by J. S. Crews
The rights of a man, whether bondsman or freeman, to forage for his table and hearth was among those guaranteed by the Great Charter that had ruled kingdom law for centuries. King Athaelbor the Wise had seen to that after deposing his own cruel (and many believed half-mad) father Seleucus the Indecent, whose rule was a dark time in history that hurled the kingdom into a state of civil war. While protecting the rights of the common man, however, some concessions had been the price of gaining the support of the nobility for his reforms. As a result, certain designated royal forests were off-limits for commoners without a special license from their lord, purchased at a sum most could not hope to afford.
The seriousness of being caught hunting or felling lumber in protected woods without such a license had been the reason for Kaeti’s visceral reaction, seeing another caught for a crime she was aware her man had also committed. She had no doubt imagined Ansel being dragged behind that mule. In response, Ansel squeezed her hand to reassure her all was well and quickly concluded his transaction with the smith.
Afterwards, leading his little family away from the market that had lost its appeal for the day, he turned to find a concerned expression clouding her features. "It’s alright, m’love," he tried to reassure her, but there were still tears in his bride’s eyes and her mood never fully recovered for the remainder of that day.
Ever one to put on a brave face, she spoke no more of it, but Ansel knew she remained troubled by how quiet she was. It was not until later that night as they lie abed that she quietly put voice to the question, "What’ll happen t’him?"
"Hmmm?" was his sleepy response.
"The man caught poachin’." Her voice was full of apprehension.
Sighing, he said, "Depends. Lord Wendel can try ‘im in Eborhum, but an offense so serious would mean a jury o’ freemen t’hear the case. I doubt he’ll want the trouble, since the law gives ‘im the option o’ sendin’ the poor soul on t’the Earl’s court an’ washing his hands o’ the affair."
"The Earl? All the way in Sarton? Why not the Baron?"
The answer was a harsh truth. "Because the law says a baron can’t hang a man, m’love. Only earls an’ dukes an’ royals."
"Will they kill him?" Her voice sounded so small now, almost a frightened girl. Hearing it broke his heart.
He was quiet for a moment, wishing he didn’t have to answer, and he took her in his arms for comfort before he did. "Aye. Maybe. Depends on if it’s a first offense. Or if somebody respectable speaks fer ‘im. Or what mood the damn Earl is in when he judges ‘im, honestly."
Kaeti didn’t say anything further, though Ansel knew she was still awake for a while. He was aware of her wiping her eyes a few times, and her tears only served to marinate his own sense of growing discord. How was a man supposed to make his way if the simple act of feeding his family could cost him his life? And what gave other men the gall to believe they had the right to take his life over something as simple as shooting a deer on the wrong side of some imaginary line decreed by a noble hundreds of miles away?
Ansel Wood had always prided himself on being what society considered a good man, but more and more a widening gulf seemed to separate societal perceptions and what he felt made a man good. How could a man respect the law when the law apparently had no respect for the common man? These thoughts and more kept him awake late into the night.
* * * * *
The baby wailed as half the contents of the table clanged to the floor.
Ansel Wood said nothing, only closing his eyes with a sigh and damning the stupidity of brothers-by-law everywhere. He knew with certainty in that moment—a realization he had encountered many times before—that a more feckless and bothersome breed could not possibly have ever befouled the gods’ good earth, and if they’d had a king it would surely have been Kaeti’s brother Allet.
In comparison to his sweet, somewhat meek, and attentive wife who worked from before sunrise to well after darkfall to make their home a sanctuary of love and comfort, her brother Allet seemed to lack all instinct or desire for domesticity or a respectable life. In all things excepting size and appearance and the types of toys with which he enjoyed playing, Allet was more a boy than a man. Well past a suitable age, he had never married or even come close. His only industry was the meager wages of a general unskilled laborer, flitting back and forth to whichever local farmer offered a few coins for cutting hay or shoveling dung. Even that, though, was at least honest work, but Allet was the kind to waste every copper on cheap wine, poorly considered wagers, and whores.
Not that Ansel hadn’t enjoyed the company of a whore or two in his time. He had been a soldier, after all, but that was before he was a married man with the responsibilities. What a man chose to do with the money in his own purse was something Ansel thought better of judging, but there came a time to put away the frivolity of the young. Much to his austere parents’ dismay, Allet had yet to learn that lesson.
Still, he was family, and family was high on the list of things Ansel found important in this often forsaken world. For that reason, his sigh was followed by a smile after opening his eyes to find Kaeti looking at him with a worried expression as she comforted little Anders. Ansel’s mood had been poor lately, and he knew she worried this unexpected late night visit from her half-drunk wreck of a brother was going to cause him to boil over. In truth, he might have had he not seen her face. He loved her and she loved Allet, so he would ask the gods’ help in also loving the damned fool. It was what a man did for his family.
Ansel had been in a raw mood ever since his meeting with Lord Wendel a few weeks past when the world’s weight had fallen on him like a dead oak after a heavy snow. My meetin’ with the bastard’s bookkeeper, more like!, he corrected in his thoughts. His heart was burdened by fears over the money needed to keep his land. It was a burden he had so far felt unable to share with Kaeti. She’d only be fearful, an’ I cannot bear not seein’ her smile. That smile is half o’ what I live fer along with my boy, he told himself.
He was also angry at the way Lord Wendel’s bursar had spoken to him. He talked down t’me as if he was highborn ‘isself when he doesn’t even serve a real noble house!, he thought. That was true. The lords and ladies of manor estates were not counted among the peerage of the nobility, being instead the descendants of trusted servants, given land to manage in their names. Strictly speaking, they were landed gentry as opposed to actual nobility, owing allegiance to the local baron to raise troops if called to battle. Some were landed knights, while others enjoyed the privelege of being called by the honorific Lord or Lady only as a courtesy.
He treated me like a peasant tryin’ t’pay taxes with bent iron hidden among the coins, an’ his father probably wasn’t even a freeman like mine! The get o’ some house servant, he prob’ly was, clever enough fer his lord t’have him taught numbers so he could drape velvet over his plump arse an’ never do half a days real work!
Being treated poorly by an uppity coin-counter was inconsequential when weighted against greater matters, he knew, but that didn’t keep it from sticking in his craw. He was also troubled by Lord Wendel’s unusual behavior. One could say what they would of Wendel and it would likely as not be true, but one thing Ansel had never heard him accused of was being shy when someone owed him taxes. Further, for all his faults, he was a conscientious overseer of the manor. He toured the estate often, stopping frequently to talk with villagers, and he held court regularly, ensuring disputes were resolved and business was handled efficiently.
No man accused him of taking a lackadaisical approach to his work. So, why then had he sat impassively as a servant took his place in answering Ansel’s concerns? That uncharacteristic behavior from the usually loud and blustery Lord Baedon had been bothering Ansel for weeks, but then it had come to him suddenly one night as he lie sleepless next to his love: He wants my land.
In truth, a large part of his holdings already somewhat belonged to House Baedon. Wendel held a writ of mortgage over it, against which An
sel was paying four silver shillings per year over and above his regular taxes. That was the only way he had maintained what he considered the illusion of true ownership, and now even that precarious balance stood ready to be toppled. He had no idea how he was going to manage it, and that, he realized, had been the point. With the classification of the hot springs as an official holy site, there was money to be made, and the springs were located on the portion of the property over which the lien was held. Why continue receiving four shillings per year from a half-destitute farmer when simply taking the land could mean a far greater stream of income?
Had it even been the right time for a visit from the royal tax assessor? Those were legally required once every ten years, usually occurring every seven years or so, but Ansel had returned home only three years hence. He had no knowledge of when the land had last been assessed, and there were no records kept of such things since his father hadn’t known how to read or write any more than he himself.
Finally realizing the true motivation behind things made the answers to related questions fall into place, replacing confusion with a hollow sense of worry. As for Lord Wendel behaving unusually, Ansel suspected him of simply trying to save face. If he was perceived as having cheated a good man out of his land, others would speak of it over ale in local taverns, and that could harm his reputation. Better that he not push the issue himself. There was a melancholy brilliance to it.
"Beg pardon, dear sis," Allet managed between belching and giggling like the fool he was. He was making a great show of trying to control his wine-soaked movements and right the items he had just knocked off the small wooden table where they took their meals. He truly was an idiot, but in addition to being his kin now under the king’s laws, he was also an affable, seemingly good-intentioned idiot. Allet possessed the singular talent to be able to turn a sunrise dark, but the man had no malice in him that Ansel had ever witnessed. He half suspected he might have grown to like him even were he not Kaeti’s brother. The whole family seemed to view Allet more as a lost sheep, rather than a black one, and Ansel had come to agree.
Allet poured each of them another cup of the wine he had brought, seeming not to notice Ansel trying to beg off having more. They had been preparing for bed, little Anders already fast asleep, when the animals making a fuss had alerted them to his approach barely an instant before his drunken singing reached their ears. The gods only knew where he had gotten such a surprisingly decent bottle of wine, considering his work ethic and habits rarely left him with two coppers to rub together by this hour of the night. Ansel feared asking would only prolong the visit by triggering some ribald story that would leave Kaeti blushing, though, so he let the issue lie.
"It’s alright," was Kaeti’s reply, though she was obviously harried. The baby’s teeth were beginning to come in, so the poor little soul wasn’t sleeping well, and she had only just gotten him down blessedly early. "Please, jus’ try t’keep the noise down, so I can get him back t’sleep."
"Right! Will do!" came the too-loud answer, until a sharp look from a woman with a great but not inexhaustible supply of patience managed to cut through some of the wine-fog obscuring Allet’s mind. "Will do," he repeated much more quietly with a sheepish smile.
Returning the smile with warmth, Kaeti kissed her brother and her husband and took her leave. The lady of the house would repair to her chambers with the crying tot, which meant they would go on to bed in the cottage’s little loft space. Ansel was always the one left to sit up late and drink with Allet until the latter became sufficiently nonsensical, allowing Ansel to put him to bed like a slovenly overgrown child.
Part of this unspoken arrangement was because Kaeti knew Ansel had it within him to eventually put a forceful end to her brother’s revelry without falling for his boyish attempts to push it further as she always had. And secondly, as she would remind him vehemently whenever he attempted to plead his case about having work to do around the farm early in the morning, crops and chickens wouldn’t cry and scream if he was an hour late attending to them the way his son would when it came to her. Try as he might, he could not argue against her logic, and so here he was again.
Looking past Ansel at his retreating sister and nephew, Allet raised the small clay cup to his lips and savored the flavor of the expensive Madaran red. He was not accustomed to drinking such finery, but perhaps that would all be changing soon. If his new friend could afford such an expensive gift simply in return for his promise to try and bring his brother-by-law into their upcoming endeavor, then surely the man truly did know a thing or two about making money.
He continued to watch until he was sure Kaeti was beyond earshot on her way up to the sleeping loft, then asked, "So, how long were ya plannin’ on waitin’ t’tell yer brother ‘bout yer troubles?"
Ansel started to feign ignorance, but quickly realized it was pointless. His secret was obviously out. Annoyance clear on his face, he set his jaw and spoke quietly, "Lord Wendel’s damned servants gossip like hens," then quickly added, "Keep yer voice down."
"I’m right in thinkin’ my sis don’t know then?"
"Yes," Ansel admitted. "I didn’t see no point in makin’ her worry when there’s nothin’ she can do t’fix the problem."
Allet waived away the explanation as he poured more wine. "I wasn’t accusin’ ya of doin’ anythin’ wrong. You’re right. It’s better she doesn’t have t’worry."
"Who else knows?"
"If yer worried ‘bout Pa findin’ out, I don’t think he knows yet. But he will soon enough. Everyone will. Ya know how rumors get ‘round."
Allet knew that Kaeti’s parents discovering he was having financial problems would be weighing on Ansel. Their father had initially been against giving his daughter in marriage to a man burdened by debt. She might be the daughter of a Journeyman Tanner but he was a member of the Guild, and Kaeti was a beauty who had been turning men’s heads since the moment she began to blossom. She could easily have been the wife of a Master tradesman with his own shop. Instead she ended up with a farmer who could barely scrape together her brideprice and who might soon lose his land altogether.
He had ultimately won her hand because her father respected his having volunteered for military service when he came of age, just as he himself had done in his own youth. His birthright as a franklin had not hurt his case either. With Ansel for a son-by-law, any grandchildren would be born freemen and freewomen. And, even though that social status would not be affected even if he were to lose his land, he still hated the idea of disappointing her parents after promising them so much in order to win her.
Ansel’s shoulders slumped. "I d’know what I’m gonna do," he admitted.
"Might be I can help."
That got Ansel’s attention. "What d’ya mean?"
"Might be I know a way t’lay hands on some money."
At this, Ansel scoffed and his shoulders slumped even more. Some scheme or wager, no doubt, he thought. He cannot help me. Ansel didn’t think anyone could. He had turned the situation over and over again in his mind, and even briefly considered offering his parents-by-laws a parcel of his farm upon which he would help build them a new cottage in return for them selling the small one they owned in town to help with his troubles. But, after thinking it over, he realized he could never ask such a thing. Even if he did, that extra money would only buy him time and push the inevitable problem further down the line a few years rather than solving it.
Allet, for his part, was not deterred. He was a man well accustomed to being thought of as a fool. He no longer even took offense when people dismissed his ideas offhand, but this was one he was not ready to give up on. His new friend had made it clear that the plan would only work if they could get a few more people involved.
"Hear me out, Anse. What’ve ya got t’lose?"
And the worrisome fact was that was the god’s truth. "Alright. Tell me."
Chapter Five
“The Young Lord”
"I wonder what they have in store for
us today," stated Alastar. He received no response from his friend, other than shrugged shoulders and a deep sigh that came as a slow rush through pursed lips. It was a gesture that spoke equally of both boredom and exasperation, and both boys considered it entirely appropriate to their situation.
Though technically acting as squires for Duke Valdimir and Prince Valdic, Jonas and Alastar as often as not took their daily orders from the steward Earl Cedric. They had come to believe this was a contrivance to ensure they were worked steadily, seeing as how the Duke and his son could only provide so much for the boys to do day after day. Their service to their lieges took precedence, of course, so they spent time at council meetings and carrying messages and the like. It was a period of peace, though, so the time-honored responsibilities of a squire to look after his lord’s equipment and horse were not daily tasks. As a result, quite a lot of time would have been completely free, and this was apparently not to be allowed.
Each morning, there was an assembly where assignments were handed out by Earl Cedric and his assistant Baron James, and it was at this assembly they had just received orders to report to the Officer of the Watch for further instructions. This was a new development and, therefore, a source of disquiet. They had been learning the hard way that their rank did little to protect them from the typical hazing experienced by newcomers and punishments for transgressions came so swiftly as to sometimes arrive ahead of the news that one had been caught. Neither Jonas nor Alastar knew what to expect.
In addition, Jonas lacked his normal vigor. He had been tormented by half-remembered dreams, shaken as much by what he was unable to remember as by what he could. As usual, the sprawling tableau in his mind had quickly begun to fade the moment he came awake, until he found himself only remembering bits and pieces. Try as he might, most of it was completely lost, regardless how much he might wish to remember.
