Theo nodded as he did the same with his axe. "Yes, I'd say so."
"I'll have to get the blacksmith to fashion me a longer tree-cutting saw the next time we need extra wide trees. Especially oak. This bloody wood is as tough as bone."
"That's a good idea, my Lord."
The two began chopping at the oak tree - one on each side - the sounds of their chopping blending with those coming from Dalwynn and Donal sixty yards away.
"My Lord," Theo began when both stopped to take a breather several minutes later, "what kind of sickness did those hogs at Lancaster have that they had to cull them all?"
Gryndall wiped the sweat from his brow and leaned against the injured tree.
"Some sort of foot and mouth sickness. They've got rot in their hooves and rot in their mouthes and they spread it to all the others because they live in such close quarters."
"And what does this sickness do?"
"It kills them eventually. But first it drives them mad."
Theo frowned. "It drives them mad? Like rabies?"
"Something like that," Gryndall answered, pushing away from the tree and resuming his chopping.
Theo picked up his axe. "And so we're sending Lancaster twenty of our hogs to replace theirs?"
Gryndall nodded as he swung the axe and sank the blade deep into the V-shaped notch he'd started.
"Yes, to replace theirs," he replied, removing his axe and swinging at the tree again. "Though it will take several years for the twenty hogs that we're providing to reproduce and build their number up to what they had."
"How many hogs did they have?" asked Theo, taking a swing at the tree and sinking the blade of his axe into it - though not as deep as Gryndall had done.
"About two hundred."
"So half of what we've got. Roughly speaking."
"That's right," said Gryndall drawing back his arms and dealing another powerful axe blow to the tree.
"That's pretty generous to offer up twenty of ours if we've only got two hundred," said Theo, adding another chop of his own to the tree.
Gryndall acknowledged the young knight's compliment with a grunt as he pushed against the tree with his feet - his blade stuck firmly in its trunk - as he tried to release it.
"Yes," he breathed, once it was finally free, "but that's what a good king must do. Right?"
"Yes, I suppose...but...and I don't mean to question your judgement, my Lord, but suppose we had some sort of sickness befall our own herd of pigs...and then perhaps it was an especially cold winter and some died...and so we were left with only two or three dozen. There wouldn't be enough pork to eat for the people here in Clarendon.What then?"
The king grinned as he swung his axe once more. "Then we'd figure out a way to get some hogs here to Clarendon. That's why I'm providing these hogs here now to Lancaster. They've had a difficulty and they need help. Same goes for all the cities of Carthal."
"Even Riordan?" asked Theo carefully.
"Even Riordan. That way, when Clarendon requires assistance, the people of Hawthorne or Brinsley - or wherever - the people there won't label me a tyrant if I take something from them that we need."
"Makes sense."
Gryndall shrugged as he dealt the tree another smashing blow with the axe. "That's just what a good king does. He takes care of all his people. From corner to corner. He treats them justly and equally. That way there's no jealousy among his subjects."
"You're a very wise king, my Lord."
"I've my father and Copernicus to thank for that."
"Well, irregardless, you're a wise king, my Lord and it is an honour to serve as your knight. My mother would be proud of if she knew I served a king like you."
"I'm sure wherever she is, she knows, Theo."
"I hope so. She wasn't religious so...I don't know what happened to her when the fever took her away."
Gryndall ceased his chopping and stared squarely at the young knight. "She's still with you. And she probably watches over you. Never forget that. And let me tell you something since we're on the subject. Simply because I don't believe in the gods does not mean I don't believe in a man's - or in this case - a woman's soul. That goes somewhere. Perhaps to another world. Perhaps it stays here and watches over us. You're a free man, Theo. You can believe what you like. That's the beauty of Carthal," he finished, taking up his axe once more.
"With the exception of course that the monks are not allowed to hold religious services here," Theo quipped.
"That's correct. Nor is any man or woman. One can harbour his or her own beliefs and Worship to whichever god or gods they choose to. Within their own homes. But there are to be no churches or monasteries or temples or synagogues on the island of Carthal. It creates too much discord."
"You are quite right, my Lord."
"I'm glad you think so. Now let's hurry up and cut this tree down. We've got two more to do before it gets dark."
Queen Ygraine is sitting on a stone bench, breastfeeding Tyrion while Lionel paces back and forth nearby, trying to decide when and how to face his parents. They're in the castle garden. There are grey cobblestones underfoot and square flower beds filled with mid-sized trees and a wide variety of plants. There is lots of leafy greenery and colour.
"Do all babies suckle like that, Aunt Ygraine?" asked Lionel, ceasing his pacing and stopping to watch her.
Ygraine nodded, smiling. "Yes."
Her voice was quiet and gentle as she gazed down at Tyrion, drinking noisily from her breast.
"Does it hurt?"
The woman laughed without making a sound and shook her head. "Goodness, no. It actually feels quite...relaxing. It's like a massage, really."
The young man's eyebrows raised in a questioning manner. "Odd."
Ygraine shrugged. "It's not odd. Baby has to eat."
Lionel nodded and resumed his pacing. "So...what do you think then?" he asked after a minute. "Of my plan."
"Of your plan to go and see your parents?"
"Yes."
Ygraine sighed and switched her gaze to some of the rare plants contained within the flower beds. Rare plants with bright purple leaves and red-mushroom shaped flowers. Plants with spindly blue tassles and yellow vines. All of which had of course been imported from distant lands during the enlightened reign of Godric.
"Well," she said slowly, looking at her nephew, "I think you should write them first. Feel them out. Find out if they're angry you left the Cycliad. Perhaps they aren't even angry. Or perhaps it's just your father and not...your mother," she said more quietly, suddenly picturing her blonde, almost twin, sister.
"Hmm."
"And then, if they write back and you get the impression they aren't angry with you, go and visit."
Tyrion's suckling abated and his face began to swell.
"Looks like you need a burp," said Ygraine with a wide smile, wiping the excess milk from his mouth and taking him on her shoulder.
"That sounds like a good idea, Aunt Ygraine."
The new mother smiled as she burped the small bundle in her arms. "That's the only kind I have, dear nephew."
Chapter Sixteen
(July 14)
Gryndall and his knights are preparing to leave the castle. They're transporting twenty hogs to Lancaster.
"We'll be back tomorrow," said Gryndall gently, embracing his wife a second time as Dalwynn, Donal, and Theo waited patiently by the castle gates.
Ygraine sighed. "I know...I just wish you didn't have to go."
Gryndall smiled and gazed into her eyes. "I wish I didn't have to go either. But it's a king's duty to ensure the peace and prosperity of his people. And Lancaster needs hogs. Otherwise what will they have for meat next winter?"
Ygraine nodded, her lips set into a pouting frown. "Everything you say makes sense...it's just...I still wish you didn't have to go."
She smiled sheepishly and stared at her husband's chest, not brave enough to meet his eyes. "I know I'm being silly..."
Gryndall kissed her foreh
ead. "I'll be back before you know it. Winifred," he said, looking at the maid who was standing several feet away, "take care of her while I'm gone."
Winifred smiled. "As though I would do anything but, my Lord."
"Just take care of her. And our baby. Keep them safe."
"I will, my Lord," the maid answered, her face growing serious to match Gryndall's own expression.
"Good. Now we really must be off if we're going to make it to Lancaster by night fall."
"Goodbye, my sweet husband."
"Goodbye, my beautiful wife. Until tomorrow."
"Until tomorrow."
"Come men!" Gryndall yelled, climbing into his saddle. "We ride for Lancaster!"
Theo, manning the carriage, cracked the reins and the four hulking oxen at the head of the carriage began to walk. The massive carriage creaked and then lurched forwards.
"Open the drawbridge!" Gryndall shouted to Morcant who was standing above on the ramparts.
The portly knight saluted and released the levers on the two wheels around which the pulley chains were wound. The wheels spun quickly, the chains unwinding, and the drawbridge fell across the moat, landing with a heavy thud which sent birds flying from the tops of trees and rodents scampering into the forest. Next, the portcullis was raised and with a final wave, Gryndall, Dalwynn and Donal followed Theo and the carriage out of the castle.
"How much longer do you reckon it'll take to get to Lancaster with this carriage, my Lord?" asked Donal once they were clear of the castle and approaching the Great Wood.
"Not sure. I've never transported a carriage full of hogs before. But, if I had to guess, I'd say about three times as long. Maybe four."
"Bloody hell," Dalwynn grumbled. "I'm going to have a sore arse tonight."
They've gone to Lancaster.
Anwir smiled as he read Morcant's letter.
"Is it good news?" asked Erik the Bald from his chair beside the fire in Anwir's chamber.
"'Tis."
"We set sail in an hour then?"
"Precisely," Anwir answered, shooing the falcon who had just delivered the letter away from the window ledge.
Erik the Bald rose from his chair and stretched his arms as though readying himself to go down for breakfast. "I shall prepare my men."
Anwir's smile grew wider. He had waited a long time for this moment.
Outside the door and listening intently stood Antolis.
He had to get word to Gryndall. And before it was too late. A letter. He'd send one immediately.
Oh, please. Please let there be enough time.
The deputy priest hurried off down the darkened corridor, his black frock billowing behind him.
Despite the slow speed of the heavy carriage, the ride to Lancaster took only twice as long as usual and the small convoy arrived at the city shortly before supper hour.
Junius, Muirfinn and Conan, the three Knights of the Order who Gryndall had assigned to Lancaster several weeks earlier, met them, and together with Mayor Hector Tweedsmuir they brought the carriage to a newly-created pasture three miles from the fort.
"That ought to do it," say the mayor, a huge smile on his face, as he slammed the gate shut.
Gryndall and the six knights standing in a semi-circle around him gave nods of approval.
"You are most generous, King Gryndall," said Jerome, the peasant who Mayor Tweedsmuir had tasked with overseeing the batch of hogs brought from Clarendon.
Pitchfork in hand, he leaned against the inside of the fence and seemed content watching the pigs settle into their new home.
"None of us knew what to expect when we had to cull all of our hogs because of the sickness."
There was an unexpected flurry of squealing as one pig pushed another away from the food trough and Jerome quickly stepped in and put a stop to it.
"HEY! ENOUGH!"
He lunged with his pitchfork and the pigs scattered, half the herd scurrying to the other side of the pasture and the other heading into the small stable that had been built to house them.
"There's no need to thank me," said Gryndall solemnly. "Just make sure to bring their number up so that the good people of Lancaster have good ham and cuts of bacon to keep them going through next winter."
"Yes, your Majesty. Of course."
Mayor Tweedsmuir emitted a jolly chuckle and turned towards Gryndall. "What's left to say? Jerome's thanked you more times and more profoundly than I could ever have, your Majesty."
Gryndall raised a hand. "Again. As your king, it is my duty to provide you with assistance whenever needed. And I will never shy away from that responsibility."
"Well, anyways," the mayor continued, "thank you. And as my way of saying thanks," he shot a quick glance towards Jerome before returning his attention to the king, "can I offer you a seat at my family's supper table?"
Gryndall shrugged as they turned and began making their way towards the horses who were tethered to the fence twenty yards away.
"I don't know. I thought I might stop at the fort," he answered eventually, glancing at the fort's lookout tower in the distance that loomed high above the tops of the trees. "I'd like to speak with the local militia and see if they have anything new to report."
"Still no leads on those murders?"
"We're working on a few theories. We've got a lead or two."
The mayor scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Well, my wife's made roast pheasant and sweet potatoes and we'd be honoured to have you as our guest. She's a big fan of yours, I should add."
Gryndall exchanged a glance with Donal. He was being roped in.
"You know it's not all you mayors that are this welcoming," said Gryndall coyly, mounting his horse and waiting for the others to do the same.
Mayor Tweedsmuir's horse was an aged grey stallion who seemed to walk with a bit of a limp and as the hefty mayor climbed on and fitted his bum into the saddle, the horse appeared to sink a half a foot into the ground.
"Really? What do you mean?"
"I mean exactly what I say. Not all of Carthal's mayors are as welcoming and hospitable as you are.."
The man shook his head. "I don't believe that, your Majesty. Not for a minute. Who wouldn't want the king of Carthal to sup at their dinner table?"
"Have you not met Mayor Kinnon of Riordan?" asked Dalwynn with a bark, butting into the conversation as he climbed into his saddle.
"Ah, yes. I have met old Kinnon. At the mayor's conference last May."
"And?"
"He's a cranky old fart."
All six knights laughed.
"But surely you don't consider me to be like Mayor Kinnon?" he asked, his eyes searching Gryndall's face.
He looked almost hurt.
"Do you?"
"Of course not. You've been a good addition to Carthal's group of mayors. What's it been now...eighteen months since you were elected?"
"Nineteen. But very close, your Majesty."
"Well, I'm glad to have you to call on when I need matters addressed in Lancaster."
"The pleasure is mine, your Majesty."
There came another volley of shouts from Jerome in the background as he sent two pigs running for cover.
Gryndall looked at the mayor. "Are you sure he knows how to handle hogs?"
"Yes, yes. Very much so. His family used to be the sole hog farmer in the region until animals came under royal jurisdiction and the city animal farms were established. He's got years of experience."
Gryndall grunted and clicked his tongue so that his horse moved forwards.
They rode in silence to the road.
"So have I convinced you yet to join me and my family for dinner?" asked Mayor Tweedsmuir once they'd reached the road. "We only live off High Street. It's not far from the fort."
Gryndall didn't answer immediately. He felt little desire to dine with the mayor's family. Even though they were probably nice people. He wanted to go to the fort in order to speak with the local militia. But then, as king, keeping your mayors
happy was equally important.
No rest for the weary...
Gryndall smiled, hiding his slight discontent. "Of course I'll join you. Men? That'll be alright?"
"Sure," Donal answered, his tone sarcastic. "You go and feast on roast pheasant and sweet potatoes while we enjoy the fine cooking of the boys at the fort!"
Gryndall couldn't help but laugh. "Such are the perks of being king, dear Donal."
"They sure do make slop," said Junius, grinning from ear to ear. "Donal's right to be concerned with the local cuisine."
"Ahem," Mayor Tweedsmuir interrupted, "but what those militia men make for you at the fort is most certainly not representative of local cuisine. In fact, I don't know that it's representantive of any class of cuisine. Boiled cabbage, sheep's liver, and muck like that. If you're lucky, you might get potatoes."
"We had sheep liver last night," Muirfinn muttered.
Gryndall sighed. His men were hard to please.
"Well, kill yourselves something on the way back to the fort then. Donal's a good shot. Have him get you a pheasant. Better yet," he said, turning to Conan who spoken much. "Make a contest of it. You two are Carthal's best archers. See who can get what between here to the fort. Loser prepares the food."
Dalwynn laughed heartily and clapped Donal on the back. "There! What do you think of that, smart mouth? Not so quick to reply now, are ya?"
The small, gaunt-faced knight thought for a second and grinned. "I think you'd better stay well behind so we don't mistake you for a wild boar!"
Dalwynn's eyes bulged at this latest insult as Donal cracked the reins of his horse and galloped down the road.
"You little..."
"Alright, enough," said Gryndall, turning to the rest of his knights. "You four make sure these two don't kill each other. Alright?"
"Yes, my Lord. And we'll come and fetch you from Mayor Tweedsmuir's in a few hours."
"Yes. Good idea lad," the mayor agreed. "You never know what sort of brigands are walking about at night. A royal carriage driver beheaded...I still can't believe it."
"How long will supper be?" asked Gryndall, ignoring the mention of Percy Goodfellow. "Does your wife intend to serve an eight course meal?"
Hector laughed. "No. But you might want eight helpings. I tell you, she's one of the finest cooks in Lancaster."