The Wayward Minstrel Inn in the Village of New Hull, XIV Harfesting, Pentian Year Nine Hundred and Seven. After Vespers.
Coric, Hamral, St. James, Mendelor, Friar Sidrach Landry, Valerius.
Friar Sidrach takes a long, ruminative sip of his ale before speaking again.
“We have already bitten off more than we can chew. For it is well known that a man who eats just enough shalt surely be sated, but a man who eats overmuch shalt surely contend with a vicious cycle of the vapors. Mayhap we would be better off leaving Heremac to its own dark secrets and press onwards to less dangerous places?
“It doesn’t sound as if Lownell manor holds the items Godwin seeks. Perhaps the items lie with this bastard son you spoke of, Mendelor.”
Mendelor shrugs. Valerius slowly draws his fingers through his strange, mustache-less beard, and murmurs softly.
“Hmmm—Yes. Friar, you have guessed very closely—but I’m afraid that the answer to this riddle is more complicated than ‘apples.’ Let us withdraw to that corner beyond the perception of any others.”
Valerius draws up his tall, lanky form and moves to a dim, unoccupied corner of the room. Several party members hesitate before St. James mutters, “What the Hell,” and moves to join Valerius. The others soon follow suit. If any strangers in the common room notice this odd activity, they do not outwardly acknowledge it. Valerius even seems to smile wistfully as Coric, the last straggler, draws a stool up to the new table.
“Good,” says Valerius in a muted voice. “Now attend: The bastard son of the Baronet is none other than ‘His Lordship’! And what Godwin’s master wants is for us to dispose of Lownell.”
“Surely, Valerius, you jest!” cries St. James, but the lanky man holds up a long-fingered hand.
“Perhaps you believe this to be wild conjecture. Reconsider—for now enough of the game pieces are revealed that I may conceive of what we have been playing. It is all so very clear to me now.
“We know that His Lordship in fact has some sort of claim to nobility. But a noble has no need to steal: he has his taxes, lands, and inheritance. So why would His Lordship associate with rucks, thieves, and brigands? The answer is elementary.
“Here is my thesis: the Baronet fathered a bastard. Lownell loved him, but could offer his illegitimate son nothing. After all, the Baronet has two full sons to whom he must leave both his wealth and his title. Imagine the hatred and jealousy that grew in this bastard son—born first, unless I miss my guess.
“Imagine! Denied of what he thought to be rightfully his by a technicality of his birth. Always to be nothing but the lord’s bastard. The only way to get what he wanted was to take it. But that would require great wealth and an army, of which he had neither. So the bastard son decides that he must steal what he needs and raise and support his army in that way.
“Initially, he finds that things are going quite well—perhaps he is a natural leader. His robbers rob; his army arms. Soon he will be ready. But he must move before his father dies and his brothers secure the title. All he lacks now is time.
“But then something happens that the bastard son had not counted on. He encounters a rival bandit: Godwin’s Master. The rival bandit is not appreciative of His Lordship’s successes—possibly they have cut into his business or some such thing as this.
“So then a small war breaks out between these two groups. And it is in this war that we have become entangled.
“Godwin’s Master knows that if the Baronet is killed before His Lordship is ready to arrogate the Lownell title, then it will be a grave blow to His Lordship. The bastard will be without his father’s support and His Lordship’s brothers will be able to secure their position and move against him.”
Valerius folds his long fingers together and leans back. The rest of the group takes a moment to absorb these words.
Friar Sidrach is the first to speak.
“Ah, your hypothesis sounds intriguing, Valerius. Most intriguing. If this bastard son is indeed His Lordship, who is doted upon by the Baronet, he would be most upset if his father were the target of some unfortunate event. If the Baronet were to expire or disappear, His Lordship would lose his financial backing, for Steven and Edgar would certainly refuse their half-brother’s request for assistance.”
Valerius nods. “As you can plainly see, I am correct. And we still seem to be pinned between the forge and the fire. Stealing something from some rich lordling to save our lives was not an action that I considered unconscionable—but kidnapping and killing a kindly old man, that is something else entirely. And yet if we do not, then surely Godwin will see to our demise. To all of you, I’m sure that this must seem an impossible dilemma. But fear not—for as we walked over to this corner, I conceived a plan.”
St. James slaps his hand to his forehead and cries, “By the Five, Valerius, are you mad? The whole purpose of running off was to get as far away as possible without getting in any deeper! Fetch me a Blackbelly—I think my wits are failing me! It makes Garnfellow seem sensible! If I’d had any idea something like this would happen, I would have stayed in Heremac with Mags like she so desired.”
Valerius hisses at the young man to keep his voice down.
“Hear me out before making any hasty declarations. Here is my proposal—it is moderately complex, so listen carefully. Friar Sidrach shall go to Lownell manor and meet the Baronet and his sons, and then communicate our plans to Clement. The friar will get to know the brothers’ disposition towards their half-brother. Also, the friar will need to arrange some type of hunt or horse ride with the Baronet, Sir Garnfellow, himself, and as few guards as possible. It is imperative that the two brothers do not attend.
“Sidrach, you will have two days to get to know everyone and one additional day in which to set up this trip. Once this is done Clement will leave to tell us the details. If any new information surfaces in the meantime then we will alter the plan accordingly. Clement will then leave with Mendelor and Coric and head towards Heremac. Once in Heremac, Coric and Mendelor shall go to Andrew Penney’s home and pay him to tell us if we are being watched by Godwin and if so, how closely. If this information seems critical then Clement will race back to tell us.
“Either way, Coric and Mendelor will travel to the Corbiestone to deliver this message to Godwin and his master…” Here Valerius unrolls a scroll of parchment and begins to write down words, reading aloud as he works.
“We have what you want but will not do what you want. We are not ruck murderers. We did not realize how great a risk you were asking of us when we made the deal. We judge it to be unfair. If you want the job done then come and do it yourself and bring some gold to pay us for our efforts. Meet us at Calson Ford at noontide on the XXIV of Harfesting. Any tricks, or if you fail to show up, the old man walks and we tell everyone we can everything that we know about you and your operation.”
Valerius rolls the parchment back up, and unrolls a second one before continuing.
“Clement will also deliver a message—but his will be to Tim, to be delivered in turn to His Lordship. It reads thus:
Your enemy and ours has blackmailed us into kidnapping your beloved father. We want no trouble with you but were forced into this situation. We offer you a solution to this dilemma; we lure Godwin and his master into a trap and you can be there to finish him. As you know, these people are dangerous; please do not insult us by sending mere lackeys to do this job. Also, a bit of gold would be a nice touch. They are to be at Calson Ford on the XXIV of Harfesting at Noontide. I do hope that you can attend for if you do not we will have no choice but to bow to the wishes of our mutual enemies.
“On the day of the hunting trip Hamral, Saint James, Friar Sidrach, and myself shall as gently as possible kidnap the Baronet…” At this, St. James groans; Valerius frowns and continues. “Kidnap the Baronet and transport him via wagon—which Saint James will have secured for us previously—to Calson Ford.”
“Where is this Calson Ford?” asks Coric.
“It’s an hour’s ride south and east of Lownell,” says Mendelor. “In a lightly wooded copse.”
Valerius nods and continues. “Father Sidrach will return to the castle—after Hamral has sufficiently roughed him up so as to make it believable—and tell a tale of masked men who kidnapped their father and how while hiding in the woods he heard their plan. The plan will implicate the Lordship and will let Steven and Edgar know to be at Calson Ford on the fourteenth day of Harfesting a little after noontide, when they can save their father and finish their half-brother. If the brothers do not seem interested, then Sidrach could mention that their half-brother is amassing an army of ruck-men and brigands.
“If my calculations are correct then first Godwin will arrive, then His Lordship. These two and their forces will battle over each other; then, when the battle is almost over, the brothers will arrive, destroying any who remain and putting a capstone on the entire enterprise. At this point we will have destroyed both of our enemies and made a friend with two future lords—all without drawing our swords.”
“A kidnapping! How could I participate in such an act?” exclaims Friar Sidrach. “But then, I suppose it is the only way—but only as long as no one is harmed. Your plan, Valerius, is a sound one. If it succeeds, then all of our current troubles will fall by the wayside. I will go along, but only if the others agree; otherwise, we head for the Blackwell.”
Mendelor nods in approval. “This sounds like a good plan to me,” he says. “Let’s get cracking.”
“And yet,” says Coric softly, “We must be very careful. With the Baronet. We, uh, cannot harm him. Right?”
“Yes, quite right, Coric,” says Valerius, absently.
“Then I too shall offer my skills!” declares Coric.
“Hamral?” asks St. James. “What do you think of this ridiculous ‘plan’?”
The tall fighter grimaces and scratches his head for a moment before answering.
“It’s a mistake,” he says. “But I don’t want to be left out to dry all by myself.”
St. James sighs. “If Valerius wants to throw himself to the hounds,” he says, “I suppose I might as well watch and possibly gather up the pieces afterwards. However, I want to make it plain that I think this entire endeavor is suicide and is on Valerius’s head. And I have a few demands.”
“Yes?” asks Valerius, wearily.
“First,” say St. James, “Hamral and I shall have charge of choosing the site of our base camp as well as the site of the abduction. Further, I will have a horse and some gold: when this plan falls apart I want to be able to get far away from Lownell…”
“A horse!” exclaims Mendelor.
“Yes, a horse,” says St. James. “And what’s more, I think that we should all be masked when we may a grab for the Baronet…”
But Valerius holds up his hands in protest. “In time, In time,” he cries. “We shall negotiate such trifles in goods time. But for now, it is enough that we all agree to this undertaking.”
“So Valerius, may I ask when the friar leaves?” says Coric.
“On the morrow,” answers Valerius. At this, the friar quaffs his mug of ale.
“I think it would be wise if I spoke with the Baronet’s sons, Steven and Edgar. Mayhap they would be of aid to us in some way. In the meantime, the rest of you could set up the rest of our plan. Provisions and a safehouse in the least. Give me a few days.”
“Excellent, good friar,” says Valerius. “A few days it is.”
“Well, lads,” says St. James, “Let us fill our stomachs with food and barley, as we me not have such luxury for some time yet to come.
The Wayward Minstrel Inn in the Village of New Hull, XVI Harfesting, Pentian Year Nine Hundred and Seven. Nones.
Coric, Hamral, St. James, Mendelor, Valerius.
Outside the Minstrel Inn it is raining, a cold, hard, and dark rain. Inside the patrons grumble about the fields of grain that have yet to be cut, and how this winter is bound to be longer and colder than last winter. The party sits apart from everyone else in a corner, reviewing the plan over and over again, searching for weaknesses or omissions. The door opens, and a thoroughly drenched and wretched Clement steps in from the rain. He goes directly to the roaring fire to warm his hands; then, after getting himself an ale, proceeds to the table.
“Clement,” says Valerius. “We didn’t expect you for a few days yet.”
“Oh, I’m going back,” says the young scholar. “The friar is still gathering information, but I thought I would sneak away and fill you in on what we now know. But first, I must take care of my poor throat.” And with that, Clement drains his entire flagon in a few long gulps. “There—that’s better. By the Five, it’s raw out there.”
“Now tell us what you’ve learned,” says Valerius.
“We’ve been able to learn a lot about the bastard son,” says Clement. “Lownell is really a very small holding. It’s hard to keep many secrets. I say, I need another ale.”
Valerius gestures to Coric, who soon returns with a frothy mug.
“Much thanks, lad,” says Clement. “Blessed is the generous host, say the scriptures. Now—the bastard son. His name is John; Sir John. Right now he is said to be in Canglen. He was supposed to be in Lownell right now, but he wrote a few weeks ago to say that he would be delayed.”
“So, what do we know about this… Sir John,” says Valerius. Clement takes a deep drink.
“I’ve been thinking,” says Clement, “that his story would make a fine ballad someday. Harken, good friends, to the tale of Sir John the Bastard. Over a score of years ago, Lord Richard was a young man, with fire in his belly. He was a fierce and mighty knight on horse and on the battlefield, and as a reward for exemplary service, the Count of Kirke granted to this Richard the lands that would become Lownell.
“Now the young Baronet was wild and reckless; he had a wife, hand-chosen for him by the Count, but nevertheless the restless Baronet would sometimes seek pleasure in the arms of pretty peasant girls. This John was the by-blow of such a dalliance. But as Lord Lownell grew older, he had two sons by his lawful wife, and in time he ceased his wild ways and came to love his wife, and felt shame for the indiscretions of his youth.
“Now these two boys, Steven and Edgar, grew up straight and tall and good, enjoying all the privileges of being a lord’s son. But meanwhile, poor John lived outside the manor house in a hovel, scarce better off than any other peasant. And so the bastard was raised in poverty, unacknowledged, forced to watch his father: so close, and yet so very far.
“Well, in time the Baronet’s beloved wife died giving birth to a fourth son, who also died. And Lord Lownell was sore aggrieved. And he became remorseful about his illegitimate son John. So he brought the boy into the manor house, and tried to amend the years of neglect. Edgar and Steven were sent away to squire for other knights. But Lord Lownell could not so send John away, so had his own son squire for him. Eventually he made the boy a knight.
“Perhaps the old man was trying to assuage his own guilt; but in any case, he spoiled the boy. And young John knew all too well how to use this affection to his advantage. He could cajole anything out of the old man. And while the manorfolk of Lownell could see how cruel and lazy and duplicitous this John was, he was always able to con his father. To Lord Lownell, John could do no wrong. No offense was so great but that John could not convince his father that it was not his fault.
“And nothing delighted this John more than to get his half-brothers into mischief. In time Steven and Edgar grew to resent this cuckoo who had usurped their rightful place in their father’s heart.
“After Steven and Edgar were made knights themselves, they returned to Lownell with their own squires, and there they wait still. Since they arrived a couple of years ago, Sir John was been seen less and less. It is said that he has had audiences with Bishop Martin himself. In any case, Sir John seems to have somehow acquired great riches. He frequently sends sumptuous gifts to his father, gold and spices, and whatnot.”
“Very interesting,” says Valerius. “I begin to perceive the pattern. Who else have you met at Lownell?”
“Again, it’s really quite a small place. John’s mother, Maud, lives in the manor house.”
“Really?” asks Valerius. “And what is her relationship with the Baronet.”
“Actually,” says Clement. “The Baronet has very little to do with her. She works as a weaver for him. But all of the manorfolk fear her greatly—to cross her is to cross John, and hence chance the Baronet’s wrath. I’ve met her: she is a haughty, sly-looking crone.”
“Who else?” asks St. James.
“Well,” says Clement, “There is Claudius, Lord Lownell’s seneschal. I’ve actually seen very little of him; he’s always on the move. An older man, also quite haughty, and quite boring, from what I understand. A veritable wellspring of unsolicited advice. Claudius has been the chief advisor to the Baronet for many years. But since Steven and Edgar have returned, Claudius’s influence has been on the wane. But what’s this—I do seem to have an empty mug!”
After Coric returns with another full one, Clement resumes his story.
“Of course, there is Sir Steven and Sir Edgar. There are as wild and rambunctious as their father, given to much mischief. Steven is the oldest and is the wilder of the two. He is mirthful and enjoys drinking; Edgar is somewhat quieter and contemplative. Perhaps he would have made a good monk.
“Then here is Master Toby, a young squire to Sir Steven. He’s but a boy, not even as old as Coric here. But he’s a sweet lad. Master Hamet is squire to Edgar; Hamet has a prideful, violent temper to match his wild red hair. He’s always throwing tantrums and beating peasants or animals or such. Just the other day Steven knocked Hamet off his horse in front of the manorfolk, and I thought Hamet’s head was going to burst it turned so red.
“Mendelor met Yorick the huntsman when he was at Lownell. Yorick seems a decent enough fellow. Father Alan is the chaplain at Lownell; he’s a young priest, and a bit overwhelmed by his duties.”
Valerius nods at this. “Very good, Clement. Do the rest of you have any questions?”
St. James clears his throat. “What’s the layout of this manor like?”
“Lownell manor,” begins Clement, “is a motte-and-bailey—a design you can see used all along the length of the Frounter. It’s made entirely of wood, from great pines cut from the Westwoode.”
“Inexpensive and easy to erect,” adds Hamral. Clement continues.
“First, there’s a dry ditch that runs around the entire fort. Then there’s an earthen rampart eight feet high and about six feet wide at the summit. And the rampart is topped with a stout wooden palisade of sharpened stakes. You have to cross a little wooden bridge to get to the bailey. Inside the bailey are the cramped outbuildings: barracks, storehouses, smithy, stables, and kitchen.
“A second wooden bridge leads to the motte. The motte is an oval mound, made as steep as possible to impede attackers—it’s almost two rods high, topped with another palisade. Within the palisade there’s a wooden tower; this is the residence of Lord Lownell. The ground floor holds storerooms. The entrance is at the second floor, which holds the guardroom, kitchen, and larder, as well as the rooms of the commoners. The third floor is reserved for the lord and his family. And the top level had a parapet and a watchtower that looks over the Ruckish Hills.”
Hamral nods in satisfaction.
“If no one has any further questions,” says Clement, “I think I’ll make my way back to the manor. But not after I have another ale. Or two. And perhaps a game of knucklebones. I say, do any of you have any silver you’d like to lend a friend?”
The Wayward Minstrel Inn. XVIII Harfesting, Pentian Year Nine Hundred and Seven. After Compline.
Coric, Hamral, St. James, Mendelor, Valerius.
Most of the patrons are asleep. The only light in the room is from the smoky hearth. In the darkened corner, the party members sit, discussing the plan.
The door to the common room opens. Friar Sidrach sticks his head in furtively, and looks over the room. He quietly steps inside, and gingerly shuts the door. Then he heads directly for the table. Even in the half-darkness, it is clear that his face is pale and his eyes are wide.
“What is it, friar?” asks St. James. The Gerardian sits down at the table, heavily.
“Oh dear,” says Friar Sidrach, “this is most distressing news. Most distressing.”
“What is?” demands Valerius, sitting straight up.
“Lownell,” says the friar. “Terrible trouble there. Just terrible. It all began earlier this evening. We were all in the great room in the tower. Sir Steven had killed a great fat boar that morning while hunting, and we were feasting on that pig. It was a wonderful time, there were songs, and some of the peasant girls danced for the knights. At the head table sat Lord Lownell himself, beside him his sons Steven and Edgar, and beside them their squires Toby and Hamet. Young Master Toby, Sir Steven’s squire, had been deep in his cups early in the evening, and amused everyone with his besotted behavior.
“At one point, Lord Lownell stood up. ‘We have much to be thankful, this year,’ declared the Baronet. ‘A fine crop, and what’s more, no sign of ruck-men in twelve-month. Praise the Five!’ But young Toby cried, ‘Wait! Wait, I have no ale to toast.’ And everyone laughed. ‘Here, Toby,’ cried Sir Steven. ‘Drink of my cup!’ And he offered his squire a flagon. ‘Much thanks, Sire,’ said Toby, and he drained the flagon in a few gulps, and then cried ‘More ale!’ Now this got Garnfellow going. ‘By the Cup!’ cried Garnfellow. ‘That’s the spirit! More ale! More ale!’
“And everything was quite fine. But suddenly, young Toby cried out and lurched forward onto the table, scattering plates and clutching his throat. Sir Steven shouted for help, and several people rushed forward. Someone cried that Steven’s forehead was hot to the touch; several remarked that his face was pale as ash.
“And then someone cried, ‘Look at the dog!’ One of the hounds underfoot had been lapping at Toby’s discarded flagon, but now it was gagging and presently, it rolled over, let out a long, low moan, shuddered, and was still.
“The entire hall was hushed. And then, ‘Poison!’ cried Lord Lownell, looking fearfully at his own flagon. ‘Bar the gate! Let no man withdraw without my leave, on pain of death!’ And he called for his seneschal Claudius to search the manor from roof to cellar.”
“That does sound awful,” says Coric.
“Oh,” says Friar Sidrach, “May the Five have mercy on my soul, that wasn’t the worst of it.”
“What is this?” demands Valerius.
The Gerardian takes a deep breath.
“It’s Clement. One of Claudius’s men discovered a phial of poison among Clement’s belongings.”
“Damn!” cries Valerius. “I was not aware that he possessed such substances.”
“Nor I,” replies St. James. “And I’ve checked his stuff.”
The friar shakes his head. “I know not. But in any case, the Baronet has taken Clement into custody. The lord has sworn that should Toby die, Clement shall hang from the gallows by nightfall of the next day. May Saint Arleans protect him!”
“And how does this Toby fare?” asks Valerius.
“Oh dear,” says Friar Sidrach, “This is most unfortunate, most unfortunate. Master Toby is faring very badly, indeed. The lad has just been shriven and given the last rites by Father Alan, the chaplain. The boy is not expected to live much past the morrow. May the Five keep his soul.”