HONOR BOUND (The Spare Heir) (13 page)

He stood there, next to the bellows, and watched as the blacksmith pulled the plow blade from the barrel, its surface dark and shimmering as the water ran off of it.  Small wisps of steam still rose from the metal surface as the blacksmith set it down on the table.  Franks looked up and noticed Jorem staring at the plow blade.  Taking in Jorem’s drooping appearance, the man smiled and shook his head.

“Even the simplest of tasks can prove hard if’n yer not used to them,” he said.  “Time you took a break.  Go wash up at the barrel by the door an get over to the inn for your midday meal.  Don’t take too long though. I’ve got a mess of shovels, pitchforks and scythes that need mended from the harvest.”

Jorem staggered over to the wash barrel and splashed water on his hands and face.  He took off the smock and hung it up on a peg by the door.  That it was time for the mid-day meal he found hard to believe.  Stepping out of the door, he looked up to see that the sun was indeed high up above.  Shaking off the numbness that had crept into his mind, he trudged off to the inn.

Wearily, Jorem eased himself down into a chair at a table in a corner of the common room.  His mind still wasn’t completely clear and he was in no way hungry.  He sat there in a kind of fog, trying to get the muscles in his shoulders to relax.  After only a few moments a plate of bread and a bowl of stew appeared in front of him.  Looking up, he found Linda standing beside him, her arms folded and a look of concern on her face.

Jorem glanced down at the food and back at her.  “I’m really not hungry,” he said.

Linda cocked her head and raised an eyebrow.  “Eat,” she said.  “Your body is hungry whether you know it or not.  I’ll run fetch you a pitcher of water.”

She left Jorem staring at the food in front of him.  Half-heartedly he tore off a small chunk of bread and put it in his mouth.  Another piece of bread followed the first and then another.  Then he ate a few spoonfuls of stew.  The promised pitcher of water arrived and Jorem downed a glassful in one gulp.  Three plates of bread and two bowls of stew later, Jorem sat back, his hunger sated.

“Not hungry, hmm?”  Linda asked as she gathered the dishes from the table.

“I guess I was at that,” Jorem replied bashfully.

“Franks sent a note that you need some work clothes.  Is there anything in particular that you would like—color, style or fabric?”

Jorem looked down at the clothes he was wearing and noticed that even through the smock his clothes had turned a dark gray.

“I don’t think color is going to matter,” he said with a wry smile.  “Just something serviceable and sturdy.  It’s plenty warm at the smith’s shop, so nothing too heavy.”

“I think I can manage that,” Linda said.  “You’re about the same size as my son Chance.  The Duke arranged for you to have a room at the back of the inn and we’ve already moved your things there.  Your father, I mean, the King, didn’t say anything as to what you would prefer so I hope the room will be okay.”

It took a moment for what Linda had said to sink in.  Jorem looked about the common room and realized that he didn’t recognize anyone.

“They’re gone?” he asked.

“They left a few marks ago,” Linda said a bit surprised by the question.  “Didn’t he let you know?”

Depression filled Jorem’s mind.  He hadn’t expected anything from the King, but he’d thought one of the guardsmen would at least have come to let him know they were leaving.  Swallowing the lump that was growing in his throat, Jorem stared fixedly at the tabletop.

“We said our goodbyes last night,” he lied.  “No reason for him to interrupt the blacksmith.”

Reaching into his pocket, Jorem withdrew the coin that the guardsman had given him earlier this morning.  Carefully, he set the coin down on the table and slid it over to Linda.

“I’ll need a coat and some warm clothing if what I’ve heard of the winters here is true.  Will this be enough for those and the work clothes?” he asked.  Even he noticed that his voice sounded flat and hollow.

A small hand covered the coin and slid it back to Jorem.  The innkeeper stood beside him.  Biorne had approached so silently that Jorem hadn’t noticed him.

“The Duke has seen to your expenses,” Biorne said.  “Put this back in your pocket.  I’m sure that there are plenty of things a young man such as you can find to spend it on.  As far as food, shelter and clothing, you needn’t concern yourself.”

“That’s very kind of him,” Jorem replied.

The little man cocked his head to one side and studied Jorem for a moment.  Then he lifted himself onto a chair across from Jorem.

“Bring me an ale, Linda,” Biorne said casually, “I’d have a word with Prince Jorem.”

“Sir, if you don’t mind, I’m just Jorem.  I don’t feel like a prince right now,” Jorem waved at his dusty, sweat-stained shirt, “and I certainly don’t look like a prince.”

Biorne nodded at Jorem’s words.  “If that’s the way you want it, just Jorem it is.  We get a lot of rumors out here from the capital.  Some of it isn’t worth listening to but most of it has at least a grain of truth to it.

“Take the King’s older sons.  I’ve heard they think a lot of themselves and I can see by their actions that it’s true.  Oh, they’ll probably turn out all right.  A bit of responsibility and time will take care of that.  But you, now, you’re a bit of a puzzle.  You don’t seem to fit what I’ve heard of you.”

Jorem squirmed a little at the man’s words.  He knew that most of the nobles at his Father’s court were not very fond of him.  He wasn’t what they wanted him to be, and many of them blamed him for the death of the queen.  He could just imagine the things they said about him when he wasn’t around.  Right now he was not in a mood to find out.

Jorem sighed and looked at Biorne.  “I’m just trying to do what’s right.  A friend of mine once told me that doing what’s right is always the best option.  She said it won’t always be easy and likely won’t make you popular.  But you’ll always know that what you did needed to be done.  This needs to be done and I’ll do it as best I can.”

“Good words to live by,” Biorne said nodding at Jorem’s deft change of subject.  “Hard words to live up to.  This friend of yours, she have a name?”

Jorem paused before answering.  To say that he was a friend to Lady Mage Zensa would sound like boasting.  “Just a friend, someone I trust and respect.”

“Good friends are hard to come by,” said Biorne, as he wiped some foam from his mouth.  “I’ve kept you long enough.  Franks is going to start thinking you’re not going back.  Better be on your way.”

As it turned out the afternoon was spent putting the plow back together.  Most of the time was spent looking for tools and the various parts of the plow.  To Jorem it was frustrating that they had to hunt and search for everything they needed.  The slow progress didn’t seem to bother the smith at all.  By the time the plow was assembled the sun had dipped below the mountains and the sky had turned dark.

Before Jorem left for the day, the smith had him shovel the cinders out of the forge, leaving just enough hot embers to make restarting the fire easier in the morning.  The ashes and cinders were carried out to a bin behind the building.  Then the smith showed him how to bank the coals of the forge and how much coal to add to get it heated back up the next morning.  This, the smith told him, would be his task each night before he left for the inn.  When Jorem finally made it back to the inn he was so tired he could hardly stand.  He hadn’t taken more than two steps through the door before he was stopped by one of the serving girls.

“The washroom is the last door on the right,” she said in a no nonsense sort of way.  “You’ll find a set of clothes for you there.  There’s a basket in the far corner for your dirty clothes. Don’t leave them on the floor.  Your room is the last door on the left.  Be sure you eat something before you go to bed.  Biorne sells all of the left over food to the Sheep’s Den, so there’s no snacking in the middle of the night.  Now, go wash up.”

Something about the look in her eyes told Jorem that she was trying to get a reaction out of him.  Out of the corner of his eye he could see that several people were watching to see what he would do.  They wanted to see him angry and indignant.  As tired as he was, it was tempting to give them just that.  Well, if they wanted a show, a show they would get.  Just not the one they were expecting.

Schooling his expression as seriously as he could Jorem bent forward in a deep, formal bow.  Then in as sincere a voice as he could muster, and borrowing a few lines from some of the more fanciful books he had read, he began.

“M’lady, I must apologize for my appearance.  It is truly a sorry time when a prince of the realm would present himself before such a fair maiden in such a state.  Thy services and kind words have left me bereft of my senses.  I beg that thou would forgive me this lapse of courtesy.”

As he spoke, Jorem could see by her blank expression that this was not what she had expected.  To call her a serving girl was a bit of a stretch as she was easily twice his age.  Before she had a chance to recover Jorem continued, “Mayhap M’lady, it would be best that I should remove myself from thy presence that I should not bring insult unto thy house.  Pray tell, would you that I should grovel before thee in penance?”

Then with a grin on his face Jorem said, “Then again, maybe I should just get washed up so I can get something to eat.”

Before she could react, Jorem walked past her across the common room toward the hallway that led to the washroom.  He took the time to wash thoroughly and donned the fresh set of clothing that had been laid out for him.  Apparently someone had unpacked his things for him, as this was a set of his own clothes.

When he returned to the common room, he found it full of people.  Spotting a quiet table in an out of the way corner, Jorem seated himself and waited patiently to be served.  He could see the serving girls bustling from table to table.  Many of the customers were clambering for food and ale.  Accepting that it might be a while before his food arrived, he relaxed a bit and began studying the crowd.

Most were fighting men by the look of them, although there were a few nobles and commoners among them.  Jorem noticed that the nobles and the commoners were quiet and polite when served.  The fighting men, probably soldiers, ranged from quiet and studious to loud and obnoxious.  He found it interesting that the quality of dress of the soldiers did not correlate to their actions.  He did notice, though, that the boisterous soldiers were very careful not to annoy the quiet ones.

Linda appeared at his table with a bowl of stew and a large mug of water.  “So here’s where you’re hiding,” she said as she set the bowl and mug on the table.  “That act you put on was precious.  I’ve not seen Daisy speechless for ages.”

“I hope she knows that I wasn’t being serious,” Jorem replied.  Then as something occurred to him he asked, “So, what was the wager and did you win?”

A big grin covered Linda’s face.  “Oh, I won alright.  They all figured you’d have a fit.  Thanks to you, I got tomorrow off so I’ll get to go to the festivities after Pertheron’s knighting.”

“Is that why there are so many people here tonight?” Jorem asked.

“That’s right.  As soon as word got out that we had room ‘cause of the King not staying, they came in droves.”  A look of concern crossed Linda’s face.  “Are you okay with being left on your own?”

Jorem felt emotions starting to squeeze inside his chest and he pushed them aside.  Plastering a weary smile on his face he sighed and said, “I’m really too tired to care right now.”  Then to keep the conversation away from himself, asked, “Are all of these people going to the knighting?”

“Only a few. The chapel won’t hold more than twenty or so,” Linda replied looking around.  “The rest of them will gather outside the keep to show their support.  Perth is very popular with the fighting men around here.  Not just the army, but the mercenaries as well.  I’d best get back to serving.  Wave if you want some more stew.”

She walked away and Jorem focused on eating his stew.  He was about halfway through his first bowl when a plate laden with cheese and fruit slid onto his table.  Jorem looked up to find Daisy standing somewhat abashedly by his table.

“Sorry I talked to you like that,” she said, avoiding looking Jorem in the eye.  “I only did it on a dare.  You won’t tell the Duke or nothing, will ya?”  That last came out as almost a plea.

“Actually,” Jorem said as he set down his spoon, “it felt kind of nice to be treated like a normal person.  Having a lady treat me as if I were kin isn’t an experience I’m used to.  But it sure beats being fawned over.  So are you the one who gets to cover for Linda tomorrow?”

“Yes,” she said with a resigned sigh.  “I should’ve knowed better.  You was the one that stayed, and willingly too.  Not like them others.  They was like whipped pups with their tail between their legs a runnin’ fer home.  If it’s them as is gonna’ rule after the King, I sure hope that weapons guy can knock some sense into them.”

“Weapons Master Gregorio,” Jorem replied, nodding.  “If it can be done, he’s the man to do it.  Given free reign, I think he could turn a blind man into an expert archer.”

“Well, here’s hopin,” she said.  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she yelled over her shoulder at a table of men complaining about not being served.  “You best finish up and get some sleep,” she said to Jorem as she walked away.

As tired as he felt Jorem decided to do just that.  Morning was going to come all too soon as it was.  Soaking up the last drops of stew with a piece of bread and washing it down with a drink of cold water Jorem finished his meal.  Once in his room he slipped off his boots and lay down on the bed.  He had intended to put on his nightclothes but his weariness overcame him and he fell asleep as he was.

Chapter XIV

It couldn’t have been more than a moment or two after Jorem had fallen asleep when there was a tapping at his door. The door creaked open and a candle floated into his room.

A child’s voice whispered, “Master Jorem, its morning sire”.

“Not master,” Jorem said groggily, thinking this had to be a dream. “It’s just Jorem”.