Servant of the Crown

by Paul J Bennett

  He dug out the root carefully with his hands and placed it in its new home. It was awkward, reaching across to do the work with his leg stretched out to the side.

  “Now,” he continued, “push the soil in around it. That’s it, not too tight.”

  She was moving the dirt carefully. Gerald watched her, and a lump came to his throat. It reminded him of what life could have been like with Sally, but that part of him had been buried for years. He felt tears welling up and coughed to save face.

  “Like that?” she indicated.

  He cleared his throat. “Yes, that’s it, now you try the next one.”

  She took the trowel and drove it into the soil. It seemed large in her small hands. Moving the tool once it was embedded was more difficult, and he saw her struggle, her young muscles not quite up to the task. He was about to say something when she heaved and the trowel came free, spraying dirt into the air, mostly into Gerald’s face.

  He spat out the dirt, wiping it from his eyes to see her standing with an absolute look of horror on her face.

  “Tastes just like I remember it,” he smiled, “not as good as Cook’s scones though.”

  She giggled unexpectedly, and he was reminded of his own daughter’s laughter. This was too much; he couldn’t take the resurfacing of his old memories.

  He struggled to rise to his feet. “That’s it, just keep doing that till they’re all done.” He planted the crutch firmly under his arm. “I have to go now.”

  She looked up at him with a sad look on her face, and he felt his resolve melting. A tear formed, he felt it as it ran down his face, moistening his beard.

  “What’s wrong?” Anna gently laid her hand on his arm.

  “Nothing,” he bit back. He’d done it again, overreacted. “It’s nothing to do with you.” He stormed out of the maze as best he could. Turning as he left, he saw her standing, watching him. Were there tears in her eyes too? The maze was a blur; he was weeping openly. He stopped, leaning against the hedge wall, overcome with fierce wracking sobs. He wanted to control himself, but it was all too much. He had never properly mourned the loss of his family. He had taken revenge, had plunged himself into his soldiering. He had faced men in combat, fought incredible odds, but never had he been as unnerved as he was by this small young girl.

  He had fled into the maze in such a rush, he was unsure of the way out. He looked skyward as if Saxnor himself might guide him. Why must he suffer so much? He had lost his parents, lost his family, and lost his life as a soldier. Must he be forever tormented by the memories as well?

  He needed to drown his sorrows. It was past time to get back to the cottage and let it all become a blur.

  He felt a small hand softly grasp his.

  “It’s all right,” she volunteered, “I know the way out.”

  With a dulled mind he let her lead him out of the maze. It was like a dream, the numbleaf making it even more surreal.

  “There’s a water trough over by the wall. We can wash up there.”

  She led him to a bench, and he sat, while she dipped a small tin into the water, carrying it over to him. He rested, spellbound, too drained to care, as she carefully washed his hands.

  “What’s this,” she kneeled onto the ground.

  He watched as she picked up a small leaf, inspecting it, horrified as she moved to put it into her mouth.

  “NO!” he yelled, slapping it from her hand.

  She let out a small scream, and the massive dog advanced towards him growling menacingly. Once more, the tears came to her face, and yet again he felt incredibly inadequate to this task.

  “It’s dangerous,” he explained, “you shouldn’t do that.”

  “But you chew it, I saw you.”

  “It’s numbleaf. It’s for pain,” he defended his actions.

  She placed her hand on her dog’s head, calming the brute instantly. “Is it your leg?”

  “Yes,” he responded.

  “How'd you hurt it?”

  “It’s an old war wound. It was made worse in Wincaster. Some days I can barely walk on it.”

  She was staring at his leg, which he had stretched out in front of him.

  “You need something to stiffen it so that it can take the weight.”

  Gerald looked on in disbelief. How could one so young come up with that?

  “I’ve seen something like that before,” she offered.

  He couldn’t believe his ears. “You’ve seen something?” How on earth could she have seen something to brace his leg?

  “In a book, in the library. There’s a drawing of a man with a thing on his leg.”

  “A brace?”

  “Yes, a brace. Wait here.” She ran off, leaving him bewildered.

  A short time later Anna returned, struggling to carry an oversized book under her arm. “Here it is,” she dropped the tome into Gerald's lap. She sat down beside him, her short legs dangling in the air. She leaned across him and opened the book, flipping through the gold edged pages.

  It was an illuminated book, its pages rich with illustrations. She stopped flipping, stabbing her finger in the centre of the page.

  “There you are! I told you I’d seen it before.”

  Gerald looked on in amazement. There, before him, was an illustration of a man, perhaps a Dwarf, with a brace of some type on his leg. He scanned through the text. Luckily, it was written in the common language of the three kingdoms.

  “It’s a picture of Kargol the Strong,” he explained, “a Dwarven hero.”

  “You can read that?” her eyes widened incredulously.

  “Yes. I had to learn to read to become a sergeant.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, not really. You don’t have to read to be a sergeant, but the baron insisted. Can you read?”

  “A little, but the big words are hard to understand. Maybe you could teach me to read better?”

  “I’m not a teacher,” he refuted.

  “But you were a sergeant; you must have taught other soldiers.” She sat up with anticipation.

  “True, but they weren’t little girls, and I wasn’t teaching them to read.”

  “Please show me. No one else here will do it; I think they all hate me.” She was swinging her feet back and forth beneath the seat of the bench

  “Why would they hate you?”

  She stopped her fidgeting as she spoke, “No real reason, I just don’t think they like having me around, I… get in their way.”

  “I’ll think about it,” he surrendered. “But I’m tired now. The numbleaf has taken all my energy. I need to rest.”

  He got to his feet a little unsteadily and tucked the crutch under his arm. Anna was cradling the book. “I bet if we took this to the saddle maker, he could make you a brace.”

  “Perhaps, but that’s for another day.”

  He hobbled back to the cottage and collapsed into his bed. It had been an exhausting day.

  As Gerald awoke, the sun was setting, casting its ever-growing shadows across the cottage. Either his imagination was playing tricks, or he heard a knocking noise. He listened carefully. There was a definite knock coming from the door.

  He rose from his bed, using the wall to support him as he made his way to the door. He swung it open to see young Anna standing before him, holding something behind her back, a large grin on her face.

  “I brought you a present,” she beamed.

  “A present?”

  “Yes, another book from the library.” In a flourish that only a young child can get away with, she revealed the book she was hiding. “It’s about soldiers. I thought you’d like it.”

  Gerald looked at the embossed letters on its cover. “The Proper Employment of a Shield Wall with special instructions pertaining to its deployment in battle,” he read. Someone called General William Baines wrote it. The name was somehow familiar to him, but he couldn’t quite place it.

  Anna continued, “General Baines was the king’s general back in 864 when we fought Westland
. He served King Robert.”

  “How do you know that?” he was astonished at her comprehension

  “There are notes under some of the pictures. There’s more in the pages. Can you teach me how to read them?”

  “Alright, but let’s start with something a little easier. This book is rubbish anyway, I remember Fitz mentioning it.”

  “Who’s Fitz?” she asked.

  “Er… Lord Richard Fitzwilliam, Baron of Bodden. I used to serve him before I was injured. Now, let’s sit down at the table before my leg gives out.”

  He moved to the table, retrieving a book from the shelf on his way. “This book is a better place to start, it was written by the baron and tells of the Northern Wars. Besides,” he patted the book, “General Baines wouldn’t know a shield wall if it hit him in the face.”

  Anna giggled, and Gerald felt calmer than he had in a long time.

  The warmth of summer had given way to the coolness of autumn, and the estate was alive with hues of red and gold.

  Sam had managed to rig him up a brace, and now he could move about without a crutch. The leg was still stiff, but now he could use a swing of his hip to push the leg forward.

  Most of his time was spent trying to rake the leaves which seemed to appear from nowhere to clog up the walkways. These leaves would be carried in his wheelbarrow to a pile where he would make a fire each evening after dinner. There, Anna would visit him, and he would have her read.

  He found that she learned quickly and very seldom would he need to repeat a word. Sometimes she watched him work in the afternoon where he would be weeding the flower beds or the vegetable patch. She would talk to him about all sorts of things. She had an inquisitive mind and seemed to question every detail of the work he did to better understand it.

  He was happy to have the company, for the rest of the staff only interacted with him on the rare occasions that he was in the Hall, usually only at meal times. He had been at Uxley Hall now for almost three months, but he still felt like an outsider. Perhaps, he thought, they didn’t like him or thought he wasn’t up to the job, but Hanson, in his manner, had assured him he was doing well.

  It was a chilly, slightly windy day as Gerald made his way, wheelbarrow in hand, to the pile of leaves he was assembling near the cottage. As he tipped the barrow to allow the leaves to join the growing mound, he heard Anna and Tempus approaching. The young girl was always quiet of foot, but Tempus had taken to howling a welcome on coming to the bonfire. The large dog came over to Gerald, waiting for his traditional head pat, his tail wagging affectionately. Anna was standing nearby, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other, surely waiting to say something that she deemed meaningful. He put the wheelbarrow down, and turned to Anna, petting Tempus absently on the head as he looked at her.

  "Did you scarf some pastries from Cook again?" he asked in mock seriousness.

  She looked confused then realized he was kidding and broke into a grin. "No, but I've got something exciting to share!" she burst out. The excitement was very evident on her face.

  He waited a moment and then interjected, "Which is?"

  "Oh!" she exclaimed. "I think I've found some angelroot! You have to come see!"

  Gerald frowned, studying her face to see if she was making a joke. "I doubt that. Angelroot doesn't grow around here, Anna. It requires a wet soggy area. Besides, how do you know what angelroot looks like?"

  She looked taken aback by his statement and straightened up to give her answer in a most authoritative voice. "Angelroot bears a white flower with a cluster of small seeds. The flowers are quite small, and are bunched together in a grouping approximately the size of a man’s hand." She looked very pleased with her answer.

  "That description," he replied, "could be any number of plants."

  "Yes," she continued, unfazed by his reaction, "but they bear leaves in the shape of a three-pronged spear."

  Now he was intrigued. He had seen angelroot before, his wife would brew a tea from the leaves, but it was notoriously hard to find. "Where did you see this?" he questioned, trying to sound only vaguely interested.

  "Down near the grotto. I was taking Tempus out for a run, and he ran down a long hill and, and," she was now rushing out her words in her excitement.

  "Slow down. You're talking too fast for an old man like me to follow!" he cautioned.

  "Sorry," she took a moment to collect her thoughts. "I was chasing Tempus down the hill, and I slipped. I fell flat into some grass, and when I lifted up my head, I saw the white flower. I ran all the way back here to tell you. Isn't it exciting?"

  "Yes, but do you know what angelroot is for?" he probed.

  "I heard Cook telling Elsbeth, the maid, that she would brew her an angelroot tea if she could. Not sure why though."

  "Well, that's because it has some healing properties. It has to be brewed into a tea just the right way," Gerald explained.

  "So what's it used for?" the young girl enquired.

  "Well, it's for…" suddenly Gerald realized what he was talking about and became flustered. "It's for women who… well a woman who is …"

  "Is what?" she asked innocently.

  "Well, it's for lady pain," he said, fumbling for an answer.

  "Lady pain?"

  "Yes, you know, er, that is, it's for when a lady or I mean when a woman has, well you know," he blustered. He was getting embarrassed, and his face was turning red.

  "No, I don't know, I don't understand!" she seemed really frustrated at his hesitancy to answer her question.

  "You should probably ask Cook about it. Girls who have grown up and become women use it. I'm sure she can tell you more about it." He was beet red by this time.

  "Alright," she said, and that was the end of the discussion.

  Before she could raise the question again, he quickly asked, "Can you show me where you found it?"

  "Yep, follow me, Master Groundskeeper!" she gestured with a sweep of her hand.

  "After your ladyship," he responded with an exaggerated bow.

  She let out a small giggle and skipped off, her loyal dog running by her side, with Gerald following.

  A little later they were in the northwest corner of the estate near the grotto. The ground here was lower than other parts of the land with poor drainage. There were long grasses and bulrushes in abundance. The ground was soggy and squished as he walked, threatening to soak Gerald's feet thoroughly. He wished he had thought to change into some heavier boots.

  Anna led him down a rough trail and showed him where she had fallen. He could still make out the crushed grass where she had rolled down the hill. Sure enough, he could see the distinctive white flower and three-speared leaves of angelroot.

  "Should we pick it, Gerald? Maybe we could surprise Cook!"

  He scrutinized the plant before turning to her. "Or we could bring a pot and transplant it. Then we could grow our own. We just have to make sure we give it plenty of water."

  "Oooh," she gleefully exclaimed. "I didn't think of that, that's an excellent idea. Maybe if we look around, we can find some more?"

  They spent some time roaming around the vicinity searching for more plants. They had found three more plants when Gerald crouched down near the base of a tree. Anna ran over to see what he had discovered. She found him carefully examining something.

  "What is it?" She implored "Did you find more angelroot?"

  "No," he replied, "something a little more interesting, come and have a look."

  While she wandered over, Gerald found a small stick, about half an arm’s length long. He used it to scrape the base of the tree. There was a green coloured moss with flecks of blue in it. "This," he said, "is what we call warriors moss."

  "Oooh," she remarked, not understanding but excited nonetheless, "what does it do?"

  "Soldiers use it to cover a wound that turns bad. It absorbs the puss and prevents the gangrene from spreading."

  "Do they drink it in a tea?" she asked.

  "No, it's us
ually mixed with something to give it some substance, even mud will do. Then it’s applied as a paste over the wound. Sometimes it’s covered with a cloth, just to hold it in place. You must be careful picking it; there are similar mosses that can be extremely dangerous. Come closer and watch as I run this stick through it. You'll see flecks of blue as the sun hits it, that's how you know its warriors moss."

  She observed him, eager to learn. He handed her the stick, and she poked and prodded the moss until she was convinced she would recognize it anywhere.

  "Can I take some back to the Hall? I know the library has a book about herbs, it would be fun to see if it’s mentioned."

  "We can take some back. I'll use a rag to wrap a small sample up. It won't keep long as it'll dry out and then be no good after a while."

  He gathered a small sample, and they resumed the hunt for the angelroot. They poked their way among the taller grass, for this is where the plant grew naturally. Tempus thought this was great fun and helped by rolling in the long grass whenever they stopped to look at something, undoubtedly trying to make it easier for them to see the plants. By the time they were done, they had located seven plants.

  They were so immersed in their exploration that they missed the call to dinner. They realized this when they returned to the cottage to get some pots. Luckily, Gerald had some food in the cottage and they didn't go hungry. Later, as the sun was beginning to sink, they sat around the bonfire, eating cold pork and bread. Lined against the cottage wall were seven little pots, each with a small white-flowered plant bearing three-speared leaves.

  Chapter 12

  A Visitor is Coming

  Autumn 953 MC

  IT was partway through October, and the days were getting cooler. Gerald was, once again, gathering the leaves that seemed to come out at night, obliterating the raking he had done the day before. He now wore a light coat, though he knew the work would soon find him sweating and he would, naturally, have to remove it. He began working on the roadway that led to the Hall. He had a wheelbarrow with him, but he had to cover the leaves with a tarp every time he placed them within, or else the wind would blow them back out again. It was mindless work, but he didn't mind, it kept him busy.