The King’s Buccaneer

Taking up their stations by the respective doors, the boys waited. After a few moments, Nicholas ventured a quiet knock. The door opened and Martin looked out and said, ‘I’ll be with you in a few minutes, Squire.’

Before Nicholas could answer, ‘Yes, Your Grace,’ the door was closed in his face.

Harry grinned and raised his hand to knock, but before his knuckles could strike wood, the door opened and Marcus stepped through. ‘You’re late,’ he snapped. ‘Come along.’ He hurried down the hallway, and Harry almost had to leap to catch up with him.

A few minutes later, Martin emerged from his bedchamber and moved down the hall without comment. Nicholas fell in behind him and followed along. Instead of heading for the main hall, as the boy expected, the Duke moved through the quiet keep to the main entrance, where stable hands were bringing out horses. Marcus and Harry could be seen riding out the gate as a servant thrust reins in Nicholas’s direction.

Martin said, ‘You can ride?’

Nicholas said, ‘Of course … Your Grace,’ he added quickly.

‘Good. We’ve no shortage of green horses that need a firm hand out.’

As he climbed aboard, Nicholas instantly found himself in a contest with the horse. A quick half-halt jerk to the mouth and a hard seat brought the fractious animal under control. The gelding was young and probably had been cut late, given the stallion-like crest of his neck and his aggressive behavior. Nicholas also didn’t care for the heavy saddle, which made contact with the animal difficult.

But Martin gave him no time for consideration of the finer points of horsemanship, having turned his animal and headed for the gate. Nicholas put heels to the sides of his mount and found he had to use a lot of leg to keep the horse moving forward. Then the explosion came: the animal bucked hard before trying to race through the courtyard. Nicholas automatically gripped with his legs, sinking down in the saddle and giving a quick and firm halt on the reins. He guided the horse into a circle, half-halting with the reins until the animal was calmed down to a nice posting trot. Then, when he was at the Duke’s side, Nicholas slowed the animal down to a walk to match the Duke’s mount.

‘Did you sleep well, Squire?’

‘Not really, Your Grace.’

‘Aren’t the quarters to your liking?’ asked Martin.

Nicholas looked to see if he was being mocked, and saw only an impassive face regarding him.

‘No, they’re adequate,’ he said, refusing to be baited into complaining. ‘It’s the newness of all this, I guess.’

‘You’ll get used to Crydee,’ Martin said.

‘Does Your Grace usually not eat in the morning?’ asked Nicholas, his stomach already noticing the absence of breakfast.

Martin smiled, a slight upturn of his mouth, much like Nicholas’s father’s half-smiles, and said, ‘Oh, we’ll break fast, but there’s always a couple of hours’ work to do before we dine, Squire.’

Nicholas nodded.

They entered the town, and Nicholas saw that the streets were already busy. Shops might still have their windows shuttered and their doors locked, but workers were already on their way to the docks, the mills, and other places of work. Fishing boats could be seen heading out of the harbor in the grey light of dawn, the sun not yet above the distant mountains. Rich smells filled the air as bakers continued the work they had begun the night before, getting ready the day’s wares.

A familiar voice cut the air as they reached the docks. ‘Get those nets ready!’ shouted Amos.

Nicholas saw that the Admiral was supervising the loading of some stores from the dockside. Marcus appeared around a corner, walking along beside a slow-moving wagon, Harry a step behind him. ‘That’s the last of it, Father,’ Marcus called.

Martin didn’t explain to Nicholas what was happening, but the Prince deduced that Martin was adding to the cargo bound to the new garrison up north. The Duke called, ‘Amos, are you going to make the morning tide?’

‘With minutes to spare,’ roared back Amos, ‘if these ham-fisted monkeys can get this cargo aboard in the next half hour!’

The dock workers seemed oblivous to the shouting, taking it as a matter of course, while they efficiently went about the business of loading the cargo nets. When they were full, the crew on the hoist raised up the cargo and swung it above the hold of the ship, lowering it down without missing a beat.

Amos came over to where Martin and Nicholas watched. ‘The hard part’s going to be unloading that mess. I figure the soldiers at the garrison can give us a hand, but it’ll still take two or three weeks to get it all off the ship by longboat.’

‘Are you going to have time for a visit on the way back?’

‘Ample,’ Amos replied with a grin. ‘Even should I be gone a month, I can spend a few days here before we head back to Krondor. If the unloading goes quickly, I might give the men a week of rest before we brave the straits.’

‘I’m sure they’ll appreciate it,’ said Martin.

As the net was quickly reloaded and the last of the cargo hauled away, Martin said to Nicholas, ‘Ride back to the castle and tell Housecarl Samuel that we’ll be up for our meal in a half hour.’

Nicholas started to turn, then said, ‘Should I return here … Your Grace?’

Martin said, ‘What do you think?’

Because he didn’t know what to think, Nicholas’s answer sounded awkward in his own ear. ‘I’m not sure.’

Martin’s tone was not scolding, but it wasn’t warm, either. ‘You’re my squire. Your place is at my side until I tell you otherwise. Return as soon as you’ve done what I’ve told you.’

Feeling somehow inadequate for not having known that, Nicholas blushed furiously. ‘At once, Your Grace.’

He set heels to the gelding and let the horse stretch out into a canter as he hurried away from the docks. Nearing the busy streets of the town he was forced to slow to a trot. Any horseman was likely to be a noble or a soldier, so most gave way as they heard Nicholas ride up behind or saw him coming. Still, he had to move cautiously. Slowing to a walk, he took in the sights around him. Shops were now opening and traders began setting their wares out in windows as costermongers displayed their produce upon their wagons, and more workers made their way to their places of employment. A couple of young women, not more than a year or two older than Nicholas, whispered to each other as he passed.

Crydee was strange to Nicholas. It was neither the rich quarters of Krondor nor the slums of the city; it was something else. The beggars one found haunting the merchants’ quarters in Krondor were absent, as well as the thieves one didn’t see, he suspected. He also doubted he’d find whores on the corner near the taverns in the evening, though he didn’t doubt there were ample ladies of salable affections in the taverns near the docks. The heavy industry, the large mills, the dyers, the tanners, the wagonwrights, and the rest, were not evident. No doubt there were some dyers and tanners in Crydee, but the reek of their trade didn’t reveal them the way it did down by the harbor in the Prince’s city.

No, Crydee was a town – A big, bustling, growing town, but not a city, and as such it was a place both wondrous and fearful to Nicholas. His nervousness at being away from home was offset by his curiosity about this new place and the people in it.

Clearing the eastern edge of the town proper, he kicked his animal into another canter and hurried toward the castle. His desire to be efficient doing Martin’s bidding was secondary to a more basic motivation: he was hungry.

• CHAPTER FOUR •

Squire

NICHOLAS STUMBLED.

Harry said as he passed his friend, ‘Hurry, or Samuel will have our ears!’

In the week since they had come to serve at Crydee, the boys had discovered their bane: Housecarl Samuel. The old steward, approaching eighty years of age, had been in the service of the ducal household of Crydee since Nicholas’s grandfather’s time. And he could still wield a stout switch.

The morning after Amos departed, Harry had stopped upon an errand to make the acquaintance of some local girls, and had returned overly late from his mission to find a tight-lipped Samuel waiting for him. When shown the switch, Harry had tried to joke his way past the punishment, for he hadn’t been whipped since leaving his father’s estates. When it was evident the old man wasn’t jesting, Harry had shrugged off the punishment until he discovered that while Samuel was old, there was nothing feeble about his switch. Nicholas had tried to avoid the same punishment, but on the third day had managed to make hash of a series of tasks for the Duke. For a while he had faintly hoped that his rank would spare him the punishment, but all Samuel said was ‘In my time I’ve switched your uncle the King, boy.’

The two Squires were racing across the courtyard to meet with their supervisor at first light. The Housecarl would inform them if there were any unusual duties to perform instead of reporting to their respective stations outside the Duke and Marcus’s rooms. Usually, they were to remain available to Martin and his son should they need the boys, but sometimes the Duke thought of something for them to do after they had gone to bed; he would pass instructions through the Housecarl.

Reaching the hall that led to the old man’s office, they found him opening the door as they hove into view. The rule was simple: if they weren’t there by the time he was seated behind the large table he used as a work desk, they were late and would be punished.

Scrambling down the hall, the two boys were through the portal as the reed-thin old man sat down. Raising one nearly white eyebrow, he said, ‘Cutting it a bit fine today, aren’t we, boys?’

Harry tried to smile, but failed in the attempt. ‘Anything special, sir?’

Samuel’s eyes narrowed a moment as he thought; then he said, ‘Harry, to the harbor and see if the mail packet from Carse came in during the night. It was due in yesterday, and if it still is not here, the Duke wants to know.’ Harry didn’t wait to see if Nicholas had anything special; when an order was given by the Housecarl, a lowly court page or squire didn’t dare linger. Samuel continued, ‘Nicholas, attend your master.’

Nicholas hurried back toward the Duke’s quarters. Now that he was no longer dashing through the still-dark corridors, he suddenly felt very tired. He was not an early riser by nature. This business of being up before sunrise was taking its toll.

From the morning after the welcoming banquet, the alien quality of being in this frontier castle was slowly being replaced with a familiar routine: either being in a hurry or standing around waiting. And the hours were from before dawn to after the evening meal. The Prince had expected things to be somewhat different, but the impact of just how different things were was beginning to gnaw at Nicholas.

He reached Martin and Briana’s chamber door and waited. If the past week’s experience was any predictor, the Duke and Duchess would both be awake and dressing and coming through that door in the next few minutes. Nicholas turned and leaned back against the wall. He gazed through a window that looked out over the courtyard and the town beyond the wall. The grey of morning was deep, and while Nicholas was becoming used to the landmarks of Crydee, there was still barely enough light to make out details. Within the hour the sun would rise, and the town would be bathed in morning brilliance – or still grey with overcast. The weather around here was very difficult to predict, Nicholas observed.

He yawned and wished he were back on his pallet. No, he corrected himself, he wished he were back in his own bed in Krondor. He had to admit that fatigue made the straw-stuffed mattress tolerable, but he would never think of it as comfortable. Nicholas still grappled with homesickness, but only in rare moments like these when he had a few minutes to think about himself. The rest of the time he was too busy.

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.

Nicholas 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 referee. 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.’