The Still

Part II
Chapter 19

I gathered armload after armload of brush and fallen limbs, and built a huge fire in the hearth. I draped my clothes from the mantle, holding them in place with rocks, and sat shivering, feeding sticks to the flames.

In my eagerness, I let the fire grow too hot. My jerkin began to smoke. I yanked it from the mantle, let go with a curse as it threatened to blister my hand. More cautiously, with a stick, I pulled down my breeches and loincloth. The breeks were still too wet to wear, but the loincloth was merely damp; gratefully, I put it on.

I propped the breeches farther from the fire, and examined my shirt now that it had cooled. I sighed. It wasn’t my fault that sparks had burned tiny holes through the midriff. What did I know of drying clothes? That wasn’t my role in life.

It didn’t matter. My silver coin would be ample to buy another shirt. And food. I was now many hours without, and my stomach grew restive. A hen would be best, though I wasn’t quite sure how to pluck and dress a fowl. On our hunts, Griswold or a servant handled such trifles. A fish, on the other hand, I could fry. Well, there was no pan, but I could bake it on rocks. I’d watched Rustin, once. Fish or fowl for my dinner?

I’d spin my silver pence to decide. I fished in my breeks for the coin purse.

Nothing.

Alarmed, I thrust my hand deep. No purse.

“Lord of Nature, don’t do this!” I jammed my feet into my boots, dashed across the field to the stream.

I fell on my hands and knees, swept the grass with my fingers, tore at the earth, blackened and broke my fingernails.

The coin purse was gone. In my haste to wash the filth from my breeches, I’d let the brook have it. I tore off my shirt, plunged my arm deep into the searing cold stream. I could bear it only for a moment; I pulled out my arm, danced away the pain of the frigid water.

Nonetheless, I gritted my teeth, bent again to the water, tried once more to sift the bottom.

No coin.

Desolate, I trudged back to the cottage, dragging my shirt behind.

I would starve.

By now my breeches were almost dry. I dressed, welcoming their warmth, not minding the sooty scent they bore. I slumped on the plank floor, stared at the crackling flames.

Nothing turned out as it should; Lord of Nature himself was against me. Was it because I’d mocked the Rites? Did they reveal arcane truth I was too dense to see?

My stomach growled. I curled myself before the fire, miserable beyond belief. Day passed into evening. At last, I raised my head.

Hard as it might be to admit, perhaps some aspect of conducting a man’s life had escaped me. Though despair at his father’s treason had briefly unhinged him that night at the inn, Rustin seemed far more prepared for life’s vicissitudes than I.

Perhaps I could follow his ways, learn from his manner. Always, until recently, he’d been generous of his time and care. One night he’d even bathed me, soaped my hair. Would he-

No, I’d driven him away. My words had been justified, but he’d recoiled from them, and from me. Well, maybe I’d overreacted a trifle. Rust should have understood, though.

So should Hester.

And Fostrow.

And Genard.

Elryc too.

As the last flames flickered into embers, I sat appalled.

Was I so evil, that men turned their faces? Nothing else could explain their mass desertion.

Outside, an owl hooted.

Hester accused me of being selfish, making their lives a torment. Nonsense, wasn’t it? Or had I really done so? My heart began to sink.

I’d ruined all. Was there still time to find them, somehow make amends?

I began to gather my few things, suddenly afraid. What if they’d turned off the Cumber road, took some bypass I knew not? What if Rust spat in my face?

What if I spent the rest of my days frightened, miserable, alone?

“Roddy, what have you done?” None answered, but the floor creaked, and my back prickled with alarm. When one was alone, imps and demons gathered near. Mother had always warned me so.

I tied my saddlebag tight, led Ebon from his grazing, mounted in the fading light. I could ride thrice as fast as the lumbering wagon could roll. With luck I’d find them. What I’d do then, I wasn’t sure, but I couldn’t face a night in the cabin.

“Let’s go, boy.” I patted Ebon’s flank. The night air was cool, and I shivered. There was no help for it. I flicked the reins, and we were off.

The night was cold, and I reeled with hunger and exhaustion. My tongue still ached, but I spoke-babbled-to myself and Ebon, to stay awake, to stay sane.

I was an insufferable fool. Where Rust kept his temper, I blazed in fury. Where he stopped to ponder, I charged ahead, thoughtless. I was a hopeless dunce. No wonder they all snickered behind my back; compared to my idiocy, my virginity was but a trifle. Even before we’d left Stryx, I’d raged and ranted at Uncle Mar, like the merest child.

We climbed to the high point in the miserable road, began the long descent toward Shar’s Cross, and the cutoff to Cumber Gap.

No wonder they all saw me as a youngsire; I acted the child. But that was no excuse, I was grown, or near so. Wasn’t I?

Or was I … Unpalatable as the idea might seem, I seized on it. Did a man’s feeling in my loins necessarily make me a man?

Bayard and my cousins were married, and considered adult, though no older than I. True, Mar supervised his son’s holdings, gave him to spend, collected his debts. But that was because Uncle Mar was overbearing, not because he saw Bayard as yet a youth.

A haze of doubt, nonetheless. I sucked at it greedily. If I were boy yet, and not man, I could lay down some smidgen of my burden. It would be pleasant to be cared for, if only for awhile.

Slipping from the saddle, I jerked myself awake and clung to Ebon’s mane. Be careful, Roddy. But hurry. You want to catch up to them before-

A bird screamed in the night, and I with him. I lashed Ebon’s flank, and we thundered under the dark canopy. Did a demon lurk, waiting to seize me, eat my liver while I thrashed in helpless agony? Rustin, I’ll say anything, do anything, for the comfort of your arm. Hester-even you. Feed me warm soup, tell me all will be well …

“Aiyee!” A smashing blow to my chest. I toppled head over heels off Ebon’s rump, landed with a thud. Ebon galloped on, but the sound of his step slowed.

I lay still, too terrified to look. What imp of the night had clubbed me from my saddle? Had he fangs, rending teeth? Wicked claws? Trembling, I buried my head under my hands. So much for an end to cowardice.

No.

Cowardice was in my acts, not my fears.

I gritted my teeth, forced, my glance upward. No imp. No prancing demon. Nothing, save the low-hanging branch that had knocked me from my mount.

Groaning, I got to my feet. “Ebon!” I staggered down the road. “Horse, where are you?” Ten steps, in dark. Fifty. “Cursed beast, foul hateful thing, stop hiding! You evil spawn of a mule and-oh, bless you. Hold still, boy. Wait.” I clutched the pommel, rested my head against Ebon’s side, waited ’til the pounding of my heart slowed.

Aching from chest to spine, head to toe, I slowly climbed upon my patient stallion. “On, boy. But not so fast.” I clicked my teeth, jerked the reins. We cantered on. I bent my legs, leaned low, rested my head on Ebon’s mane.

The moon floated high. At first it meant an end to my fears, but eventually the shadows took on renewed menace. Jouncing in the saddle, I squinted at shapes I couldn’t make out, flinched when the breeze caused one of them to move.

From time to time I slowed Ebon to a walk, to conserve him. A cold wind pierced my every pore, and was all that kept me awake. Once, when the stream came close to the road, I got down to drink, but managed only a few mouthfuls before dread overcame my thirst. Only Hester knew which part of the forest was benign, and which swallowed adventurers in the night.

Kicking at the stirrup to remount, I clung to Ebon until a wave of giddiness passed. The ache of my empty stomach merged with my other miseries.

We cantered on down the road. I grew more fearful with each passing moment. Unless I found Hester’s cart, I’d be begging on the pike, and I suspected the country folk would give me short shrift.

Why hadn’t I the sense to chase after Rust and Hester the day they’d left? I’d have avoided my humiliation by Danar. Even now, the memory of washing my clothes drove me near tears. “Ebon, why didn’t I realize?”

Because you’re a young fool, he said in horse talk, through my grip on his mane. A child in man’s garb. An insolent youth.

I tried constantly to shift my weight; I was saddle sore, and my damp breeches chafed my thighs.

Riding as if in a dream, an eerie landscape floating past, I clung to Ebon ’til at last the road joined a wider path. Dizzy, I groped for direction.

Shar’s Cross lay ahead, and past it, the way back to Stryx. Cumber lay at the end of the other fork. I had but to follow the stream, the same one that chuckled past Hester’s cottage.

Why was I confused? I’d been here but a few scant days past, to sell my sword-Rustin’s sword. I flushed. I’d been so arrogant, and to make it worse I’d spurned his protest.

We hurried on, into the dawn. After a time I was sure I’d chosen the right road; Shar was nowhere to be seen. But where were my companions? Surely they’d stopped for the night, and in that case I should be upon them. Had they turned off the road; would I miss them entirely?

It was a chance I couldn’t take, and in any event I was reeling with exhaustion. I walked Ebon awhile, dismounted, walked him some more. Then I loosened his saddle, hobbled him to graze, sank to the ground, my back against a tree. If the cart rumbled past, I’d hear it. If not, I’d ride on, after a while.

I closed my eyes.

The sun was high in the sky when I awoke, refreshed but weak. “Come, Ebon.” I tightened the cinches, hanging on to him for support. For a moment I thought I’d be unable to climb into the saddle, but with a great lunge I threw myself onto my stallion, held on while the dizziness faded. I would have to find food, ere long.

I kept a steady pace, drowsing while we rode. Ebon knew enough to follow the road, so long as there wasn’t a choice of paths.

What woke me, of late afternoon, was a waft of smoke. My mouth watered. Perhaps someone was cooking, and I could beg his hospitality. Perhaps I’d ride into his camp, snatch up his dinner, gallop away. I only knew that I wouldn’t leave hungry.

“Who goes!”

Ebon reared. I clutched his mane and the pommel, desperate to keep my balance. My half-sword flapped uselessly at my side.

“You!” Fostrow gazed in astonishment.

“Me.” I soothed Ebon while my own heart’s pounding eased.

His face neutral, the soldier took a step back, gestured me past.

They’d made camp alongside the road, not far from the splash of the stream. The dray horses were unhitched and tethered, Genard sound asleep under the wagon. I dismounted, rubbed my raw thighs.

Elryc, propped against a wheel, glanced up. “Hello, Roddy. Why is your shirt scorched?” Was he glad to see me? Or even surprised? I had no way to tell.

“Where’s Hester?”

“I’m here.” She stepped round the cart, with an armful of firewood. “Why did you come?” She set down her load.

“Yes, tell us.” Rustin poked his head over the side of the wagon. His manner seemed distant.

I shrugged. “Tantroth’s men may be about, or brigands. You might need help.”

“We don’t.” Hester’s voice was flat.

“I realized I kept the half-sword, and you’d probably want another. Besides … Her eyes were stony. I ground to a halt.

I turned to Rustin, searching for some sign of compassion.

“Well, I’ll leave it for you.” I unbuckled the scabbard, laid it on the grass. “That’s all I came for.” A moment’s pause, while none protested my departure. Desperate, I blurted, “Rust, could you give me another chance?”

He seemed startled, and I fastened on it as a sign of hope. “I’m sorry, Rust. I don’t know what to do.” To me it sounded as if I’d explained all, but they merely looked puzzled.

I turned to Hester. “I’m so tired, and hungry enough to …” I took a tentative step her way, stopped when she made no response. “Please. I guess I’ve made rather a mess of things.” I sat, or perhaps my legs gave way. “I’m confused. Nothing goes as it should, or as I intend.” I wiped my cheek, found my hand damp.

Rustin climbed down from the cart. Hester and Elryc drifted closer.

“I’ll renounce, for Elryc. I’m too clumsy to be King, and too cruel. I just want to be a man.” My throat hurt, as if Danar had hold of my tongue. “But, you see, I don’t … seem … to know how.”

Rust knelt at my side.

“I thought I did, but … nothing works.” My voice caught, and with an effort I brought it under control. “I say stupid things I don’t mean, or perhaps I mean them, I don’t know; I’m spiteful and nasty and-”

Out tumbled thoughts I hadn’t known I felt, drawn by Rustin’s somber gaze. “If I’m left alone I’ll die, or kill myself to put an end to it. I’m lonely and tired. And scared; the fear eats at me and I-”

Rust’s hand fell on my locks, in a gentle caress.

Reluctantly, as if denying I yearned for the peace he offered, I let my forehead rest on his shoulder. “Please, Rust, teach me to be a man.”

He gathered me into his arms, rocked.

“Please.” My arms crept round him, and I began to sob.

“Please.”

The shadows lengthened. I sniffled, wiped my nose. In silence, Hester limped to the cart, conjured a loaf of bread from some hidden recess, proffered it.

I tore off a huge chunk, stuffed it in my mouth, chewed only long enough to swallow, broke off another. Pieces and crumbs fell from my lips. I was aware of Rust’s bemused expression, but was too famished to care. Only when I was too dry to swallow did I slow my ravening.

Genard handed me water; I drank until the vessel was drained. With a sigh, I laid my head again on Rust’s shoulder. “Thank you.” I studied Hester’s face. “May I stay?”

Her eyes shut briefly, as if in pain. “Not as before.”

“Rust, I’m sorry I called you traitor. I won’t ever-”

His voice was gentle. “Did you mean it, about teaching you to be a man?”

Less famished now, my weakness abating, I faltered. Could I not manage on my own, if I were more careful, more …

The sadness in his eyes pierced my very essence. With a deep breath, I plunged into unfathomed waters. “Yes, I meant it.”

“You’d put yourself in my charge, for that purpose?”

Resolutely, I cast aside my doubts. “I swear it by the True, Rust.”

“Then, make your peace with the others.”

I turned to the old woman. “Hester, I’m sorry if I was out of sorts before you left.”

Rust shook me gently. “You’ve been awful, Roddy. That isn’t enough.”

“I don’t owe her-oh, all right. I apologize, Hester.” I glanced at Rustin for a sign of approval. Instead he got to his feet, took my hand, led me away from the camp. When we reached a grove of beeches, far from the others, he said, “It won’t do.”

“I did what you-”

“I won’t play games, my prince. Do as I say, or I’ll turn from you and never look back.”

A chill stabbed at my spine. I nodded meekly, trudged back to the glade.

Elryc regarded me solemnly, from a perch atop the wagon. Fostrow sat at the fire, eyes elsewhere.

“Nurse Hester …” My tone was hesitant. “What has gone wrong, between us?”

“What has not?”

“Tell me.”

“You lazed about the cottage, while the others broke their backs to-”

“It was wrong.” I swallowed. An apology showed weakness, yet, oddly, I felt none the worse for it. “I’ve been wrong about many things.”

“Easy to say it, now you’re starving. What of tomorrow, when your odious character asserts itself?”

My brow wrinkled. “What did I-”

“Oaf! Lout!” She skewered me with a glare. “Such a fine little boy you were. A bouquet of daisies in your chubby hands, for Nursie, oh, yes. But as you grew lanky you jeered, mocked, imitated me behind my back, thinking I was too stupid to see your reflection or your shadow.”

“Dame Hester, I-”

“Aping my ways, mimicking my tone to your sniggering cousins, in that terrible shrill voice that was an echo of my own! It’s an old throat I have, and sore! Do you think I’ve aged so by choice?”

“Nurse …”

“Yes, my knees are old and my back crooked. It got so from lifting small royal boys and soothing their hurts, dampening my blouse with their tears! Even my walk you mocked. Think you I didn’t peer through my lady’s window to watch you staggering across the garden, bent to one side, while Bayard and his ilk reeled with glee?”

Appalled, I motioned to Genard, to Elryc. “Please, leave us.” They stood, wandered out of earshot. “Boys are cruel, I know, but-”

She cried, “I never deserved your hate!”

In lieu of answer, I reached to a tangled and overgrown bush, tugged on a shoot, lopped it off with my blade. I yanked off the leaves. “Over the years you’ve switched me many a time. Is there need again?” I thrust the stick into her hands. “Be my nurse once more, and take my woes from me.”

For a moment her visage remained stern, then she wavered. “Oh, Roddy.” She let fall the switch.

“It wasn’t just boys’ cruelty. As I grew, I hated you for doing what Mother would not: You raised me, Dame Hester, and gave me love and caring that I craved from her. Perhaps she was too busy with matters of state; I’ll never know.”

“She loved you.” Hester limped slowly to the cart, eased herself onto the backboard. “But it was to me she admitted it. ’Twas Elryc got the embraces, the ruffling of the hair, the daily reminders of her concern. I urged her to show you more affection, but she found it trying.”

I came near. “In Mother’s memory, have pity, if naught else. I’ll give Caledon to Elryc; I want no more of-”

“Don’t be a fool.” Her tone was gruff.

“Anyway, no one would have me King. If I’m crowned, they’ll kill me, or set me off the throne.” I pondered. “I don’t understand why I’m so unliked, but I recognize it’s so.”

“That’s a start.”

“Hester, after my insults and my gibes I can’t ask that you love me, but-” I extended my hand.

She slapped away my fingers. “Of course I’m enraged with you-who would not be?” A long pause. At last, the set of her face softened. “But I’ve always loved you, from the time I dandled you on the knee that jounced baby Elena, in her time.” Her voice quavered. “A daughter she was to me, so long past. But I’ve had no sons, Rodrigo of Caledon, save you and your brothers.”

I looked up, hoping beyond hope. She nodded, and I fell at her knees. She seized my face in her lap, swaying and crooning, patting my neck with cold wrinkled fingers. “There, there, Roddy. It will be well.” She hummed fragments of the tune she’d used to put me to sleep.

After a moment I glanced upward. My voice came shy. “I was helpless, when you rode from the cottage.”

“I know.”

“Why did you leave, then?”

“In hope that you’d follow.” Her old eyes met mine. “Else all was lost.”

“All?”

“Your chance to grow to a decent man. The crown, that my lady wanted-wants you to have. So.” She cleared her throat. “We’ll have no more talk of renunciation.”

I sighed. “I doubt I’m fit-”

“But you will be.” The ghost of a smile. “Rustin will see to it, if not I.” She gestured. “And he awaits.” It was a dismissal.

Shyly, I went to Rust.

He turned my shoulders, pointed me to Elryc. “He’s next.”

Sighing, I approached my brother, making the bow of courtesy, that any man might give another, regardless of rank. “If I’ve wronged you, brother, I’m sorry.”

He looked away. “You’ve been yourself. Is that a wrong?”

“Apparently.” I considered. “I swore to protect you, and let you ride off without-”

“I had them to defend me.” His eyes were solemn, and a touch hard. “If you would redeem a promise, choose the more important.”

“Which is?”

“The one you made when I was ill.”

My tone was puzzled. “At the inn? All I said was … Oh!” I shifted from foot to foot. “Elryc, I’m sorry.”

My young brother clenched my shirt in his chubby fists. “Don’t offer a ‘sorry’! Keep what promises you made!”

I thrust down my ire. He had cause to upbraid me, for a vow cast aside. I made the short bow of contrition. “Elryc, if I reign, you’ll rule beside me at my right hand as the Duke of Stryx. Though I have to admit that at the moment it seems unlikely.”

His eyes softened.

“And I’ll rely on your wisdom, where mine fails.” I dropped my hands, said simply, “Forgive me, brother.”

“Oh, Roddy.” He banged his head against my shoulder, as if annoyed, but his cheeks were damp. Then, a quick pat, and he was gone.

Satisfied, I returned to Rustin.

“Now the others.” He flicked a thumb at Genard and Fostrow.

“Is this to humiliate me?” My voice held no protest; I was merely curious.

“No, Roddy. You’ve done them ill.”

“What of it? They’re servants!”

“Call Genard here, and repeat that.”

“I see what you mean; he’d be miffed to hear it, but-”

“At once!” Rust’s voice was hard.

I thought to rebel, quashed the impulse. My vow had been given, and I’d been inconstant enough. With a sigh, I did as he bade.

Genard but shrugged. “Is there anything else, m’lord?” He addressed Rustin rather than me.

“What would you say to Prince Rodrigo?”

“I won’t rebuke my betters.” His tone was sullen.

“You have our leave.” Rustin eyed him coolly. “Go on, get it said.”

“You hit me the last time I-all right.” The boy glowered. “I’m just a servant, to him. Stableboy or prince’s liegeman, it’s all the same from his vantage. I’m as the straw in Ebon’s stall: I’m there, but of no concern.”

I nodded agreement. “Don’t take it personally. Highborn can’t worry themselves about the gripes of mere churls. What matter, if-”

His eyes flashed. “Why not?”

“Oh, Genard.” I tried to control my exasperation. “You don’t understand. We can’t be bothered. In the great scheme of things, your kind doesn’t count!”

His jaw quivered with suppressed emotion as he planted himself before me, hands on hips. “Why not?”

“Because-Rust, this is ridiculous-you just don’t, Genard. You’re peasants, churls. You’re nothing.”

He bared his teeth, stabbed a finger into my chest. “I am not nothing!” Amazed, I fell back. “I signify, to Lord of Nature, if not you!”

“Genard!”

“M’lord, was a time I worshiped the ground you trod. ’Fore I knew you, that is. You have a noble face, and walked so proud. Would I never learned what you were!”

“Can I help the way of things? Is it my fault you’re of no consequ-”

“What if Genard’s right?” From behind me, a quiet voice.

“Eh, Rust?” My brows knitted. “Where do you get such ideas? Should we beg their consent to govern, as well? What then the rights of kings?” I shook my head. “No, be sure that-”

Rust crossed to Genard, set his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “He is not a ‘nothing.’ A true and loyal servant, and a boy of courage. So you’ll apologize to him.”

“To a churl? That’s altogether uncalled for.”

“Roddy.” His voice was low, and I sensed menace.

My own fault; I’d let myself in for it, by my promise. I sighed. “Genard, I apologize for calling you nothing.”

“And for treating him like dirt, these last weeks.”

“And for treating you like dirt.” My cheeks flamed.

“And you’ll try to do better.”

I scuffled the sod. “I’ll try to do better. Enough, Rust.”

“Leave us, Genard.” The boy scurried off. “You will think on this conversation tonight, Roddy. Agreed?”

“How could I not?” My tone was hot with anger. “You made me grovel-” I swallowed. Lord of Nature, it was hard, keeping an oath rashly made. “All right, Rust.”

“Good.” We walked back to the cart. “Get your bed ready near mine.” He fished in his belongings, tossed me a slab of soap. “You’ll bathe.”

“I’m really exhausted and-”

“Every day.”

“Rust, that’s-be reasonable!”

“Without fail. It’s best if you stay on the bank, and dip the soap. The stream’s quite cold.” He glanced at the moon.

“You’d best get started.”

“But-”

Without warning he charged, slammed me against the cart, knocking my breath from me. “Can you not keep a vow for so much as an hour? Are you so untrue as that? Why then did you set yourself in my care? Would you I went back to Stryx, and left you to your schemes and evasions?”

“No!”

His face blazed. “Then for once in your young foolish life, do as you’re told!”

“Yes, Rust!” I snatched up a flannel to use as a drying cloth, and fled.

After, I lay shivering under my blankets. “Is this a form of torture, until you’re revenged?” My tone was forlorn.

“Hmm?” Rustin came awake. “Of course not.”

Unseen in the dark, I grimaced. Freezing from my unwanted bath, flopping in Rust’s overlarge borrowed clothes, I’d been sent to make humble apologies to Fostrow and Chela. The soldier was gracious enough, clapped me on the shoulder with what he imagined an encouraging gesture. The girl, in obvious pain from her ribs, nodded and asked me to send Rust to her.

My humiliation this night was almost as great-not quite, but nearly-as that visited by Danar. Yet, for reasons I understood not, I felt little the worse for it. I even realized a dim sense of pride, that I’d endured a grim and unpleasant task, and kept my vow besides.

What was Rustin to me, that I’d so put myself in his hands? Was he not son of a traitor, to be despised by all? With callous disregard, he’d abandoned me. Why then did I bask in his approval, fret over his impatience?

Rust scrunched his blanket closer to mine, raised himself up. “Roddy, though this time is hard for you …”

After a time I prompted, “Yes?”

“Know that I love your life more than mine.” He turned on his side.

Warmed by I know not what, I slept.