Revenge
Just want to repeat that there is no intent to infringe on the copyrights held by ABC, Gil Grant or any other holder of the Covington Cross copyrights. No profit is being made from the story in the version it now stands. I hope you enjoy it.
“Hurry it up,” Gilbert whispered as they grabbed the large iron bound chest that sat on the desk of Sir Thomas Grey. “An' keep it quiet, will ye, before ye wake the whole castle up. The last thing we need is his lordship or one o his whelps catchin' us at this.”
“Aye, especially that big one,” Walter replied with a scowl. “I don’t think he likes me as it is, ever since I accidentally ate one or two o them apples o his. How was I ta know he was planning on givin' 'em out at the festival? For the villagers, he says they was, like I was stealin' 'em from the mouths o' babes?”
“Spoiled, they are, every last one of em,” Gilbert agreed. He kept one eye on the door while the other watched his friend whack away at the lock on the thick oak box. “That second one, walkin' round here like it was him owned the place, and that little one doin' as he pleases. Not ta mention that other one runnin' off ta fight no sooner than the big one gets home. A good sound whippin’s what they need. Especially that girl o' his. I ain’t never seen nothin' like it. Thinks she’s one o her brothers, she does.
The two men laughed as the lock broke, and they opened the chest to find it filled with gold and silver coins, the proceeds from a sale Thomas had made the morning before over in Denton. Pulling out a large leather pouch, they began to shuffle the money in as quietly as possible, though it was easier said than done, for the coins clinked and rattled as they fell from one container to the other.
“Father?” Richard called, his voice echoing through the empty chamber, his heels clicking rhythmically on the gray slate that covered the floor of the Great Hall. “I knew you wanted to get an early start, but . . .” He had just reached the study door, when out of the nowhere, a huge bag smacked him in the stomach, sending him back against the cold stone wall. Dazed for a moment, he watched the two men run from the room and start across the Great Hall.
“I think not!” Richard yelled, and putting his foot upon one of the trestled benches that sat in the center of the room, he shoved it across the floor, blocking their path. The men were so occupied with his pursuit that they failed to see what was in front of them and stumbled over the bench, spilling gold and silver coins everywhere. As if that were not enough, Richard stood there, a sword in each hand, with their tips pointing directly at the throats of the two thieves. Walter started to inch away slowly, thinking that Richard would only be able to concentrate on one or the other.
“Don’t even think of trying to go anywhere,” Richard grinned to the man on his left. “I may not be as adept with my left hand, but if I were you, that would worry me all the more. I might just scratch your friend here, but lacking the fine control I have with my right hand, I’d more than likely slit your throat all together.”
The man just dropped down on the floor, deciding that his life was worth more than his freedom. He sighed heavily, closing his eyes and wishing they had watched where they were going.
“Really Richard,” Thomas bellowed from the top of the stairs, a light-hearted tone to his voice, “how many times have I told you not to get so rough when playing with the servants.”
“Sorry, Father,” Richard replied, a twinkle in his eye, “but they just wouldn’t play fair.”
“Oh well, that’s all right then,” Thomas said with a large smile. He started down the stairs, but by the time he reached the bottom step, his mood had changed drastically. “Call for the guards,” he shouted to another servant who had just entered the room with his arms full of firewood.
“Aye, m’lord, right away,” the thin man answered, his eyes wide at the sight that lay before him.
“Gilbert! Walter!” Thomas exclaimed, his voice filled with disappointment. He shook his head in disbelief and gazed out across the disheveled scene before him. “Why? I’ve always tried to be fair with you, haven’t I?”
The two men did not say anything, but sat there quietly, adrift in a sea of silver and gold, until the castle guards came and took them away to the dungeon. They knew Thomas always had been a good master, yet it did not matter to them. As far as they were concerned they had just as much right to that gold as he did. They also imagined they would get off with a good stern talking to if they acted contrite, and so they kept their mouths shut and their heads down.
“I think we’d best postpone our trip until I deal with this,” Thomas said over the morning meal. He had been troubled by what punishment to give all through chapel and was still bothered by it.
“I say chop their hands off,” Cedric said as he stuffed a huge piece of buttered bread in his mouth. “The bible says ‘tis better to loose your hand and enter heaven maimed, than . . .”
“Oh, the cleric speaks!” Armus grinned, “and with a mouth full of bread no less!”
Eleanor and Richard immediately started laughing, but neither Cedric nor Thomas found it very amusing.
“I’m not a cleric!” Cedric shouted, trying to swallow the wad of bread that had somehow become much larger than he thought.
“Don’t speak with your mouth full!” Thomas chided his son, though the rest of the table did not get away without a cold stare from their father either. “Now, I do not think that will be necessary, after all they did not actually steal anything.”
“But they would have if I hadn’t happened by,” Richard replied, his laughter at his brother’s expense suddenly stopped. “You can’t let them off without any punishment. They’ll just think they can try it again, if not here, than somewhere else.”
“Yes, Richard is right, Father,” Armus reiterated, becoming as serious as his brother.
“What do you suggest then?” Thomas asked.
“They could be branded . . . on the thumb or palm of their hand,” Richard added quickly after viewing the look of horror on his sister’s face. “It would just make them think twice before repeating something like this.”
“And mark them for life as thieves,” Thomas replied solemnly.
“Branding is quite a universal punishment, Father,” Armus stated with his usual analytical appraisal, “and far less severe than many I’ve seen.”
“Like chopping off a hand,” Richard added, his smile half hidden by his hand, though it did not escape Cedric, whose eyes shot daggers in his brother’s direction.
“I suppose you’re right,” Thomas conceded, though his heart was really not in it. “We’ll see to it this afternoon. Cedric, I’ll need you to ride to get the sheriff.”
“Oh, I’m good enough to go and get the sheriff,” Cedric whined, “but not good enough for you to take my suggestion.”
Richard and Armus looked at each other and then to their father, a look of amusement on their faces. Cedric was having another one of his temper tantrums, and they always proved to be entertaining to say the least. At just barely sixteen, he had spent most of his life growing up in his brothers’ shadows, and every once in a while he made an attempt to pull himself from behind them.
Thomas sighed, shooting a quick glance to each of his other sons. “It has nothing to do with your being worthy Cedric. I simply don’t feel I need to take that drastic an approach in dealing with this matter. Cedric,” he smiled, “your opinion is as valuable to me as any other. That is why I’ve chosen you to go for the sheriff. You’ve proven that you are more than capable of carrying out my instructions.”
“Oh,” Cedric said, a look of superiority crossing his face. “Of course, I knew that, Father. I’ll be away this instant.”
Richard, Armus and Eleanor could barely contain their laughter, but their father’s glaring stare told them there had better not be so much as a snigger out of any of them Richard bit his bottom lip, while Armus and Eleanor simply pushed the food around on their plates, pretending they were completely engrossed in their eggs. Poor Cedric had barely closed the door behind him than the three broke out in laughter. It did not last long, however, for their father’s expression had not changed, and it stopped them short.
“I wish you wouldn’t tease him so much,” Thomas remarked, his brow creased in concern. “He looks up to you both.”
“Sorry Father,” Armus and Richard answered in unison.
“And as for you, young lady,” Thomas added on a brighter note, “remember your laughter when your brother’s are doing the same to you. I don’t want to hear a word of complaint.”
“Sorry, Father,” Eleanor replied, kicking Richard under the table, for she could already see the wheels turning in his head.
**********
As the crime was not serious enough to go before the king and was under the Grey’s jurisdiction, it was left to Thomas to judge and pass sentence. He requested that the sheriff be present, so that there could be no mistake that the letter of the law was followed. It was not much of a trial, however, as they had been caught red-handed, pilfering the coins from Sir Thomas’ study. Still, Thomas nearly apologized as he passed sentence, saying that while he did not wish to be harsh, he must see that justice was done and under the circumstances he had no choice but to judge them accordingly. He ordered them branded with a T at the base of their thumbs to signify that they were thieves, and then banished them from any village or principality under his jurisdiction from that day forth for all time to come.
Neither of the thieves took it well, and were dragged from the Great Hall, screaming curses at the family and vowing revenge. Gilbert made especially sure to look Richard in the eye before leaving. “Ye’ll rue the day ye ever came across us, whelp,” he said, a bitterness in his voice that almost made it seem more of a promise than a threat, “mark me words.”
Richard just shook his head. “Consider yourself lucky, and let it go at that. My brother would have had your hand cut off.”
The man just stared at Richard as he was shoved out of the village. “Remember my face,” he shouted, “for it’ll be the last one ye see before ye die!”
“How could I forget the ugly thing,” Richard replied with a grin, then he mounted his horse and headed home, where his father had requested he meet him in his chambers.
“Yes, what is it, Father,” Richard inquired. He strode in and slumped down in the large chair before his father’s desk, casually throwing his leg over the arm.
“Really, Richard,” Thomas grumbled, “don’t you think you’re getting a bit old to lounge about like that? It’s not very businesslike”
“Sorry, Father,” he said as he straightened up, “I didn’t know this was business.”
“Yes, well, it is,” Thomas informed him. “It’s about our trip to Bicknell. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it after all. I’ve just received some information that a dam has given way to the north, and I want to be there myself to oversee its repair.”
“Can’t Armus do it?” Richard asked, a bit disappointed. He had been looking forward to spending some time with his father that was free of any source of disagreement.
“No,” Thomas replied, “he’s going to be supervising the delivery of some lumber.”
“What about Cedric then?” Richard persisted.
“Really, Richard!” Thomas exclaimed. “I’m not quite sure I feel comfortable leaving Cedric to handle such a critical situation at this point. It would be unfair of me to put such a burden upon him. Besides, he’s going on tutorial in the morning.”
“I was little more than his age when I began handling such things,” Richard argued.
“Yes, and look how arrogant and head strong you’ve turned out,” Thomas said, feigning disapproval.
“Very well, Father, but what of our business in Bicknell,” Richard asked. “The reeve has been expecting our visit, and I hoped we might stop and visit cousin Malcolm on the way home.”
“You can handle it, Richard,” Thomas said with amusement, a grin crossing his lips as he rose and hurried from the room.
Richard just slumped down in the chair, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips as he threw his leg over the arm.
**********
“The fields are looking well this year,” Richard grinned as Humphrey, the reeve at Bicknell, showed him around. “I think we should have a good crop.”
“Yes, m’lord,” Humphrey smiled, “very good indeed.”
“Plenty left over for the villagers, I should think,” Richard sighed with contentment. “That reminds me. Father’s sending along a cow to be butchered. It’s to be spread equally among all the villagers. I’m counting on you to see that it’s distributed fairly, Humphrey.”
“Oh, yes, m’lord,” Humphrey replied, beaming with pride. “It will be sir.”
“Oh, and I’ve brought along a few toys for the children and some cloth for the ladies,” Richard added pleasantly. “I’ll expect you to oversee that as well. You’ve all done an excellent job.”
“Ye’r too kind, Sir Richard,” Humphrey said as they walked along, and he grinned his nearly toothless grin.
It always made Richard cringe a little. He could only imagine how painful it must have been to have so many teeth rot away in your mouth until they just fell out. He’d always been blessed with good strong teeth himself, though he knew being from the noble class was no guarantee it would remain that way. He had seen many a noble with decaying teeth.
“Sir Richard,” the reeve finally muttered, almost as if was not sure he should mention what was on his mind.
“Yes, Humphrey,” Richard grinned, his smile warm and sincere.
“It’s me wife, m’lord,” the reeve continued hesitantly. “She’s gathered some berries and made a pie, an' . . . well, she was wonderin' . . . she thought ye might . . .”
Richard could see the difficulty the man was having and felt for him. He hated making the villagers feel uncomfortable around him. “She is saving me a piece, I hope. I like nothing better than a piece of warm pie.”
“Oh, yes, m’lord,” the reeve giggled. “She wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Richard had his fill of pie, then thanking the mistress of the house, he mounted his steed and headed home. He felt warm and content as the sun shone down upon his full stomach, almost drowsy as he ambled along the winding road. Then, all of a sudden, he heard a woman cry in a narrow outcropping just ahead. Rounding the bend, he saw a young maid lying on the ground, a crumpled blanket beneath her. She cried out in pain, though Richard could see no cause for her discomfort. Still, he pulled up beside her and jumped down from his mount.
“What is the problem, m’lady?” Richard asked, his face showing the concern he felt inside. “Is there something I can do?”
“I’m afraid the babe is comin',” she cried, “an' I can walk no more. Me husband has gone for the mid-wife, but I fear he will be too late. Can you help me, m’lord?”
Richard’s face had gone pale. He had no fear of fighting in the fiercest battle, skinning animals he’d killed in the wild, or rescuing damsels in distress for that matter, under ordinary circumstances, but this was not exactly the kind of distress he was used too. He would sooner have faced an angry mob than do what she asked, but his knightly code did say he was expected to help the innocent. No where did it specify that this was in all cases except those where the lady was about to birth a child. A lady in need was a lady in need, no matter what her trouble. Reluctantly, he knelt down by her side.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what I need to do,” Richard mumbled, a thin line of sweat beginning to form on his upper lip and brow.
“Just . . ." she whispered so low that he could barely hear, then she cried out again.
Not knowing what else to do, Richard bent low over her so that she could whisper in his ear. A moment later, everything went dark.
**********
When he woke up, he felt incredibly ill, blurred forms danced in and out in front of him, and though he blinked to try and clear his vision, it only seemed to grow worse. There was an unrelenting pounding in his head that only added to his feeling of anxiety as he fought the acid bile that was making its was up his throat. To make matters worse, he could not move. At first, a wave of panic coursed through his veins, for he was fearful that he was paralyzed, but then he realized that he was tied to a thin tree, his hands wrapped behind him and bound at the back. One sense of panic replaced another. He tried to remember what had happened, but the process only caused his head to ache all the more. A gentle breeze blew some branches above, letting the warm rays of sun slip through, and he found that too compounded the splitting pain that sliced through his brain.
“So yer up, m’lord,” Walter taunted. “Not so high and mighty now, are we?”
“I beg your pardon,” Richard said, still dazed from the blow he had received and becoming more nauseous by the minute. “Where am I?”
“Right where we want ye, m’lord,” Gilbert said as he pounded his fist into Richard’s stomach, not once, but at least five times, leaving the boy gasping for air when he had finished. Yet, at the same time, he was trying desperately not to breathe too deeply, because each breath brought with it a renewed urge to deposit the contents of his stomach on his new leather boots. At least, he had thought they were new, though what he saw below him looked anything but.
There was not much time to consider it, however, for moment’s later, Gilbert grabbed him by the hair and banged his head back against the tree. He slapped Richard hard across the face again and again, until blood flowed from every oriface, then he brought his knee up, pounding it hard into his groin. Richard wanted to double over in pain, but the ropes securing him to the tree held him too tightly. Blood ran down his throat, causing him to gag, but he hung his head to the side, coughing in an effort to stem the urge to vomit.
“Who are you? “Richard managed to slur, his speech far from its usual precise diction, sounding something more akin to that of a common drunkard than a noble lord. ”What have I done?”
“What’s a matter?,” Gilbert said with a sardonic grin as he grabbed Richard’s hair and lifted his head once more, for it had begun to droop again. “Does little Lord Richard forget who he is?”
“I’m Richard Grey of Covington Cross,” Richard managed to utter before having to quell a rush of bile that had reached his tonsils. “Are you thieves?”
“That’s what ye’ve made us, m’lord,” Gilbert sneered, “and now it’s time for ye ta pay the piper.” He grabbed a pouch filled with ale and forced its contents down Richard’s throat, spilling a good portion of it on the rags he now wore. The handsome knight sputtered and coughed as the potent liquid flowed down his throat, gagging him as it fought to make its way through the acrid liquid trying to forge its way up the same channel. Then with a wicked laugh, Gilbert punched Richard squarely in the jaw, and the boy fell limp, the ropes binding his body his only support as he lost consciousness once more.
“I think you’ve killed him!” Walter moaned, his hand twitching on the hilt of Richard’s sword, which he had now girded around his own plump waste.
“If I have, I have,” Gilbert remarked. “It’ll teach them Greys not ta be messing with me, now won’t it.”
“What if he comes back to haunt us?” Walter queried, his voice thin and weak. Gilbert just chuckled to himself, slugging his friend across the ear, before getting much more serious.
“So what if he does! It ain’t gonna do him no good, now is it? He’ll still be dead as a doornail. Now you get his money pouch. I’ll grab his horse and the three of us will be out o here.”
“It’s a bit of a shame though,” Gilbert’s woman, Nellie, commented as she cut the rope and watched Richard’s limp body fall to the ground. “He was a right looker.”
“Better he’s dead then,” Gilbert growled, “elst I’d have to beat the life out o you as well.” With that the three companions walked away, leaving Richard a bloody mass sprawled across the ground.
**********
The next thing Richard knew, he was kneeling on his hands and knees, retching violently into the moss covered ground before him. His head was spinning; in fact it seemed as if the very trees were uprooting themselves, whirling out of control around him. The sky had become earth, and the earth hung overhead, until finally he collapsed on his back, closing his eyes in the hopes he could quell the frantic dance, but even that did not help. He clutched at the dirt beneath him, tears coming to his eyes as he prayed for the sickening whirlwind to end.
At last, the earth seemed to settle into its proper place, and though it swayed a bit as he opened his eyes, the sky remained above him. Its brightness, however, caused him to turn his face to the side to suppress the stabbing pain that ran through his eyes, settling somewhere in the back of his head. He just wanted to sleep, to close his eyes and be swept away in sweet slumber, and so he did.
When he awoke again, it was dark. Screech owls howled in the distance and bats flapped menacingly through the tree tops. Still, Richard felt as if he could not move. The earth continued to sway beneath him, though nowhere near as violently as before. His head retained the sensation of being hit repeatedly with a spiked flail, while his stomach tried to repress a fresh portion of volatile bile. Sweat dampened his hair and clothing, though in the chilled evening air, it made him shiver uncontrollably. He needed to get somewhere warm, but the thought of initiating another furious bout of dizziness forced him to remain low to the ground, pulling himself up just enough to rest his back against the trunk of a large tree. He could barely remember who he was let alone what he was doing there, but as attempting to recall set off fresh bouts of nausea, he decided to forgo searching for those particular answers until another time. Right now, he needed to concentrate on getting himself up and away to a warm bed.
His hands shook as he tried to lift himself on trembling knees. He could feel a new wave of nausea building in his stomach, and he swallowed hard to quell it as he began to stumble through the thick underbrush. It seemed somehow dark and menacing, as if it were about to swallow him up, and he felt like a lost child searching for his mother. He had no idea where he was or what direction he was heading, and even the slight movement of raising his head to see if he could spy the North Star through the heavy woodland canopy caused a spiraling sensation that forced him to grab hold of the nearest tree or bush in order to steady himself.
Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he swallowed hard, then opened his eyes and continued along the narrow path. He felt as if he were walking for hours, struggling to keep his eyes open, fighting to keep from collapsing on the damp ground and spewing his insides across yet another patch of forest. Then a dim light came into view, and his heart leapt at the thought of resting on a soft bed of feathers or straw. With every ounce of strength he could muster, he willed himself forward, determined to reach his destination. He could hear singing and laughter coming from the thatch covered building and knew at once it must be an inn. On entering, however, he immediately began to question the wisdom of such an action. The brightly lit room made him feel as if hot pokers had been rammed into his eyes, and he closed them quickly, grabbing the door jam in an effort to gain control over the pain. Then, slowly, he opened them again, squinting as he allowed the light to filter in through his long lashes. He tried to focus, but the room seemed a blur of shapes and colors, shifting haphazardly across his line of vision. He pressed his hands to his eyes, both to suppress the ache that still remained and to clear his sight. To his dismay, neither worked, and he stumbled into the room as if blind or drunk. A sudden whiff of rancid stew brought on a new wave of nausea, and he doubled over, heaving the dark green remnants of his stomach across the dried rushes that covered the floor.
“Hey, you,” the innkeeper shouted as he rushed over to Richard, convinced he was just another drunkard. The smell on his clothes only supported that suspicion and moments later, Richard found himself being thrown out of the inn into a large mud puddle. The ground was spinning again, and he could hear laughter in the background. Dazed and incredibly ill, a tear slid down his cheek as he picked himself up and stumbled around to the stables. There ashamed and embarrassed, he held his head and cried. He had no way to fight back, was in essence helpless, and he knew it. When sleep finally came, it was huddled against the rough boards of a cattle stall, dried mud, along with blood and the unmistakable odor of ale and vomit, permeating his clothes.
The morning sun brought with it a renewed sense of agony. Richard cowered in the corner, his knees up to his chin, his arms covering his head. He did not think he’d ever been so sick in his life, but then he could not be sure. His thoughts were too mangled and confused to be sure of anything, a conglomeration of past and present tossed together in an unholy torrent of fact and fiction. Home was off to the east; he did feel certain of that, though why he could not say. Logically, he knew it was his only hope, but he was not thinking rationally anymore, and convincing his trembling body to stand up and face the unrelenting barrage of dizziness and nausea once more was easier said than done. The stable master soon made his mind up for him, however, for on seeing the ragged figure crouching in the corner, he wasted no time in removing Richard from the premises, dragging him out by his collar and blessing him on his way with the heel of his boot.
Richard stumbled forward, his hands covering his eyes, the flow of blood coursing through his ears as the pain increased with each step he took. He might not have been sure of much, but one thing he was certain of was that he was dying, and he was helpless to do anything about it. Then, just when all hope had vanished, he saw a small, disheveled cottage up ahead. If he could only get there, perhaps the inhabitants would at least give him a drink of water. On the strength of sheer will, he dragged himself across the overgrown yard and knocked on the front door, his knees collapsing just as it opened before him. The next thing he was to remember was waking up on a cot of straw and hearing voices off in the distance.
“I’ve made him some soup, Da,” a sweet melodic voice whispered. “It should help build up his strength.”
“Put it over there till he wakes up,” another harsher voice barked. “And make sure he don’t get near the ale. ‘Tis more than likely he’ll be wanting that more than your soup.”
“Yes, Da,” the girl replied as she came over and sat on the edge of the cot, “but I think he’s just ill. It looks like he may have been in a fight as well.”
Richard kept his eyes closed, afraid of the renewed sense of pain and nausea that might begin if he opened them. He felt the girl place a cool rag upon his forehead, and he welcomed the relief it brought. His muscles, tense and knotted from the exertion of the last two days, seemed to relax as she pressed the damp cloth along his bruised cheek.
“Hmmmhhh!” the man grumbled. “Probably got drunk and started a fight at the inn. I know his kind, useless they are.”
“But he’s not from around here, Da,” the girl protested. “Maybe he was attacked along the road.”
“By the smell of him, they didn’t get away with his drink now did they,” he replied, with a sarcastic drawl. “I have to check the traps and see if I can’t catch that fox that’s been causing us problems. If he wakes see that he gets naught but some soup and bread, and a bit of water to drink, and then send him on his way.”
“But it’s almost dark,” the girl complained. “Can’t he at least stay the night?”
The man mumbled something incoherent, then sighed audibly. “I suppose, but first thing in the mornin' he’s on his way. I have to go over to Trendle, and I don’t fancy leaving ye here alone with him.”
“I’ll be fine, Da,” the girl persisted. “He’s too sick to be a danger.”
“Just the same,” the man insisted, “I’d feel better if he were on his way. Lord only knows what kind o trouble he’s in, and we don’t need none o that brought down upon us. ”
Richard heard the door slam and felt the girl’s soft hand upon his cheek. “You’re not in any trouble, are ye? Some big brute of a man robbed ye along the trail, didn’t he?”
He wanted to open his eyes and tell her what had happened, but he didn’t really remember. All he knew was that he was incredibly ill, that he could barely think without causing the pain and nausea to return with a vengeance, and that he had an overwhelming desire to sleep, and so he did.
**********
It must have been very early in the morning when Richard woke again. It was still dark, but he could see the first wisps of light breaking through the shadows to lighten the sky.
He heard a rumble across the room and saw a big man, about the size of Armus, gathering his things together.
“Now remember, darling,” he said, in a hushed tone, “soon as he wakes, you send him on his way. If he gives ye any trouble at all, ye take this and stab him low. That’ll put a stop to it, I guarantee ye that.”
“He’s too ill to try anything, Da,” the girl assured him. “He probably won’t even be able to get out of the bed until tomorrow, and you’ll be back by then.”
The girl kissed her father on the forehead, then watched him walk down the path before shutting the door against the early morning chill. Then quietly, she slipped over to where Richard lay, and climbed onto the cot next to him, resting her head upon his chest. She reached up and kissed his lips, letting her scantily clothed body slide seductively against his, and then she settled down, embracing him, her tiny form intertwined with his. It was obvious she had something on her mind other than nursing him back to health, even he could figure that out, no matter how confused he was. He also knew that he had to find a way to get out of there before she went any further, for the last thing he needed was to have her giant of a father find them like that. Still, his eyes were heavy, and in spite of himself, he could not help falling off to sleep again.
The sun was up when he woke this time. From the look of the shadow it cast through the small window at the front of the house, it must have been around seven or eight o’clock. He could hear the girl singing merrily as she prepared something over the fire. He knew he had to leave, but he was starving, not having had anything to eat for at least two days, and he decided it could not possibly hurt to eat before making his escape. He blinked cautiously, trying to stave off the headache he could already feel building at the back of his head.
“You’re awake,” she said cheerfully as she brought him over a cup of water.
“How long have I been out,” Richard asked. He took the cup from her hands, but could barely hold it for the shaking. Seeing his distress, she took it from him and held it up to his lips. The cool liquid felt good going down, but had no sooner hit his stomach than it sparked off another wave of nausea. Still, he was determined to get some food down him, even if it did come back up again. Reluctantly, he pulled himself up, leaning precariously against the back wall.
“Since yesterday afternoon,” she replied, a look of concern crossing her face. “Do you feel any better?”
She was very young Richard thought as he gazed in her eyes, though the wear of a hard life made her appear older than she probably was. He took a deep breath, resting his head against the wall and nodding.
“Good,” she grinned, “then maybe you’d like something to eat. I made some potage from the vegetables we had in the garden. It’s really not too bad. Would you like to try some?”
Richard nodded again, managing to smile a bit, though the thought of the heavy soup was already turning his stomach. She crawled back up next to him, and took the spoon in her hand.
“Open your mouth, then,” she said with a sweet smile. “Your hands are shaking far too much for you to feed yourself.
She was right, he thought, and so he wearily complied, though her actions were making him increasingly uncomfortable. He did not exactly know why, but he had the feeling she wanted to do something more than just tend his wounds. He had no sooner finished the last bit of the bland tasting soup than her motives became all too apparent.
“There!” she said as she wiped his lips with the ragged sheet. “Why don’t you get out of those filthy clothes, and I’ll wash them for you. You could stay, you know, if my Da didn’t think you were just another drunkard. We’ll get you cleaned up, and maybe he’ll say you can stay.”
“But I have to get home,” Richard muttered, not exactly sure why.
“Why!” she exclaimed, almost on the verge of tears. “They didn’t take care of you; I did. Now take your clothes off so I can wash them.”
He had to think quickly, but the mere act sent a surge of recently digested vegetables up his throat, and he coughed, trying to stem the tide. There had to be a reason for him to leave, an excuse for him to be on his way. Suddenly, he blurted it out, not really sure where it came from. “I have to take a . . . to go to . . . do you have a privy?”
“All right, then,” she smiled, “but you will let me get you washed up when you get back.”
“Yes, of course,” Richard said, trying to smile back, though even that small act caused his head to throb. “It will feel good to get out of these dirty things.”
She walked over to him, and standing on her tiptoes, reached up to kiss his lips. Her mouth was open and she pressed her tongue against his lips until it parted as well. Then, content that he was sincere in his intent, she opened the door and pointed the way toward the forest.
“I’ll go with you so you don’t get lost,” she suggested, still a bit wary that he might change his mind.
“No, please,” Richard replied, his speech still somewhat slurred, though not wanting to alarm her, he added quickly, “It would be too embarrassing. I don’t want us to start that way.”
The girl blushed and opened the door for him. “You won’t be too long, will you?”
He smiled and patted her cheek, then started out toward the forest. He didn’t stop though, but kept on going, as fast as he could, dodging in and out among the bushes, straying back and forth on and off the path, not only because he wanted to, but because he was unable to do much else. The forest was spinning around him like a top out of control, causing his head to throb mercilessly. Caustic liquid coursed up his throat and burst forth from his lips even as he ran, and he wiped his sleeve across his mouth to try and stem the tide. It did little to help, and he found himself falling to his knees, vomiting across the narrow woodland path. Taking a deep breath, he pulled himself up, convinced that he must keep going, knowing it was his only chance, but each time he fell, he found it more and more difficult to rise back up. At last, he heard the sound of a river, and rounding a bend in the path, he noticed a small boat sitting on the shore. He could barely stand upright, and stumbled over the slightest bump in the path, but finally, he was at the shore. With his last ounce of strength, he pushed the boat out into the water and fell into it. The last thing he remembered was watching the clouds pass overhead.
**********
“Is something wrong, Father?” Armus asked. Thomas had seemed a bit preoccupied at chapel, and even more concerned by the morning meal. Now, he had suddenly summoned Armus to his chambers.
“I’m not sure. I was expecting Richard home by yesterday afternoon, at the latest,” Thomas grumbled. He slammed his account book closed and looked up at his eldest son. “He knows I wanted to get those figures sorted out by this morning.”
“You shouldn’t have told him it was all right to stop by Trendle then, “Armus said, reminding him that he had cautioned him against it. “You know how those two can go on. He’s probably sleeping off too much ale.”
“Ordinarily, I would agree with you,” Thomas replied, his brow crinkling, “but it’s not like Richard to be so irresponsible when it comes to business. I want you to ride over to Trendle and bring him home.”
“Yes, of course, Father,” Armus replied cheerfully. He had not seen his cousin, Malcolm, in quite some time and saw it as an opportunity to at least spend a few moments visiting with him.
“And I mean for you to come right back,” Thomas added, almost as if he could see what was on his son’s mind. “I’m sending you there to bring your brother back, not to get lost yourself. If you want to visit Malcolm, you can take a day and do it when you have more time.”
“Yes, Father,” Armus groaned.
**********
When he arrived at Trendle, however, he was surprised to find that Richard had never reached his destination. Still, Armus tried to fight the overpowering sensation that something was dreadfully wrong.
“I don’t understand,” he replied. “He’d made a special point of letting Father know that he was going to stop here overnight.”
“I’m sorry, Armus, but he never came,” Malcolm replied, trying to decide what could possibly have happened to his cousin. “What was he over this way for in the first place?”
“He was to check out the fields at Bicknell, stop here to spend the night, and then head home yesterday morning. Father expected him by yesterday afternoon at the latest.”
“Could he have stayed over at Bicknell?” Malcolm queried.
“Yes, but even if he did, he should have been well home by now.” Armus’ tone was now beginning to reveal the worry that had crept into his thoughts.
“I’m sure he’s fine, but if you’ll wait a moment, I’ll ride to Bicknell with you. It will give us time to visit.”
Malcolm spoke in a light-hearted manner, but he could hear the concern in his cousin’s voice, and to be perfectly honest he too was becoming alarmed. It was not like Richard to pass up a visit to Trendle, and he feared he may have run into some kind of difficulty. He just prayed that the problem was with the crops or the sheep, though he had a sickening feeling that it was his cousin who was in trouble.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Armus commented as they road along the path, and though his cousin nodded, they both kept their eyes on the trail, searching for anything that looked unusual. Even a set of hooves leading off through the underbrush was investigated, though Armus maintained he just had to relieve himself. Then, they came around to a small outcropping, and both men stopped simultaneously, their faces revealing their concern. Malcolm jumped from his horse, bending down to look at the ground.
“Someone’s been dragged off in that direction,” Malcolm muttered, but Armus was already on his way.
“That’s Richard’s scarf!” Armus had reached the tree where Richard had been secured. And his face grew pale. “And it looks like he’s been very ill.”
“There’s blood on this tree as well,” Malcolm said.
The two men looked at each other, one growing paler than the other, for they had no doubt what it meant. Armus bent down and picked up the long pieces of hemp that lay at the foot of the tree. The only question now was whether or not Richard was still alive.
“It looks like some horses went out this way,” Malcolm noted.
“And as if someone practically crawled out over here,” Armus exclaimed. “At least he was alive when he left here.”
They followed the path to the town of Malden, where the constant traffic made it impossible to distinguish one trail from the other. Both men felt as if the entire situation was hopeless, but Malcolm finally took the initiative. “I’m going to have a look around. Why don’t you go talk to the innkeeper, and I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”
Armus agreed and immediately headed to the inn. They would go on to Bicknell if they needed to, though from the looks of the tracks they had just seen, Richard would not be able to have made it that far. Perhaps he was upstairs in one of the rooms resting, he thought as he walked over to the innkeeper.”
“Excuse me, sir,” Armus stated, “I wonder if you might have seen my brother in here in the last day or two.”
“Don’t know, milord,” the innkeeper replied, a bit annoyed at having been disturbed in the middle of his nap. “What did he look like?”
“A bit shorter than I am, wavy hair, it always looks a bit unkempt. He may not have been feeling well.”
“Oh, him!” the man replied in disgust. “Aye, I’ve seen him. Threw the drunken swine out o’ here two nights ago. Threw up all over my floor he did.”
“And you didn’t bother to help him?” Armus roared, drawing his cousin’s attention as he picked the man up by the collar so that his feet were dangling inches above the floor.
“Why should I?” the man said, his voice trembling from both anger and fear. “I told ye; he was nothing but a drunkard. “Now put me down before me master hears o’ this.”
“He already has!” Malcolm growled. “Now I suggest you answer our questions and tell me what you know about my cousin.”
“Sir Malcolm!” the man exclaimed nervously. “I didn’t know he was yer cousin or I’d have looked after him right.”
“Yes, of course, now tell me, did you see which way he went when he left here?
“No, m’lord,” the man stammered, “I’m sorry to say I didn’t, but Helmin might have. He lives right over there, and I think I saw him throwing the lad out this morning.”
Armus put the man down with a thud and strode over to the home of the keeper of the cattle. Malcolm followed after scolding the man for not having taken care of someone who was ill, no matter what his station. He walked up to Armus just as he was asking the man if he had seen which direction Richard went. The keeper had already noticed what had gone on over at the inn, however, and was quite respectful.
“I think he headed down that path, m’lord. I just thought he’d had a bit too much to drink last night and sent him on his way.”
“Thank you!” Armus growled as he huffed off toward the narrow path that headed east. Malcolm nodded to the man, and then quickly followed his cousin. They rode along silently, not really knowing what to say. Finally, Armus spoke. “I can’t understand why he just didn’t head back toward Bicknell, or to Trendle. Either would have been closer, but he just seems to be heading . . .”
“Home,” Malcolm finished the sentence for him just as they rode up to a small cottage, nestled in the forest. “We’ll ask here. He’s my warrener. If Richard has been in these forests, he’ll have seen him.”
“Can I help ye, m’lord,” the large man said as he strode toward the house.
“Good day, to you, Joce,” Malcolm yelled. “I was hoping you might have seen my cousin Richard.”
“Richard!” the man exclaimed. “I didn’t know he was yer cousin m’lord or I’d have come and got ye right away. He was in pretty bad shape, though I have ta say I thought it was just from having too much drink and getting himself in a fight. Me Lizzy thought different, though. She’s right inside.”
“May we speak to her,” Malcolm asked, and the man immediately obliged, opening the door and leading the two men inside.
Lizzy was extremely helpful in explaining Richard’s condition, though she seemed a bit perturbed at him. “I just told him to take his clothes off so I could wash them, and he ran away. I was only trying to help.”
“I’m sure you were,” Malcolm said with a wry grin, “but at least now we know what direction he’s heading.”
“There might be something else, m’lord,” Joce added as he walked them back to their horses. “I have a little boat I keep down by the river, and I noticed it was gone this morning. He might have taken it if he were trying to head in that direction. Lord knows he wasn’t able to walk straight.”
Joce had been right. Richard’s tracks were all over the trail, back and forth across the path in an erratic pattern which made its way down to the river. It seemed that Joce may have been right about that too, for the small boat he had mentioned was nowhere to be seen, and so Armus and Malcolm began following the river, watching for any sign of the tiny craft.
**********
Richard woke just as the sun was coming up. He could feel that the boat had gone aground along the river bank, and so decided he would make better time if he just walked, though he still was not sure where it was he was heading. It was just a feeling, nothing more, but it was all he had at the moment, and so he followed his instincts, hoping that they would lead him home. He felt a bit better at first. The ground did not seem to be moving quite as much and the pounding in his head had subsided to a steady throb. Even his stomach seemed to be behaving itself, if not completely settled. As the day went on, however, and the sun beat down upon him, things got increasingly worse, exceeding their old proportions by mid-morning. Richard thought his head was going to split open. His nose had started to bleed and the forest was spinning out of control. In desperation, he went to grab hold of a nearby tree, only to fall flat on his face, for in fact, there was no tree there for him to grab. He buried his head in his arms, screaming in agony, praying for it to stop. That was the last thing he remembered.
**********
“We should stop and eat something,” Malcolm said, though his voice held little conviction.
His eyes were searching the river banks, desperately hoping to spy his warrener’s small boat. Armus did not answer, for he was deep in thought. If they did not find Richard soon, chances were that he would be beyond help. The prospect of returning home with his younger brother’s lifeless body across his saddle sent a surge of fear through him like he had never before experienced. Even in war, it had not been fear that had turned him away from battle, but the abhorrence of taking another’s life. This though, this was a fear that was far too real, and he could feel the tears welling up in his eyes as they rode along the river, hoping against hope that he would find the small craft, and Richard with it.
Gradually, his thoughts drifted back to their childhood. Richard, always smaller than him, following him wherever he went, yet somehow always getting into mischief on his own. Even as a child, he had been headstrong and impulsive, never stopping to think before he spoke. Yet of all his siblings, it was probably Richard who had the biggest heart. Perhaps, he contemplated, that was why he always spoke so quickly, for his words came from that heart, sometimes filled with anger for a slight he perceived, but many times out of concern for those he loved. He was suddenly jolted from his contemplation by his cousin’s animated cry.
“Over there, Armus! It’s Joce’s boat.”
Armus had barely reached the small vessel when he had alighted from his horse and made his way to its side, his heart pounding with expectation and hope. Moments later, that hope was dashed, for the craft was empty. Armus sat down on the shore, trying to stave off the flood of emotion that was rising to the surface. He laid his head in his hands, closing his eyes momentarily while he collected his thoughts. Still, even when he spoke his voice was far too weak for a man of his size. The rise and fall of emotions was almost more than he could bear. Malcolm could sense his despair and came to sit down beside him. Though his nerves were wearing thin as well, the relationship was not as intense and he could still manage to look at the situation with a modicum of objectivity.
“We’ll find him, Armus! After all, they say ‘tis only the good the Lord takes at such a young age.” He smiled sadly, placing his hand upon his cousin’s shoulder. “If that is indeed the case, we have nothing to fear, for Richard will live a good long life.”
“Richard is good!” Armus snapped back.
Malcolm was not expecting such a reply and instinctively removed his hand. His brow crumpled up, hurt to think that Armus would ever think he really meant anything derogatory by the statement. “I know he is, Armus. I only meant . . .”
Armus closed his eyes, and then opening them again, he gripped Malcolm by the shoulders. “Forgive me, cousin. I know what you meant. I just don’t know where to go from here. He’s my little brother. I should be able to protect him and instead I’m sitting here without any idea of where to go next.”
Malcolm smiled softly. “How about up that embankment. It looks like that’s where Richard headed.”
Taking a great deep breath, Armus nodded, and then mounting their horses the two men followed the erratic path that led through the forest. By and by it came to a little traveled dirt road, so they were able to continue tracking Richard’s path. It was getting late, the sun just below the horizon, and reluctantly the made camp for the night. Armus sat on a log, his hands folded as if in prayer, pressed firmly against his bowed head.
“What if we loose him because we stopped tonight,” Armus said, his voice trembling.
“We won’t!” Malcolm replied heartily. “Richard’s not stupid. He’ll rest as well, and we’ll find him in the morning.
“I have a terrible feeling, cousin.”
“Try to get some rest; the sun will be up before you know it.”
“I want to leave at the first wisps of light, before the sun is up.”
Malcolm nodded then sat back against a tree and wrapped his cloak around him. Though he had tried to remain positive, he could not fight the feeling that Armus was right, and a tear ran down his cheek. Though he was older than Richard, he had developed a special kinship with his mischievous cousin, more so than with the studious Armus, and as such, they had quickly become partners in crime. Whenever Thomas would come to Trendle, or his family would go to Covington Cross, it was almost a certainty that the two of them would end up in some kind of trouble. A wisp of a smile crossed his face as he remembered the innocence which with they would face their fathers, each one truly ignorant of the wrong doing they had wrought. Thomas would always blame Richard for instigating the mischief, just as his own father would blame him, but in truth they were both equally guilty, for while Richard may have been younger, he had a quick and imaginative mind.
Malcolm felt as if he had only been sitting there moments when Armus tapped him on the arm. “It’s time to go,” Armus said solemnly, and so it was, for the sky to the east was brushed with the first strokes of daylight.
Neither man said anything as they grabbed a dry oatcake and mounted their horses. They would ride in silence, so they could concentrate better on the haphazard trail Richard had left along the road. They had to be gaining on him, Armus thought, for he was on foot. Still they had to ride slowly to keep an eye on the trail, and he feared they might not be going very much faster themselves. Then, just ahead, Armus spied a mass of cloth in the middle of the road and his heart stopped. He spurred his steed forward, once more clearing his saddle before the animal had even come to a stop, and he fell down by his brother’s side, gently turning him over onto his lap.
“Richard!” Armus shouted. He placed a trembling hand in front of the boy’s mouth and the color drained out of his face. “I don’t feel any breath. My God, we’re too late.”
Malcolm had only been steps behind Armus, and he bent over Richard, placing his cheek against his younger cousin’s mouth. “There is breath,” he said, his own breath short and deep, “though it’s very weak. We must get him back to Covington Cross at once.”
Armus mounted his horse, and with Malcolm’s help pulled his brother up in front of him. Richard’s skin was cold and pale, his lips tinted with blue, and Armus wrapped his cloak around him, pressing his arms over his brother’s limp form, hoping to transfer his own heat, his own life, into Richard. Then they started for home, as Armus leaned over and whispered into his brother’s ear. “Please, Richard, don’t give up on me now. I’m taking you home little brother.”
Armus rode as fast as he dared with his brother in front of him, not wanting to cause Richard’s fragile form too much jostling. His mind, however, was racing, thoughts of their childhood flitting in and out like an elusive butterfly, until finally, they came to rest on a time long ago. Richard could not have been more than four or five at the time, and they had gone to the fair. Armus had been let home from his uncles to attend the festivities, and though he’d been looking forward to it for weeks, once there he found himself becoming increasingly annoyed that his mother was spending so much time with his brother, when he had hardly seen her for months. He remembered wishing, as children often do, that his brother would somehow disappear for the afternoon, so that her attention could be on him. Sometime in the afternoon, he had finally distracted his mother for a moment, to look at some armor, if he remembered right, and she had come along, dragging Richard by the hand. It happened in the breath of a moment. A man passed between her and Richard, causing her grasp to break unexpectedly, and when she looked, he was gone. He would never forget the look of panic in her eyes, or the terrible guilt he felt as his father raced through the stalls in search of his brother. As darkness fell, Thomas had organized a party to search for him. The guilt only grew as he was told to remain with his mother, for she held him tight within her grip, fearful that she would loose him as well. He swore that day, that if God let them find Richard, he would never again wish him away, no matter how angry he got at him, and he never had. His father and his men searched all night for him, and just as the sun was rising, they found the tiny boy in one of the stables, cuddled up against a chestnut mare and her fold. To this day, he remembered Thomas walking toward them, Richard asleep, cradled in his arms, and the mare and its fold being brought along behind him. He had purchased them on the spot, for he felt it had been their body heat that had kept Richard alive. It was that fold that gave birth to the horse Richard rode to this day.
“Where is she now?” Armus said aloud, almost angry at the poor thing for not being there to keep his brother warm.
“What?” Malcolm asked absent-mindedly, for his mind was steeped in memories of its own.
Armus just smiled and shook his head, tightening his grip around his brother’s body. He would not loose him now. Still, pangs of guilt wracked his soul. His father had searched through the night for Richard those many years ago. He should have as well, for if he had, perhaps his brother would not be on the brink of death now.
**********
The sound of hoof beats had barely hit the cobblestone of the inner bailey than Thomas came running toward them, shouting orders to different servants: call for the physician, prepare a bowl of broth, draw a warm bath. . .” His voice sounded calm and strong, yet his eyes betrayed him, for they revealed the horror his lips dared not speak. Was Richard even alive? So Armus answered the unasked question.
“He’s very weak, Father, but he’s alive,” Armus told his father.
Thomas did not answer. There was no need. His expression told all: the worry, the fears, the happiness, the relief. Armus released Richard into his grip as Cedric rushed over to help, but it was Armus who lifted his brother and carried him to his chambers.
The physicians stayed with Richard throughout the night. They used leeches and bleeding, but nothing seemed to rouse him from his sleep. He slept innocently, unaware of the turmoil that was going on around him. They took turns keeping watch, but none really slept, none except Richard. Finally, as the sun began to set the next day, they would each find themselves dosing intermittently, waking suddenly when a twig scratched against a window or the wind howled through the corridors, hoping it was Richard stirring, but each time they were disappointed. It was as if he hung between life and death, not sure of the direction he was to take. All were painfully aware, however, that if he did not wake soon, death would win out and take him away from them. Thomas sat by his side late the next night, his son’s hand in his own, speaking to Richard as if he could hear him, yet knowing he could not. Still, he rambled on about nothing, about everything.
“You shouldn’t worry your mother like this, Richard. She’ll be frantic, you know. Do you remember that little bird you brought home just before your ninth birthday, the one with the broken wing? Remember how Eleanor thought it was her own personal bird. I don’t think she’s ever forgiven you for letting it go. She didn’t understand it belonged with its mother. . .” Then frightened by what he had just said, his tone changed from whimsical to serious. “But you do not belong with your mother, Richard . . . not now . . . not yet . . . For godsake, Richard, come back to us!”
Richard continued to sleep all the next day. Eleanor tried to get some water into him, but the liquid just slid down the side of his face, wetting his pillow. “If he doesn’t get something in him soon,” she cried, “he’s going to die.” She began to sob and tried again to force some water passed Richard’s lips, but Cedric pulled her away, his chin quivering as he did, for he had all he could do to control his own emotions.
“It’s not helping, Eleanor. You’re only getting him wet.”
Lady Elizabeth led her downstairs, a sobbing mass of nerves, while Armus sat down by his brother’s side. “Go try to eat something,” he told his youngest brother, “and get some sleep. I’ll stay with him tonight.”
“I’ll go,” Cedric replied, “but not to eat. I’m going to go to the chapel and pray. I saw the Friar there earlier. I think that may be all we can do to help Richard now.” And somehow, Armus knew he was right.
The sun was just beginning to rise again when Armus kneeled down beside his brother’s bed. The rest of the family was at morning prayers, but he had not wanted to leave Richard alone, so he had offered to remain. Still, he would whisper his own prayers, knowing that the Lord would hear him there just as well as in the chapel. “Heavenly Father, I know I’ve not prayed nearly as much as I should, but I haven’t asked much of you either. I’ve tried to be a good man, a good brother, though I know I’ve fallen far short there as well. Richard just seems to have a way of riling me, but I will try and be patient, if only you’ll let him wake . . .”
“Is that a promise?” Richard asked, his voice weak, even as a mischievous grin touched his lips. Armus was so stunned he forgot himself for a moment . . . and the words he had spoken in his prayer.
“How
long have you been lying there awake, you deceptive little swine?”
”What happened to your promise of patience, brother,” Richard said with a grin,
then groaning as he put his hand to his head. “God, my head’s still throbbing.”
Tears welling up in his eyes, Armus grabbed his brother and held him, almost smothering him. Only Richard’s pounding on his back made him aware of just how tightly he was holding him, and realizing it, he laid him gently back down on his pillow, though Richard seemed completely confused by the entire incident.
“Good Lord, Armus, what’s the matter with you anyway. Why are you in my chambers? Have I been sick or something?”
“You don’t remember?” Armus asked in disbelief.
Richard just shook his head, moaning slightly. “I’ve a demon of a headache, I know that. Did you knock me over the head . . .” he began to ask, but Armus was already in the hall, instructing a servant to go to the chapel to inform his family.
**********
Thomas sat there with a silly grin on his face, starring at Richard while his sipped his soup. From time to time, the boy would look over to him and smile, and Thomas would just laugh and nod his head. Finally, Richard could take no more. He could not understand why everyone was treating him like some sort of honored guest. “Oh, for godsake, Father, what on earth is going on? You’re all acting as if I’d died and come back to life. I just have a bit of a headache.”
“You really don’t remember then?” Thomas asked, his smile dropping away momentarily.
“Remember what?” Richard shouted, remembering to late that his head was already throbbing. Taking a deep breath, he continued. “The last thing I remember was heading for Trendle yesterday. That’s it, isn’t it? I had too much to drink, and Malcolm had to bring me home. Now you’re punishing me by being extremely nice, but I know I’m going to pay for this, so why not just get it over with.”
“You weren’t in Trendle yesterday, Richard,” Thomas ventured cautiously. “In fact, you never even made it there.”
“Of course, I did,” Richard replied, his brow creased in thought, before his headache grew and he moaned in pay. “I did, didn’t I?”
“No,” Thomas replied, “we think you were hit upon somewhere along the road between Bicknell and Trendle. Are you sure you don’t remember?”
“Yes,” Richard mumbled, “every time I try to think about it, my headache gets worse. So where have I been since yesterday?”
Thomas looked at his son sympathetically, deep creases marring his forehead as he wondered whether or not it were wise to tell him how long it had been since he left home. Still, he thought he should know, and so he spoke slowly, cautiously. “You left Bicknell six days ago, Richard. You were seriously hurt when Armus and Malcolm brought you home the day before last. We thought we’d lost you, son.”
For a moment, Richard just starred at him. He must be joking. It must be some sort of prank to punish him for getting drunk in Trendle, but then he looked into his father’s eyes. “Why can’t I remember?” he mumbled. “I recall speaking to the reeve. The crops are looking good, by the way. I had some pie, and then headed for Trendle. That’s where it all goes blurry, until I woke up here this morning.”
“Don’t worry about it, Richard,” Thomas smiled again. “You’re all right now.”
“But I’m not!” Richard shouted, once again forgetting his head. “I can’t remember the last six days,” he continued softer, but still noticeably agitated.
“It seems they may have hit you over the head. It will all come back to you in time, I’m sure. For now, just get some rest and let your body heal.”
Thomas patted his son on the shoulder, and then stood to leave. “Eleanor will be up in a moment.”
“I don’t need a wet nurse,” Richard snapped.
“No, but you do need a nurse,” Thomas said with a laugh. “If only to make sure you stay in that bed and rest.”
Richard moaned, rolling his eyes, but he knew his father meant well, and his head did still throb, so he slid back down upon the soft pillows and let the warm summer breeze wash over him. What ever had happened, he was home now with his family, and that’s all that really mattered to him.
**********
The rest of the family had another agenda, however. Someone had attacked Richard along the road, robbed him and left him for dead. If Thomas had not sent Armus out to look for him when he did, the murdering rogue may have succeeded. Armus had every intention of finding out who that someone was. Richard could not do it for himself, and so he would do it for him. Malcolm agreed to go with him, as did Cedric, but this time Thomas chose to stay home, for he wanted to be near his son. Still, he worried about his other children.
“We’ll be careful, Father,” Armus assured him. “In fact, I thought of asking Gideon to go along as well, or at least to send some of his men.
“Yes, that would be a good idea,” Thomas said, a grin replacing the look of urgency that had crossed his face. Then a coldness came over his kind expression. “Bring them back alive, Armus. They shall face the king’s court for this!”
Armus nodded, then headed out toward Trendle. They had searched various towns in the vicinity of Trendle and Bicknell, not knowing exactly what they were looking for. Had the men sold Richard’s horse and clothing, or did they still have it in there possession? He had to be careful not to accuse the wrong person. Then on their second day out, he held his hand up to stop the posse he had gathered. Gideon looked at him askance, not sure what it was that had provoked such an action, but Armus nodded at a horse, tied up outside the inn. It was Richard’s chestnut mare, the markings were unmistakable. The dabs of deeper brown mixed with the chestnut on her hind quarters, the black streak down her nose. Armus tried to control his anger, for he knew that it might now be in the hands of an innocent party. Those reservations were assuaged, however, as a man wearing Richard’s clothing stepped out into the air, a man Armus knew all too well. With a roar that quaked the very earth, Armus rode forward, his sword drawn and his arm raised. He would behead the man there and then. Only Gideon’s quick movement kept him from following through. “Leave him to the law, Armus!”
Armus did not mutter a word. In fact, he didn’t even open his mouth to breathe, until they had rounded up all three villains and were ready to take them away. Only then did he put his hand on Gideon’s shoulder, his words sharp and clear, and obviously well chosen. “I want my brother’s clothes . . . now, please.”
Gideon obliged and kicked the foul-smelling rags that Richard had worn for the last week over to the thieving scoundrel. “Yes, I only think that’s fair,’ he grinned.
“They’re stinking,’ the man protested. “They have vomit all over them.”
“Be thankful I give you any clothes at all!” Armus growled. “Cedric was right. We should have taken you hands.” Armus leaned over the saddle menacingly, and the man began to undress, not daring to say another word.
**********
They returned home to a familiar sound. Thomas was yelling across the Great Hall, striding down the stairs with an urgency on his face that combined with a look of utter hopelessness.
“Richard!” he shouted. “There’s nothing you can do. Let Armus handle this.”
“It was my head they smashed in” Richard replied as he buckled on his sword and scabbard. “When I get finished with them, they’ll beg the sheriff to take them away.”
Richard was just passing the door when Armus caught his arm. The older man tried to remain serious but he could not help the small hint of a smile from crossing his lips. “Can I gather from this, you’ve remembered everything?”
“I’ll have the swine boiled in oil, the ungrateful wretches. And to think, I was the one who suggested they be branded. Cedric was right; we should have lopped their hands off, and their heads along with them. Can you imagine the audacity . . .What?” he stated, noticing that everyone was staring at him with amused expressions on their faces. Armus lifted an eyebrow, waiting for an answer to his question.
“Yes, I suppose I have,” Richard replied hesitantly. “Well, most of it anyway.”
“I believe these are yours,” Armus said. He handed Richard his clothes and sword. “Now what do you say, little brother?”
Richard looked around the room as if he were cornered by a rabid dog, but everywhere he looked, the expressions were still the same: eyebrows raised, touch of a smile upon the lips, arms folded. He would receive no help there. Finally, he sighed wearily.
“Thank you, big brother,” Richard replied as he broke into a large grin.
*****End*****
Our authors appreciate comments on their stories. If you would like to send comments on this story, click on the author’s name at the top of this page.