Servant of the Crown

by Paul J Bennett

  Gerald was the first to break the silence. "Scone?" he offered.

  Hanson looked up from a letter he was perusing. "No, thank you, Gerald, just let me finish this, then we'll get down to business."

  Gerald finished off the second scone while he waited. Hanson was a dedicated man, and he hated to interrupt the clerk’s work. Gerald looked around the room observing the neat ledgers that lined the bookshelf; one for each year that the Hall had existed. Uxley Hall was old, he knew, but it had largely fallen into disuse under the current king. It had, as they say, seen its heyday and was now an old, forgotten relic of the past. He couldn't help but feel that the staff here were also, in some ways, relics of the past. Perhaps it was just as well that they had all ended up here.

  The old steward finished making his entries, then carefully blotted the pages to dry the ink. He held the book up to the light, then, satisfied that all was well, he closed it and placed it to the side. He looked up at Gerald, who, upon seeing the book closed, had focused his attention on the old man.

  "It might surprise you to know," said Hanson with no preamble, "that you have some powerful friends." He waited for a reaction.

  "I do? That would be a surprise to me," retorted Gerald.

  "Well, I know of no other man by the name of…" he looked at the letter on his desk, "Gerald Matheson here, do you?"

  "Of course not, sir." Gerald was not sure where this was going.

  "Today I have received a package from Wincaster, not an uncommon occurrence. They have sent coins, of course, and a receipt indicating that they received my last reports. I was rather surprised to see some other correspondence in the satchel." Hanson lifted the letter before him and held it out to Gerald. "It bears the seal of the Baron of Bodden. Very impressive!"

  Gerald was surprised but took the letter. He had served the baron for years, had even received some books from him, but he never expected to get a letter. Was this a summons? A rebuke perhaps?

  The look on his face must have spoken volumes. "You look shocked," Hanson said. "I’m not surprised; after all, it was the baron who provided your reference for the position here." He smiled at Gerald in a friendly manner. "But in any case, you won't be able to read the letter by staring at it. Open it up, man, see what's inside!"

  Gerald broke the seal and unfolded the paper. It was indeed a message from Baron Richard Fitzwilliam of Bodden, for he immediately recognized the handwriting.

  25 October 956

  My Dear Gerald,

  I bring you the joy of the season and wishes for a prosperous new year. I understand that you have been doing well for yourself at Uxley Hall. I hope this message finds you in good health. I have been rather occupied of late in Wincaster, having found myself busy handling all kinds of correspondence. These include such mundane topics as requests for funds, requests for titles, and even for favours from a rambling tutor. It was on that very matter that I find myself putting ink to paper, for I have recently read a letter from a man named Renfrew. He was appointed to Uxley by Marshal-General Valmar, Head of the Army. If you should run into him, remember he is an important man, but he is not a noble, so ensure that you use the proper title.

  Beverly is doing well these days and is often taken to quoting her favourite writings. I believe one of her favourites is:

  "What is a man to a noble? And yet to a royal, even a noble is a man."

  I must admit I rather like that one. I cannot, of course, be aware of everything that goes on in Merceria, I can barely keep up with Bodden's affairs. I trust that you can soldier on and do your duty with full diligence.

  Your friend,

  Richard Fitzwilliam,

  Baron of Bodden

  The baron's seal was on the bottom of the document beside his signature. It was a cryptic message, and Gerald couldn't help but feel there was some hidden meaning to it. He read it a second time, and it began to dawn on him.

  He looked up at Hanson, conscious that he had been pondering the letter for some time. "I think, sir, that I have a solution to our problem."

  Hanson looked back, relief on his face. He still looked pale, but that had become his daily countenance.

  "If you’ll come with me, I think we can straighten out this whole Renfrew business."

  Hanson smiled, an expression that was rare these days. "By all means. Where are we going?"

  "To see a royal," said Gerald, standing. He opened the door for Hanson. "Where would the princess be at this time of day?" he asked, knowing that the steward was aware of everything that occurred at the Hall.

  "They would be in the king’s meeting room. It's this way, follow me." Hanson almost had a spring in his step as he led them to the south wing towards the great hall, stopping a moment to open a hidden panel beneath the grand stairs.

  "Servants entrance," he said and continued into the corridor. They eventually came to the meeting room, and there Hanson stopped; he was breathing heavily and was sweating profusely.

  "Are you all right Alistair?"

  Hanson took a moment to catch his breath before speaking, "I'm fine, let's get it over with." He opened the door to the meeting room.

  Inside, Anna was standing in front of the desk, at which Renfrew was seated. She was balancing a book on her head and reciting a poem of some type. At the sound of the door opening, she turned, and the book slipped from its position to crash to the floor. Renfrew looked irritated by the interruption, but Gerald cut him off.

  "Your Highness," he began. He was about to say more, but suddenly he felt Hanson grab his arm for balance. He looked at the old man, his previous words lost.

  "I can't see properly, everything is-" Hanson slurred, then the whole side of his face went slack. His right hand, which had gripped Gerald’s arm, went limp, leaving the old steward to fall suddenly to the floor.

  "Hanson," Anna cried and ran to his side. Gerald knelt beside the man, trying to loosen his shirt. He was murmuring incoherently. Gerald glanced about, desperate to help his old friend. Renfrew was still sitting at the desk. "Use the bell pull!" he commanded. Renfrew reluctantly got up, making his way to the corner where the silken rope hung. He tugged on the rope, and a distant bell sounded.

  "Help me get him onto a chair," ordered Gerald, straining with the weight of Hanson. Anna moved a chair closer, and they managed to get him into a seated position. It seemed to be taking an agonizingly long time for the bell to have its usual effect; Gerald knew that in moments of crisis, time had a mind of its own. He heard footsteps approaching, then a yell to get others and soon more of the servants were there. They gathered around Hanson as Gerald checked his eyes, which had rolled back into his head.

  While they looked to Hanson's health, Renfrew made what was perhaps his greatest mistake, for he chose that precise moment to speak up. "Well, carry him off then," his hand waved them away, "we don't need the old man taking up precious time."

  Anna turned on him with a sudden fury. "Shut up!" she yelled, then pointed at Renfrew. "Tempus! Guard!"

  The huge dog lunged toward the tutor and stopped short, growling menacingly.

  Renfrew turned pale, backing into the wall. The rest were far too busy to deal with the tutor at this time. There were far more important things needing their attention.

  "Let's get him to his room, and into bed," a fretful Anna tried to lead the way.

  By now, most of the servants had arrived, and the anxiety level had only increased. In the end, it was Gerald who took control of the situation. They laid Hanson onto the floor, on a small rug in front of the desk. Then he had four of them lift it by the corners. In this way, they made a makeshift stretcher and carried him, albeit awkwardly, to his room.

  Soon they had put him to bed. He was not conscious, and he was deathly pale, with his face still distorted. No one knew what had befallen the kindly old man, but Anna was insistent that they keep a watch on him night and day.

  Renfrew, wisely, was not seen for the next few days. Anna helped keep watch over Hanson. She had Gerald organi
ze shifts to ensure there was always someone present.

  They made him as comfortable as possible. They spoon fed him, but he made slow progress. Once he regained consciousness, he could only speak with considerable effort in a slurred voice. His right side seemed almost frozen. Gerald went into Uxley Village seeking help, but it was not promising. Mrs Sandlewood, who grew herbs, sent some to help him relax, but the consensus was that there was nothing they could do but make him as comfortable as possible.

  Mrs Brown was a total wreck, in fact, the entire staff were on edge. Everyone knew what would happen when a servant could no longer do their duty. He would be turned out.

  It was four days before Hanson was finally able to articulate words. The ordeal had rightfully terrified him, but all he could do was apologize. "I'm sorry, Your Highness, I have let you down," he slurred.

  Gerald could see Anna tearing up, but she stubbornly fought back the tears. "Nonsense Hanson," the princess said, "you have done your duty. It’s time for you to rest. We shall look after you. You shall always have a place at Uxley Hall, regardless of your health."

  The old man seemed to relax after that and slept more soundly. Anna made it a point to talk to the rest of the staff who gathered outside the door. They were waiting with baited breath, expecting the worst of news.

  "I know you're all worried about Hanson," she said, struggling to bite back her tears. "He has looked after this Hall for many years and now it is time for the Hall to take care of him. We will not turn him out of this house; we will look after him and care for him as he is one of our own." It was a strong statement coming from a small girl. Gerald was impressed. "But now," she continued, "it’s time for him to rest and for the rest of you to get back to your duties."

  No sooner had the last of the servants left the hallway when Anna turned toward Gerald, throwing her arms around his waist and hugging him while the sobs came out in a river of tears.

  The next morning, Mrs Brown came to talk to Gerald. He was in Hanson’s room with Anna and Tempus, and he could see her nervousness. "I'm beggin' your pardon Gerald, but we have a wee bit of a problem." She was wringing her hands as she spoke.

  Anna looked up from where she sat beside Hanson. Gerald turned to face the cook. "What is it?"

  "Well, you see…" she was struggling to find the words. "We need some supplies and, well, Hanson would usually release the funds."

  "I see," said Gerald, even though he didn't understand. "Can't you just take the coins you need?"

  "Oh no," she objected, "you have to account for everything. It's the books, you see."

  "Of course, but I don't have the authority to issue coins, Mrs Brown," said Gerald.

  The cook looked positively crestfallen.

  "I do!" Anna unexpectedly interjected. "I can release the funds, I'm a princess, aren't I?" She looked toward Gerald. “Can you read the ledgers, Gerald?"

  He thought for a moment. "Shouldn't be too hard, I've handled soldier’s pay books before. Shall we go and have a look?"

  Anna nodded. They left Hanson in the care of Mrs Brown while they went to the clerk's office. Gerald had the foresight to retrieve Hanson’s key. The old man used to keep it around his neck on a string, but it had been lying on his bedside table since his illness.

  Once in the room, it didn't take Gerald long to find the most recent ledger. He then retrieved the small lock-box from Hanson's desk drawer, using the key to open it. Inside was a tidy sum of newly minted Royal Crowns. Anna walked around to stand beside Gerald as he opened the books. She saw the numbers with small entries for amounts. It was she that first noticed that Hanson's last entry had indicated a significant increase in the funds for the estate. The coins must have just arrived. Gerald carefully pulled out two crowns, then, after a brief pause grabbed a third. "This should cover Cook’s expenses for the next few days, I should think," he said.

  Anna was watching intently as Gerald dipped a quill in ink and entered the expenditure. He had picked an amount consistent with the previous entries and was about to sign for the entry when he realized he had a problem.

  "What's the matter, Gerald?" Anna asked.

  "I can't sign for this expenditure Anna; I don't have the authority." He was half tempted to sign anyway and curse the bureaucrats, but he knew such things could come back to haunt him in the future.

  "I'll sign it," declared Anna determinedly. She grasped the quill in a firm grip and re-dipped the end in the ink pot. She tapped it lightly on the blotter and then, in a neat, delicate hand, initialled the entry.

  "Can you show me how these numbers work?" she asked.

  "Certainly, but let's get the coins to Cook first, shall we?" Gerald tugged the bell pull, and moments later Charles arrived. They asked him to bring Mrs Brown back to the office. The look of relief on her face as she accepted the coins was evident to all. She thanked them profusely as she departed, and the two of them were left looking at the book.

  "Now this," explained Gerald, using his finger to point out an entry in the ledger, "is how we show an item of expenditure…"

  They spent hours pouring over the books until Anna was sure she understood. The arithmetic she found straightforward, only the format confused her at first. Using a blank paper, Gerald gave her an exercise where she would buy seeds, grow them, then sell them and calculate the profits. He had her note all the entries that would be costs and then calculate the profit at the end. By the time they were done, she had completely mastered the concept. It wasn't until they were interrupted by Sophie that they realized they had spent all day working on it.

  The next morning, as Gerald arrived for breakfast, Mrs Brown told him that the princess was in the clerk’s room. He snagged two bowls of porridge, some spoons and headed over to the office. As he entered, Anna was kneeling on the chair behind the desk, looking at papers she had opened. He showed her the porridge, putting the bowl down in front of her. She grabbed the spoon and began eating. "I found Renfrew's letter of recommendation, yours too," she said. “Baron Fitzwilliam certainly thought highly of you."

  Gerald smiled between mouthfuls. "So I gather. He recently sent me a letter." He was reaching for it from his pocket when he remembered he needed to talk to Anna. He paused, "There's something I wanted to talk to you about Anna, but events… well, they got us off topic."

  "Alright, what is it?" she asked.

  Gerald took a breath; how did he approach a child about such a serious subject. He knew she was very bright for her age, so he decided to let her figure it out for herself. "I'd like you to read this letter, Anna. Lord Fitzwilliam wrote it, and I only just received it."

  He handed her the letter which she unfolded, reading through it. "Is he trying to tell you something?" she asked.

  "I think so," he said cautiously. "The quote is from one of his favourite books. It was written by a Shrewesdale poet. They even made a play from it. Do you understand the reference?"

  She knit her brow as she stared at the words. "What is a man to a noble? That's easy, a man here refers to a commoner. They must always follow the word of the noble."

  "Yes," prompted Gerald, "and the rest?"

  "Well," she mused, "and yet to a royal, even a noble is a man, seems to indicate that just as a commoner must follow the word of a noble, so must the noble follow the word of a royal?"

  "Exactly!" exclaimed Gerald. He could see her mind at work, and a moment later he saw the recognition of the meaning in her eyes.

  "So Renfrew has to do what I say," she exclaimed triumphantly, "because I'm a royal!"

  "Precisely. Of course, that means you’ll have to talk to him. Do you think you can stand up to him?"

  "I don't know Gerald. I'm afraid, I've never done anything like that before." She looked pale and fearful.

  He walked over to her chair and lifted her up, putting her down so that she was sitting on the desk, the better to meet her gaze. "Sometimes we have to make hard decisions Anna, even though we don't want to. Shall I tell you a story of something I had to d
eal with when I was young? Maybe it'll help you."

  She nodded, wide-eyed and watched him intently; she always did like a good story.

  "How young?" she asked.

  "Err, about thirteen. Anyway, I was living in Bodden Town," he continued.

  "How long ago was that?" she interrupted.

  "It was back in '25," he said, ready to continue.

  "But Gerald, that would make you forty-four! You're so old!" she snickered.

  "Do you want to hear the story or not Anna?" he softly scolded.

  "Yes, sorry," she apologized.

  "Anyway, that was the year the Northern Wars began. I was working in the stables when the first siege of Bodden occurred. Back then, the Keep was not as well fortified as it is now. I huddled into the cellars with the women and the other children. The siege was bad, they broke through the wall and entered the central keep. They rushed in, killing anyone in their way. We heard them coming toward us, and then there was a commotion in the hallway. They were yelling that they found the women. The door burst open, and a man stepped in. He was huge, at least to me, and his axe was dripping with fresh gore. He grabbed Meredith, and she screamed. He was twisting her wrist and forcing her to her knees.”

  “What did you do?” an enthralled Anna asked with baited breath.

  “I had nothing to protect myself with, but the man had a dagger, and in those days I was quick. I stepped forward, then grabbed the weapon from the man’s sheath.”

  “And you killed him?”

  “No, he turned on me, knocked me to the floor with a vicious backhand.”

  Anna was on the edge of her seat, “What happened next?”

  “He turned back to Meredith, and I was overcome with anger. I struck with his dagger and sliced into his arm.”

  “Did he let go of her?”

  “Oh yes, but then he turned on me. Here I was, a young boy armed with nothing but a knife, while this towering man with an axe was getting ready to kill me.”