His uncle made Nicholas uncomfortable. Before he came to Crydee, his memories of Martin were of a large man with big, gentle hands who had carried him on his shoulders for a time when visiting Krondor. That had been nearly fourteen years ago. Martin had visited the Prince’s court once since then, but Nicholas had been ill in bed at the time and had only had a five-minute visit from Martin. Now the warm, gentle memory of a large uncle was being replaced by the reality of a distant man.
Unlike Samuel, Martin never seemed to lose his temper or raise his voice. But he had a way of looking at the boys that made them wish they could crawl off into a hole and hide. If Nicholas or Harry failed in a task, he would say nothing, but turn away with unspoken disapproval in the air. It was for the boys to correct their errors.
Harry at least had Marcus, who was more than willing to inform him how he was failing. Some of the staff had made it clear that part of Marcus’s coolness toward the boys was due in part to the fact that until shortly before Nicholas’s arrival he had squired for his father, so of course he was measuring everything they did by his own performance. Nicholas had once made the mistake of protesting that it wasn’t fair to chide them for not knowing where something was when sent upon an errand, and Marcus had turned and cooly said, ‘Then you need to find out where it is, don’t you?’
The door opened and Nicholas came awake. Briana proceeded her husband from the sleeping room and smiled. ‘Good morning, Squire.’
‘My lady,’ Nicholas said, bowing to her. His court manners always made her smile, and it had become something of a little game between them.
Martin closed the door as he came through and said, ‘Nicholas, the Duchess and I ride alone this morning. Have our horses made ready.’
‘Your Grace,’ said Nicholas, and with that he was off down the hallway at a run. Samuel had informed Nicholas that when Briana and Martin went riding at dawn, it was usually a two- or three-hour trip, so the Squire knew they’d be stopping in the kitchen for some provisions. He decided a little initiative was called for and dashed for the kitchen.
Reaching the kitchen, he found the servants hard at work readying the meals for the nearly two hundred people who lived within the walls of Castle Crydee. Mastercook Megar, a solidly built old man, stood in the center of the kitchen supervising every aspect of his crew’s labors. His old wife, Magya, hovered near the stove, her still-keen eyes fixed upon what cooked there. Nicholas slowed to a walk as he entered, saying, ‘Mastercook, the Duke and his lady ride this morning.’
Megar gave Nicholas a friendly smile and a wave. The kitchen had turned out to be the only place in the castle where Harry and Nicholas had found warm greetings, for the old cook and his wife seemed to have a fondness for boys. ‘I know, Squire, I know.’ He pointed to a saddle pack being filled with food. ‘But it was a good thought,’ he added with a grin. ‘Now off to the stable with you!’
Friendly laughter followed Nicholas as he hurried from the kitchen, dashing outside toward the stable. Reaching the stabling area, he found it still quiet and knew that Rulf, the senior stableman, was still asleep. How the man had gained his rank was a mystery to Nicholas, although he had been told his father had held the position before him. As the boy hurried through the dark stable, the horses nickered in greeting and some stuck their heads through the stall doors, seeing if he might be arriving with something to eat.
At the far end of the breezeway, he almost ran into a still figure that had been hidden in the gloom. A dark face turned toward him and a soft voice said, ‘Quiet, Squire.’
Horsemaster Faxon pointed through the door, and there upon his pallet lay the stout figure of Rulf, snoring loudly enough to rattle the heavens, thought Nicholas.
‘Seems a pity to disturb such peace, doesn’t it?’
Nicholas tried not to grin as he said, ‘The Duke and Duchess ride this morning, Horsemaster.’
‘Well, in that case …’ said Faxon, as he picked up a water bucket, took one step across the small room, and emptied the contents upon the reclining figure. Rulf sat up with a gasp and uttered a cry of pure aggravation. ‘Agh! What –’
‘You oaf!’ shouted Faxon, all friendliness vanishing from his manner. ‘The day is half over and you’re lying in your bed dreaming of town girls!’
Rulf sat up sputtering, and when he saw Nicholas, for a moment his eyes narrowed, as if the boy were the cause of his misery. Then he came fully awake and saw the Horsemaster, and his manner changed. ‘Sorry, Master Faxon.’
‘Duke Martin and Lady Briana need their mounts! If the horses aren’t tacked up and ready by the time my lord and lady are upon the front steps of the keep I’ll have your ears upon the stable door!’
The heavyset man arose with a sour look, but said only, ‘At once, Master Faxon.’ Turning toward the loft, he shouted, ‘Tom! Sam! You lazy boys! Get up! We have work to do and you didn’t wake me as I told you to!’
Sleepy grunts from the loft answered, and a moment later, two young men scampered down the ladder from the hayloft. They were about a year apart in age, from their look, in their mid-twenties, and both bore an unmistakable resemblance to Rulf. He swore at them and sent them scrambling to get the indicated horses. Turning to Faxon, he said, ‘They’ll be ready in no time, Master Faxon.’
Nicholas turned to see Faxon regarding the three of them. ‘One would never know it to look at them, Squire, but they’re unusually good with the horses. Rulf’s father was Horsemaster Algon’s stableman when I was a boy.’
‘Is that why you keep Rulf on?’ asked Nicholas.
Faxon nodded. ‘You’d probably never guess, but he was very brave when the Tsurani besieged the castle during the Riftwar. Many times he carried water to the soldiers – myself being one of them – right into the battle, armed with nothing more than two buckets.’
‘Really?’
Faxon grinned. ‘Really.’
Nicholas blushed. ‘I’ve got to stop doing that.’
Faxon clapped him upon the shoulder. ‘You’ll get over it.’ He looked out through the breezeway to where Rulf and his sons were tacking up the horses. ‘And I feel sorry for Rulf since his wife died. She was the only gentle thing in his life. He and his sons have only one another and the stable. They have quarters over in the servants’ wing, but they sleep here most of the time.’
Nicholas nodded. He realized at that moment he had always taken servants for granted, and there were those who had served him at Krondor of whom he knew nothing. He had just assumed, somehow, that they vanished into a servants’ closet, keeping quietly out of sight until they were needed. Coming out of his reverie, he said, ‘I’d best be back to the Duke.’
‘The horses will be ready,’ answered Faxon.
Nicholas hurried back to the kitchen and indeed found Martin and Briana there, inspecting the provisions. The Duke and his wife approved the selection of food. Briana motioned for a pair of servants to follow her out of the kitchen. Martin headed toward the armory. Without a word, Nicholas fell in behind him. When they reached the armory, a soldier on guard saluted and opened the door for Martin and Nicholas.
Inside, Martin waited while Nicholas quickly lit a lantern against the gloom of the always dark room. When the light flared, it was reflected from a thousand angles, dancing across polished metal. Racks of swords and spears, shields and helms, covered every wall. Nicholas hurried to another door and opened it for Martin, anticipating his need.
Martin stepped into the small room where his personal arms were stored, and selected a longbow that hung on one wall. He handed it to Nicholas while he himself filled a quiver with the long arrows called cloth yard shafts, because they were thirty-seven inches long, the measure a miller used to cut a yard of cloth. Nicholas had never seen a longbow’s effects, as the soldiers at Krondor were all armed with crossbows or the small horse bow used by the cavalry, but he had heard tales of the weapon’s fearful power: that a skilled bowman could punch a steel-headed shaft through nearly any armor.
Nic
holas knew that his uncle had served as their grandfather’s Huntmaster, back at a time when Martin’s birthright had been hidden from all but a few of the old Duke’s most trusted advisers. Just before his death, Lord Borric had legitimized his eldest son, raising him from the ranks of the common to become in time Duke of Crydee, inheritor of his father’s title. But before then Martin was still acknowledged as one of the finest bowmen in the Western Realm.
The Duke handed Nicholas the quiver of arrows. He inspected a row of blades upon a table, before choosing two large hunting knives and handing them to Nicholas. He then selected another bow, for Duchess Briana, which he also gave to Nicholas. A quiver of arrows for the shorter bow was his last choice, and they departed.
They reached the courtyard to find Lady Briana standing next to a pair of horses. Nicholas didn’t need to be told that this was not merely a morning ride but a hunting trip, and the Duke and his wife would probably be gone for the day or longer, if they decided to sleep in the forest.
Harry raced into view and between gasps for breath said, ‘Your Grace. No word yet on the packet boat from Carse.’
Martin’s expression darkened. ‘Have Marcus pen a note for Lord Bellamy in Carse, asking if the boat turned back to Carse for some reason, then send it by pigeon.’
Harry bowed and started to run off, but Martin stopped him by saying, ‘And, Squire …’
Harry stopped and turned. ‘Your Grace?’
‘Next time you’re sent to the harbor on an errand, take a horse.’
Harry grinned sheepishly and bowed. ‘Your Grace,’ he said, and hurried off to do Martin’s bidding.
Briana mounted without waiting for any unnecessary assistance and Nicholas handed her a bow, quiver, and knife. After Martin was mounted, Nicholas gave the remaining weapons to the Duke.
Martin said, ‘We may be gone until tomorrow sunset, Squire.’
Nicholas said, ‘Your Grace?’
‘Today is Sixthday, if it’s escaped your notice.’ It had. ‘You may have the afternoon to yourself. See to Master Samuel for any further instructions until we return.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
As they rode out of the courtyard, Nicholas sighed. Sixthday: traditionally a half day of rest for the children of any castle or palace. Seventhday was a day of contemplation and worship, though Nicholas had noticed there were always plenty of servants to do his bidding back in Krondor on Seventhday. He and Harry had arrived on Seventhday the week before, so he had no idea what to expect with his first free time since coming off the ship.
The sound of boys shouting echoed across the side courtyard, near a small garden, which was called the Princess’s Garden. It had been the province of Nicholas’s aunt, the Princess Carline, when she had lived in Crydee, and the name had stuck.
A rough game of football was under way, with one of the soldiers acting as refereee. The teams were composed of the sons of the castle’s servants, a few pages, and two of the younger squires. An area of the approved size had been chalked out in the dirt, with a battered goal net erected at each end. It might not match the emerald-green grass field of the professional stadium at Krondor, but it was a ball field.
Looking on were Margaret, Abigail, and Marcus, from a vantage point of seats on a low wall alongside the garden. Nakor and Ghuda were watching the game from the other side of the field, among a group of soldiers, and both waved at Nicholas. He waved back.
Nicholas had been running errands all morning for the Housecarl, and had finally stolen into the kitchen to eat a quick lunch that Magya had prepared for the Squires, and then had left to see what he could do with his time off. He was thinking about returning to his room for a nap when the sounds of the game distracted him.
Marcus nodded at him and the girls both smiled. He jumped up to sit on the wall, next to Margaret, and leaned forward to return Marcus’s greeting. He then looked at Abigail, who smiled warmly and said, ‘I’ve not seen you around much, Highness, save when you were running from one place to another.’
Looking at Abigail caused Nicholas’s ears to burn. He said, ‘The Duke keeps me busy, my lady,’ and turned his attention to the game. What it lacked in skill it more than made up for in enthusiasm.
‘You play football in Krondor, Squire?’ asked Marcus, stressing the last words. As he spoke, he reached over and placed his hand upon Abigail’s. The possessive gesture was not lost on Nicholas.
Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Nicholas said, ‘We have professional teams in Krondor, sponsored by the guilds, merchants, and some nobles.’
‘I mean do you play?’
Nicholas said, ‘Not much.’
Marcus glanced at Nicholas’s feet and nodded slightly. Marcus’s gesture did not earn him Nicholas’s thanks; Nicholas found himself irritated by his cousin’s manner.
Margaret glanced from her brother to Nicholas, and her expression shifted slightly from neutral to dryly amused as Nicholas said, ‘But when I had time, I was considered good.’
Marcus’s eyes narrowed. ‘Even with your foot.’
Nicholas felt his face flush and he was suddenly angry. ‘Yes, even with my foot!’
Harry appeared, a bit of bread and cheese in his hand, and Marcus only glanced at him for a moment. The Duke’s son knew that Harry’s time was now his own until the next morning. Harry gave the assembled group a general wave and said, ‘How’s the game?’
Nicholas jumped off the low wall and said, ‘We’re playing.’
Harry shook his head. ‘I’m eating.’
With a smile, Marcus said, ‘I’ll keep the sides even.’
Harry grinned openly as he jumped backward to sit in the space Nicholas had just vacated, next to Lady Margaret. ‘Give ’em hell, Nicky,’ he said cheerfully.
Nicholas stripped off his tunic, feeling the warm sun and cool ocean breeze upon his skin. He hardly knew any of the boys on the field – just two of the pages – but he knew the game. Feeling irritated by Marcus’s attitude, he needed to vent his anger.
A moment later, the ball went out of bounds. Marcus reached over and picked it up, saying, ‘I’ll throw it in.’
Nicholas ran out onto the field and glanced around. He waved over a kitchen boy and said, ‘What’s your name?’
The boy said, ‘Robert, Highness.’
Nicholas frowned and shook his head. ‘I’m the Duke’s Squire. Who’s our side?’
Robert quickly pointed out the seven boys that made up the rest of the informal team and Nicholas said, ‘I’ll guard Marcus.
Robert grinned and nodded. ‘No one will dispute you that privilege, Squire.’
Suddenly Nicholas was moving, cutting off a boy who was hurrying forward to take the toss in from Marcus. By throwing his body almost out of bounds, he managed to kick the ball to a startled boy on his own team. After a brief hesitation, the fray was on.
Harry guffawed and said to the girls, ‘Nicholas is as good at stealing inbounds as anyone I’ve seen.’
Margaret watched her cousin pick himself up off the hard ground and race to rejoin the game and said, ‘That must hurt.’
‘He’s tough enough,’ answered Harry. Glancing at the two girls beside him, he said, ‘Any bets?’
The two girls looked at each other. ‘Bets?’
‘On who will win,’ said Harry as Marcus deftly made a sliding tackle on the ball, knocking it loose for one of his teammates to intercept.
Abigail shook her head. ‘I don’t know who’s better.’
Margaret gave an unladylike snort of contempt. ‘Neither is “better,” but those two will kill each other trying to find out.’
Abigail shook her head as Nicholas was slammed from behind by one of Marcus’s teammates, out of view of the referee, so that no penalty was called. The boy threw a forearm at the back of Nicholas’s head that had him seeing white lights for a moment. Marcus shook his head in sympathy as Nicholas pulled himself together and jumped to his feet. The boy who had leveled Nicholas was somewhere down the field. ‘G
ot to keep your wits about you,’ shouted Marcus. ‘Not a lot of subtlety in this game.’
Shaking his head to clear it, Nicholas said, ‘I’ve noticed.’
Then both boys were off toward the ball.
Harry said, ‘Damn, they look alike out there, don’t they?’
Abigail said, ‘They could be brothers, certainly.’
In the middle of the fray, Marcus and Nicholas both angled for the ball, attempting to kick it out of the mess, each leaning into the other, elbows slamming into ribs.
Harry surveyed the two girls and said, ‘About the bet?’
Margaret looked at Harry and her smile was wry. ‘The stakes?’
‘Easy,’ said Harry, attempting an offhand manner. ‘There’s a festival in two weeks, I’ve been told. You’ll need an escort.’
Margaret smiled and glanced at Abigail. ‘Both of us?’
Harry guffawed. ‘Why not? It’ll drive them both crazy.’
Margaret laughed aloud. ‘Some friend you are.’
Harry shrugged. ‘I know Nicholas, and if I’m not mistaken, he and Marcus are only beginning a long and possibly colorful rivalry.’ Looking directly at Abigail, he said, ‘I think they’re both smitten, my lady.’ Abigail had the courtesy to blush, but her expression looked as if the observation was not news to her.
‘And what are your ambitions, Squire?’
Margaret’s frank question caught Harry off guard. ‘Why, none, I think,’ he said in confusion.
Margaret patted him in familiar fashion on the leg and Harry found he was now the one blushing. ‘Whatever you say, Squire,’ said the Duke’s daughter.
Harry felt his body stir and warm at her hand on his thigh, and suddenly wanted to be anywhere but sitting next to her. He had never had a problem talking to the younger women of the Prince’s staff in Krondor, either the serving women who were disadvantaged by their rank, or the daughters of the court nobles who were disadvantaged by their youth. But there was nothing of the shy, inexperienced girl in Margaret’s manner. There was something positively worldly about this girl, who was almost the same age as Harry and Nicholas.
Prince of the Blood, the King's Buccaneer Page 50
