King's Errand

by N. J. Layouni

  Before he’d even properly got through the door, a veritable herd of women descended on him, Martha being the first to launch herself at him.

  With a delighted cry of, “You’re back!” she enfolded Anselm in a great hug which smelled alarmingly of over-ripe baby puke. “How are you?” she asked planting a noisy kiss on his cheek. “Ooh. You need a shave. Now, let me look at you properly.” Finally releasing him, Martha took a step back. “Hmm. You’ve lost weight again,” she announced with a frown, “Don’t you think he has, Vadim?”

  Vadim held up his hands. “I hadn’t noticed.” Hurriedly backing away, he took the coward’s way out, choosing to stand by the casement to talk with Harold, leaving his only brother to the mercy of his womenfolk.

  “Just the trials of the road, sister, nothing more,” Anselm assured her. “But you look well enough for both of us.” Taking her hands, he kissed Martha’s cheek. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “My turn!” With that, Lulu rudely barged her niece out of the way. “Now, come here and give your favorite aunt a nice big squidge, Hansel.”

  “Ans—” Oh, what was the point? Opening his arms he pulled Lulu into a gentle embrace. “Hello, old woman. Good god! What the devil has happened to your hair?” he demanded, regarding her silvery locks with suspicion. “It looks almost… normal.”

  “Hah. That’s because some people won’t let me dye it anymore. And I have two unopened boxes of lilac-sunrise in my bag, just crying out to be used.” She glared at Vadim and Martha. “But apparently, I’m not allowed in case I’m mistaken for a prostitute—”

  “That’s not what we said and you know it,” Martha declared heatedly. “Honestly, Lulu. We’ve been over and over this.”

  “Actually,” Vadim said, coming to the aid of his beloved wife. “I believe we said that you might be mistaken for a witch, not a prosti—”

  “Well, it’s more or less the same thing, isn’t it?” Lulu clung to Anselm’s arm. Her fingernails—he observed—had a suspiciously pearlescent sheen.

  “Not to a witch or a hooker, it’s not,” Martha assured her.

  Vadim chuckled. “Come, ladies. Anselm’s only just arrived home. I’m sure the last thing he wants is to walk in on another of our domestic disputes.”

  Lulu cupped Anselm’s face between her dry hands and grinned at him. “I’m glad my favorite nephew’s home again, safe and sound. I know you won’t let them turn me into a dull old woman, will you?”

  “Never,” Anselm declared with a laugh. “In fact, on my travels, I picked up something that may well be of interest to you. It’s a pigment that the ladies of the south use to color their hair, and paint pictures on their hands, so I believe.”

  “You’ve brought her Henna?” Martha cried in dismay. “Bloody hell, Anselm.” But at least Lulu looked happy.

  “Anyway,” he said looking around the grand room, “where are those two brats of yours? Although I smell them, I can’t see them.”

  “Agatha and Edric have just taken them for their nap,” Lulu told him.

  “Oh? Themselves or the babies?”

  Martha grinned. “it might be a bit of both, actually.”

  “Edric’s still trailing the old dragon everywhere she goes, is he?”

  “Don’t call her that!”

  “All the time,” Lulu said helpfully, ignoring her niece. “He’s like Mary’s little lamb, so he is. Everywhere Agatha goes, Edric is sure to follow. If you ask me, that man has no dignity.”

  “And who is Mary?” Anselm asked. “A friend of yours?”

  But Lulu was too hell-bent on telling her tale to answer him. “Whatever he sees in that old crosspatch, I’ll never know.”

  “Enough, Lulu. At least let Anselm sit down and kick off his boots before you start bending his ear with the latest gossip.”

  “You’re quite right, Martha. Come along, Hansel love.”

  Between them, Martha and Lulu shepherded Anselm to a comfortable chair set in a prime spot beside the fire. After forcibly de-cloaking him, they battled to help him sit down. Anselm sighed as his rear end came in contact with a sumptuous soft, deep-filled cushion. While Martha hurried away to hang up his cloak, Lulu attended to his boots, tugging them off one by one while she continued to grumble about Agatha.

  Suddenly, the room fell rather quiet. Lulu glanced over her shoulder. Then, with a hissed promise she would “fill you in later when there aren’t so many people about,” the old woman scurried away after Martha.

  As Anselm turned his head to see where the ladies had taken themselves off to, to his surprise, he found Seth standing there by the door, with a tray of tankards carefully balanced on one hand.

  His heart plummeted as it usually did whenever Seth was near. But today his father looked rather different from the man he remembered. He looked cleaner. Smarter. His clothes were obviously new and they fit him extremely well. His hair and beard, meanwhile, had been neatly trimmed, pruned back in a style that took years off him. He looked better than he had in a very long time.

  Martha and Lulu had gone to stand with Vadim and Harold by the casement, so leaving Seth and Anselm with at least the illusion of privacy.

  Oh, nicely done, ladies. That was about as subtle as a kick in the armory. With a heavy sigh, Anselm hauled himself up from his comfy seat deciding he might as well get the lecturing and disapproval over with—although he couldn’t think what he’d done to merit another ticking off when he’d only just arrived home.

  “Father.” Damn it. The word flew from his lips before he had the chance to stop it.

  “Son.”

  Wait… what? Son? What new devilry was this?

  “How have you been?” Seth asked, politely, coming over to meet Anselm half way.

  “Well enough, thank you. A-And yourself?”

  “Aye, not bad at all.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Oh, this was horribly awkward. Anselm felt as comfortable as a worm on a hook. He glanced about the room hoping someone would come over to rescue them from themselves. But, suddenly, not even Lulu would meet his eyes.

  “Er… would you care for a drink to wash the taste of the road from your mouth?” Seth asked. “It’s my own ale. I brewed it myself.”

  Blood and sand. Was the world about to come to an end? What the hell was going on here? Seth ranting and snarling was one thing, but Anselm had no idea how to handle this version of his sire. This man smiled and behaved altogether differently.

  “Most kind,” Anselm replied with the same stilted politeness, accepting the frothy tankard Seth offered him. “Aren’t you having one yourself?” he asked, pausing with the vessel raised to his lips.

  Seth’s cheeks flushed bright pink. Placing the tray on a low table, he lifted a distinctive pewter tankard. “This one’s mine. It’s been well watered.”

  Anselm’s eyes widened. “Indeed.”

  Thankfully, Martha appeared at Seth’s side and tucked her hand affectionately through his arm. “I hope there’s one there for me, too.”

  “Of course.” Handing his daughter-in-law a drink, Seth beckoned the others over. “Come. Help yourselves, everyone. I think this moment merits a toast to mark it, eh?”

  Smiling, Vadim took his place at Martha’s side.

  “Welcome home, Anselm,” said he, picking up a tankard and holding it aloft.

  Everyone else followed his lead.

  “Welcome home, Anselm.”

  “Welcome home, Hansel.”

  “Welcome home, Cripple.” (That was Harold, of course—the bearded bastard.)

  But amongst the chorus of voices, the toast Anselm would remember the most was Seth’s as he said, “Welcome home, my son.”

  Despite the enviable position of being held in such high esteem by almost everyone he encountered, Anselm couldn’t shake the feeling of lowness that had stalked him
since parting from Miriam.

  Not even a leisurely bath, a shave, a haircut, and a smart new set of clothes brought up to his room by his personal valet had the power to significantly raise his spirits.

  Instead of spending the remainder of the afternoon with his family, enjoying the new friendly overtures from his father, Anselm chose the solitude of his chambers, instead, where her stared into the fire, a book laying open but unread upon his lap.

  It was dusk, already.

  The short days of winter were already closing in around them. If they hoped to reach Edgeway before the snows came, they could ill afford to linger in the capital. But as much as Anselm could not bear the thought of leaving this place, he could not stay. Not for the whole winter.

  But that was a worry for tomorrow. For now, he had other, more pressing, concerns to consider. Tonight’s celebration feast would be trial enough, but before that there was something even more demanding to get through:

  A private meeting with the king.

  Immediately upon their arrival, the rescue party had each received a royal summons. Oh, what a delightful encounter that promised to be, for Anselm disliked Rodmar almost as much as the king despised him. But if their liege lord wished to speak with the men who had rescued his sisters, there was nothing else to be done except obey.

  He sincerely hoped the king did not intend to speak to them all individually. Just in case, Anselm intended to take Percy along to act as a vital buffer. Speaking of Percy, where the devil was he, anyway? He ought to have been here by now. Really, since losing his virginal cherry, the young man had been positively gushing with newfound confidence, always spiriting himself off to somewhere or other.

  Or someone.

  Well, he’d better not be sowing his seed where he shouldn’t. Not while they were guests of the king. Perhaps he ought to have another fatherly talk with the lad.

  Just then, there was an impatient tapping at the door. Without waiting for permission to enter the room, Percy stuck his tousled golden head around the edge of the door. “Master? Lord Edgeway says we’ve been summoned.”

  “What, already?” Sighing, Anselm set aside his book and rose reluctantly from his comfortable chair. “Oh, very well. Let’s get this over with, shall we?” he said, heading for the door.

  No doubt astonished by his master’s lack of enthusiasm, Percy said, “Do you not want to check your appearance first, m’lord?”

  Anselm couldn’t bring himself to make the short journey to the looking glass by the window. Thanks to his manservant, he was certainly clean and well-groomed. Beyond that, he wasn’t overly concerned. He hadn’t the heart for preening. Not today. The king must take him as he found him.

  “Tell me, lad. How do you think I look?”

  “Very well indeed, m’lord.”

  “Then, I’ll do.”

  Percy looked rather smart himself dressed in his tight black trews, a pair of shiny boots, and a silky shirt worn beneath his new blue tunic. “You look rather well yourself, Percy.”

  “Thank you, m’lord.” Percy smoothed his hand over his glossy curls. “I’m looking forward to this evening’s festivities, aren’t you?”

  Not particularly. But, instead, Anselm said, “Indeed I am.” How could he look forward to anything when Miriam would not be by his side?

  “I’ve never seen so many beautiful ladies all in one place.”

  Ah. So that’s why Percy was so giddy, was it?

  “Yes, and I meant to have a word with you about that.” They left Anselm’s chambers and stepped out onto the main corridor, following the paige who had been waiting to escort them to the king’s audience chamber.

  “About what, m’lord?”

  Conscious of their young escort walking solemnly ahead of them, Anselm said in a low voice, “Responsible seed-sowing.” Anselm arched his eyebrows meaningfully. “Don’t insult my intelligence by pretending you don’t know precisely what I mean, Percy.”

  Percy blushed scarlet. “No, m’lord.”

  “Just be careful, that’s all. Strictly no… ” he lowered his voice again “… virgins.”

  Percy grinned. “Understood. So I take it… ” Percy lowered his voice accordingly “princesses are off limits, too?”

  Anselm darted a narrow-eyed glare at his squire. Insolent whelp. “Precisely.” Just wait until they resumed their training again. Some day in the near future Percy would pay most dearly for that remark.

  “May I ask you something, m’lord?”

  “That depends.” They negotiated a long flight of elegant marble stairs, carefully avoiding a gaggle of squealing children who were running in the opposite direction with their nurse in close pursuit.

  “It’s… er… something of a personal nature.”

  Anselm chuckled. “Oh, I sincerely doubt there’s anything you could say that would make me blush. Come on, then. Out with it.”

  “It’s about… Princess Miriam, m’lord.”

  Anselm suddenly stopped walking, his heart pounding fearfully in his chest. “Well, what about her?” he demanded. Everything in his tone warned Percy to proceed with care. When he’d mentioned a ‘matter of a personal nature’ Anselm had foolishly supposed he meant his own situation. Damn the boy.

  “Your… friendship, m’lord. Is it really at an end?”

  Friendship. How harmless and wholesome that sounded.

  “You forget yourself, squire. My friendship, as you so quaintly put it, is none of your concern. Now let the matter drop.”

  Thankfully the paige had walked some way ahead, descending the long staircase before realizing his charges weren’t following him.

  “As you wish, m’lord,” Percy replied. “It just seems such a shame, that’s all, when the two of you seem to rub along so well togeth—”

  “Lower your bloody voice,” Anselm hissed. Grabbing Percy by the front of his new tunic, he dragged his squire into the partial shelter provided by a small alcove occupied by a rather ugly sculpture of a naked man reclining on a plinth. “You, boy!” Anselm called as the paige began walking back up the stairs toward them. “Wait there!” Then, in a gentler tone, he added, “If you please.” For the paige’s wide eyes told him he had spoken much too curtly.

  Bloody Percy.

  Anselm rounded on his squire. “Very well. Say what you must and have done with it. But let me make this perfectly clear,” he said, his finger raised in warning. “You will never raise this subject with me again. Agreed?”

  Percy nodded several times. “I-I ju-just won-wondered what was to become of you, that’s all. Anyone with eyes can see how highly you two regard one other.”

  “The princess will remain here in the capital with her family, of course. You and I, however, will soon be returning home. To Edgeway.” And may the spirits help the boy when they did! “As for the princesses, in due course, both of our charges will, no doubt, make suitable marriages, thus ensuring the palace’s next batch of royal children. Is that plain enough for you?” Although Anselm spoke calmly, inside he felt like screaming at the mere thought of the woman he considered his own binding herself, body and soul, to another man.

  “It doesn’t seem fair, though.”

  “Life seldom is, Percy. Indeed, I am astonished you have not already learned this vital lesson. Now, let this matter drop.” Smoothing the creases of his squire’s rumpled tunic, Anselm forced himself to smile. “Come along. Our young escort awaits us. Let us not keep the king waiting.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  As they were shepherded into the king’s main audience chamber, Anselm was grateful he wasn’t alone.

  Seated upon his royal throne, one hand casually supporting his chin, Rodmar watched them approach. For all the world, he looked like a golden cat at rest, but Anselm wasn’t fooled for a moment. Just like a cat’s eyes, the king’s were ever-watchful. They missed nothing.
r />   Glad for the company of his friends, Anselm kept eyes fixed on a point in the middle distance. He’d forgotten how intimidating the king could be. But with Hugh’s solid presence to his right, and Fergus and Percy on his left, Anselm felt a little less vulnerable.

  Surprisingly, Vadim accompanied into Rodmar’s inner sanctum, and it was he who led the way.

  “My liege.” Coming to a halt before the great throne, Vadim swept a deep, formal bow which the rest of them were quick to emulate.

  “Well met, Lord Vadim.” With a lazy flick of his wrist, the king bade them all rise. “So, these are the men responsible for saving my sisters from that nest of barbarous pirates?”

  “Indeed they are, sire.” One by one, Vadim presented each man by name.

  “Welcome home, gentlemen,” Rodmar said once the introductions were done, his stern countenance relaxing into a smile. “Except for young Percy here, the rest of you are already known to me.” He directed a long hard stare at Anselm. “Our last meeting, back in Edgeway, however, wasn’t the happy occasion it is today. Still, here we all are, friends at last.”

  Friends? Anselm somehow resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Not bloody likely.

  “My sisters tell me you have each shown great bravery on their behalf, coming after them when all hope seemed lost. For such a bold, selfless act, you have my deepest gratitude, gentlemen.”

  The four companions each muttered an appropriately modest response, while Fergus and Percy glowed bright with crimson pride. Indeed, it was impossible to decide who blushed the fiercest. Predictably, Hugh proved to be the most relaxed and cheerful member of their company, and it was he who assumed the role as their spokesman.

  “I think I speak on behalf of us all, sire, when I say that the opportunity of serving you and your good family was worth any risk.”

  “Fine words, Sir Hugh. Very fine indeed.” Rodmar smiled. “How glad I am that I heeded Lord Vadim’s counsel back in those dark days following the siege of Edgeway. Little did I know that by sparing your life, you would repay my leniency a hundredfold. Not only are you a brave knight, Sir Hugh, but you are a man of truth and honor. Tell me, what reward would you ask of your king? You have but to name it and it shall be yours.”