Book 1: Chapter 30

by Barbara Boyer

[Wherein Sir Gareth of Tairne takes charge of the boys.]

Knowing he was going to be late, arguing that no one could tell the time with the sun behind thick clouds, Brandon dashed down one of the side staircases.  When his boots slipped on the slick stones, he tried to regain his balance by swinging his shield back, but the heavy shield pulled him down and the seat of his hose hit the step with a loud thwack.

“Ow!” he yelled.  Then, “Shit,” he muttered.  He stared grimly at the sky. The mist is going to fall all day.  Maybe, practice will be called off.  Before he completed the thought, Brandon saw the look on Gareth’s face when Melvon had been stupid enough to ask, “If it rains tomorrow, will we be expected on the field?”

Gareth’s eyebrows had arched slightly over his icy blue eyes.  “It’s practice every day – rain or sunshine, hot or cold.  I thought I made that clear.  War doesn’t wait for a sunny mild day so you’ll be trained to fight efficiently in any weather.  Does someone else need further clarification?”

All the boys had lowered their eyes and shaken their heads, but Gareth had waited, and not very patiently, until each one of the twenty boys had said, “No, Sir Gareth.”

Everyone heard the whip crack in the words even though Gareth had used the same even tone, “Good.  I don’t like to repeat myself.”

You, Brandon, were stupid enough to try and make that cut so you’d be able to fight with the best boys.  Now, you’ll have Gareth breathing down your neck.  Stupid, stupid move.  Gareth won’t let you ease up now.  If you do and he pushes you back with the less talented boys, you’ll be humiliated in front of all of Tairne.

“Shit,” he muttered again.  The seat of his hose was wet and he could feel one or two bruises forming.  And I’ll have to sit on a saddle for hours.  Wonderful.  He started a little more cautiously down the steps until he remembered he was going to be late and then he ran to the stables.

For a while, Brandon leaned against the open stable doors to catch his breath before he walked quickly inside.  Keld raised his fine chestnut head, but unfortunately, Gareth raised his head, too.

“You’re late, Sir Brandon.”

Since nothing he could say would mollify Gareth, Brandon walked quickly to the saddle rack and took down his saddle.  There was one thing he could say and he guessed it had better be the truth.  “It won’t happen again, Sir Gareth.”

“If it does, Brandon, you’ll be standing at attention, alone, on the practice field for several hours.  The practice starts when I arrive on the field so I sincerely hope you know what I’m going to say.  I won’t repeat myself.”  Gareth clicked his tongue and Duir moved forward.

Who the hell does Gareth think he is?  Brandon swung the saddle over Keld’s back.  Small beads of perspiration formed on Brandon’s forehead.  Gareth knows who he is – the next Lord of Tairne.  You really messed up, Brandon.

“You know how to do this, right, Keld?  I sincerely hope you remember what Gareth taught you.”

********

Even from a distance, Gareth could see how nervous the boys were.  The line of horses and their owners was loose and shifting up and back.  The horses’ heads went up, down, and then moved from side to side.  Barely able to control themselves, the boys were incapable of controlling their horses.  Better now than in Tairne’s line or on a battlefield.  Far too many boys were lost their first time out because they couldn’t control their horses.

When he saw Gareth riding closer, Erim sat up straighter in his saddle and raised his right hand in a salute.  Gareth returned the greeting.  I do hope you work out, Erim.  He should, Gareth reassured himself.  Few of the Lord’s retainers had any patience at all, but Erim seemed to have a great deal.  He gets along well with Aelfric, with most of the men.  The expression on Erim’s face was amused, but he was trying to keep it in check.

“Good day, Sir Gareth,” he called out.

Feeling the tension increase until it filled the air like the mist, Gareth rode up.  “Good day, Erim.  The boys seem nervous.”

“Scared shitless, I’d say.”  When Sir Gareth dismounted, Erim followed.  “The horses are in worse shape.  I tried to picture this line.”  Erim nodded toward the boys.  “Going up against an opposing army and it was all I could do to keep from laughing. Then I pictured myself with them and it was no longer so amusing.  Yours is a good idea, sir.  Too much was left to chance in the past.  Some boys caught on quickly.  And others.  You know, as well as I, they never did.”

And never will, Gareth thought.  They paid for their lack of training with their lives.

“I’m honored to help.”

“Good.  I’ll inspect the horses and get this line in shape.”

Whatever preening the boys had been doing to cover their nervousness stopped immediately when Sir Gareth started walking toward them.  Deflating in his presence, they looked very young.  The moment Gareth started down the line, Brandon, hoping Gareth wouldn’t notice him, dismounted, and slipped Keld into the far end of the line.

Gareth finished his inspection of Selby’s horse and then announced, “The practice begins when Erim or I arrive.  No one will be late again.”

“No, Sir Gareth,” the boys chorused.

Selby started to tremble and Gareth placed his hand lightly on the boy’s shoulder.  Worrying about what he might have done wrong, Selby flinched a little under Sir Gareth’s hand.

“You and your horse know each other well.”

Having expected a reprimand, Selby let the surprise he felt at Sir Gareth’s words show on his face.

“Yes, Sir Gareth, we do.  I raised him from a foal.”

“You have a wise father, Selby.  Now tell me the horse’s name.”

Selby blushed bright red.  “Duir,” he mumbled.

Helden, the next boy in line, was trying to stand at attention and still crane his neck to hear what Sir Gareth was saying.

“Speak up, Selby,” Gareth ordered.

“Duir.”  Selby closed his eyes.  When he opened them again, he saw a small smile curving Sir Gareth’s lips.

“While you’re standing at attention and holding Duir’s reins, what’s he doing?”

Selby watched his horse shifting up and back, raising his head and shaking it, a manifestation of how nervous Selby felt.

“He’s shifting around.  He’s very nervous.”

“Because you are.  If you follow instructions carefully, I won’t harm you, Selby.  The real harm will come if your horse is out of control because you are.  Your sword work is good so there’s no reason to worry that you won’t do as well on horseback.  You wouldn’t be here if Aelfric and I didn’t think highly of your talent.

“While I take a look at the other horses, I want you to concentrate on staying alert but relaxed.  Here.”  Gareth placed his right hand on the boy’s solar plexus.  “I want the fluttering gone and a calmness inside.  Duir will settle down as soon as do.  Feeling and keeping that inner stillness is one of the most important things you’ll have to do, Selby.”

“Yes, Sir Gareth.”  Perplexed by the command, Selby was still pleased by Sir Gareth’s praise and he felt himself beginning to relax a little.

Slowly, Gareth made his way down the line and repeated the same calm instruction to each boy until he reached Brandon.  Since they both knew what Gareth expected of them, Brandon and Keld were standing very still at the end of the line.

“Well done, Sir Brandon,” Gareth praised.  “But this doesn’t excuse your tardiness.”

“No, Sir Gareth.”

His eyes on his brother’s face, Gareth allowed some time for Brandon to think about the warning, and then he turned sharply and walked over to Erim who was watching the transformation of the straggling boys and nervous horses into a straight, fighting line worthy of Tairne’s best retainers.

“Turn your heads to the right,” Gareth ordered.  “Now to the left.  When I ride onto the field tomorrow, this is what I expect to see.  You’re dismissed.”

Visions of themselves galloping across the field, swinging their swords, and yelling Tairne’s war cry like the men they’d watched so often faded quickly.  Bewildered, they gazed at one another.  Then, one by one they started gravitating toward Sir Brandon who had seemed to know what he was doing.

When the group was assembled around him, Sir Brandon smirked a little.  “As Sir Gareth always says, the control is the most important thing to learn.”

After he watched the boys for a while, Gareth turned to Erim.  “I want you to keep sharp eyes on Sir Brandon.  He’s good, but he’s lazy.  I don’t want him to step over any lines I’ve drawn.  If he’s late again, he and his horse will be standing at attention after practice until I dismiss him.  That goes for the other boys as well.”

“Yes, Sir Gareth.”

********

Raucous laughter and loud talking spilled from Shoban the Younger’s rooms into the corridor.  The men were getting drunk and Gareth surmised that his brother would be inebriated faster than the others.  It had been cowardly to put off this confrontation.  Cowardly, ha, Gareth told himself.  This was the only time you’ve had free all day.

A little tipsy himself, Sean opened the door.

“Tell, Sir Shoban, I’d like to see him in private.”

“Yes, Sir Gareth,” Sean hiccuped.

Gareth let the disapproval show on his face, but since Sean saw Gareth’s face and the entire world through a rosy tint, he grinned warmly at Sir Gareth.

“Right now, Sean.”  Gareth raised his voice to be heard over the noise in Shoban’s bedroom and the haze of mead in Sean’s head. “Never mind.  I’ll see to it myself.”

After Gareth moved Sean out of his way, he walked through Shoban’s sitting room and into his bedroom.  It took a moment for the men to notice Gareth’s presence, but when they did, the laughter and the talking stopped.

“Sir Gareth,” they mumbled.

“I’d like a word with Sir Shoban.  In private.”

“Sir Gareth,” Shoban roared.  “Sir Shoban doesn’t want a word with you.”  Shoban waited for the laughter, but none came.  Instead, the men started to walk unsteadily out of the room.

“Come back,” Shoban ordered.

“They’re not drunk enough to heed that command, Shoban,” Gareth said quietly.  “You and I need to talk.”

“No, Gareth, we don’t.”  Shoban sat up straighter in bed and crossed his arms firmly over his broad chest.  “You and I have nothing to say to one another.  Even from here, I can see Tairne’s ring flashing on your finger.”  Shoban held out his right hand and looked at his own ring.  “See mine, Gareth.  Take a look at how much it’s worth to be named Lord Shoban’s successor,” Shoban complained bitterly.  “One day, you’ll lie wounded in bed and Gordon will be wearing the new, shiny ring.”

“Not Gordon.  Gordon’s dead, Shoban.”

Shoban waved his hand impatiently.  “Brandon then.  Or Culann.  Or what’s the other boy’s name?”

“Duncan.”

“That’s right.  Duncan.  And then we’ll see how you feel, Sir Gareth.”

“I didn’t want this, Shoban.”

“You’ve wanted this from the moment you were born, Sir Gareth.  Shoban spat on the floor.  “You think I’m too stupid to know that.”

“I didn’t want this,” Gareth repeated.

“But you wanted the allowance, didn’t you?  I’ve watched you count your gold and silver.  Worry over every copper coin.   You’re a miser, Gareth.  You cheated me each and every time we divided the spoils.  You’ve been cheating me for years.  Now, you’ve done the final cheat.  My position.  My allowance.”

“I don’t have your allowance.”  Gareth ran his hand through his hair.  “The Lord said nothing about an allowance.”

“Not the Lord.  Ferghus.”  Shoban’s voice was edged with tears now.  “Ferghus scurried in like the rat he is and announced it.”

“It’s a mistake, Shoban.  I’ll speak with the Lord.  Unless you mend enough to fight in the spring, you’ll need your allowance.”

“You’ll speak with the Lord?”  Shoban blinked back his tears.

“Yes, there’s some mistake.  You’re still his eldest son.”

“Yes.”  Shoban grasped at the straw.  “I am.  He can’t cut me off without even a piece of copper.”  Shoban smiled, but then frowned.  “What are you waiting for, Gareth?  Go see the Lord.  You don’t expect me to get out of my sick bed.  And send the men back in.  We were having a good time before you arrived.”

Reminding himself that his brother was very ill, possibly near death, Gareth tried one more time.  “You and I need to speak about what this means for our futures, brother.  If you mend –”

“The Lord will have to give everything back to me.”

“And if he won’t?”

“He’ll have to, Gareth.  I’m his eldest son.  And you’ll be nothing again.”  Shoban chuckled.  “So, I’ll mend quickly. Wait and see.”

Gareth walked up to the head of Shoban’s bed.  “He might not do it even if you mend.  You and I need to decide how we’ll handle things if he doesn’t.”

“I see.”  Shoban pointed his finger at Gareth.  “You want to tell me what scraps you’ll be willing to throw to me?  I’m not interested in listening, Gareth.  And Tairne’s army will support the rightful heir.  Now, see about my allowance.  No, wait.  Why should I trust you?  Tell the Lord I want to see him.”

“I’ll do that, Shoban.”  Gareth turned sharply on his heel and stalked out.

“Send the men back in,” Shoban called after him.

********

Hearing the anger in every step he took reverberating in the corridor, Gareth slowed his pace and finally stopped.  It’s your own fault, Gareth, you should never have visited Shoban before you had to see the Lord.  Why did you think that being near death would change the man?  Gareth started to walk again more slowly toward his father’s apartment.

“The Lord wants to see me, Ferghus.”

“He does, Sir Gareth.  Go right in.”

When Gareth walked in, Lord Shoban raised his head from his private supper.  “Would you like something to eat, Gareth?”

“Thank you.  No, my lord.”  Gareth pulled out a chair and sat down facing his father.

Still chewing, Shoban cut another piece of the roast beef.  “I want you to go to Roarke, Gareth.  Deliver our regrets that Shoban’s dead and won’t be able to marry Phidia.”

“He’s not dead, my lord.”

“Not at the moment.”  Shoban waved his fork at Gareth and the piece of meat flopped up and down.  “But soon.  He’ll be dead soon.  Unless, of course, you want Phidia.”

“Your word to Penvale is firm, my lord.”

Shoban chewed the meat and swallowed.  “It is.  I’ve no desire to break my word to Penvale.  But you could have two wives, Gareth.”  Shoban chuckled.  Since Gareth didn’t respond, he continued, “Leave in a month.”  When Gareth’s eyebrow went up slightly, the Lord argued, “We don’t want to seem too accommodating.  But, stress this is a friendly act, freeing Roarke and his daughter.  Then stop in Penvale, send my affection.  Come next spring, we’ll have your wedding, Gareth.”

“I want to stop in Penvale before and after I see Roarke, my lord.”

“Why?”  Shoban drained the ale, poured himself another.  “To see the lady?  Hot for her, are you, Gareth?”

Yes, my lord, I plan to throw Rose on the ground and ravish her, Gareth thought.

As if he had read that thought, Shoban said, “See you don’t get her with child.  I don’t want the wedding date moved up.  Cedric will force that if she’s pregnant, Gareth.”

“She’s still very young, Lord Shoban, I’m content to wait until next spring for the wedding.”

“Good.  Which of my retainers do you want to accompany you?”

“I think that choice should be yours, Lord Shoban.”

Gazing at his son’s expression, Shoban tapped his plate with his fork.  “And that’s a very good idea.  You’re dismissed,” he ordered, but Gareth didn’t move.

“Shoban tells me you’ve cut off his allowance.  That it’s to go to me.”

“So?”

“I wonder why you said nothing to me.”

“Why would I?  It’s not negotiable, Gareth.  You’ll get what’s due my heir and nothing more.”

“I don’t want more, Lord Shoban.  I want you to be fair to my brother.  Because you pronounce him dead, doesn’t make him so.  He’s your eldest son.”

Shoban picked up his knife and cut another piece of meat.  “You’re dismissed, Sir Gareth.”  When Gareth still didn’t move, Shoban growled, “You’re Lord only after I’m dead, sir.  You take orders from me; you don’t give them.  That’s not changed.  I won’t support a worthless, dying man.  Get out.  You’re disturbing my digestion.”

“This discussion isn’t over, Lord Shoban,” Gareth growled back.  “Think how you’ll appear to your men if you mistreat your eldest son.”

Shoban slammed his fist on the table.  “What happens in my household doesn’t concern my men, sir.”

The Lord placed his palms flat on the table, leaned back, and considered Gareth for a while before he spoke.  “Shoban hates you, Gareth.  So, what is this about?  If you want to war with me, why choose Shoban as the battleground?  And remember if you war with me, son, Tairne is weakened.  A weak Tairne, dangerous.  Not just for you and me, but for your younger brothers and your lady when she’s here.  Think about that, Gareth.  I know we have our differences, but I’m prepared to put them aside for Tairne.  You’d be wise to do the same.  That, Gareth, is a threat, don’t mistake me.”

Gareth ground his teeth silently and the muscle in his jaw twitched.  He’s right, Gareth, Shoban hates you and warring with the Lord is a dangerous game.  Too dangerous if you’re unsure of the outcome.

“I’ll leave for Roarke in a month, Lord Shoban.”

“Good.  I know you can be reasonable when you want to be.”  Lord Shoban belched.