"Nay," little brother answered, "but once 'tis said, there's no unsaying it."
Geoffrey frowned, irritated, and was about to comment, but Rod stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "It's labeling, son. It's a way of confronting our fear…"
"I have no fear!"
"Then you're braver than I am. And once we've put a name to that fear, we can't just walk away and pretend it never existed."
Geoffrey still frowned, but he quieted.
"And if the Di Medici have failed in their duty, what of it?" Gwen demanded. "It nonetheless falls to us."
"True," Rod admitted.
"Then the sooner we deal with it, the better."
"Oh, I wouldn't go that far. I'd just as soon make my first confrontation by daylight, thank you."
Gwen turned to confront him. "Delay will not make it cease, milord."
"No, but it'll make me feel a little better about it."
Gwen tossed her head impatiently. "Art thou so worn with travel, then, that thou canst not stand to battle?"
"Now that you mention it—yes. Or rather, I could if I had to—but no general will make his troops fight when they're tired, if he can help it. I've got an even better reason than that though."
"Which is?"
"I'm scared."
"Thou, craven?" Geoffrey bleated. "Thou canst not speak truth!"
"I do." Rod turned away, picked up a fallen branch, and began to sweep out a campsite. "And I intend to have full sunlight before I walk into that stone pile."
Geoffrey stared at him, thunderstruck, then whirled to Gwen. "Mama! Assuredly our father hath not become a coward!"
Gwen squeezed his shoulder and shook her head, but her eyes were on Rod.
Geoffrey stared, unbelieving, then whirled away to Fess. "It cannot be true! Thou, who hast known him longer than any, who hast watched o'er him from his cradle—tell me! Hath my father ever admitted to fear?"
"Frequently and regularly, Geoffrey, as he should. Only a fool will deny being afraid. The wise man will admit his fear, at least to himself, then triumph over it."
That brought the future hero to a frowning halt. "There is an air of sense to thy words…"
"He who denies his fear, even to himself, lies," Fess assured him, "and fear denied may leap out at the crucial moment, to disable you in battle."
Magnus listened closely.
"So never hesitate to admit being afraid, Geoffrey," Fess went on, "but do not let it keep you from action."
"Yet he doth! Even now, he doth!"
"True, and that is atypical for him," the robot agreed. "You might wish to ask him why—especially when he does it so blithely."
Geoffrey stared at him, then whirled to his father. "Thou dost lie!"
Magnus turned, too, though more slowly.
"I do not," Rod said evenly. "I am most definitely afraid of that castle."
Geoffrey lifted his chin. "Yet not so afeard that thou wilt not encamp in the shadow of its walls."
"You've noticed."
Geoffrey winced. "Be not so cruel to me, I pray! Tell me wherefore thou dost hesitate."
Rod just gazed at him. Geoffrey twitched, but held firm.
Softly, Magnus said, "Hast thou the right to hear it, brother, when thou hast lost faith in him?"
Geoffrey seemed to loosen a little. "I did not. Not truly, I did not—I but craved a reason to keep belief.''
Rod still gazed.
Finally, Geoffrey bowed his head. "Thy pardon, sir, that I did doubt thee."
"Why, of course," Rod said. "Question me all you wish, son, though you may not like the answer—but don't doubt me, please. I don't deserve it."
"Nay, thou dost not," Gwen said, musing. "Yet thou couldst have been more open, husband."
"I could, if I could have put words to it—but it took a few minutes to figure out what was bothering me. And really, it's simply this—I don't like surprises."
"Aye!" Geoffrey cried, relieved. " 'Tis even as thou hast ever said—to march ahead unknowing is most dire folly!"
Rod nodded. "Took me a few minutes to figure that out, though, since it isn't an army we're facing. That's why I told you I was scared. Emotions are there for reasons, and when I can't figure out exactly what I'm scared about, it's wisest to stand back—if I can."
"And in this, thou canst." Gwen nodded. "There is wisdom in this, husband. Nay, let us bide without for the night, and learn what we may on the morrow." She turned to Cordelia, who had been watching very intently the whole time, taking copious mental notes. "Come, daughter. Let us prepare for the meal, and the night."
"You heard her, boys," Rod called, "pitch camp."
The light of a campfire under a tripod and cauldron, and the smell of stew, cheered their spirits considerably. Firelight flickered on their faces, Fess, and, across from him, the family tent, which had grown steadily over the years until it had become a pavilion.
"How shall we begin to discover knowledge of this castle, Papa?" Magnus asked.
"Well, your mother and I already know a little, son."
Gwen nodded. " 'Tis not so far from Runnymede that folk there would have heard naught in all these years."
"Then what thou dost know is but gossip," Gregory objected.
Gwen nodded again. "And 'tis thereby faulted—yet there's oft a kernel of truth in a rumor."
"And what doth Rumor say?" Cordelia demanded.
"First," Rod answered, "we know that the name of the castle is Foxcourt. That, I think, we can take as fact, because that's what King Tuan called it when he enfoeffed me with it."
"Doth 'enfoeffed' mean aught like to 'encumbered,' Papa?"
Rod nearly choked on his stew. He wiped his mouth and his eyes and said, "Only in this case, Delia. Usually, it just means that the King is letting the knight live there and have the income from it. It's like gaining title to a piece of land, in reward for service to the Crown."
"Yet 'tis still the Crown's?" Magnus asked.
"In theory, yes—but for all intents and purposes, it belongs to the knight who's been given seizin of it, and to his heirs."
"What doth 'given seizin' mean?" Geoffrey asked.
" 'Enfoeffed.' "
"Oh." Geoffrey frowned, puzzled.
"There are many words in our language that have meanings so similar as to be nearly the same," Gwen explained, "though there are different occasions for their employment. Tis why its use doth become art."
"And defeats those who would treat it as a science," Rod agreed. "However, we are seized of this castle and the ten miles surrounding it, which is our fief, whether we like it or not—so, if there are some maleficent spooks disputing its ownership, we'd better take care of them for once and for all."
"And that doth begin with its name?"
Rod shrugged. "It's a starting place. If we can find out why it was named that, we may have a start at finding out what the haunting spirit is."
"The castle's name doth sound as thou 'twas famed for its hunting."
"Aye," Gwen agreed, "the more so as 'twas the hold of a noble family."
"But they also bore the name Foxcourt," Rod objected. "They'd have had to take the name of the castle for their own, if hunting was really its source."
" 'Tis common enough, is't not?" Magnus asked. "The Earl Marshall is fully Robert Artos, Lord Marshall—yet though his family's name is 'Artos,' all do speak of him as 'Marshall.' "
"True enough, but it's been known to happen the other way just as often. 'Tudor' is our neighbor Earl's family name, but he gave it to his demesne."
"Then the family of barons who dwelt here took their name from the castle?"
"They were counts, not barons—and yes, that's my guess. But it might have worked the other way around."
Cordelia gazed up at the walls, dark against the dusky sky. "How long did they dwell here?"
"Three centuries, which means the castle's been empty for two hundred years. Tuan says the family died out then, and Di Medici left the building to rot
while he administered the county through knights and reeves."
Gwen frowned. " 'Tis unlike what we know of that family, to let a castle stand when it could be invested against them."
"And just as unlike our erstwhile Duke Di Medici to let a useable strongpoint go unused, when it could be tightening his hold over his peasants." Rod nodded. "You're right—something doesn't fit."
"Canst thou tell why?" Gregory asked.
Rod shook his head. "That's all the information King Tuan gave us."
"Where shall we gain more?"
"Where do we always go?" Rod turned to Gwen. "Do we have some extra stew?"
Gwen nodded. "Nearly as much as we've eaten."
"Then let's have company over for dinner. After all, Puck recommended we consult the local authorities." Rod turned to the surrounding trees, calling, "Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves! Care to take potluck? 'Tis the Lord Warlock who calls, and we'd love some company! Also some information…"
Cordelia's eyes shone, and she started to say something, but Gwen pressed a finger across her lips, and she subsided. Gregory watched, eyes huge, and Geoffrey fidgeted, but managed to stay quiet. Magnus tried to look bored, but failed.
Leaves stirred, then a head the size of Rod's fist poked out. "Art truly he?"
"I am, and these are my wife and children. We're all honorary elves."
"Is't as honorary as all that?" The elf missed Rod's glare, because he turned to Gwen as he scrambled to his feet and bowed. He wore hose and a jerkin of brown—bark, Rod guessed—and was almost as brown as his clothing. "We are honored that thou hast come, Lady Gwendylon. I am hight Buckthorn."
Rod breathed a sigh of relief; for a moment, he'd thought the manikin was going to start talking about Gwen's parentage.
The boys were staring at Rod, scandalized at the lack of respect accorded him, but Rod just held up a palm and watched.
Gwen smiled and inclined her head graciously. "Nay, 'tis thou dost honor me, Old One."
"Nay, for thou art wise and good. Hast thou come, then, to heal this festering sore on our mountain?"
Gwen darted a quick glance at Rod, then turned back to the elf. "We must, for this manor is given into our stewardship. Canst thou tell us aught of its past?"
"Aye, and most gladly!"
"Then do, I prithee. Yet first, call up such of thy fellows as may wish it, to partake of our supper."
"Aye, and right happily." Buckthorn turned back to the forest and made a sort of falling whistle, like the call of a night bird. It was answered by half a dozen like him, four in hose but two in skirts, who came out of the underbrush with shy and hesitant steps, to line up in a half-circle by Buckthorn. "These," he said, "are my companions—Hazelberry and Rose, first."
The elf-wives curtsied. Hazelberry was slender and brown as the wood of her name, with a bright green leaf-cloth dress. Rose was plump and red-cheeked, with a rosy complexion and dusky pink skirt and bodice.
"These are their husbands, Bight and Burl." Buckthorn gestured toward the men. Two of them stepped forward to bow. Burl was short, scarcely more than a foot high, but almost six inches broad, with bulging muscles. Bight was tall and wiry.
"And these are the bachelors of this mountain, Loon and Gorn." Loon was slender, with a dreamer's eyes, and Gorn was so plump that Rod wondered if he moonlighted as a subordinate Claus.
"Thou art welcome to our fire, as I hope we are to thy mountain." Gwen inclined her head gravely, carefully not mentioning the matter of official ownership. "Wilt thou join us in meat?"
"Aye, and right gladly," said Gorn. All seven of them came forward and settled down cross-legged in a circle near the pot.
The juvenile Gallowglasses tracked them with huge eyes. Rod felt a thrill of pride. His children had seen elves before, but they never seemed to tire of them.
Gwen ladled a bowl full of stew and set it down in their center, then set a half-loaf of bread beside it, and another bowl of milk. The elves set to with gusto.
"We are told the family of this keep were the Counts Foxcourt," Gwen began. "Did they take their name from the manor?"
"Nay, they gave it theirs," Burl answered.
Gwen exchanged a look of surprise with Rod, then turned back. "What manner of folk were they?"
"Oh, bad folk, lady!" Hazelberry answered. "Horrid indeed, from the second Count to the last. There do be tales of the cruelties wrought upon their peasants, of the heaviness of the taxes levied, and of their delight in the floggings when folk had not the wherewithal to pay."
"And tales more foul than that," Bight said darkly, "which I will forebear to speak of, with younglings present."
"Oh, do not let us dissuade thee," Magnus urged.
"No, do," Rod contradicted with a glare at his son. "I think we can guess."
"Aye, guess worse deeds than they did," Geoffrey grumbled.
"That, I misdoubt me," Buckthorn answered. "Think whatever ill thou canst of the Foxcourts, and 'tis like to be true."
"So bad as that?" Cordelia's eyes were huge.
"So bad," the elf confirmed. "But finally came a Count who was so evil that he flouted even his duty to his family, and would not wed, though he did force his attentions on every woman who came his way."
" 'Force his attentions?' " Gregory looked up at his father.
"Later, son—in about ten years. So he had no legitimate son to inherit the title?"
"He did not."
"Were there no cousins who could take it up?" Gwen asked.
"Aye, there were two cadet branches of the line," Gorn answered, "yet both had removed to other dukedoms, and pledged their swords to county lords, thereby retaining knighthood; and both cast off the decadence of their sires."
" 'Twas not all of a moment, look you," Bight added. "The first knight, we are told, did keep faith with his lord, serve bravely in battle, and deal fairly with his peasants, though harshly. Their sons did leave off swilling of ale and despoiling of women, and the grandsons were as good as any knight, and better."
Buckthorn nodded, munching. "They had even become beloved by their serfs and tenants."
"Very impressive." Rod nodded. "So what happened after they took over the estate?"
"Naught, for they did not," Buckthorn said.
Rod let out a long whistle. "That bad? Two families turned down the chance for a noble title and estates, just because of the castle's reputation?"
Bight nodded somberly.
"What kind of closet skeletons could make a family refuse a title?"
"Any, an they walked." Magnus scowled. "Is not a haunting reason enough to deny inheritance?"
"No, not really. I know of quite a few families that cohabited very companionably with ghosts, or at least ignored them—the family manor house was so important to them that they were willing to share it with a few of their ancestors who were a little reluctant to move out. In fact, there was a time when the nouveau riche began to try to buy family ghosts to go with their fabricated coats of arms. I understand a real rage for that kind of thing hit my home, ah, 'land,' really hard, about four hundred years ago. One of my ancestors even pioneered a new fad in holograms."
Magnus glanced up at Fess, but the robot carefully ignored him.
"So family ghosts, just by themselves, wouldn't account for having turned down the title," Rod finished.
"Unless 'twas a truly vile haunting," Gwen demurred.
Rod nodded. "There had to be something especially rotten about the last Count Foxcourt, or his household."
"I assure thee, there was," Hazelberry said. "Name a vice or debauchery, and he did practice it."
"Yeah, but that wouldn't…" Rod's voice trailed off as he remembered some of the tales he'd heard about sadists. "No, strike that. I can think of some sins that would give the castle such an aura of evil that no one would want it, even with a title."
"Most truly," Rose agreed.
"And no one would want to take up the name." Rod frowned. "We were wondering about
that part. I mean, 'Foxcourt' isn't your garden variety kind of nomer, after all. Was the manor known for its good hunting?"
"Nay," said Buckthorn. "There was some hunting, though no better than most—and the knights generally did course after boar, not fox."
"Or peasants," Burl added darkly.
Cordelia shuddered, Gregory blanched, and Magnus and Geoffrey grew somber.
Rod tried to bypass the reference. "Can't have been the source of the name, then."
"Nay," Buckthorn agreed. "Word hath come down from the first elves who dwelt here, that the name of this family was first spelled in a fashion far more elaborate."
"Aye, and spoken with a haughty accent," Bight seconded, "wherefore both we, and the peasants, were the more ready to bring it down to earth and pronounce it simply as 'Foxcourt.' "
All the elves nodded, and Rose added, "By the third generation, the family had taken our spelling of it, and by the fifth, all had forgotten any other."
"Hm." Rod frowned. "Makes it tough to find the original."
"Thou canst not," Buckthorn assured him. " 'Tis lost for all time."
Behind Rod's ear, Fess's voice said, "That is a challenge."
Rod agreed. The original spelling of the name had to be recorded somewhere in the Lord Chancellor's books—antique tax records, or maybe even the original deed to the property. It probably had nothing to do with the haunting, but Rod resolved to find it.
The guests had departed, filled with stew and emptied of gossip—after all, they'd been waiting two hundred years to tell it—and Gwen had decreed bedtime. Rod had mentioned to Fess that keeping a watch might be a good idea, and the Steel Sentry had taken up his post, right next to the children.
Which made him handy for bedtime stories, especially since the children were so keyed up that sleeping was the least possible activity for them. Quarreling ranked high on their list, though, with fighting right behind it, so Fess was watching for more than ghosts.
Not that they were out of line yet, of course. They were just barely bedding down.
" 'Tis a foul and brooding pile," Geoffrey gloated. "Nay, who doth know what deeds of glory a valiant man might achieve within it?"
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