Servant of the Crown

by Paul J Bennett

  "Oh, yes. The very next letter apologized for the inconvenience and said that everything had been resolved satisfactorily, but that's not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  "Indeed?" enquired Fitz. "Now you have me even more interested."

  "Well," continued Lord Robert, "it seems the estate is making some rather strange requests of late."

  Fitz stopped in his tracks and turned to look at his friend. "What kind of strange requests?"

  "It seems they want some weapons."

  "Weapons?" exclaimed Baron Fitzwilliam. "What do you mean, they want ‘weapons’?"

  "Well, they’re not raising an army if that's what's worrying you. They asked for some weapons, two of each to be exact. Maces, axes, swords, spears and so on."

  "Did they say what for?" asked the incredulous Richard.

  "No, but they did include the funds to pay for them. They even had the name of a weaponsmith in town, a man by the name of Simon Graves."

  Fitz thought for a moment. "Yes, I know the name. He supplies weapons for some of the infantry companies stationed here. I suspect our favourite groundskeeper has provided the name; he would certainly be familiar with it."

  "So what should I do?" asked Lord Robert. "Do I send the weapons?"

  Baron Fitzwilliam stared off into the distance thinking, then turned back to his friend. "I tell you what, write back and let them know you are working on it and they can expect them to arrive within, say, two weeks. I have to return to Bodden soon, so I'll escort them to Uxley myself."

  "Splendid!" replied Lord Robert. "I will leave things in your capable hands."

  Baron Fitzwilliam let Robert depart and put his mind into organizing mode. He had much to do; he must wrap up his affairs in Wincaster, and then visit Uxley Hall. He didn't know what to expect when he arrived, some disfigured forgotten royal offspring no doubt; but why the request for weapons?

  Anna swung her sword with her right hand. His quick parry stopped her blow, so she twisted the blade and swung in an arc over her head, using a backhand slice. A defensive move blocked this as well. She took a slight step forward and repeated her actions. They had been at it all morning. First, she would advance and swing, then she would back up, performing the blocks as Gerald took his turn attacking.

  It was very repetitive, but her movements were becoming natural to her. She reached the end of the practice area and put her blade point down to the ground, the sign of surrender. They took a break and, despite the cold day, they were both sweating. The yard at the side of the house was flat and, thanks to Gerald’s efforts, nicely grassed. They had given up on trying to hide the training. Everyone at the Hall already knew what was going on and this way they were close to the Hall and fresh water.

  There was a small wooden bench at the side, and Anna went there to sit down. Tempus, who had been watching the practice with a calm demeanour, immediately got up to go over and sit with her. Gerald was wiping the sweat from his face when he heard the distinctive sound of a horse and wagon in the distance.

  "Hello," he called out, "it sounds like we have visitors."

  "We're not expecting anyone. Who do you think it is?" Anna asked.

  Gerald moved so that he could view the roadway. "It looks like a wagon, but there's also a rider with it. Can't tell who though. They're bundled up against the cold weather."

  "I'd better get inside and change," remembered Anna, who had taken to wearing old clothes for practice.

  "Good idea. I'll go and see who's here."

  He leaned his practice sword against the wall before making his way to the front of the house. He rounded the corner in time to observe the wagon pulling up in front of the entranceway. The rider dismounted effortlessly and then took a moment to stroke the horse, talking to it softly. Gerald could see the stable master and two stable boys running out to take care of the horses.

  As he neared, the cloaked man turned to him, removing the scarf from his face to be heard. He then called out, "Gerald, old boy! So good to see you!"

  Gerald was stunned. Lord Richard Fitzwilliam had come to Uxley Hall!

  "My lord," he stammered out at last, "what brings you to Uxley?"

  "I've come to check up on you," he smiled.

  Gerald was at a loss for words. Fitz extended his hand in a manner of greeting and Gerald shook it heartily, still the firm grip that he remembered. "So good to see you, my lord," he said finally.

  "That's enough of that Gerald. You must call me Fitz, everyone else does."

  "I wouldn't dream of it, Lord," Gerald responded.

  "I'm told you've been rather busy here of late," the baron shared.

  "According to whom?" Gerald responded with suspicion in his voice.

  "Lord Robert Brandon, you remember him? He oversees the Royal Estates now. Oh, don't look so worried Gerald, he's an old friend of the family. You're not in trouble. I was on my way back to Bodden for the winter, and I was informed the estate ordered some weapons. Expecting trouble?"

  Gerald was relieved. "No, my lord, those are for training. I have a new… pupil who wants to try different weapons and get a feel for which one they like."

  "Typical. I send you to the middle of nowhere as a groundskeeper, and you end up arming the peasants." The tone was serious, but the smile on his face was genuine. "So, tell me, who is this mysterious apprentice?"

  Gerald wasn't sure how the baron would react, so he remained neutral. "Oh, a local type who just wants to be able to defend themselves properly."

  As they were talking, Anna appeared from around the side of the house, having changed into something a little nicer.

  Fitz saw a young girl, about ten, and smiled. "And who do we have here?" he asked, expecting it to be a servant’s daughter.

  Anna did her best curtsy. "Anna, Your Grace," she responded. The baron smiled, but before Gerald could say anything, Fitz began talking again. "Listen, Gerald," he said, "I have it on good authority that there may be a royal around here somewhere. Have you seen anything strange? Perhaps a room that no one enters? I think they may be disfigured in some way."

  Gerald couldn't help but chuckle slightly. "Oh, aye, there's a royal here all right, and the disfigurement is quite real, I think you might even say shocking."

  The baron’s interest was piqued. "Do tell," he prompted.

  "Well," began Gerald, not quite sure where to start.

  "She's disfigured," burst in Anna, "and she has a limp."

  "Yes," added Gerald seeing the situation with amusement, "and she has a hunchback."

  "And she covers her face," Anna added, quite pleased with herself.

  "Truly?" asked the baron, looking to Gerald for confirmation.

  Gerald was sweating, not sure how long he could deceive the baron, but he persisted. "Perhaps," he said at last, "young Anna here could go and inform Her Highness that she has a guest. She does so love visitors; she doesn't get them very often."

  "Yes," Anna agreed, "she likes to meet people in the trophy room. Why don't you have His Grace taken to the drawing room and I'll send Sophie to let you know when she's ready to receive visitors."

  "An excellent idea. My lord?" Gerald looked to the baron.

  "By all means, lead on, my good man." The baron seemed intrigued by the forthcoming meeting.

  Anna ran off to make preparations, while Gerald escorted Baron Fitzwilliam into the drawing room.

  They had only gone a few steps when the baron caught his arm. “You’re not limping!”

  “No my lord, I was healed.”

  “The Royal Mage? I thought he only worked for the king.”

  “I was lucky, he was passing through Uxley and heard of my injury.”

  “Perhaps my letters to Valmar weren’t wasted,” Fitz mused.

  “I don’t believe Valmar knew anything about it.”

  The baron wore a surprised expression. “I suppose we will never know for sure. Shall we continue?” he indicated the entrance.

  "How are things in the Capital, my lord?" Ge
rald stalled to give Anna time to prepare herself.

  "As uneventful as ever, you know how it is. The king loves to have the nobles beg and scrape for attention. Valmar inspects that group of men he calls an army, and the nobles continue to grumble. Basically, nothing has changed."

  "And how fares Lady Beverly?" asked Gerald.

  "Nice of you to ask. She's doing well. I had her in service to the Earl of Shrewesdale for awhile, but that didn't work out so well. I made it up to her by sending her to the household of Robert Brandon.

  "I remember him," said Gerald. "I've met him on a couple of occasions I believe. He's your brother-in-law, isn't he?"

  "Yes," Fitz replied with a sad look on his face. "Lady Evelyn was Robert’s older sister, but, as you remember, she died in childbirth. How brief a time we have on this earth. Still," he continued, cheering up slightly, "my daughter does me proud."

  They entered the drawing room to find Owen placing a tray with some glasses and three bottles of wine on the sideboard. His responsibility discharged, he bowed politely, exiting quietly.

  Gerald made his way over to the tray to examine the bottles. He noted the presence of a Hawksburg red, holding the bottle up for Lord Richard’s inspection. "A little of the red my lord? I believe it’s one of your favourites."

  The baron was all smiles at the prospect. "Excellent choice, I see that being a groundskeeper has not dulled your sense of sophistication!"

  They both laughed for it was a running joke between them. Fitz liked Gerald and ignored his rustic manners. He was more interested in what a man could accomplish than what family he was born into, and he had relied on Gerald for years to keep his men at peak readiness.

  Gerald thought back to his time at Bodden. "How are the men? Are they still keeping out of trouble?"

  "After you left, I had to pick a new sergeant, so I picked Blackwood."

  Gerald smiled, he knew William Blackwood well. They had joined up at the same time and had become inseparable. He was a stalwart companion, both on the field of battle and at the taverns. “A good choice.”

  "He's turned out well enough," continued the baron, "though he isn't you. He doesn't quite think as fast as you do, but he's good at keeping the men in line." He sipped his glass of wine, letting the fragrant aroma tease his taste buds before swallowing.

  There was a light knock on the door, and it opened, revealing Sophie. "If Your Grace would be so kind," she spoke somewhat timidly, "Her Highness has sent for you. If you follow me, I'll show you the way."

  Fitz drained his glass and placed it gently on the table. "By all means, lead on."

  They fell into step behind Sophie. From the drawing room, it was a short walk until Sophie was lightly knocking on the door to the trophy room. "Your Highness?" she enquired. "Your guest is here."

  There was a muffled reply; then she opened the door to allow them to enter.

  The heavily curtained room boasted a newly lit fire. It was the only light source present; the flickering flame threw dancing shadows around the room, lending it an eerie presence.

  A chair had been set near the fireplace. Looking at it, they could discern it was a high-backed chair with thick arms, but the seat itself was enveloped in shadows. A voice rasped out, "Come to the fireplace where I can see you."

  Baron Richard Fitzwilliam trod quietly as if any sound might upset the solemnness of the room. He stood just in front of the fire, his back toward the heat so that he might face the person in the chair.

  The small figure in the chair was wrapped in a dark cloak which concealed their face. The baron was unsure of what to make of this diminutive figure. Gerald stood off to the side, waiting to watch what would transpire.

  "And you are?" squeaked the voice.

  "Lord Richard Fitzwilliam, Baron of Bodden," replied Fitz

  "And why have you come?" posed the voice.

  "I have come to offer my service to you, Your Highness, to do whatever I can to assist you," the baron offered earnestly.

  A giggle escaped the cloaked figure and then a cough to cover it up. A small hand was extended out of the hooded cloak and was held out to Gerald. "Gerald," she commanded, "would you mind introducing me to His Grace?"

  She rose from her chair as Gerald began to speak.

  Gerald took a step back and bowed. "May I present to you Her Royal Highness, Princess Anna of Merceria," he said, sweeping his arms to indicate Anna. "I do hope you don't find her blond hair too offensive."

  Anna threw off her cloak revealing herself.

  Baron Fitzwilliam was a hardened soldier; he had fought on the frontier in many campaigns, yet never, in all his years, was he so surprised as he was at this moment.

  Anna was now laughing out loud, and even Gerald failed to suppress a chuckle.

  The baron stood there for what seemed like an eternity and then recovered his wits. He extended a leg and bowed deeply, his hands out behind him. "Your Highness," he solemnly replied, "I am truly honoured to meet you."

  Anna held out her hand, and the baron took it in his and kissed her knuckle. She took a good look at Lord Fitzwilliam as he straightened up. He was older than Gerald with the same hardened look, but where Gerald was a commoner, the baron was every bit a noble, dressed in the finest of clothes without being ostentatious.

  Conscious of perhaps insulting a noble, Anna apologized, "I trust, Your Grace, that you do not take offense at our little jest?" She seemed a little less sure of herself.

  Fitz smiled warmly, "Of course not, Your Highness. But if I might enquire?"

  Gerald knew where this was going. "She's not disfigured, my lord. Only the colour of her hair marks her in any way."

  Now, after all the years of mystery, Fitz understood. The entire royal line, stretching back to the founding of the kingdom, were dark haired. A blond child could only mean one thing. No wonder the king took pains to hide her away. He felt a wave of sympathy for the child. It was a situation not of her making, to be hidden away forever and denied even the comfort of a family; it was almost too much to bear. As he looked from Anna to Gerald, he could recognize the bond that they shared, and now he understood Gerald’s devotion. She was like the child he lost, and he was like the father she never had. He felt proud that he had sent Gerald here, though he had no idea at the time how things would develop.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the princess. "Are you travelling alone baron?" she asked.

  "No, Your Highness, I have an escort, but I felt it best to leave them in town. I didn't know what to expect here and, well, I thought it best to keep it as quiet as possible."

  "Gerald," requested Anna, "would you mind opening up the curtains, I think now that our little charade is over it might be nice to have some light in here. Will you join us for dinner baron? We have a well-stocked pantry." she added.

  "I would be delighted," he grinned as he responded to her invitation.

  Cook prepared a meal fit for a noble while they gave the baron a tour of the estate. The ride was pleasant, though the cooler weather had set in, and by the time they had returned to the rich meal that awaited them, they were quite chilled. The three of them ate in the dining room, a ridiculously large room, but Anna defied convention by having them all sit at one end.

  They talked all through the meal, Fitz filling them in on what was transpiring in the kingdom, and Gerald and Anna telling him about the things they had done.

  Fitz envied them. It had been many years since his daughter had been this young, and he remembered with fondness how the small red-headed child had stolen his heart so readily after her mother died. He was impressed by how intelligent the princess was. She seemed to have a wealth of information within her small head and could conjure forth facts and figures with ease. She veritably absorbed anything he told her like a sponge.

  In the end, Anna insisted he stay overnight at the Hall, so notes were sent to his escort in town not to expect him till morning. He was put up in a well-appointed guest suite.

  Early the next morning,
after a hearty breakfast, they escorted him to the front of the Hall. His horse was waiting for him, held by a stable hand.

  "It has been an honour to visit you, Your Highness," exclaimed Fitz.

  "The honour was all ours," said Anna, Gerald close beside her.

  Fitz mounted his horse with the ease of a man bred to the saddle. He looked down at the princess one more time. "If ever Your Highness needs anything," he promised, "I trust you will remember that I am at your disposal."

  "Thank you, Your Grace. I shall remember that." She humbly accepted his pledge.

  The baron waved one last time and rode off leaving Anna and Gerald watching him until he passed through the estate’s gates.

  Anna looked up at Gerald who returned her look. "First one back in gets the rest of the bacon!" she yelled and ran inside, her old friend following behind.

  Chapter 20

  The Grotto

  Winter 957/958 MC

  THE winter of 57/58 was the harshest they had ever experienced. Cold winds blew in from the north, and the ice and snow covered the land in depths never before seen. So cold was the weather that the princess seldom went outside. Even Gerald struggled to make it back and forth from his cottage that year, and in the end, Anna insisted he stay in a guest room in the Hall, rather than tread through the heavy snow every day.

  The Hall was warm and cozy, but the firewood would only last so long. On at least three occasions, when it looked like the weather might let up for a few hours, a whole troop of servants, led by Gerald, ventured forth to help chop wood and cart it inside.

  The stacked cords of wood, thoroughly wet from the ice, became frozen together and in the end, it was decided to bring the wood inside, stacked in the great hall until needed.

  So desperate did the need for firewood get that Gerald ventured out one day wearing three layers of clothes. Even so, the cold seeped through the layers and in short order his fingers were numb, and his legs were shivering. He persisted and brought down a small tree; trimming its branches and dragging the trunk back to the Hall. By the time he was at the door, he was faltering, and it took Ned and Owen to pull him inside. They hauled the trunk in and began splitting the wood in the great hall.