The Still

Chapter 15

We dawdled around the hut until midday, to my growing annoyance. Hester occupied herself taking stock of the cottage, Genard caring for the horses, Fostrow chatting with Chela. Rustin took Elryc on a long walk to survey the fences in need of repair. That left me, overlooked and slighted. True, Nurse had proposed that I haul the remaining boxes and stores from the cart under the canvas roof of the cottage, but the proposal was so outlandish I ignored it entirely. If she wanted laborers, let her hire louts from the village.

I sat under a tree, playing with my finely balanced sword, dreaming of the day I’d be crowned. I feared it would be long coming.

Whenever Genard passed near, hauling feed or water, I glowered, but he was too busy to notice. I wasn’t sure whom to blame for last night’s debacle, him or Rustin. The stable-boy had struck me, but I’d drawn sword and had the situation under control when Rustin blundered in.

“Water, m’lord?” Genard proffered a cup.

“If I want, I’ll ask.” I scowled until he went away. My reassurance of last evening had worked all too well, it seemed. Pathetically grateful, Genard had resumed his unwelcome intimacy, and in that mode, no rebuff seemed strong enough to catch his notice.

Besides, Rustin no longer knew his place. We weren’t still boys of the castle; we were young men grappling with war and privation. Yet he shoved me about, clapped his hand over my mouth, scolded worse than Nurse ever had. It was born of affection, I knew; but even those displays were unseemly. I sighed. Perhaps a subtle reference to his father would recall him to his senses. It wasn’t meet that I should consort with the son of a traitor. Not that I wanted him to leave, merely to resume his proper station.

“A good day for a nap, Prince.” Fostrow, his tone genial.

I opened one eye. “You have time for other than Chela? How pleasant.”

His brow knitted. “What say you, youngsire?”

“Don’t you notice her wiles? You moon over the strumpet as if she were goddess of-”

“She’s young enough to be my-” He scratched his grizzled head. “Ah, leave it be.”

I was in no mood for conciliation. “She’s spoken for. Unless you’d cross swords with Rustin over the right to lift her skirts.”

Fostrow shook his head, his eyes gone sad. “You’ve a mean streak in you, Rodrigo of Caledon, if I don’t mind saying. Whatever makes you so?”

My grip on the sword tightened. “Remember to whom you’re sworn.”

“Let me explain.” He squatted. “I’m sworn to thee, and will follow in battle. But a master doesn’t hold the sentiment of men by casual contempt. Our party is small, and none will cross you. But what if you’re King, and there are thousands whose grievances fester? How then will you sleep safe-”

“What know you of the rule of kings!” I waved it away. “And what about your precious Mar? You served him; can you say he won your affection?”

Fostrow said gently, “I’m here with you, Roddy. Doesn’t that tell you much?” While I puzzled it out, he trudged back to the cottage.

After a meager midday meal, Hester called us together. “We mustn’t let Danar think we’ll let drop the matter of our coin, for lack of caring. I’ll stay behind, and teach the boys the weaving of rushes, for the floor. Rustin, you might seek him out, with Fostrow.” Her tone was diffident.

“As you wish, dame.”

“And Roddy too, for the weight of numbers.” Casually, as if it had just occurred to her. “But for Lord’s sake, no violence.”

Before I could react, Rust said, “Of course not. Roddy understands perfectly. We spoke of it only this morning.” A bald-faced lie, if ever there was one. I nodded dutifully. Let him bear the untruth; he had no Power to lose, and I’d escape this forlorn wreck of a cottage, at least for a few hours. My heart quickened.

I was so glad to go along, I found myself saddling Ebon myself. I was the first ready, sat patiently in the saddle, sword at an awkward angle. Why had no one figured a proper place for a mounted man’s sword? It stuck out like a-I blushed.

At last the others were ready. Rustin winked. “Let’s go.”

To ride was exhilarating, even at a moderate pace. Finally, I could sit the saddle without pain, and I relished every moment of it. At a canter, the town of Fort seemed much closer than it looked from the jouncing wagon. We were at the first hutments in half an hour.

Rustin said, “Roddy, when we meet the miller …”

“Don’t give me instruction!” Time to assert myself, else his urge to mother me would grow to intolerable proportions.

“Someone must. Don’t scowl. Your kingdom may depend on it.”

He had my attention.

“If Elryc is to have a home and your vow be fulfilled, we need the coin Danar stole. If you do him harm, we’ll be forced to reveal ourselves or flee as felons. Either would make our position more precarious. Later, we may need to approach your uncle Cumber. If we’re brought to him as prisoners, we’ll lose any chance of his support. Do you see?”

Sullen, I twitched the reins. “If I’m such a dolt, why do you want me along?”

He leaned over the pommel, patted my knee. “You can’t succeed, if we do not risk failure. We cannot do all for you, Roddy.”

Dismayed at his candor, I could but nod. How could he think so little of me, yet make himself my vassal? What bound Rust to me, if not respect and esteem?

We plodded on. A path branched off from the road, disappeared into woods. Half a hundred paces later, the way to the mill was well marked with the deep ruts of carts laden with grain.

The sluice gate was wide open, and the wheel turned with vigor. Its creaks and the rush of the river itself drowned out conversation. We hitched the horses to the rail, climbed the steps to the mill floor.

Inside, on the grinding platform, the heavyset miller and his man were hard at work, amid sacks and barrows. Summer was at its end, and the harvest was half-gathered. They fed whole grain to the great smooth stone, whose motion was fed by the impetus of the water, by a sort of Power I could scarce comprehend.

Rustin glanced at Fostrow, waited patiently for the miller’s attention.

At last the man ceased his labor, wiped his brow. He lumbered down the stairs, frowning at each step. I’d thought he would somehow bring the wheel outside to a stop, but it whirled on, splashing back into the channel below, turning the rumbling millstone.

“Ah, a lad you’ve brought, in place of the dame.” The garlic in his breath wafted close, and I grimaced. He eyed me, turned away. “It’s busy I am. No chance I’ve had to consider.”

Rust smiled, his tone courteous. “And we wouldn’t press you, Danar, but our need is urgent. Come, let us settle the matter.”

“How?” Again, the miller wiped his florid face.

“Return the four silvers Dame Hester sent you each year.”

“Nonsense, that is. She didn’t send half that amount. More than that I gave of my own charity, to poor Tarana. You’ve no idea how wretchedly she lived.”

“I’ve too good an idea.” Rust’s voice was cold. “Do you truly care to be hauled before the justiciar? When your fraud is proved-”

“Begone. I have work.” The miller turned away.

Fostrow said lightly, “The same charity you showed Tarana, you might offer good Dame Hester.” With an affable smile, he clapped the miller on the shoulder. “Surely a prosperous man such as yourself can spare a few-”

“Prosperous? Are you witless?” Angrily, Danar brushed off the offending hand. “Five pence on the hundred, I’m taxed. I pay these poor folk more for their grain than I-”

“Will the Queen’s justice see it so, goodman Danar? Surely, to avoid the nuisance of pleading your case …”

Danar’s eyes flashed. “You think to frighten me? No Queen sits now at Stryx, and what’s left of her justice is far from our village. Perhaps it’s Tantroth’s justice we’ll face, ere long.” My fingers crept to my sword, but he paid no notice. “He’ll care not about the ravings of a daft old woman, or the quarrel of a few pence.”

With that, he grunted his way back to the platform, beckoned his perspiring man for a new barrow.

I growled to Rust, “Let’s set the place afire.”

“Subtle, my prince, but it won’t do the trick. Danar will be ruined, and Hester will remain so.” He led me outside.

“I’ll bet he hasn’t spent a penny,” I said. “Look at the fat on him; he’s a hoarder. There’ll be a trunk somewhere, stuffed with coin.”

“Oh, well that makes it easy. We’ll just ask him its whereabouts.”

“Don’t jeer!” I stamped my foot, muddied my boot for my pains.

“I meant no offense. You held your temper well.” Rust’s smile was tight. “Well, we’ve had his answer. Now what?”

“Bring him to justice, as Fostrow said.”

“In whose name, Hester’s? Before Earl Cumber, the Lord of this place? Elryc will be long grown before the matter is resolved.” He untied Santree.

Savagely, I kicked at the miller’s tie rail, splintering it. I slipped loose Ebon’s reins. “What a hateful place, this Fort. Mud, peasants, thieves. Would we never followed the old witch.” Before any could answer, I galloped off, ignoring Rust’s efforts to flag me down. To be perverse, I veered onto the path into the wood, found it led only to an ill-kept Place of Rites. Fuming, I had to retrace my steps.

When at last we were home, Hester heard our tale in grim silence, over a sparse meal. “For now, it seems we can do nothing.”

“A drawn sword will teach him respect. You can’t abandon all your pence to-”

“For Elryc’s sake, I must. We need a refuge, do we not? While you were gone I sent Genard for the carpenter. He and his family will repair our roof, but we must pay for the wood at once, and the labor within a month.”

“Is that possible?” Rust.

“Almost. I’m short two silver pence.” A sigh. “Had I known, I wouldn’t have bought … ah, well.”

Rust was silent. Then, “Add this.” He unstrung his purse, emptied it onto the table. With a warning finger he forestalled my angry objection. “What I do for Elryc fulfills your vow to protect him.”

Hester counted the coin. “It makes enough.” Her eyes studied his. “Are you sure? I may never repay it.”

“I’m sure.” His tone was gruff.

She gave another sigh, this time as if setting down a heavy load.

“All well and good.” My tone was savage. “How do you propose to pay the carpenter’s labor?”

“Why, by work.” She blinked. “Labor is short, at harvesttime. There’s the gathering, the smithy is always too busy, the leatherer may need a hand.”

“Whose labor? You’re too old for much.”

“Yes?” Her gaze never wavered. “Not too old to raise three boys, and be not finished.”

“So, then?” I ignored her gibe.

“The menfolk will have to hire themselves out. Roddy, don’t pout, it’s the only way. Fostrow says he’s willing. Genard also.” A pregnant pause.

Rustin. “You wish my help?”

“If you’d give it. With Roddy, that makes four. In a month, we can-”

I stumbled to my feet, threw open the door, stalked into the night. A dozen paces from the hut, a sapling was in my path; I grasped its trunk, twisted, bent, wrenched it from the earth, hurled it from my way.

A hand fell on my shoulder. “Be calm, my prince.”

“Get thee gone, lickspittle!” I slapped down Rust’s hand, shoved him hard enough so he stumbled. Maddened with rage, I blundered on my way.

The crash of steps, and Rustin’s voice, panting. “Speak, at least. Let me know your thoughts.”

“You work at a smithy, or scythe grain.” Again, I sought to leave him behind.

Again, he followed. “You’re vexed.”

“Will you not leave me?” I whirled. “Vexed? You might as well speak of a spoonful of tide, or a handful of mountain!” I snatched his shoulders, propelled him backward against a tree. “Rust, I’m Prince of Caledon. Would you make me into that lout we nearly ran down today, sweating under a roll of hay? I will not work for my dinner, or Hester’s. First, I’d starve!”

“A real possibility.”

“Don’t play at mockery! You offered your labor like-like a common churl. Shameful! You’re my vassal, and it reflects on me.”

“So would your starving.”

“I forbid it!”

That gave him pause. He stared at me curiously, like some insect crawling on a leaf. “You what?”

“I forbid you to hire yourself out! You’re nobility, of the House of Llewel-well, that explains it, you bear his blood and have no pride, and-”

“Rodrigo.” The menacing note in his voice stopped me cold. “Speak not of my father.”

“I-all right, it’s beside the point. But I won’t consider pretending we’re peasants. That goes for you too, as long as you’re my vassal.”

Another pause. Halting, he said, “My prince, relieve me of my oath of fealty. Let me serve you as friend only.”

“Demons’ spawn!” My spittle sprayed his cheek. “Scum! Bastard son of a vile traitor! Never was I more than dung in your eyes!”

“Roddy I–I don’t know well how to beg.” He flushed. “But beg I do.”

“Get thee from my sight!” I spun his shoulders, shoved him hard on the backbone. “How dare you ask, in the straits I’m in! I hate you as you must hate me!” I panted for breath, aimed a kick at his rump, caught him unawares. With a cry, he fell. “Be no vassal, then!” I aimed another kick, managed to turn aside my rage before it landed. I ran into the night. “You’re nothing to me! Nothing!”

His anguished voice floated after. “Aye, my prince.”

Hours later, in the faint light of the overcast moon, I sat curled in the wagon, head propped against the backboard. Soft steps. Genard, shirt flung over his shoulders, peered up at me. “Oh, there you are. I came out to piss. Why do you cry, m’lord?”

“I’m not …” A shudder racked me, and I gave it up.

The fool took it for an invitation, perched on the tailboard. “I cry sometimes too, m’lord. Usually over small things, like an empty plate.”

I sniffled. “Don’t weave tales. You were fed every day; Griswold saw to that.”

“I wasn’t born at the castle, m’lord. Before, I was hungry. Besides, Master Griswold gave me enough to cry over, with his strap.”

“I’m sure you earned it.”

“It doesn’t hurt less for that.” A sigh. “After a while, you get used to it. Why do you weep, m’lord?”

“Why ask so many questions, where you’re unwanted?”

“Would you really have me leave? When I cry, I wish someone would come and talk me to happiness.”

“I’m not you!” I wiped my nose. Then, despite myself, “Stay, if you must. I don’t care.”

“All right.” Genard donned his shirt, knotted the strings. “Aren’t you cold? I’ll get us a blanket.” Before I could stop him, he was off.

Moments later he was back, climbing aboard the cart to sit beside me. “Are there stars tonight? It’s fun to sit outside, of a starry night. If Griswold doesn’t catch you. Here, share with me.” Unembarrassed, he offered me half his cover, as if I’d not object to sharing cloth with a stableboy.

I shivered, wrapped myself. He pointed. “The moon tries to break through. Rustin is very upset. And I’m sorry I hit you with the log.”

I gaped.

“But Elryc was my liege, and I had no choice. I had to protect him. I think Rustin may be crying too, but he’s very quiet about it.” He waited for me to speak, gave up. “Should I tell him something from you?”

“To jump in the demons’ lake and burn.”

He drew his breath in a hiss. “Don’t talk like that, m’lord. They’ll hear you.”

I didn’t care what evil I brought on us. “Good.”

He regarded me. “Truly, what ails you must ache. Let’s sit quiet, then.”

I struggled against my need, drew a shuddering breath.

“I understan’, m’lord.” His small hand sought mine. “I’ll stay with you. Too bad we can’t have stars.”

I gave up all pretense of understanding, sat miserable and weary. After a time, the boy clasped his hands between his knees for warmth, leaned his head against my shoulder. Though I stiffened, he seemed not to notice. “You’re the first lord I’ve ever known, to talk to.”

“Do you know one to be silent to?”

My jibe escaped him. “Duke Mar came for his horse, once or twice. Usually he sent a groom. And of course I saw the Queen, but not close. So you and Lor’ Rustin are the first.” His tone was marveling. “An’ you’re so different.”

“Yes, my father was no traitor.”

Genard was silent at first, then said carefully, “I know nothing of such things, m’lord.”

“As little as you know of most things.”

“Yes, I know little, I’m not high and wise, like your friend Rust. What sport is it to hurt me, sire? It’s too easily done.”

I turned, stared down at his head nestled against my shoulder. Who was he to tweak me?

“Never I dreamed I’d be more than a stablehand. I know nothing of fine words, or writing them. I have no clothes, have to bed down with horses. Is that why I offend you?”

I grunted, unsure how to respond. What had the world come to, when a groom’s boy could interrogate a prince?

“I’m sorry, m’lord. I’ll try to be better, now I’m Elryc’s man.”

I let close my eyes, dozed.

“What is it like to have a friend?”

“You anger me, boy.”

“I never had one. Kerwyn, if you could call him that, but he’s a man, and cares not a whit for me. Are friends what you are to Rust?”

Lord of Nature, give me strength to resist, lest I throttle him. “And what am I to Rustin?”

He gazed upward. “You know not? Ah …” A nod, as if he’d found an answer. “So that’s why you cry.”

“Tell me.” I couldn’t help myself.

His voice held wonder. “Everything. Sun and moon.”

I snorted. “Chela is that. Not I.”

“You jest.” He snuggled close. “It’s awfully cold. Shouldn’t we go inside?”

“No!”

“All right, I’ll stay too, then.” He hugged himself, shivered. “Good night, Prince Rodrigo.”

I frowned down at the barnacle that had attached itself to me, found the prospect of a night in the wagon less forlorn. I grunted again, let myself relax into sleep.