Chapter 6: Gawain and the Barbarian Kingdom
****
Weeks later, Alexander, the Duke of Lutheria, was sitting at the dinner table with his brother. He was bringing a leg of mutton to his mouth when his brother made a comment:
“You’re thinking about the princess again, aren’t you?”
Alexander’s eyes flicked to meet his brother’s. It was true. He had come to the conclusion that the princess could be called weak and sickly no more, so she was occupying his thoughts. There was no doubting the color in her cheeks or the bounce in her steps. She was even slowly beginning to fill out--it would be a while before she had her womanly curves, but she was certainly on her way. For someone who was still a child, she was becoming remarkably attractive. Before long, she would be properly termed a “beauty.”
Instead of responding to his younger brother, Alexander took a bite of his food. But he couldn’t concentrate on its taste. There was too much on his mind.
“You wish to have her for yourself,” persisted Tempos after taking a sip of wine.
Alexander looked calmly at his brother. His voice was level as he said, “That’s absurd.”
As the younger son, Tempos was doomed to stand in Alexander’s shadow. Their father’s title and most of his property had gone to Alexander, and Tempos had been forced to pursue the path of knighthood to attain a name for himself. But his jealousy toward his older brother always simmered beneath the surface, and Alexander knew to tread carefully. Such was why he was denying that he wished to take the princess for himself.
But Tempos’s heart was just as black as Alexander’s, and they knew each other well. “Don’t lie to me brother,” Tempos said dryly, plopping a grape into his mouth. “You’ll poke my eye out with your nose.”
Alexander pursed his lips. “I assure you--I have better things to think about than a child.”
Tempos gave him an obviously fake smile. “Not when that child happens to be royalty.”
Alexander fell into silence, his thoughts indeed wholly settled on the princess. He had recently received news that the princess had been spending an inordinate amount of time with a stableboy, and that news had disturbed him greatly.
“I doubt she will be able to hold a candle to your mistresses,” Tempos said lazily. “But give her a few years.”
Alexander refused to rise to the bait. Tempos was certainly not one to talk when it came to women. He had already had three wives, all of whom had disappeared under mysterious circumstances--mysterious, that was, to everyone but Tempos and Alexander, the latter of whom had worked diligently to cover up the “accidents.” Had Tempos been stupid, Alexander probably wouldn’t have bothered, even if it did tarnish the family name, but Tempos knew enough of Alexander’s heart to be a threat, and Alexander always wanted him nearby--no dungeon could hold Tempos for long . . . . He was sure of it.
“You must be careful, though,” warned Tempos. “I hear the princess has quite a temper.”
Alexander scoffed, “Women with tempers are easily dealt with.”
Tempos let loose a villainous laugh. “You’re quite right about that, brother.”
“And besides,” Alexander commented as he brought his goblet up to his lips, “a little temper is a small price to pay for a kingdom.”
“I suppose that’s true as well.”
As he took a sip of wine, Alexander reflected that he would have to speak with the king about that stableboy. Though the relationship between the boy and the princess might have been innocent enough for the time being, it could soon escalate into something much more.
And he would not have his future wife deflowered by some *peasant*. What was Alexander’s . . . was Alexander’s alone.
****
Loisette was chattering to Robert Bigmouth as he ate a sliver of cheese. “And then High Flier began nibbling at Clark’s livery!” she finished with a laugh. “You should have seen the look on Clark’s face!”
A knock on the door caused her to turn her head and Robert Bigmouth to scurry away. She stood and called out, “Come in.”
Her father swept into the room like an angry storm cloud, and her cheerful mood immediately fled. “I just received some disturbing news, Princess,” the king said, his voice dangerously low. “It seems you have been associating daily with a mere *stableboy*?”
She crossed her arms, putting on a calm front but feeling secretly frightened. She had never seen her father this furious before. “He has been teaching me how to ride horses, Daddy.”
“I should think you would have learned all you needed to know by now.”
“Daddy--”
“Princess, you should not be freely associating with stableboys and their ilk. If you wish to ride a horse, then you must take your lady-in-waiting with you.”
“But I don’t have--”
Her father cut her off again: “I have now found you the last lady-in-waiting you shall be given. Her name is Catherine, and she is the daughter of an earl who is very loyal to me. I expect you to treat her with the respect due to her.” He glared down at her. “You had better not lose this one, Loisette, or you will regret it.”
“Daddy--” she began one last time in desperation, but he would have none of her pleas.
“She will arrive tomorrow night,” he said firmly. “I had better not hear anything else about you being alone with that boy again. He is a servant, not a friend, and you would do well to remember that.” And then he stalked out of the room, the door slamming loudly behind him.
Loisette collapsed on the ground and burst out into tears. She pounded the floor with a feeble fist, feeling utterly helpless. She had finally been enjoying her life and opening her eyes to the outside world, and then her father had to spring this on her. So *what* if she was becoming friends with a stableboy? He was a human being, too! What her father was doing to her wasn’t fair! She had done nothing wrong!
A small squeak came to her ears, and she turned her tear-filled eyes to see Robert Bigmouth poking his head out of his hole. She made a little motion with a smidgen of cheese still held between her fingers, and he hurried over. She picked him up and began crying into his fur. “I don’t know what to do, Robert,” she sobbed. “I just don’t know what to do.”
****
Clarkent was mucking out Agides’s stall when a stranger came into the stable.
It was a boy smaller and younger than Clarkent. He had on a hat and rugged clothes, and he stood in the entryway staring awkwardly around, almost as if frightened someone would jump out and yell at him to leave.
Clarkent finished what he was doing and then walked over to the boy. “Can I help you?” he asked, leaning on his pitchfork.
“I--I want to h-help you,” stuttered the boy. “Umm. In the stable . . . with . . . the horses.”
Frowning, Clarkent queried, “Why would you want to do that?”
“I like horses,” the boy said, his voice almost a whimper. “You’ll let me stay, won’t you?”
Clarkent sighed. They *were* a little short staffed--Dwayne was gone for the day, and one of the stableboys was sick. Assistance, while unexpected, would certainly be welcome. “You can help,” Clarkent conceded, “but it isn’t very fun. We’re mucking out stalls right now.”
“A-all right,” the boy said with some hesitance. “Whatever you want.”
Clarkent got out another pitchfork and handed it to the stranger. “I’m Clarkent,” he said, realizing he hadn’t introduced himself. “What’s your name?”
The boy made a short intake of breath and looked down at the long tool in his hand while biting his lip. “My name--my name is Gawain.”
Clarkent raised an eyebrow, remembering the princess’s story about what had happened to Gareth. “Like the famous knight,” he commented, picking his own pitchfork back up. He wondered if the princess was going to come to the stable that day. It would probably be easier if he would simply start asking her when she was going to come, but for some reason, he didn’t want to do that.
“Y-yeah,” Gawain acknowledged. “My father . . . loved knights.”
Clarkent tilted his head and studied the boy for a few seconds. “You’re not running from someone, are you? If you need somewhere to hide--”
“No!” the boy insisted. Looking a little sheepish at his sharpness, he added, “That’s not it.”
Clarkent squinted, feeling dubious as to whether that was the truth or not, but it wasn’t his place to question Gawain. And besides, if the other boy was hiding from someone, there was probably a good reason for it.
“You ever mucked out stalls before?” Clarkent asked.
“No,” admitted Gawain.
“It’s easy. The manure and the wet straw go in the wheelbarrow--don’t fill it up all the way, or it’ll get too heavy to move. Then, we go dump it. Next, we put fresh straw in. It’s as easy as that.”
“All--all right.”
Gawain waited until Clarkent had put a few pitchforkfuls in the wheelbarrow before beginning. His movements were awkward, and he was obviously not used to manual labor.
Clarkent watched him inconspicuously for a few minutes before finally asking in as casual a voice as he could manage, “Who are you Assigned to?”
“Assigned to?” the boy echoed. He looked down at his hands, and Clarkent couldn’t make out his expression. “Umm, I work in the castle.”
“For who?”
“I--I run errands for the cook.” Gawain slowly dipped his pitchfork back into the dirty bedding. “But the cook doesn’t like me, so I only . . . only run errands in the morning. The cook doesn’t have to see me then in the afternoons.” He looked up at Clarkent and gave him a slight smile. “It’s sometimes hard to find things to do, though. That’s why I’m here.”
Clarkent continued mucking out the stall, reflecting that Gawain must be fairly fortunate to not be required to work all the time. Then again--Clarkent was pretty fortunate himself. For one thing, he was allotted some time off now that he was thirteen. And for another--it was far better that he be under the control of Dwayne rather than Stable Master Kile. Kile was someone who would just as soon torment those under his command as direct them--and that included his horse-smart but world-dumb brother, Viktor. It could always be worse.
As they worked, Clarkent fell into silence, but Gawain started to become obviously antsy.
Finally, Gawain asked, “Have you ever met the princess? I heard--I heard she started riding horses recently. Have you seen her?”
“Yes,” Clarkent answered, feeling awkward. “I--I taught her how to ride.”
“What do you think about her?”
Clarkent hesitated. He hated sharing something like this with a complete stranger, but it felt nice to be able to talk to someone about it. “I think--I think she needs a friend.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I think maybe it’s hard to be royalty--everyone treats royalty differently.” Clark gave a lopsided grin. “Guess you can’t blame them. The king and the princess *are* our superiors . . . . ”
“Not everyone treats royalty respectfully,” Gawain said casually. “Do you know much about the Barbarian Kingdom?”
Clarkent shook his head. “I know they’re our enemies,” he offered.
“Well, it wasn’t always that way,” Gawain noted. “Maybe a century ago, the Barbarian Kingdom was once united with Metropolita. They made up a kingdom called Solaria. They broke apart, but eventually they reached a truce and stopped warring. In the past decade or so, though, the Barbarian Kingdom started the war with Metropolita again.”
Clarkent frowned. “Why did they start the war again?”
“Well, I don’t know for sure,” Gawain admitted, “but I think it’s because of the past two kings. The father of the present Barbarian King killed and deposed the rightful king. His son took over when he died, but they have both seemed to like war.”
“Does King Samuel like the war?” Clarkent asked out of curiosity.
Gawain shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
Though fascinated by this political tale he had known nothing about, Clarkent ventured, “Is this all really true?”
Gawain stabbed his pitchfork into the ground. “Of course it is!” He peered at Clarkent for a few seconds. “I’ll even tell you more about the Barbarian Kingdom tomorrow. How about that?”
Clarkent considered it and then smiled. “I think I’d like that.”
They worked a while longer, and then Gawain left.
****
Clarkent was busy the rest of the day with his stableboy duties, but at one point, Peri came in to see him.
“Clarkent,” greeted the older man, “I hope you’re having a good day?” There was an almost furtive look about him, though Clarkent wasn’t sure why that would be.
Dismissing the notion, Clarkent acknowledged with a smile, “I am. I even made a new friend.”
“You did?” Peri said, his level of interest higher than Clarkent would have expected. “And, uh, what was this friend’s name?”
“Gawain,” Clarkent answered slowly.
The older man frowned. “I don’t know anyone by that name at the castle . . . .”
“There are a lot of people at the castle,” Clarkent pointed out.
“You’re right,” Peri murmured. “Still--a name like that . . . Well, just be careful around him, son.”
“All right,” the stableboy said, puzzled as to why it would matter.
The older man told him farewell, and Clarkent watched him go. With a shrug, he went back to work, brushing off the encounter.
That night, he was rather sad the princess never showed up.
