Redemption

by Philip E. Batt

answered he question.

  'I hope to have children, one day.' Frederick smiled at the soldier. 'But, I had hoped that they might have grown strong in a peaceful world where our two countries could have worked together as partners. Do you think that might ever be possible, Brogham?'

  The soldier remained silent.

  'Well?' Frederick asked, again.

  Brogham looked down at Frederick and visibly relaxed a little. 'I do not see how that could be possible under the circumstances, Your Highness.'

  'That may be true,' Frederick said. 'But you know, even now, I still hold out some hope.' The man looked tired, worn, and still had the dust of the road on his black boots and trousers. 'Have you rested?'

  'No, Your Highness.'

  'Master de Malyns?'

  'Yes, Sire?' The scribe rose from his seat and bowed.

  'Fetch Lawrence for me, will you? Please can you ask him to ensure that this fine man is fed, watered and rested well before his return journey?'

  'Of course, Sire,' de Malyns replied.

  Frederick noted that the soldier relaxed a little as he looked across at him, it was almost as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

  'What's wrong, Brogham? Did you think this a one way journey?'

  The man looked back at him and even though he did not say the words Frederick sensed that this was indeed on his mind.

  'I can see that you did,' Frederick continued. 'Despite what you may have been told, we are not barbarians in the Empire.'

  'It is true,' the soldier lowered his head, 'I did not expect to return home, Sire.'

  'I thought as much,' Frederick replied. 'If I can guarantee your safe return to the border, Brogham, will you do something for me?'

  'If it is in my power, Highness.'

  'It is.' Frederick paused. 'I mean to draft a letter to your Queen. Will you carry it back to her?'

  'Of course.'

  'Thank you,' Fredrick replied, 'you would have my gratitude. He looked across at his secretary, and said, 'Master de Malyns? After you have taken care of this good man, I need your services again.'

  de Malyns bowed. 'Of course, Sire,' he said, before walking across to the door.

  Draper waited in the hallway, and the soldier brought himself to attention before turning and marching across to the exit. Once they were gone, de Malyns returned to his seat and readied himself to write, picking up his pen.

  'I will write the letter to Ysabel myself,' Frederick said, 'but I need you to draft a letter to the nine governors, all identical. Tell them that I decree that they send the largest share of their forces, as many men as they can spare, to New Brunswick to reinforce the garrison there. Tell them that it must be done without delay. Do you have that, Master Scribe?'

  'I do, Sire.'

  'Good. And on the note for my Lord Allington, please add the additional personal note to say that it should give him no pleasure that he seems to have been right all along.' Frederick looked across at de Malyns. 'Bring them back for me to sign when they are complete, will you?'

  'Of course, Sire.'

  'Please, could you leave now. I need some time on my own to think.'

  Frederick watched the scribe rise and walk across to the desk where he bowed and turned to leave the room.

  After de Malyns had gone, Frederick slumped back into his chair and looked down at the declaration of war sitting before him. He picked it up, and read it one more time before tossing it back onto the desktop.

  He had failed, he told himself. Failed his Kateryn, failed his country, but most of all, he felt, and perhaps the worst of all, he had failed his father. And he was afraid. Afraid of a future that he could not control.

  Tears formed in the corners of his eyes before rolling silently down his face. He wiped them away with the sleeve of his tunic.

  Should Emperor's cry? he wondered.

  16

  The main corridor of the Highport Watch Headquarters was dark and quiet as Frederick made his way towards the Captain's office. There were no signs that anyone was at home, all except that was, for the meagre light that found its way out into the hallway through the gaps around the office door. If the roster that he had been able to get his hands on was correct then Cromwell should be on duty this evening. Certainly, Frederick's own men had reported back that the Captain was in his office so he would be around here somewhere.

  The door was not properly closed so Frederick pushed it gently open; it swung inwards, silently. That was different, he thought. He was sure that the last time he had been here there had been creaking hinges. Cromwell was already building himself a reputation of being a details person, and it was the little things that mattered, he told himself. Change enough of the little things and the big things always followed. Was that not an immutable law of nature? Perhaps, then, he shouldn't have been too surprised. There was another sound that he could hear, too, a ticking clock; that was also new. Frederick peeped around the door expecting to see Cromwell behind the desk doing the paperwork that he seemed to now revel in. As he peered in, though, the Lieutenant was on his hands and knees beneath his desk, searching for something.

  Frederick eyes widened and he put his fist to his mouth.

  'Ahem!'

  Cromwell's head bobbed up and thumped into the base of the desktop with a crunch.

  'Ow! Bugger!' he said.

  Frederick smiled. Then, he said, 'What is it about this particular job that all of a sudden makes its holder become a regular user of common profanity?'

  Cromwell reversed, posterior first, from beneath the desk and then rose to his feet. His eyes were wide with surprise, and he brought himself to attention, saluting.

  'I apologise, Your Highness?' He bowed, his face reddening with the embarrassment.

  'Forgive me for being obtuse,' Frederick asked, 'but can you enlighten me as to exactly what it was that you were doing?'

  Cromwell looked down at the spot below the desk where he had been kneeling. 'Looking for something, Sire.'

  'May I enquire as to what?'

  'Captain Winterburne always said that the initials of every man to sit in that chair were carved into the carcass of the desk. That is, if you knew where to look?'

  'Ah! I see.' Frederick nodded. 'And do you?'

  'Do I what, Sire?'

  'Know where to look.'

  'Well, I found one of them, and I'm fairly sure there's another one, just out of sight. I think I can feel it.'

  'Most interesting,' Frederick replied. He tried to hide his disinterested tone, but knew that he had not been altogether successful.

  Cromwell rubbed the back of his head. 'Is there anything I can do for you, Your Highness? I mean, I certainly never expected to see you here.'

  'Your predecessor always seemed to be surprised, too. He seemed to think that I should be cosseted in the Palace never to see the light of day.' He thought about the time, a few months ago, when Winterburne had found him on the streets of the city with his chosen men. 'Or night, if it comes to that,' he added.

  'He never told me that he had casual meetings with you, Your Highness.' Cromwell frowned.

  'As I seem to remember, Captain, our meetings were never particularly casual,' Frederick replied.

  'Perhaps not,' Cromwell said, 'but I'm beginning to learn there are a great many things he never told me.'

  'Indeed. There seems to have been a lot of things that the good Captain kept locked away inside that head of his.'

  Frederick walked across to the desk and picked up Cromwell's glass paperweight. He frowned as he turned it over in his hand, examining it.

  A small bubble floated in the middle of the object and inside the bubble sat a daisy, as fresh as the day it was picked, no sign of decay in its petals. He glanced at Cromwell before placing the object back on the table.

  'It was a present, from my fiancée,' Cromwell said, beaming.

  'I see.' Frederick nodded and turned to face Cromwell. 'I need him back,' he said.

  'Who, Sire?'

&
nbsp; 'Winterburne.'

  Cromwell looked concerned. 'Back as Captain?'

  'That still remains to be seen,' Frederick replied. 'As does whether he still has the stomach for returning to the city. It is entirely possible that he has built himself a new life now and has no intention of coming back.'

  Cromwell looked down, and then back to Frederick. 'I suppose that you could command him.'

  Frederick smiled at Cromwell. 'There are a few things that you have yet to grasp about me, Captain. I would never command a man to go where his heart does not wish to take him. It is much more effective if he chooses that path of his own free will.'

  Cromwell nodded.

  Frederick smirked. 'Of course,' he said, 'the real trick is to make that man think that what you want him to do is his own free will.' He glanced over at Cromwell but his little joke seemed to have missed the spot with the man.

  'I do miss him,' Cromwell replied.

  'As does Martell, I think.' Frederick chuckled. 'The hunger in his eye seems to have deserted him now that his sparring partner is not around.'

  Cromwell laughed too, and then the smile left his face a quickly as it had come. 'I heard the news of the declaration of war, Sire,' he said, his face becoming serious. 'It is spreading around the city like a wild fire.'

  'It is true. Tough times are coming, I fear.'

  'I never thought of myself as a warrior.'

  'And neither do most men that are called to do great things at times such as this.' Frederick stepped across to Cromwell and looked him in the eye. 'Do not fret over events that are yet to happen, my young friend. If your heart is true, then destiny usually looks on you kindly.' He could see the look in Cromwell's eyes change.

  Cromwell took a deep breath and