Chapter 23 : Henchmen
Chapter 23
Henchmen
After the page boy returned, Lansius was finally led inside the manor house. Awe quickly filled his senses. The great hall was immense, with long wooden tables and benches enough to seat thirty or forty people with ease. Its high ceiling made the air feel clean rather than stale, dusty, or mold-ridden.
At the far end of the hall stood a raised platform, likely the high table where the host would sit. Yet what drew Lansius’s eye most was the large glass window above, pouring warm sunlight into the hall and bathing it in a gentle glow.
As the page boy led him farther in, Lansius noticed servants going about their duties, too occupied to spare him much notice. Behind them, two guardsmen followed at a distance.
Before long, the page boy brought Lansius into an antechamber, a place where a guest might wait or rest.
“The steward will be here shortly—please make yourself, mm . . . comfortable,” the page boy stammered. “Oh, there’s water in the basin and a washcloth.” He tried his hardest to deliver his line.
“Gratitude, I’ll be waiting here.” Lansius gave a nod and the page boy hurriedly left.
Lansius saw the bench, a small table, and the stone basin.
Better to clean up.
Custom dictated the guest wash their face and hands before meeting a respectable host, but Lansius wanted to go above and beyond to show that he wasn’t a country bumpkin. After all, he was Lord Arte’s squire. he needed to keep a good appearance, not tarnish his lord’s name.
With that in mind, he changed out of his traveling clothes and into a deep blue doublet he had taken from Sabina Rustica. Although it was a little loose around the waist, he could easily fix that with his belt.
He wrapped the sword belt around his waist and suddenly felt nostalgic for his long-lost friend, but he quickly dismissed the sentiment. Today wasn’t the time to reminisce about the past.
Just then, a servant knocked and entered before Lansius could reply. A young boy appeared and bowed deeply. “Maester, I’ll clean your boots.”
Lansius was taken aback. He had never had this treatment before. “Um, what should I do?”
“Just stand there, maester,” the boy replied energetically as he scrubbed Lansius’s boots with a horsehair brush.
Lansius couldn’t help but feel uneasy about the child labor, but the boy looked happy, with chubby cheeks, clean clothes, and good manners.
He probably received an education and a better job than most Arvenians . . . probably also sleeps in a comfortable bed.
Lansius briefly pondered the morality of it, but shook his head. He wasn’t here to judge.
The boy quietly left, closing the door behind him after finishing his task.
After enduring a grueling two-week journey by cart and foot, Lansius finally found himself alone in the waiting chamber. He let out a deep sigh as he lowered himself onto the bench, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling heavily upon him. With a tired hand, he took out his waterskin and took a long swig of water before settling in to wait.
...
As the sun began to set, the manor sprang to life with bustling activity. Lansius, now cleaned up and refreshed, could imagine that a feast was taking place in the great hall, as was customary for feudal nobles.
The lord of this manor may have been just a baronet, but it was clear to everyone who saw it that Toruna was a rich, fertile land. It beggared belief that someone who wasn’t a baron could own such a grand estate. Meaning, the baronet of Toruna was either a rising star at Midlandia’s court, or old money.
A much older gentleman appeared at the door. “Excuse me, maester. The baronet requests your presence at dinner.”
Lansius rose from his seat. “Please, call me Lansius. I’m just a clerk turned squire.”
The old steward smiled warmly, but remained silent as he led Lansius up an elegant staircase and through a series of corridors that eventually brought them to a private dining hall. It was smaller and more intimate than the great hall, but no less impressive.
Though they were on the second floor, the ceiling was high, and two beautiful chandeliers illuminated the space with an unflickering white light that was brighter than any candles Lansius had ever seen. The walls were plastered evenly and painted in bright color.
At this time of year, the room was furnished with colorful tapestries depicting scenes of battles and hunting. One in particular intrigued Lansius, a small green tapestry that illustrated what looked like dwarves and their underground citadels.
Regrettably, he couldn’t approach the tapestry out of respect to his host. Nevertheless, he marveled at the room’s other features, including murals, painted statues, and two gorgeous suits of armor.
The steward gestured for Lansius to take a seat on the far end of a long, exquisite table. “The baronet will arrive shortly.”
Lansius sat and found the air pleasant, filled with the sweet scent of fresh flowers or fruit. Ironically, such a lovely place might hide a dangerous threat, like the lair of a dragon. He noticed two guards standing by the exit. From their demeanor and discipline, he could tell that they had proper training.
One piece of advice from his long-lost friend rang in Lansius’s head: be prepared to not go home when a noble has summoned you.
Tonight it’s either a comfy bed or a dungeon . . .
There were stories of nobles summoning lowborn, only to accuse them of a crime they never did and throw them in the dungeon.
Why did I even bother showing up?
But deep down, he cared little. Something inside him had died with his missing friend.
The sound of marching footsteps outside announced the arrival of the master of the house. Lansius stood and made sure not to gawk at his host as he entered. To his surprise, the baronet was an athletic man dressed in a red silk outfit.
Following the baronet were a lady in a dark gown and veil that covered her face, as well as a squire and a page boy.
“Just sit wherever you like,” the baronet said as he took his seat at the opposite end of the table.
The lady seemed bothered by Lansius’s presence and just stood there.
Why is she so tense? Don’t tell me I still smell.
“Audrey, you’re not going to sit?” the baronet addressed her.
“I will not take part in this scheme,” the lady blurted out, catching everyone’s attention.
A scheme . . .?
Lansius’s throat felt dry. Meanwhile, the baronet merely laughed at the lady’s words and turned to his guest with a faint smile. “My name is Stan, and this lovely lady here is my lovely sister,” he said, emphasizing the last two words in a peculiar way. “And you’re here because the seneschal ordered me to invite you on his behalf.”
The seneschal? . . . Lord Bengrieve!?
The stakes were getting higher, and the situation was spiraling out of control. “Sir, my apologies, but I’m just a clerk turned squire. I’m hardly important.” Lansius tried to reason with him.
“It doesn’t matter. Let’s talk over dinner.” The baronet nodded at his steward, who signaled the servants to bring out the food.
But his sister refused to be ignored. “What does he have to do with this? He should leave now!” the lady demanded.
Lansius felt a sting of offense, his self-esteem knocked down a notch.
“Audrey, he’s a fellow Arvenian, like you,” the baronet said, as if patronizing her.
A fellow Arvenian…?
The lady clicked her tongue in protest and approached the baronet’s table hurriedly.
Lansius froze as he tried to make sense of what was going on. It was then that he realized the reason for the lady’s black dress and veil.
She’s in mourning! Oh, no . . . did she lose someone in Sabina Rustica?
Cold sweat ran down Lansius’s back. He could already taste the rotting dungeon, the stench of piss and decay.
The brother and sister bickered in private, leaving Lansius standing nervously as if waiting for his judgment. They were still at it when the three servants arrived with silver platters.
The servants brought a variety of appetizing dishes. Lansius spotted roasted meat, aromatic stews, sweet and tasty puddings, and an assortment of freshly baked bread. One of them also poured him a generous amount of pale ale in a beautiful silver goblet.
With his fate uncertain, Lansius decided to eat and drink as much as he could before rotting away in the dungeon.
“My guest!” the baronet yelled suddenly, making Lansius’s heart skip a beat. “We have reached a consensus.”
“Y-yes, my good sir,” Lansius steeled his heart as the baronet in red and the lady in black watched his every move.
“On behalf of Lord Bengrieve, I’m going to give Lady Audrey to you,” the baronet guffawed at his own silly joke and jumped from his seat. He was just in time as the lady picked a handful of green grapes from the table and threw it at him.
“That’s not how it goes!” the lady complained as Sir Stan dodged the grapes. She snatched up a nearby cup of wine and hurled its contents at her brother, who was surprised but stayed put. He seemed to accept the splash, but before the wine could hit him, a gust of wind blew out of nowhere.
The baronet smirked in triumph as he saw the wine spray back onto the lady, drenching her as if she were a cat caught in a downpour.
Magic!
Lansius observed the place, taking in the scene around him. He had heard of mysterious individuals, known as mages, who wielded magical powers. If someone like Sir Stan could employ one, it meant that he held great influence despite his mediocre rank.
The guards and the servants were struggling to suppress their chuckles, while the steward and squire appeared uninterested. However, Lansius could not spot any visible signs of the mage. He felt foolish; he had been expecting to see someone with a long beard, wielding a staff and wearing a pointy hat. In truth, he had no idea what a mage looked like.
“Fine . . .” the lady muttered in anger, after her humiliation.
Sensing the tension in the air, the baronet attempted to defuse the situation. “Lady . . . let’s be civil,” he suggested. When it didn’t seem to have the desired effect, he added a gentle threat. “Or else I’ll have to confine you to your room again . . . without alcohol.”
“Drop the pretense, we’re not related!” she snapped back, before pointing her finger at Lansius. “And let him out. Or hand him over as my retinue, and we’ll call it even.”
Lansius squinted his eyes at this new development.
“Are you going to hurt him?” Sir Stan asked playfully.
The lady merely grunted in response.
Upon hearing this, the baronet clapped his hands twice and exclaimed, “Deal!” before quickly adding, “Now, let’s eat.”
Merriment erupted on his command. The troubadours took center stage, playing a lively tune. The baronet, as if famished, dipped a pretzel into the stew and devoured it. Ironically, despite his command, only the lady in black and Lansius were joining him at the table. The others in the room were merely in waiting.
Meanwhile, Lansius repeated the words that had been echoing in his mind.
Did I hear that right? Hand me over . . . is this some kind of feudal employment, but on what grounds?
Clearly, Sir Stan’s earlier comment about giving the lady to Lansius was in jest. However, their final decision for him didn’t seem like one. Nonetheless, Lansius’s limited understanding of noble etiquette meant he couldn’t be certain and needed to seek advice before reacting. Otherwise, he could offend them.
With a maid’s help, the lady in black approached Lansius. “Eat,” she commanded coldly, her bluntness reminding him of someone.
“Yes, my lady,” Lansius answered, despite the many unanswered questions in his mind.
“I’ll meet you after,” the lady announced, making it clear she wouldn’t be partaking in the dinner. With those words, she turned and departed, her veil swishing behind her, radiating an air of determination.
By contrast, the feast had taken on a life of its own. Lansius would never have guessed the baronet was a natural party maker. Sir Stan even hand-fed morsels from his own plate to the troubadours, danced with them, and poured ale for his subordinates.
Lansius felt privileged to witness these supposedly private moments between a lord and his closest retinue.
The harvest season brought an abundance of grains and vegetables, sparing Lansius from some of the more unique dishes he dreaded, such as roast hedgehog, brain jelly, or viper soup. He was always anxious about being expected to eat something or potentially offending someone.
Fortunately, Sir Stan had an uncanny, relaxed attitude toward the men beneath his station. He didn’t even try to make small talk, but motioned for Lansius to dig in and enjoy the merriment. This put Lansius at ease.
As with any other lowborn, Lansius wisely feared the noblemen, as offending them could result in flogging or a trip to the dungeon. Thus, seeing the noble behaved so relaxed was a revelation.
Despite his confusion over the summons, and the strange matter of the lady in black, Lansius found his appetite soon enough. He still did not know why he had been brought here, but food was food. After living as a farmer for two years, he had learned to be grateful for any chance to eat well.
And he ate with a clear conscience. Food was plentiful around harvest, after all, so this was not some privilege reserved only for the rich. Lansius ate heartily and made the most of the feast.
The meal was simply the best he ever had, with no salted meat in sight, meaning it was freshly cut. He could taste ginger, pepper, and possibly cloves, which were a rarity.
Surprisingly, Sir Stan mostly ate brown bread and vegetable stew with only a few slices of meat. For dessert, they had a sweet pudding made from milk, egg, and day-old bread, topped with cinnamon and honey.
The music ended with a round of applause from everyone, including Lansius. The troubadours bowed elegantly while Sir Stan walked away after his last cup of water. A cool breeze entered the chamber as if signaling the end of the feast.
Lansius felt this was his only chance. He dared to approach the baronet and asked, “My good sir, I thank you for the hospitality, but I still don’t know what is to become of me?”
Sir Stan paused, unexpectedly reached for Lansius’s shoulder, and patted him firmly. “For better or for worse, you have caught the eye of a powerful man. My advice to you . . . play to his tune.”
“But sir, I am Sir Archie’s squire.” Lansius couldn’t reveal his master’s true identity.
“Oh, the Arvenian lord,” Sir Stan mused, which shocked Lansius. However, he ultimately refused to give counsel. “Well, that’s hardly my problem, but I’m sure someone will sort it out. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
With a vigorous stride, the baronet left, leaving Lansius to wonder about his fate.
The old steward called out to Lansius, “Maester squire, I believe you have a place to visit.” He then motioned his hand toward a tall guard and said, “He will escort you there.”
...
Lansius had not expected the manor’s interior to feel like this. Instead of some gloomy castle passage, the corridor felt fresh and alive, with bright lanterns set along the sides and hanging above the staircase. The white-plastered walls caught and reflected the light, giving the place a welcoming warmth even on the darkest nights.
Led by the guard, Lansius arrived at the parlor, reserved for confidential discussions. Before knocking, the guard looked at Lansius, cautioning, “The lady has been injured in recent conflict. She’s prone to emotional outbursts. If you require assistance, just knock on the door.”
Lansius didn’t get a chance to inquire; the guard had already knocked. A maid appeared, bearing a tray covered with a linen cloth, and without a word, she left the room.
“Come in and close the door,” a voice beckoned from within.
Now, without anyone’s interference, something about her voice stirred a vague sense of familiarity within him. Yet, Lansius couldn’t quite place it, and there was little he could do but walk in as instructed. Upon observing a lady elegantly clad in a black gothic gown, he gently closed the door behind him, isolating himself with her and leaving the guard stationed outside.
Just as the door closed, she raised a finger to her lips and beckoned him closer with her other hand.
Something didn’t feel right, but Lansius cautiously followed her instructions. He had only taken a few steps when the woman suddenly lunged at him.
“What are you—”
He jerked up a hand, but she crashed into him and sent him reeling. He felt himself falling backward, and then everything went dark.
***