Chapter
One
The blood pounded
in Gereinte's ears. He sprinted away from the Tower, then chanced a glance over
his shoulder. The older boy was gaining on him fast. Sweat beaded his skin. His
hands tingled in the cold, damp air. Surely the castle guards would have seen
him from their vantage point? He took a deep breath, put his head down and
pelted for the forest. It would be too humiliating to be caught out in the
open, in front of the men he would one day command.
His foot caught a
tree root and he fell, protecting his face with his hands. His whole body
stung, with the pain of the fall and the bitterness of knowing what would come
next. The boy descended upon him and kicked him hard.
Crunch.
The blow to his
side was excruciating.
Something cracked,
a rib? The air was sucked from his lungs. He gasped. Each short, shallow breath
punctuated the pain. He tried to roll onto his side, but a coarse leather boot
pressed on his shoulder like a dead weight.
"Not so tough
without Warmaster Alaric looking over your shoulder, eh?" the boy said.
He looked up the
stocking covered leg; it was Drayton, squire to the knight, Fulk. Gereinte
coughed, winced and a spear-like pain lanced through the side of his body.
He gauged
Drayton's size. If he were to get out of this in one piece, he would have to be
quick. Quick witted and as quick on his feet as his small, wiry frame allowed.
"Let me up and
we'll do this man to man." Gereinte's voice sounded distant, as though it
belonged to another person, someone strong and confident, not weakened by pain
and humiliation. Drayton grinned. The weight lifted and Gereinte stole a short,
pain-wracked breath. He rolled nimbly onto his side drawing his knees into his
chest before thrusting out his feet as hard as possible into Drayton's chest.
It was worth it to see the shock on Drayton's face; his eyes nearly popped out
of their sockets and his mouth worked like a fish, fighting to catch his
breath.
Gereinte knew he
had only a split second to make his escape. He sprang to his feet, ignoring the
burning sensation in his side, launched into a sprint and slammed straight into
the body of another person.
First, he was
relieved as he slumped to the ground; someone from the castle guard had been
sent to find out what was going on. Then, crushing defeat as he realised he had
run headlong into Drayton's training partner, Squire Charrock. Charrock loomed
above him with a mean grin. Charrock and Drayton were given a wide berth by
most squires or pageboys who had even the slightest instinct of self-preservation.
It was well known that the duo preyed on the small and weak for sport, but they
were subtle enough to get away with it. To top it, they were good, loyal
squires and tipped for joining the Queen's Guard once they were knighted.
Gereinte backed
away on his hands and feet. Drayton appeared at his shoulder and hissed like a
snake. Gereinte looked up into unforgiving eyes, trying to imagine this pair of
jesters in the Queen's colours.
"Purple wouldn't
suit you anyway," he said to himself.
"What did he say?"
Drayton said, still labouring for breath.
"Dunno," Charrock
said, grinning. "Something about purple... how hard did you hit him?"
"Not hard enough,"
Drayton said, rising above his victim. Drayton's next blow caught him across
the face, snapping his head back with the force. The salty, metallic taste of blood filled his
mouth. Instinctively, his hands flew to his face. He had a gash on his upper
lip and was sure to have visible bruising. This time, he had them. They
couldn't get away with it, too much evidence. Charrock knew it too.
"What the darkness
do you think you are doing? No marks, remember?" He stepped over Gereinte and
pushed Drayton away. "Now what are you going to do about it? This was you, not
me. Remember that when you are summoned before the Queen Regent," Charrock
said.
"Whatever happened
to 'we'll stick together, no matter what'? Got cold feet have you? Some friend
you are," Drayton said. But Charrock continued to jab him in the shoulder to
emphasise his point.
"If I get chucked
out, my father will disown me."
"This is
different." There was a look of delight on Drayton's face and Gereinte decided
it was time to start inching away. He managed to roll onto all fours while the
squires continued to argue and push each other. If he moved slowly enough, the
noise of his escape might be muffled by the brawl going on.
Inch by inch, he
sneaked away.
At two, three
yards, he dared to look over his shoulder and saw the argument had descended
into violence. Slowly, he stood up. Drayton aimed a punch at Charrock, who
dodged it and slammed an uppercut into Drayton's chest, just at the spot he had
been kicked. Drayton's face flushed red with rage and pain. Gereinte crept
away. Light burst out of the clearing ahead. If he could just make it that far,
someone would surely see him from the castle walls. Just a few more... wretched...
steps.
His foot was
wrenched forcibly from behind him and suddenly, he was being dragged backwards
through the woods. Bits of stone, twigs and tree roots battered his hands and
face, cutting little nicks in his skin. It was like he was lying still and the
ground was being pulled from under him. He closed his eyes as dirt and debris
filled his eyes, nose and mouth. The earthy scent of decay was overwhelming.
Then, a sudden crack to the side of his head and the world started spinning.
Nausea rose from the pit of his stomach. He opened an eye. A large oak tree
blocked the path.
"Idiot. That could
have killed him." Drayton's voice.
"I thought that
was the idea," Charrock said.
"Not before I've
had my fun." They laughed.
"This'll do,"
Charrock said. "I hope you brought some rope."
Rope? Gereinte
panicked. He tried to get up, but his legs buckled.
"No you don't.
You're not going anywhere," Drayton said, striking Gereinte's face again. An
explosion of stars danced before his eyes. Drayton pushed Gereinte flat to the
ground and held him there, while Charrock fumbled around by his feet. The rope
was pulled so tight, his feet went numb. They yanked him up while the rope was
tied around the tree. Then forced his arms behind him around the tree trunk,
each wrist bound so tight, he could no longer feel his fingers. The boys took
their time to forage around for the biggest sticks and branches they could
find.
Gereinte let his
head loll to his chest. What would his father have thought? He tried wriggling
his hands and feet, but he couldn't feel them. Not much hope there. Never give up hope. His father's words
drifted into his thoughts. Deep breath. Don't show them how much it hurts.
Don't give them the satisfaction.
Gereinte Andolin,
Prince Royal and heir to Carentan raised his head and levelled his eyes with
his persecutors. Drayton's piggy black eyes stared back at him and for a
moment, Gereinte indulged himself with imagining a large snout to replace that
button nose. Yes, much better. He smiled. Drayton flinched, eyes widened with
surprise. Gereinte had won on a different level, a level that these two were
unlikely ever to understand. Drayton swung his stick with all his might and
Gereinte was ready for it. The blows pelted him over and over. Drayton and
Charrock swapped and changed; head, body, legs. All the time, he kept his gaze
fixed ahead until eventually, he let his eyelids slide shut. His chin dropped
softly to his chest and he slipped thankfully into unconsciousness.
***
Gereinte was aware
of pain. Had he been sleeping? He wanted so much to sleep, but this
gut-wrenching agony kept bringing him back from the edge of darkness. He
slipped away again. Blissful peace. He yearned for the quiet that sleep would
bring, but something kept dragging him back, making him feel the pain again.
Gods, why can't they leave him in peace?
The rhythm of his
heart was erratic and slow, but there was another beat - strong and determined,
it craved his indulgence and was not going to give up. His heart picked up the
beat and ran with it, coaxing the breath from his lungs. He could not resist.
It was playing the tune of his life, daring him to get up and move on.
A sharp intake of
breath, then his eyes flew open. He was on his back, a canopy of trees
overhead. He squeezed his eyes shut again, blinded by the light. Gasping for
breath, he dug his fingernails into the dirt in which he lay, slowly opening
one eye to try and get a grip on his whereabouts. Every breath he took was
speared with pain.
There was a giant
who towered above him, huge paw-like hands cupped above his chest. It must have
been the panic on his face, because the giant backed away and held his hands
aloft in a gesture of peace. His huge, muscular body was dressed in the green
and browns of a forest ranger. Then Gereinte remembered; the boys, the tree,
the sticks.
What was a ranger
doing in the castle grounds? His face was oddly familiar, but there was
something missing, as though it didn't match the place or the occasion. The
rope binding on Gereinte's feet and hands had been cut, he was lying flat on
his back and there was a dull ache in his chest.
The giant
disappeared and was replaced by officious looking royal advisers and castle
guards. They swelled around him, fussing and cursing and shouting at one
another. All he wanted to do was to shout and holler, but his voice had
deserted him.
He was carried on
a make-shift litter by several men, who were still cursing each other even as
they reached the castle, where the royal medic awaited. He was safe at last, to
sleep.
Chapter
Two
Seneschal, Nils
Martan, hurried towards the Western staircase which led up to the Great Hall,
where the Queen Regent, Caitlin Andolin, was holding court.
"Seneschal,
please," a small voice said.
He whipped around,
startled by the sheer panic in the voice. Nils's crimson robes swished to a
halt, echoing the movement of his tall, thin frame. He looked at the pageboy
who stood wringing his hat with his hands and shifting his weight from one foot
to the other. Nils lifted an eyebrow.
"It... it's the
Prince," the boy said. "I saw him go and two squires went after him. I know I
shouldn't say... but they hurt other boys, smaller boys. I just thought... I tried
to tell a castle guard and he just told me that I didn't see anything. So... I
didn't see anything, but they went into the woods on the west side of the Tower
and they didn't come out."
Nils knelt down
and prised the felt hat out of the boy's hands, straightened it out and placed
it back on top of his head.
"You did the right
thing," he said. "You know you can tell me anything and I will make sure you
are safe. Now, go back to your duties and I will see to the Prince."
The boy smiled
with relief and he headed back the way he had come. Nils doubled back towards
the Western wall sighing. Not again. How did the Prince keep getting caught up
in these games?
The guards on the
Western wall were chattering and exchanging playful banter when Nils appeared.
They stood to attention and tried to look busy, scanning the horizon and
looking out across the farmlands that surrounded the castle and beyond. He
ignored the momentary lapse of concentration; he would deal with that later.
For now, his priority was the Prince. He knew which guards he could trust and
those that could be bribed by outsiders looking for a spy inside the castle
grounds. The likelihood that some of these men were being paid not only by the
Queen Regent, but by other noble houses was a certainty he had to live with.
Since the death of the King, every eye in the nation was on the throne of
Carentan. It was a fine line between protecting the Prince until he came of age
and allowing him the freedom to fight his own battles.
The transformation
of the castle guards was instantaneous as the Seneschal swept along the Western
wall. He stopped beside a guard who appeared alert; gaze focused on the
woodland inside the grounds.
"How long?" Nils
kept his voice low, but didn't try to hide his urgency.
The guard's focus
did not waver for an instant.
"An hour, maybe
more, Seneschal, Sir."
Grief. Where in
this gods forsaken castle was the Prince's personal guard? Nils sprinted back
down the staircase towards the garrison, barking orders to servants and
rounding up a team of guards who followed in his wake. Servants were fleeing
and shouts for the royal medic and the Prince's personal guard echoed around
the corridors. The Seneschal had a reputation for being all-seeing and
all-powerful. Well, he was kicking himself now. Something had gone wrong and
the Queen would hang him from the nearest balustrade if anything had happened
to the Prince. The search party swept out of the Western gate and marched
towards the woodland; there was no hiding this little excursion and Nils hoped
that the only mistake he had to face today was his overreaction to the Prince's
latest escapade.
***
Nils stood, head
bowed. Caitlin Andolin, Queen Regent of Carentan paced up and down her palace
living quarters. The view from the window looked out over the castle gardens
and beyond, to the woodland that encircled the inner and outer walls. As she
paced, her fur trimmed magenta robes cut a swathe in her wake. She stopped
every so often, as though pausing for thought, before resuming her rhythmic
pattern. This always made Nils feel uncomfortable. It either meant she was
about to come up with some impossible idea or that it meant trouble for whoever
was in the room. Some of the barons likened her to a caged tigress. The tigress
epitomised her fiery spirit and the cage was the kingdom she was bound to rule.
Prince Gereinte.
Nils bowed his head lower, studying the red and beige woven mats beneath his
feet. The shame of it. He should have been aware of the Prince's movements at
all times. The boy's face had been barely recognisable when they found him. And
his body... the royal medic predicted weeks before he would fully recover, if
indeed he'd be able to walk at all. It was his fault; Nils had appointed the Prince's
personal guard and it was his responsibility. He wrung his hands together over
and over and tried not to be intimidated by the Queen's continual pacing. But
she was absorbed in her own thoughts. They had been over and over the scene.
Nils had told her everything he knew, but she was still not satisfied. She
stopped and turned to face Nils, her emerald eyes glared out from beneath the
jewelled head dress.
"Ah ha."
There was finality
to her tone, which he knew meant that whatever came next would be yet another
episode in the royal game plan. It was like being in the backdrop of a large
tapestry, unable to see the whole picture.
"You said that
there was binding around his feet and hands. That it had been cut by the time
you got there?" she said.
"Yes, yes, Your
Highness. He had been bound before..." the words stuck in Nils's throat.
"I spoke to the
Medic, who said that there was a circular bruising to his upper chest, not in
keeping with the deep welts created by whatever had been used to beat him." The
Queen fixed her gaze upon Nils and he shrank away from her intensity.
"Which would
indicate," she said, "that someone got there before you?" That possibility had
not crossed Nil's mind, but on reflection, it seemed obvious. "Someone saved
his life and I need to find out who."
"But, Your
Highness. How do you...?"
"Well, if this
person wanted him dead, he would be dead. It is not as if he was going
anywhere," she said.
"No, quite."
"And until
Gereinte regains consciousness, this person is a crucial witness. Find him,
Nils. Use all of your networks. Bring Gereinte's saviour to me. That is all."
Dismissed, Nils
retreated. The sooner he talked to his people, the sooner he would come up with
a result for the Queen. Anything less than success would be inconceivable.
***
The chamber door
closed behind the Seneschal. Caitlin sighed and let her shoulders droop.
She wanted to
scream and shout the walls down, but knew that the servants would come running
at the noise. Instead, she screwed up her face and let the tears stream down.
To have almost lost her son so soon after her husband... it was almost too much.
A platter of cold
meats, cheese and a jug of wine lay untouched on the table. Caitlin's hands
trembled as she poured a cup of wine and forced herself to drink. She couldn't
yet face the rest. The wine began to warm her insides and she started to pull
herself together. She could not afford to indulge her maternal instinct for too
long; there was so much to do. This was not the first attempt on Gereinte's
life, if indeed an assassination attempt it was, and it certainly would not be
the last. It was, however, the most violent, which is what disturbed Caitlin
the most.
Gereinte's
personal guard would have to be replaced; preferably with someone a little less
gullible. The boy was becoming quite a strategist; it was just a shame he
didn't yet have the physical strength to back it up. But that would come. That
was all part of the plan. Caitlin nearly choked on the wine. Dear gods... the
plan. That had very nearly gone out of the window, had it not been for one
man's intervention in the woods that afternoon. Caitlin needed to know who it
was. Never before had it been so crucial to know your allies as well as your
enemies. There was no mistaking the curious mark on Gereinte's chest. She had
once watched Reiner bring back the life of a small boy he had found, nearly
mauled to death by a wild animal in the forest. They never spoke of what he had
done for fear that folk would accuse them of being cursed by witchcraft.
The two squires
who had perpetrated the attack had been rounded up and brought before their
Queen. It made her sick to her pit to see them stand there with barefaced
denial of ever having been near the woods that afternoon. Several witnesses
including a pageboy and a castle guard had confirmed their identity despite
having to cajole this information from them with promises of royal protection.
What worried Caitlin more was who had put the squires up to this attack. It was
easy enough to banish them from the kingdom, but Carentan's real enemies were
still close at hand. Despite Nil's best efforts to cleanse the palace of spies,
it was still not safe to assume that all the castle staff were loyal to her
interests. Caitlin sat and picked at the food. She was going to need her
strength in the hours and days ahead.
The door to her
chambers opened and Caitlin scrambled to her feet, quickly straightening
herself out and adopting an air of aloof authority. Audan Borsa, Caitlin's
mother glided into the room, closely followed by Ladys Autin, the Queen's Chief
Lady in Waiting and two servants. Caitlin embraced her mother, while Ladys
instructed the servants to replace the dishes with fresh ones and refill the
jug.
"Ladys, don't fuss
so," Caitlin said. Ladys tutted under her breath and continued fussing. She had
a gentle demeanour, which matched her rounded face and creamy complexion. Ladys
always had a smile and a cheery word, for which Caitlin was especially grateful
at a time like this. Despite the Queen's constant chiding, Ladys refused to do
anything less than a superb job of looking after Caitlin.
Audan Borsa looked
like an older, slightly plumper version of Caitlin. Her dress was conservative, due to the amount
of time she spent in Royal children's living quarters and her hair was white.
Lines of worry were etched into Audan's expression.
"How is he?"
Caitlin said.
"He has regained
consciousness. I thought you would want to know," Audan said. Caitlin released
a long sigh.
"Thanks the gods,"
she said. "I must see him."
"Of course. But
first, you must eat." Audan took Caitlin by the elbow and guided her towards
the seating area where a trestle had been set up with fresh food and drink.
"Then Ladys will return to help you freshen up before you visit Gereinte."
"Sit with me,"
Caitlin said, lowering herself onto a bench. "Tell me how the children are."
Audan smiled warmly and sat down while Ladys shooed the servants away.