sir Hugh must have reassured him for he said, “Then, here. Take this.” He untied a jingling leather pouch from his belt and handed it to Anselm. “If the worst should happen, you have more than enough gold there to keep the ladies in comfort for several months.”

  “Thank you, m’lord.” Anselm attached the heavy purse to his belt.

  “Unless, of course, the worst has already occurred,” Reynard added, his meaning all too plain.

  Anselm ground his teeth for the same thought had crossed his mind, too.

  Rape. A cruel and bitter act. A grim trial for anyone to withstand, man or woman. But as terrible an ordeal that would be, there was another fate Anselm feared even more, one he dared not contemplate too deeply.

  For Miriam had double-crossed the pirate captain. Such a man would not take kindly to losing face before his entire murderous crew. What if Fabien decided to make an example of Miriam in a bid to reaffirm his position as captain? What if… ?

  “I’m sure the ladies are perfectly well,” Hugh said cheerfully, giving Anselm’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Let us not forget, they are worth far more if they are whole and unspoiled.”

  Never had Anselm liked Sir Hugh more than at this moment. What good sense he spoke.

  “And besides,” Hugh went on, “the pirates will be too
occupied with making good their escape to have time for further mischief. Tell me, Lord Reynard, have any of our horses returned yet?” For the pirates had set them loose and chased them off.

  “I don’t believe so. Not yet.” Reynard’s eyes drifted back to his son.

  “Well,” Hugh said, getting to his feet, “we cannot carry out our mission on foot. Come, my friends. While Fergus finishes his letter, let us set out and see if we can round ourselves up a few nags, eh? They can’t have wandered too far.”

  At last, the four companions set out on their hunt.

  For the several leagues, the trail the pirates had taken was clear and easy to follow. But then it turned sharply left, heading over a stretch of bare and stony ground. By doing so, it was more difficult to track their progress.

  “A wise move, pirate,” Anselm muttered with grudging respect,

  Swiftly dismounting from his borrowed black palfrey, Anselm slipped the reins over her head and wordlessly handed them to Percy. He needed to look about him, unhindered.

  “What’s he doing?” A light breeze carried Percy’s whisper over to where Anselm crouched by a flat slab of rock, hunting for a direction.

  “Your master is an excellent tracker, lad,” Hugh replied. “One of the best, by all accounts.”

  “Is he really?”

  Anselm smiled. “You needn’t sound so surprised, Percy,” he called over his shoulder. “My face is not the only fortune I possess.”

  “And he’s excessively modest too,” Fergus said. “Lest you did not know it.”

  “Most amusing, I’m sure. Now if you three idiots would be quiet for a moment perhaps I might find us a heading.”

  When he was certain the others couldn’t see his face, Anselm closed his eyes and held his hand over the head of a tiny white blossom which had made a home for itself within a tiny crevice of sandy rock, clinging to life, frail but determined. Clearing his mind—just as he’d learned so long ago—Anselm felt the vibrations of the little plant flowing into his body.

  Moments later, his eyes snapped open. “That way,” he cried pointing toward a distant range of low hills that shimmered hazy yellow in the sun.