The Still (29 page)

Hester and Fostrow surveyed the ruined roof. With surprising cleverness for one so stolid, the guard fashioned a stairs out of boxes leading to a half barrel and a hogshead. With clumsy gallantry he helped the old woman aboard the contrivance, steadied her while she climbed up to peer with rheumy eye at the devastation.

“The thatching’s gone.” Back to earth, she sat on a low box as if it were a throne. “That’s bad enough, though I could teach you the art. But the beams below are rotted. For that work we’d need to fell trees, adz them flat. Or buy milled lumber.”

I leaned against a pole that supported the overhang, rocking it first to make sure it wouldn’t come down about me. “Buy it, then.” It was her problem, not mine. As soon as Elryc was settled, Rust and I would be off, to set things right.

“With what, Rodrigo? Three men would labor a month for the cost.”

“All the years you were at Stryx, did you waste everything? Have you no coin?”

“Aye, and have you no sense?” Her glare would have been withering, if I’d been in a mood to be withered. “I used what I’d saved to lay up a supply of foodstuffs. Clothes, axes, other trifles with which we’ll live. Much of my pay was sent to the scoundrel Danar, whose pledge it was to keep my cottage after Tarana passed. Look at the state of things! It must have begun its ruin even before her death, while he wrote me all was well.” Unexpectedly, she dabbed her skirt at her eyes. “My sister, ending her years in squalor. Had I but known ...”

“When were you here last?” Rustin, his voice respectful.

“Eight, nine years past. Just before Pytor. I knew that after, I’d not have chance to get away. Tarana had aged; it was a shock to me, and our place was seedy. Danar agreed to look after her, if I sent wherewithal.”

“Didn’t she write you that he—”

Her tone was bitter. “She couldn’t write. Our da never got around to teaching her; I was the clever one.” I snorted, but she didn’t hear me. “Surely, though, she’d have sent word. Messengers pass this way.”

Fostrow said, “Through town, perhaps. But on a lonely trail, leading but to a homestead?”

“Aye.” Her sigh had the weight of eons. “So I abandoned Tarana to her fate, while congratulating my love for her.” She rocked. “The things I did without, that she might have. Oh.” She covered her face. “Oh.”

It was Elryc who crept to her side, stroked her wizened neck with his small hand. “Don’t weep, Nurse, or I’ll cry too.”

Her hands came down from dampened eyes. “I don’t cry, young fool. Can’t you—all right, so I do. What of it? Will the sun stay fixed in the sky until a foolish old woman comes to her senses? I’ve right to weep, and mourn my folly. Go stir soup.”

As if she hadn’t spoken, Elryc pulled up a box, sat close. “I love you, Nurse. Glad I am that you care for me.”

Her hands went again to her face. Rustin pulled me away, despite my eagerness to hear what came after. “There’s brush to pull. And my neck chafes. Help me, would you?”

In the afternoon Chela and the children were set to clean the pots, and drag our gear to the dilapidated hut. Meanwhile, we held a council of war: Hester, I, Fostrow, and Rustin.

“We’re four. How many men can a miller have, and armed with what—staves?”

Fostrow shrugged apologetically. “It’s not that simple, my lord. We can’t just take—”

“Why not? He stole a fortune from Nurse.”

“Roddy, think.” Rustin. “On whose authority would we act? Do we ride in like brigands, to slaughter him if he objects? They’d rouse a meet, and gather us for hanging.”

“They can’t lay a hand on us. I’m of blood royal, and Fostrow’s my sworn man. Rust, your lineage is such—I mean, was—” I stumbled to a halt. Rustin thrust his thumbs in his belt, walked a few steps so he faced away. I’d have to remember henceforth to make no mention of Llewelyn.

When Rustin spoke his voice was controlled. “You’d slaughter the miller? When the townsmen came for us with pitchforks, then what, proclaim yourself? There’s a chance they wouldn’t believe you, and hang us anyhow. Or if they did, then Mar finds us and—”

A diffident cough, from Fostrow. “That’s not all so likely, Lord Rustin. I imagine the castle’s under siege by now, and whether or no, the good Duke has much on his mind. Would he strip his defenses by sending men to arrest the Prince?”

“More likely, send word to hold us.” Rustin.

“Which these people cannot do, sire. You’re nobility. At most they could apply to Earl Cumber, or if they were daring, escort you to him.”

I glowered. “You know much about the law of these affairs, Fostrow.”

“In the Duke’s service, one must, Prince Rodrigo. It’s happened that a royal cousin has gone astray, and set fire to a peasant’s fields in fun.”

“What befell him?”

“I know not, my lord. Your gracious mother was informed, and the young lord went elsewhere, for a while.”

“So, then, the worst is that they take us to Cumber. What’s wrong with that?”

Rustin waved away a gnat, or perhaps my argument. “You’d have your great-uncle see you a prisoner? Go to him on your own, if that’s what—”

“I’ll be damned if I’ll beg charity from that pompous old ...” I realized Fostrow was among us. “No, not Cumber. Not while we’re powerless. So, rather than take a stand, you’d let Danar get away with Nurse’s coin? Hester, can you conjure more?”

“Can I what?”

“Conjure it. Use your arts, the way you passed Elryc over the gate, invisible.”

“Don’t be daft.”

“It’s a proper question. Now my coin is gone, yours is all we have on which to live.”

Hester looked to Rustin, then Fostrow. “Did I invite him to live on it? Was it his idea, or mine, to chase me through Caledon?” Neither gave answer. “Oh, for Elena’s sake I won’t turn him away, nor you, as you’re his own. But I’m of Fort, and know the place. We won’t begin here by shedding blood.”

I ignored her gibes, focused on her answer. “What would you, then?”

“We confront Danar peaceably.” Hester scowled. “That means you stay behind, as you lose your temper at the drop of—”

“I do not! I go, or no one goes!” I glared at each in turn.

Hester’s voice was quiet, but not gentle. “The coin you seek is mine.”

“The men you’d send are mine.” I could have left it at that, but a sudden anxiety seized me. “Rust, will you go, if I forbid it?”

“Hmmmm. Should I help Hester feed you, though you insist on starving?” He withstood my fury long enough to make his point, then surrendered. “No, I cannot, if you forbid. Though our lot be reduced to this, clearly it’s a matter of state.”

“Fostrow?”

He grimaced. “Why do you make of it a challenge, youngsire?”

“In your dotage, do you remember swearing to me?”

He flushed. “Aye, my lord.” A sigh, barely audible. “I won’t go.”

“There.” I let her see my triumph.

“So be it.” She stood painfully, sighing. “I accept your choice. No one goes.” She gestured with her stick. “What food I’d eat, goes to Elryc until there’s none. You, brave proud boy, fend for yourself. What say you others?”

Rust, without hesitation. “I split my rations between Elryc and my liege Prince Rodrigo.”

“Rust, she’s bluffing.”

Hester growled, “Soldier?”

“To Prince Elryc, my lady. He’s a child and needs them more. Besides, he’s barely back from the dead.”

Hester nodded. “Wise. The servants Genard and Chela, I’ll feed. This quarrel is none of their making.”

I shot to my feet. “Hester, for once in your life, act in sense! It is I who am Prince!”

She wheeled on me, threw her stick so it bounced off my boot. “Foolish boy! Arrogant, stupid boy! Stubborn boy, who risks us all because he cannot have his way. May flowers root in your mother’s tears this day, for you do her not proud, nor yourself. You are hot fit to be King!”

“Go easy, good dame.” Rustin interposed himself. He stooped for the stick, handed it to her politely. “Let Rodrigo be, I pray you. Come, my lord, let us walk.”

“I won’t give an inch, not an iota, not—”

“Aye, of course not. And an evening without a meal won’t kill us. Come along, we’ll see what lies beyond the fence.”

I sat on a barrel, glowering at Genard as he tried to hit a sapling with pebbles, waiting for Chela to make the error of speaking to me.

It had been hours; would they ever return? And why had I let Fostrow ride Ebon? Yes, Rust had Santree, and Fostrow his own mount, but that left the pitiful nag for Hester, or one of the drays. My ire was such I wouldn’t consider letting the vile crone take my Ebon, but Rust, with his demon-spawned logic and calm, had made me give Fostrow the use of him.

I wouldn’t have given in, but that Rustin heard me out, agreed with every word I said. I told him what I wished I could do with Hester, and he agreed with that. He heard my revised plan for dealing with the miller, and offered not a word of objection. Somehow, when it was all done, I had consented to Hester’s scheme, provided she dropped her nonsense about holding her foodstuffs for those of whom she approved.

They rode off, and my jubilation turned to a certainty that I’d been gulled, either by Hester or by Rustin. I’d set myself on the barrel to think it through.

Elryc came out of the cottage, scratching a mosquito bite. “It was a cozy old place, once.”

I snorted. “Show me the great hall, where the councilors meet.”

“Oh, it’s small, but ordinary folk live thus.” He shot me a quizzical glance. “What were you shouting about, while I was scrubbing pots?”

“I demanded they go, so I could speak with you alone.” I beckoned him close. A trusting fool, he came. I seized his arm, twisted it behind his back. “One thing you’ll tell me, and quick.”

He yelped. Genard fixed his eyes on me.

“Hester laughs, when I speak of her conjuring us coin. Has she a Power, little brother?”

“Please let him go, m’lord.”

“Stay out of this, Genard. Has she?”

“How would I—Ow!” Elryc winced.

“You’d know, if truly she turned you into a bird. Tell me how she put you over the wall.”

A sniffle. “I can’t. Please, it hurts!”

I bent his wrist upward another inch or so. “Are you sure, little—”

Genard snatched a log from our pile of firewood. “Let go of m’lord Elryc!”

“Strike the heir, would you, stableboy?” I twisted harder; Elryc squealed. “I’ll spit you like a—aiee!” I toppled from my barrel, side smarting. Genard dashed to safety.

Elryc had fallen with me, and was underfoot. I brushed him aside, made for my sword that lay in the wagon. “I’ll show you, spawn of imps, motherless creature of—”

“Run, Genard!” Elryc’s voice was shrill.

Instead of racing for open land like an honest churl, the urchin circled the cart, keeping its unyielding bulk between us. Three circuits of the wagon, and I’d come no closer, though I changed direction twice to catch him unawares. In a towering rage I hoisted myself onto the cart, grunted as my tender privates scraped the sideboard.

“Run, Genard! He means to kill!”

I clambered about the wagon, sword drawn, watching my chance. The boy hesitated. I leaped down, staggered to my balance.

Genard turned, raced off, cannoned into Rustin, bounced to the turf. With a cry of victory I lunged forward, sword raised.

Rust stepped in front of the fallen boy.

I cried, “Out of the way!”

“With my own sword you’d cleave me?”

“When did you get back? Leave it, ’til I finish him!”

“Hold your temper, my prin—”

I stabbed at Genard’s foot, but Rust kicked aside the edge of my blade. His eyes widened.
“Elryc, put down the dagger!”

I whirled to meet the new treachery. From behind, Rust clasped my hand. He toppled me to the ground, bent my arm, removed the sword as from a baby. I lashed out with my fist, caught only his thigh.

He dropped the blade at Elryc’s feet. “Hide this!” He hauled me to my feet, shoved me so I staggered, propelled me from the cottage toward the road. “I’m ashamed of you, my prince!” Fostrow watched openmouthed. Hester’s lips were set, grim.

“Let me go, I’m—”

Another shove, and I sprawled. He took me by shirt and breeches, manhandled me to the road. “Ashamed, I said!” His eyes blazed. A shake, which rattled my teeth. “Did you hear, my liege? I’m ashamed of you!” At once, he let me go, and I fell.

Slowly, I picked myself up, wary. “Rust, easy. Don’t lose your ...”

He drew breath. “Walk with me.” Unwilling, I did. If I refused, no telling what he’d do. “How could you attack them, Roddy?”

He had it all wrong. I explained.

“So you would kill Genard for protecting his liege?”

“He’s a stableboy, a nothing!”

Rustin’s eyes were pained. “What am I, then?”

“You? My friend! Or once you were. Now you take it upon yourself to act my father, and humiliate me in front of all! I want none of you!”

“A false vassal.”

“Yes!”

“Disloyal liegeman.”

“The words are yours!”

“Son of a traitor.”

“That too—your tongue said it, not—what are you doing?” I stepped back rapidly, staring at his unsheathed dagger.

He offered it to me, hilt first. “Strike, then, as you would Genard of Stryx. I am a nothing, no better than he.”

“I don’t want your life!”

“But you want his.”

“He attacked me, humiliated me in front of Elryc.”

“And I did not?”

“Yes, but that’s—” My tone went sullen.” Always you twist me, like a piece of string. You had me hand you Ebon’s reins, smiling, to stay behind with servants and children while you did my work.” I glared. “Well, it’s true. Now you’d have me apologize, for putting a peasant lout in his place.”

“I asked no apology.” Again, he proffered the dagger. “Strike, if you will. Perhaps it will satisfy your blood lust.”

“You make me sound a crazed Norlander! Put that away, Rust. This is me! Roddy!”

He found a grassy spot. “Sit.” He left me little choice, unless I would stare down at him. “Yes, it is you, Roddy.” Then he told me things about myself that made my cheeks flush, my skin crawl with embarrassment. More than once I would have leaped to my feet and been away, but his hand stayed me, with surprising gentleness. When he was done, I followed him back to the camp, subdued.