Chapter 10

The only silver lining to Ingrid's engagement was that it wasn't rushed. Lord Ricaud declined to set a date for the wedding, but the promise had been made, and promises between nobles were binding. If he went back on his word now, it would damage his reputation and sour relations with Lord Erik. Even so, Wolfram prayed every day that Ricaud would renege on the agreement. He was much older than Ingrid, probably thirty-five or forty, with a pompous attitude and a gaudy sense of style. The thought of her living with a man like that and having his children filled Wolfram with sickening jealousy.

He realised he was in love with her. The infatuation hadn't passed. It had stuck with him for years, only growing stronger each time they spoke until it was too late to do anything about it.

He tried to keep himself busy with training and chores. The rough paces Dunstan put him through by way of punishment were a welcome distraction. He was happy to run a hundred laps around the courtyard and do push-ups till he wanted to vomit. It gave him something to channel his energy into that wasn't pining over Ingrid. He couldn't put her out of his mind, but the rigorous activity did help take the edge off his initial shock until it faded. He wished there was something he could do about it, but the decision had been made, and Ingrid was bound by the responsibility she bore to her father and their household. Wolfram's mother had always told him to pick his battles; change the things he could change and lose no sleep over the things he couldn't. It was hard, but he had to find a way of accepting it. If a man couldn't win his love through strength and merit, he could at least keep his dignity when he failed.

As winter approached and Dunstan's harsh training eased, Wolfram's thoughts turned toward what he could change. The problem of Aldrich was first and foremost in his mind. Some dim part of him even reasoned that if Aldrich was gone, Ingrid might not have to marry Ricaud for his money. Dunstan had no patience for his ideas, so he stayed up late talking with Robin instead. What if they set a trap for Aldrich or sent letters to the sheriff in secret? What if they could gather brave witnesses who would be willing to testify against him in court? Perhaps his rich mother could be persuaded to rein him in? Maybe Wolfram's noble relatives would be able to help? Robin indulged his ideas as if it was all a game; a fun problem they could puzzle out during the dark winter evenings.

"What if we stole all the horses in Elkinshire?" he suggested one night over supper in the parlour. "Then Aldrich wouldn't be able to get about the shire. Him and his friends would be too worn out from walking to make any trouble."

"If only we were good horse thieves," Wolfram said. "That's it though, isn't it? It's his money. He wouldn't get away with half of what he does if he couldn't afford horses and weapons for all his men."

"Maybe it would be better if his mother did pack up her business and go away. At least then they'd be gone."

"But Dunstan says Lord Erik doesn't like that idea." Wolfram frowned as he ate a cube of cheese from the end of his knife. "I wonder if my mother knows their family. She's a merchant."

"A merchant from the middle of nowhere."

Wolfram conceded that Robin was probably right. His family was wealthy, but not on the level of someone like Aldrich. He wished he could have asked his mother for advice. She'd always been a practical, level-headed woman. But his family were halfway across the county, and he was unlikely to see them again until spring.

"When my mother's carters had trouble with outlaws, they always just avoided them," Wolfram said. "Go where the trouble isn't, you know? Avoid the bad roads and stick to the good."

"Can't avoid Aldrich, though. It's not like Lord Erik's got land anywhere else."

Wolfram paused, intrigued by the thought. Ingrid had mentioned receiving land as part of her dowry. "What if he did?"

"He couldn't afford it."

"But what if? Aldrich wouldn't be able to cause trouble all the way in somewhere like Kinedwyn or Dun Meadow."

"Go and ask Lord Erik, then," Robin said. "What else has he got to offer in exchange for land like that? He's already promised Ingrid away."

"Maybe she wouldn't have to marry Ricaud if they found another way to get land." Wolfram tried not to let thoughts of Ingrid distract him. He didn't have many good ideas, but something told him this one was worth holding on to. At the very least, he wanted to broach it to Lady Julia. Maybe she could figure out a way for the estate to obtain land where Aldrich couldn't extort anyone.

He sat on the idea for another day, getting Robin's advice on how to present it while he waited for a chance to speak with Julia. Their paths didn't cross very often, and Wolfram had little free time to go looking for her. It was best to try and talk to the noble family during meal times when everyone was in the hall together.

Lord Erik and Lady Ingrid were dining privately upstairs the next evening–probably to discuss the upcoming wedding–which left Julia by herself at the high table. Wolfram seized his chance and hurried over before anyone else could join her.

"Milady, might I sit with you tonight?"

Julia smiled. Squires weren't often afforded the honour of seats at the high table, but she was a liberally minded woman and fond of her dalliances.

"You may, Wolfram. Just for tonight."

He drew back a chair and sat down with his supper trencher. "Thank you, milady. I wouldn't ask, but I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Oh?"

"You know the conversation we had when I was in the sickroom?"

Julia's smile faltered and she lowered her voice. "I'd rather not discuss affairs of the estate here in the hall." She glanced around the room. It was quiet that evening, and no one else was seated at the high table yet. "Then again," she continued with a sigh, "if you can be discreet?"

Wolfram nodded eagerly. There was something exciting about scheming with the ladies of the house. "I was talking to Robin the other night. We've been thinking of ways to deal with Aldrich. What if Lord Erik had land somewhere outside Elkinshire–somewhere he could collect rent from without anyone getting in the way?"

"Distant land is often more troublesome to manage than a local estate."

"I think we've got the opposite problem."

Julia gave him a half-smile. "True. But we have nothing to exchange for such land. Even if we can negotiate a gift from Lord Ricaud, it'll be some time before the wedding."

Wolfram leaned forward. He'd memorised what Robin told him to say, and with his clever friend's advice backing him up, he was sure the idea was a good one. "You've got Elkinshire. What if you gave away some of the villages here?"

"Erik won't like that. This land has been in his family for generations."

"But what good's it doing him right now?" Wolfram pressed on. "The knights aren't paying their rent. Everyone's scared of Aldrich. If we swapped land with some other lord, Aldrich would become their problem instead. Meanwhile, we'd have rent coming in from elsewhere in the county. It's like my mother always says: you should avoid the bad roads and stick to the good."

"Spoken like a true merchant's son. Some of that ruthless market sense must have rubbed off on you."

"So, what do you think?"

Julia took a sip of her wine. "It sounds sensible enough, I suppose. The trouble would be making such a thing actually happen. Erik would be against the idea on principle, and negotiating a fair exchange would be difficult. Lords are wary of land someone else is trying to get rid of. Who would accept property on the other side of the county unless it was worth far more than what they were giving up? And it would be underhanded of us to saddle someone else with Aldrich."

Wolfram's spirits fell.

"But," Julia continued, "I am not above a little underhandedness in the name of protecting the estate. Who can say–perhaps if Aldrich gets under the skin of another lord we might be better positioned to deal with him once and for all. It's a fair idea, Wolfram, though I wouldn't get your hopes up."

"Lord Erik can always bargain to get his land back again after things get better."

"That is an optimistic outlook, and old men are cynical. But the right words have been known to soften men even as leathery as Erik. I will broach the idea to him and see what he thinks."

"Thank you, milady."

"Thank you , Wolfram. It makes me happy when you come to me with such thoughtful advice. Elkinshire is lucky to have you."

He bowed his head. "It was mostly Robin's idea. I just want what's best for the household."

"And believe me, every household wants men like you. You're a noble soul."

Just not noble enough for Ingrid, he thought to himself, tainting his satisfaction with a twinge of regret.

As Julia had anticipated, Lord Erik was not amenable to the idea. Though Wolfram was never involved directly, he heard the topic being discussed several times at the high table. Julia, Dunstan, and the chaplain, Father Everwin, all seemed to be in favour of the idea, but Erik and Ingrid were opposed. As the weeks went by, Wolfram was disheartened every time he heard Erik declaring loudly that he would not give up his family's birthright for a little extra silver. But, as Robin pointed out, the fact that the subject kept coming up at all meant it was still open to debate. If Erik wanted it off the table, they would have stopped hearing about it weeks ago.

The winter frosts gradually thawed, new flowers bloomed, and the drudgery of short days and long nights gave way to crisp mornings and outdoor work. Wolfram continued his training, growing more confident with a weapon in his hand season by season. The duel with Aldrich had given him a new perspective on fighting, teaching him to fear the edge of a weapon more keenly than the other squires. He fought more defensively than before, inviting many an accusation of cowardice, but he was vindicated when Dunstan praised his caution. None of the other squires, even those who had more training than him, could consistently beat him with the longsword anymore. The martial forms were where Wolfram excelled, and they made up the majority of his knightly training. Lord Erik wanted soldiers, not men of court who could recite poetry and count shillings. Nevertheless, there were still lessons on finance, literacy, science, and theology taught by Father Everwin that Wolfram struggled with. Even Cat, who was learning to read and write from Lady Julia, seemed to be making more progress with her education than him.

"Your problem is not that you are stupid," Father Everwin told him one April afternoon. He was a thin man with straight, pale hair and a bookish disposition that kept him indoors most hours of the day. "It is that you stubbornly refuse to embrace knowledge beyond its very basics. The world is a complex place, and a nobleman is expected to understand it on a deeper level than the common peasant."

Wolfram didn't see the value in deciphering the scriptures of the saints or the phases of the moon. Most people didn't have a clue about those things, and they got by just fine. He would rather learn to get better at killing wild boar or riding a horse. Those seemed like far more important life skills.

Along with their ongoing training, the squires began leaving the castle to perform martial duties that year. Most were minor tasks, nothing nearly so dramatic as the murder investigation in Kilwick, but when an official message had to be delivered or someone needed an escort, the squires were called upon to accompany Lord Erik's men-at-arms. Wolfram rode back and forth from Tannersfield town several times that year. The round trip took several days, and it always made Wolfram feel proud to wear the red and black surcoat of Elkinshire as he galloped across the county.

There were no more confrontations with Aldrich and his men. They haunted the public houses in Firfallow from time to time, and Aldrich sometimes attended Lord Erik's court with his mother, but Wolfram did his best to avoid him. After what had happened last time, Dunstan was adamant that they stay out of his way. The time would come for a confrontation, but not yet.

So Wolfram swallowed his resentment and tried to ignore the rumours he heard about thieves being lynched and women harassed by Aldrich's gang. The man was clever enough to avoid doing anything that would invite widespread condemnation in public. Some of the villagers–usually those with a particularly brutal sense of justice–even liked him, believing that he was doing the rough work Lord Erik and the courts were afraid to. That made him a difficult man to deal with. As long as he kept Erik's knights poor with his extortionate fees for "protection", nothing in Elkinshire was going to change.

The steady pace of life continued, and as the months passed Wolfram began to forget about the idea he'd proposed to Lady Julia the year before. He wished he could have forgotten about Ingrid's engagement so easily. Sometimes it would begin to drift from his mind, but then the topic would resurface during a meal, or worse, Lord Ricaud would pay a visit, and the whole miserable business would be all he could think about for days. There was still no date set for the wedding. Meg and the kitchen servants suspected Ricaud was biding his time, waiting to see whether there was any indication of Lord Erik's health waning before he committed to a date. The sooner Erik died, the sooner his estate could be inherited. But if he lived for another twenty years, Ricaud would be an old man himself by the time he got his hands on Elkinshire. Wolfram prayed that Erik would stay hale and hearty for a long time. Ricaud might yet go back on his promise if he saw an opportunity to wed another eligible noblewoman whose inheritance was closer to hand.

A full year had passed by the time Lady Julia came to Wolfram with good news. The breath of winter was in the air again, and Wolfram was out in the courtyard oiling his favourite longsword, a huge old blade with a mighty crossguard that had steel rings on either side to protect the wielder's fingers. Julia had a folded square of vellum in her hand when she touched Wolfram on the shoulder to get his attention.

"I have just received a letter from Bishop Virgil of Tannersfield," she explained. "He would like to organise an exchange of property."

It took Wolfram a moment to remember what she was talking about. "Oh! That's wonderful news. What's the agreement?"

"The current proposition is two sheep farms and a mill near Tannersfield town in exchange for the village of Kilwick and its land."

Wolfram's expression fell. "That doesn't seem like a lot."

"Wool tends to be more profitable than agriculture, and the mill serves a sizeable population. The fees the locals pay to use it will be quite lucrative. It'll also be easier to manage than a whole village."

It sounded like they were getting a fair deal at least, but the bishop was probably getting the better end of it. Wolfram didn't know how to weigh the value of a village like Kilwick against two farms and a mill, but Lady Julia was clever, so he trusted she knew what she was doing.

"Has Lord Erik agreed to it?"

"Not yet. But he's been saying he needs to see a good offer before he'll consider anything, and I have his good offer right here." She waved the letter in the air. "If this doesn't convince him, nothing will. It helps that we'll be dealing with the church. It'll hurt his pride less to give his land away to the bishop than it would one of his rivals."

"When do you think it's going to happen?"

"We'll have to see. The bishop implied it might take some time to organise everything, but before the end of this coming year, hopefully." Julia rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly looking concerned. "It's going to be a turbulent time for us."

"Why do you say that, milady?"

"Oh, just matters of the estate. Nothing you need worry yourself over."

She left him to oil his sword and puzzle over what had been on her mind when she left. Of all the people in the castle, Julia had always been the most forthcoming with Wolfram. It wasn't like her to keep secrets.

Once again the topic slipped from Wolfram's mind as he weathered another winter at the Lavender Castle. It was a particularly bitter one, full of cutting winds and heavy snowfall that made the path up the hill almost impassable. He spent many a cold morning shovelling snow so that deliveries from the village could get through. It was more work than he was used to doing during winter, and it often took the place of morning training. That left him with afternoons full of Father Everwin's dull lectures to look forward to. He was frequently bored, finding himself with nothing new and interesting to talk about, so he started listening in on kitchen gossip to amuse himself. Meg and her helpers liked to chatter all day. Even when there was no one around but Cat, Meg still managed to have animated conversations with her mute assistant through the elaborate series of hand signals they'd devised.

It was market day, which was usually one of Wolfram's mornings off, but more snow had fallen in the night and Lord Erik needed his path clear for the merchants. After spending all morning trying not to tumble down the slippery hillside, Wolfram was given the afternoon off instead. He spent it warming his bottom on one of the ovens at the back of the kitchen as he picked over some pantry leftovers. He'd managed to snag the last surviving apple in the castle. It was wrinkly and cold from months in the cellar, but the flesh was still tangy and sweet in his mouth.

"How hearty do you mean?" Grace, one of the kitchen girls, was saying to Cat. Cat puffed up her cheeks and motioned the outline of a swelling belly over the front of her dress. Grace giggled. "Don't you mean Lord Erik? He's the only one I know who could get that plump."

Cat shook her head and made the motion again.

"Who are you two talking about?" Meg asked as she walked by with a basket of eggs, swatting Wolfram's knee as she passed. "Keep those long legs out of my way, Wolf. Good God, you're almost as tall as Dunstan these days."

"She says Lady Julia's eating too heartily," Grace said.

Cat shook her head and stamped her foot quickly, her universal sign for "no". She looked at Meg and repeated the swelling belly motion, then made a few signs with her hands.

"She's not saying she's plump," Meg translated. "She saying she's in the family way."

Grace's eyes widened. "But she's not married. Who do you suppose the father is?"

"The bishop of Tannersfield," Meg replied sarcastically. "Who do you think?"

"Lord Erik," said Wolfram. "They were always together when I was up there sick last year."

"I hope you've not been listening at doors, Wolf."

"I didn't have to listen at doors, they were that loud."

Grace giggled and Cat grinned. Meg scratched beneath her wimple, looking more fascinated than amused. "We'll have to get one of the laundry girls in here. See if milady's been regular these last months."

"What's regular laundry got to do with it?" Wolfram asked.

Grace laughed again.

"Nothing that you'd understand," Meg said, "nor what you should be asking about. It's women's business."

"Oh." He looked down at his apple sheepishly. Pregnancy and children were a mystery to him. Was this what Lady Julia had meant when she said it would be a turbulent year?

"That silly old man," Meg tutted. "Well, if it's true then he's going to have to marry her, no other way about it. Another heir, at his age. Hmph!" She finally let out a cluck of amusement.

"What'll that mean for the estate?" Wolfram asked.

"Everything or nothing. Milady's no spring chicken." Meg began to count off all the things that might go wrong on her fingers, speaking with the relish of a woman who enjoyed dispensing such wisdom. "She might not be pregnant at all. Cat's only got her hunches. She might not carry the baby to term. That's common for women her age. And there's no saying the poor mite will live through their first year."

"Even here at the castle?" Wolfram asked. Babies died all the time, everyone knew that, but people said it was usually because they were cold or underfed or because their parents had lived ungodly lives.

"Even noble babies are fragile things," Meg said. "Lady Ingrid's mother lost two before she had her, both girls. I wonder if girls are all Erik has in him? That shouldn't be any big worry for the family; Ingrid will just have a little sister. But if it's a boy, though..." Meg shook her head with a theatrical sigh. "Boys turn noble houses on their heads, don't they?"

Wolfram sat bolt upright. "Ingrid won't inherit. Then she won't have to marry Lord Ricaud!"

"Try not to look so happy about it."

Grace laughed at Wolfram's enthusiasm. "Lady Ingrid's not going to marry you , Wolf. Oh, don't look so upset, I didn't mean it!"

"Don't get any silly ideas," Meg said. "This is just gossip, you hear me? Even if it's true, I wouldn't wager half a shilling on it turning out like that. Now, Lord Erik finally marrying milady, that's something I'd put a good shilling on, pregnant or not."

The women started talking about weddings at that point, which didn't interest Wolfram nearly as much as the future of the noble family. He didn't want to get his hopes up. Meg was right; the chances of Julia being pregnant and having a boy who survived to inherit were slim. Ingrid was still probably going to marry Ricaud.

But what if she didn't?

It wasn't long before the gossip spread throughout the castle. Everyone seemed to trust that the laundresses were the only ones who would know for sure whether Julia was pregnant, and eventually one of them confirmed it. The ensuing awkwardness made meal times in the great hall uncomfortable. Erik and Julia hadn't acknowledged the situation publicly, even though they knew everyone was talking about it. Julia carried on as if everything was normal, but her smiles and courtesy seemed overly insistent. Wolfram expected she was compensating for Lord Erik, who had grown surly and irritable. He drank more wine than usual and stayed up late talking with his men long after everyone else retired.

Wolfram was repairing the stitching in one of his felted winter boots by the hearth one night when Lord Erik's voice suddenly boomed from the high table.

"All the women out!" he called. Judging from his giddy tone, he was drunk again. "I only want my men in here. All of my men. Come up to the table, all my men, come on. No one else in here for the rest of the night."

It was well past suppertime, and there were less than twenty people still lingering in the hall. Wolfram tried to slip into the parlour with some of the women, but Lord Erik saw him and called him over.

"Up here, Wolf, up here. You're a man of age now. You sit with us."

Wolfram approached the high table and took a seat near the end alongside Father Everwin. Cups of wine and beer were filled and passed around to everyone.

Lord Erik nodded happily once he saw a drink in everyone's hand. "This is better, isn't it? I've so many women in my house, I forget what it's like to be with men! I do love my Julia." He blinked hard and took another drink. "My Ingrid. But we're the ones who have to make the decisions, hm? You're my counsel. My brothers, hm?"

A chorus of hms and ayes answered him.

"So, have you made a decision?" Dunstan asked from the other end of the table.

"A decision about what?"

Dunstan left a pregnant pause that elicited a dry chuckle from Lord Erik.

"Oh, about my bastard, you mean? I know you all know."

Father Everwin, who seemed the most sober person present, said: "It's heartening to hear you speak of it openly, my lord. Decisions will have to be made."

"Yes, yes they will," Erik said with a heavy sigh. "Well, what do you all suggest? You're my counsel."

"You'll have to marry Lady Julia."

Erik grimaced. "Regardless of what happens with the child?"

"It's the right thing to do," said Dunstan.

"Then what about Ingrid? I'm an old man. I thought she'd be my only heir, but now I'm to be saddled with another wife and maybe even a baby boy. The three of them will fight tooth and nail over the estate when I'm gone."

"You must alter your written will," Father Everwin said. "Make your intentions explicit. The law will support whatever decision you make."

Lord Erik groaned and put his face in his hands. "Julia would make a better steward. Ingrid's too young still. But we need Lord Ricaud's money. He'll never go through with the wedding if Ingrid doesn't stand to inherit."

"And you can't name her your heir if Julia has a boy," Dunstan said.

"Why does it always have to be like that?" Wolfram asked.

The others turned to look at him. He felt uncomfortable speaking up, but he was curious.

"Boys always inherit first," Dunstan said bluntly.

"It's the done thing," Erik agreed.

"It doesn't make much sense for a baby to inherit before two grown women."

Erik laughed loudly at Wolfram's observation. "Not when you put it like that, no! If I die before the whelp's of age, I'll need a steward. Someone to take care of the estate while he grows up. Dunstan, how about you?"

Dunstan shook his head. "I'm no lord."

"None of us are," Father Everwin said. "It would only be proper for Lady Julia or Lady Ingrid to take up the duty."

Erik took another long drink from his cup. By the time he put it down, his expression had grown dour. "A miserable business, isn't it, deciding what to do after one's dead. Such is our duty though, hm?" Another round of hms answered him. "Let's talk about something more heartening. Give me a story or a song. I want to feel merry before I go to bed. Everwin, mix me some of your root so I can sleep easy tonight."

"Not after so much wine, my lord, or you may never wake again."

Erik gave another dry chuckle. "I could use a sleep that deep."

There was no more talk of Lady Julia and her unborn child that night, but the exchange had made one thing clear to Wolfram: regardless of the outcome of Julia's pregnancy, Ingrid's future as Lord Erik's heir was no longer certain.

It was going to be a turbulent year indeed.