A Scruple of Saffron. (A novella)

by N. J. Layouni

  But Martha was resolute, fixed upon her fatal course. “Please, sweetheart. For me? I’m not a complete thicko, you know. The baby still hasn’t turned and time’s running out—”

  “No!” Unthinkable. Intolerable. He would never consent to such barbarity. “there’s still time for him to turn—”

  “Sure. And pigs might fly. Look, just think of this as our plan b, just in case he doesn’t, okay?”

  “He will.”

  “I hope so, but we’ve got to be sensible about it.”

  Vadim’s throat tightened so much he could barely breathe let alone speak. His beautiful girl. His brave, funny, wonderful wife. Only now, not a trace of her usual smiles or jests remained. He had never seen her so solemn, her deep blue gaze shredding his very soul.

  Most worrying of all, he suddenly realized something else. Despite the considerable pain she was suffering, Martha hadn’t sworn in hours. Not so much as a solitary feck had escaped her lips. This in itself was a terrible omen. For, under normal circumstances, Martha’s armory contained an arsenal of profanity of the most descriptive kind.

  Agatha placed her hand on his shoulder. “’Tis time you were gone, m’lord,” she said kindly. “Let me take care of your lass.”

  But still Martha clutched onto his shirt, her eyes wide and wild. Please? she mouthed.

  Cursing himself for a liar, Vadim finally crumbled. With a brief nod, he bent to kiss her dry lips. “I promise,” he murmured, hugging her to him, his face buried into her neck trying to commit her scent to memory.

  Martha gave a great sigh of relief. “Oh, thank god!” She believed him. And why wouldn’t she believe him? His wife knew as well as anyone that when Vadim gave his word it was unbreakable.

  As good as set in stone.

  Until now.

  In the urgency of their swift parting, words of mutual love rushed from their lips. Then Martha was out of his arms and being settled back onto the bed by young Effie whilst Agatha took Vadim’s arm and half dragged him across the room.

  The moment the door opened, there was Edric. “Is everything well, my quee— I mean, Agatha?” he asked, craning his neck this way and that, trying to peer inside the birthing chamber.

  “Yes, thank you, Edric. Lord Edgeway was just leaving us. Would you be so good as to keep watch with him?”

  “Gladly.” Edric swept her a little bow, but then his face sobered. “But if you have need of anything—anything at all, girl,” he touched Agatha’s arm to add weight to his words, “then just send word and I will come a-running. Do you hear me?”

  “Aye. I hear you well enough, you old fool.” But Vadim saw a look of tenderness pass between them. “Just don’t you go getting him too drunk,” she warned. Then she was gone, quietly closing the door in their faces.

  Vadim rubbed the heel of his hand hard into his chest in an effort to relieve the ache there. He feared this separation from his love might split apart the mighty organ at its seams.

  Edric grinned at his master. “Not too drunk, says she. Oh, I think we might do something about that, says I. That is, if you would care to accompany me, m’lord?”

  “Why not?” Vadim cast a last longing look at the door of the bedchamber. “There’s nothing more I can do here.”

  “Might I accompany you, too?” came a familiar voice.

  Vadim turned and noticed Anselm sitting quietly by the window, half concealed by the deepening shadows of night. Apart from the ever-constant fire in the hearth, no one had troubled themselves to light the candles in their lord’s chamber this night. Forge sat with Anselm, his head resting mournfully upon his brother’s lap. ’Twas as if, deep in his simple doggy heart, Forge had also sensed the tension in his world; a world that had once been so happy.

  “Aye. I would be grateful for your companionship, brother,” Vadim replied, ignoring Edric’s disgusted snort. “You are most welcome to join us.”

  Chapter Four

  They escorted Vadim from the keep, shepherding him along the dark echoing streets at a brisk pace—or hobble in Anselm’s case—heading for their favorite inn. It was true to say that while their lord and master wasn’t entirely enthusiastic about the idea, he was powerless to resist the combined determination of his two companions.

  Ducking his head beneath the low lintel, Anselm stepped into the warm welcoming fug of The Masons Arms and he heaved a heavy sigh. Until that moment he hadn’t realized quite how oppressive the tension back at the keep had become until now, well away from the purgatory of all that silent waiting. Even Edric seemed brighter, regarding Anselm with a glare slightly less frosty than usual.

  “Over there,” Edric cried, pointing to a vacant table in the far corner of the room. “I’ll go and see if I can find Joy.” He had to shout to make himself heard over the constant rumble of many loud conversations, and the rousing tune of a fiddle. A distinctly out-of-tune voice accompanied the musician, loudly lamenting at great length about the fickleness of a woman’s heart.

  While Edric went in search of Joy—if, indeed, Joy was a person—Anselm steered Vadim through the tightly-pressed crowd. Edric had another woman on the go, did he? My, what a peculiar magic that strange little fellow exerted over the ladies of Edgeway. His good fortune with the fairer sex must be down to his charm personals—such as they were—for Edric was most plainly favored, his features bordering on hobgoblin. Added to which, he was almost completely bald, and possessed an unwieldy paunch that sat balanced on his wide belt.

  Anselm’s own luck with the ladies had run out on the day his former master had died. Now, not even the most haggard of Edgeway’s whores would so much as flutter her eyelashes in his direction. Even whores, it seemed, had standards.

  All in all, it was probably for the best. Better the indignity of being ignored than… the unhappy alternative.

  As they wended a winding path through the merry throng, several intoxicated fellows cheered loudly when they saw Vadim and patted his back as he passed by. Holding their tankards aloft, they toasted the imminent arrival of Lord Edgeway’s firstborn child.

  But save for a tight-lipped smile, Vadim made no reply to the general outpouring of good wishes coming at him from every direction.

  Oh, what a long and miserable evening this would be. Thankfully, Anselm had a purse full of silver and a good thing it was, too. Something told him the price of drinking himself merry this night would be very costly indeed.

  Once Vadim was safely seated on the high-backed settle, Forge immediately slunk beneath the table and settled down in a spot beneath his master’s legs. Unfastening his cloak, Anselm looked over the heads of the inn’s other patrons in the hope of attracting the attention of one of the serving girls. Ignore him as they might, none of them would forsake Lord Edgeway.

  ’Twas then he spotted Edric plowing a path through the crowd. A tall, comely redheaded lass followed him, her tray of tankards and foaming pitchers borne expertly, one-handed, above her head. Ah. So this was Joy, was it? Anselm didn’t recognize her. She wasn’t one of the tavern’s usual servers. As she drew nearer, he realized the woman wasn’t quite so young as he’d first supposed. No mere girl was she. Here was a woman in the prime of her life. Joy had a happy, open sort of face; the sort of face that would be sure to find friendship wherever she went.

  “Here comes Edric with our reinforcements, now,” Anselm commented, slipping off his cloak and throwing it carelessly over the back of the wooden settle. Vadim mumbled something unintelligible in reply and turned his attention to the likeness of a horse he was attempting to whittle with his knife from a lump of wood.

  Anselm propped his walking stick against the wall and sank gratefully onto his chair. Such a relief. His side ached fiercely with a deep, hot thudding. At this hour of the day, he was usually somewhat uncomfortable, the ferocity of pain depending upon the nature of activities he’d embarked upon throughout the day.

 
; Today had been exceptionally active.

  Massaging his fist into his side, he summoned a smile for Edric’s red-haired serving wench as she set a tankard and a frothing jug of ale before him.

  “Good evening to you,” the girl remarked cheerfully. She even included Anselm in her greeting—much to his astonishment—actually making eye contact with him, no less. A momentous event that was all too rare of late. “I’m Joy, and it’s my very great pleasure to look after you fine gents this evening. Now, if there’s anything you need—anything at all—you have only to ask.”

  Her merry blue eyes twinkled in the candlelight, her wide smile displaying a remarkably fine set of teeth.

  What a delightful woman. Had Anselm possessed the inclination or ability to go a-wenching, he might have considered securing some of Joy’s more… intimate services for the night. But given how Edric kept patting the girl’s hand so possessively, this would be no easy task. Their easy intimacy spoke of a long-standing acquaintance. Even more remarkable, their affection seemed entirely mutual for as Edric pulled up his chair and sat down, Joy bent to plant a tender kiss on his cheek and then began absently arranging the long, wispy strands of Edric’s hair back into place, smoothing them down over the shining, naked dome of his head.

  “Lord Vadim,” Edric said at last, “may I introduce you to my sister-daughter? Joy has recently moved to Edgeway.”

  Vadim looked up from his whittling. “I am honored to make your acquaintance, Joy,” he replied politely, although his smile looked rather strained. Joy bobbed a shallow curtsy, blushing most becomingly. But the roses in her cheeks were quite wasted on Vadim for, once the introduction was over, he immediately lowered his eyes and returned his attention to the horse he was attempting to carve.

  Joy’s smile flickered. Clearly, the poor girl wasn’t accustomed to being so bluntly dismissed.

  Anselm felt rather sorry for her. “You must forgive Lord Edgeway, Joy. The imminent arrival of his firstborn child, I fear, has robbed his manners of their usual luster.”

  Joy seemed relieved. “Oh, I know how that is, sir,” she said with a laugh. “My own dear father was much the same way.” As she spoke, she set three tankards before them and began filling them to the brim with frothy ale. “The sweetest of men he was usually, sir, but whenever Mother was approaching her time, he would pace and rant like a wild man until none of us could bear to be near him. ’Tis the worry, you see.”

  “And how many brothers and sisters do you have, Joy?”

  “Twelve of ‘em, sir. Four still living.” Even Vadim looked up at this piece of news, but Anselm suspected it had more to do with the still living remark than anything else. With his current dark mood, here was the perfect bait to reclaim his attention.

  “Twelve of you, eh?” Anselm leaned back in his seat and smiled. “My word. Your poor mother must have had her hands full with such a large brood.”

  Joy giggled. “Aye, that she did, sir. We used to run her half-ragged, poor love.” Putting down the pitcher, she took a piece of old cloth from the pocket of her apron and began mopping a small ale spill from the scrub-topped table.

  Because Anselm was so enjoying the novelty of speaking with someone who hadn’t openly wished him dead yet, naturally, he wanted to prolong the conversation for as long as possible. Gallantly averting his eyes from Joy’s wobbling cleavage as it threatened to spill over the top of her shift at any moment, he continued, “I expect your mother has many energetic grand-babies to keep her occupied now, eh?”

  Immediately he knew he’d said the wrong thing for Joy’s smile wobbled and lost much of its brilliance. From across the other side of the table, Anselm sensed Edric scowling at him

  “I am afraid not, sir,” Joy answered at last. “To my regret, she and my father succumbed to the sweating sickness this last winter.”

  Anselm felt terrible. “Oh, my dear. I am so sorry. Please forgive me. I had no idea.” Blood and sand! For the first time in months someone had actually been pleasant to him—relatives not included—and how had he rewarded the poor girl? By blindly blundering into a place he had no right to be. “Truly, I meant no offense, Joy.”

  “Get thee back to your work, lass,” Edric said kindly, all the while fixing Anselm with another of his hard unfriendly stares.

  Joy nodded and with a much-diminished smile, made her way back through the crowd.

  “Oh, nicely done, Sir Anselm,” Edric sneered, clapping his hands in slow applause.

  “Well, how the devil was I to know her parents are dead? Had I known the truth, do you think I would have said anything?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Aghast, Anselm stared at the gnome-like fellow. Was that how they all thought of him? A beast who would maim purely for sport?

  “As well you ought to beg my pardon, m’lord, mine and that of a great many others in this here town.” Edric leaned across the table, naked loathing burning in his eyes. “Have you no heart? Is that what first drew you to your old master, eh? Like attracts like, or so they say.”

  “Oh, please do continue. Don’t hold back. Tell me what you truly think.” For it was clear there was much Edric wanted to say. He’d been holding his tongue for too long, and the urge to spew it out must almost be choking him. “Go on. Feel free. Vent your spleen, Edric. You have my permission to list my many failings. Believe me, I am quite in the mood to hear you speak of them.”

  And there would be no better time for Vadim was completely oblivious to everything, lost in a thick fog of brooding.

  Ugly though Edric’s words would surely be, at least they’d be honest words.

  Real, genuine feelings, plainly served.

  Over the past few months, ever since his reconciliation with Vadim, Anselm had had to endure the daily scourge of either being completely ignored or—even worse in his opinion—the squirming unpleasantness of being the recipient of false civility.

  Only because of their deep respect for the new earl and his wife did the residents of Edgeway tolerate Anselm’s presence amongst them, and well he knew it. But here in this smoky tavern, he was as good as alone. Vulnerable. His brother and sister could not shield him now.

  In a twisted way, it felt good. He almost felt alive again. “Come on, Edric. Speak your mind. Curse me if you will. I don’t care.”

  “You?” Edric sneered. “you’re not worth the breath of an honest curse, you devil. Aye. You heard me right. Demon spawn, thou art, through and through. Even if my lord is too soft of heart to acknowledge it, I see it. I know full well what you are.” He wagged a dirt-ingrained finger in Anselm’s face. “You’re wicked to the bone. Evil incarnate. Surprised? Oh, aye, I see you clear enough. Had you aught but a seed of decency within that withered, blackened soul of yours you’d take pity on my poor master there…” He jerked his head to indicate Vadim “… and leave this place forever. Be gone! Go seek your fortune elsewhere. Overseas or in hell—I care not which. Go wherever you will, just leave us decent folk in peace to rebuild the lands you and your kind have scoured for so many a year.

  “And I’ll tell you something else, if you consent to leave now I’ll even help you pack.” Leaning back in his chair, Edric drained his tankard in several quick glugs then slammed it down onto the table. “So, how was that for you, m’lord? Honest enough?”

  Anselm forced himself to smile. “Indeed it was.” More than enough. He felt quite sick. “You expressed your feelings perfectly, my good fellow.” He forced himself to take a casual sip of his ale, although his heart pounded horribly. “I am most grateful to you, Edric. Only a true friend would speak so bluntly.”

  “What?” Edric’s eyes almost bulged from their sockets “Now just you wait a moment—”

  “Where’s Seth?” Vadim said, unexpectedly rousing himself and quite ruining Anselm’s sport. “I haven’t seen him since this morning. Has anyone told h
im… about Martha?”

  “He knows.” Anselm winced as he recalled that morning’s visit to the training grounds, and the oppressive silence that had greeted his arrival. Everyone had stopped what they were doing and turning en-mass to stare at him. Knights, squires, men-at-arms, all of them pausing mid-fight to enjoy the spectacle of the son who was forced to seek out his estranged father. It had been a most disagreeable experience. Not one he’d care to repeat in a hurry.

  “He knows? So where is he, then?” Vadim’s dark eyes flashed dangerously.

  “He was called away on urgent business, I believe.” With luck and a prevailing wind, Seth might already be on his way back from Darumvale by now, hopefully with old Ma in tow.

  “Urgent business? More urgent than what is happening here?” Shaking his head, Vadim picked up his ale and downed the lot. “The moment Seth returns,” he said wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “The very instant he sets foot inside the castle perimeter, I want to see him. Send word to the night-watch, Edric. Tell them I would see my errant steward without delay.”

  Prickled by his master’s unusually sharp tone, Edric leaped to his feet. “Of course, m’lord. At once.” Casting one final look of dislike at Anselm, the little man hurried off through the crowd to carry out his master’s bidding.

  “Alone at last, eh?” Anselm picked up the pitcher intending to replenish Vadim’s tankard. “What an unpleasant little fellow Edric is. How you can bear to have him around you so often?”

  Vadim covered his tankard with his hand. “No more ale,” he said curtly. “I have need of something more fortifying.”

  The chance to see Vadim wallowing in his cups was irresistible for he so rarely drank to excess. Anselm had no intention of attempting to talk him out of it. After all, who knew what secrets his brother might reveal whilst under the spell of a thick, potent wine?

  “Very well, brother. You stay there and I’ll go see if I can find Joy.”