Chapter 9

Wolfram felt like death when dawn broke the next day. He'd slept in his wet clothes inside the hollow of an ancient tree. Time had split it open like a ripe fruit, creating a small cavern in the wood just big enough for a person to squeeze into. It had rained all night. If not for the forest cover and the tree sheltering him, he would have frozen to death. His stomach was empty, his throat parched, and he felt feverish. He remembered the way Tom Butcher had been shivering the day before and wondered whether he'd caught some sickness from him.

The only tools he had were his sword and the wooden club. Maybe if he found some dry tinder he could whittle the club and make a fire stick, but what good was a fire if he didn't have anything to cook? It would be better to keep himself warm by walking. He had to get back to the castle and tell Lord Erik what had happened.

Forcing his exhausted body to obey, he crawled out of the tree and looked for water. Rain had pooled in a few old nooks in the wood where branches had snapped off and the bark had swelled up around them. He didn't want to think about what the bitter, woody-tasting water would do to his bowels later, but it was better than dying of thirst. After that, he went looking for food. There was little chance of him killing an animal with his sword, and it would take too long to set a snare. He would have to look for edible plants and bird's nests while he walked.

Based on the direction he'd been going yesterday, he thought he was probably north of the stream. His father had taught him how to judge direction from the sun, but the clouds and tree cover made it difficult that morning. He set out at a plodding walk, trying to make his body move faster than it wanted to so he would warm up. He kept his eyes pointed upward, both to try and catch a glimpse of the sun and to spot any nests. There were plenty in this part of the forest, but they were so high in the trees that he had no confidence in his ability to reach them.

The only thing that lifted his spirits that morning was a brief glimpse of the sun through the canopy. It was to his right, in the northeast, which meant he was going in the direction of the castle. If he kept on walking north and west, he would eventually reach the edge of the old forest, then he could follow the treeline all the way home. He didn't want to risk crossing paths with Aldrich again by retracing his steps to Kilwick.

Wolfram's thoughts grew miserable as he pictured his ignoble return. How would he explain why he'd gone off on his own, vanished for two days, and failed to stop a gang of thugs from murdering three people in cold blood? His face stung with the imagined shame. All he could do was try to hold his head high.

A handful of small eggs nestling in the branches of a birch tree took the edge off his hunger later that morning. They weren't much, but they were better than nothing. He ate them raw and felt a little stronger afterwards, though his shivering was still getting worse. The fever had progressed into a headache, weighing down his muscles with fatigue. At a brisk walk, he might have made it back to the castle before nightfall, but that seemed unlikely now. He felt like he'd strained his legs in a dozen places.

Eventually the trees thinned and the edge of the forest hove into view. He was high up on a stretch of hill overlooking eastern Elkinshire. Below him, he could see a village he thought he remembered passing with Dunstan two days ago. Sheep grazed the pasture all around. A bout of homesickness made Wolfram's throat tighten as he imagined the villagers settling in at the local public house to relax at the end of the day. His mother's inn had always been full of familiar faces and friendly cheer on days like this. For the last three years, he'd been so busy with his training that he'd had little time to feel lonely or homesick. It had all been too exciting. But the events of the past day had shaken him. He didn't feel invincible anymore. There was no one around to support him, no one to tell him what to do, no one to pick him up when he fell down. He pushed his melancholy aside with a wince. Feeling sorry for himself wouldn't get him home. But ignoring the way he felt didn't make it go away, and the distraction chafed like burrs in his boots.

Dusk was falling by the time he saw the castle hill. There was no chance of him reaching it before dark. Perhaps if he'd made his way back to the road earlier he could have managed it, but he hadn't wanted to confront anyone else on the way. That had been a foolish decision. It was drizzling again, and the rain of the last few days had turned the pasture between the forest and the road into a marshy bog. He couldn't wade through that in the dark. His only choice was to keep following the trees until he reached the base of the hill.

Each weary footstep made Wolfram's body throb. His brow burned with fever, and the wind made him shiver uncontrollably. With no moonlight, the shadows darkened until they were pitch black. He was afraid to keep walking, but he was more afraid of freezing to death if he stopped. The only guidance he had was the shape of the hill looming large in front of him. He walked until the ground began to steepen, then he turned to his left and skirted the base of the hill, stumbling and groping until he saw lights burning behind the shutters of Firfallow. He was almost there. Soon he could be safe and warm inside one of those houses. But he wanted to get back to the castle on his own, not pass out in the village and have Dunstan send someone to fetch him tomorrow morning.

Rain lashed Wolfram's back as he found the twisting path that led up the hillside. He kept one hand on the rocks so he didn't stumble over the edge in the gloom. Water dripped from his soaked hair and squished in his boots. The steepening slope made each step harder than the last, and the wind blew stronger the higher he went.

"Come on," he groaned to himself, his voice so hoarse he could barely hear it. He used his sword as a walking stick, gripping the crossguard tight as he pushed it down into the sloping path. He felt the blade flex disconcertingly from how hard he was leaning on it. With each twist of the path, he felt sure he would reach the top, but there was always one more turn to go. Left and right, left and right, up and up, his head pounding and his body shaking.

At long last, the rocks ended and he felt fir branches brushing his cheek. He followed the path by memory, unable to see anything in the dark. His hand found the familiar stone of the castle wall, then the wood of the gate. The door hadn't been barred that night. He twisted the handle and staggered through. If the night watchman was on duty, he didn't seem to notice him. Just like when he'd run from the stream, Wolfram could feel his body giving out. He stumbled his way to the closest building he knew would be warm: the kitchen. He wasn't sure whether his eyes were full of rain or tears when he pushed the door open and lurched inside. Everything looked blurry and distant.

"Don't drip that mud in here!" he heard Meg Kitchener's voice call, then she gasped in surprise. "Oh my lord, Wolf!"

He dropped his sword on the floor with a clatter and felt someone put their arms around him. He leaned heavily on them.

"Drag your cot over by the fire. He's soaked through."

Wolfram let himself be walked to the middle of the kitchen where the fire burned and the air was warm. When he sat down on the cot, he felt like he would never get back up. Someone tugged off his boots and lifted his legs. It was Cat. Her, Meg and the rest of the kitchen servants clustered around him.

"Where've you been?" Meg asked. "Robin came home this morning saying Dunstan and the others had lost you."

Not knowing what else to say, Wolfram mumbled: "I walked back."

"Through the night and the rain and a fever by the looks of you, you silly boy!"

"I'm alright."

Cat punched him on the arm. That usually meant she was upset.

"You're half dead," Meg said. "Why in the world didn't you find someone to bring you home? That pride of yours is more trouble than it's worth. Cat, fetch some blankets. We need to get him warm. Someone tell the family. Lady Julia's been worried sick all day."

Despite Meg and Cat's reprimands, the heavy feeling that had been in Wolfram's heart all evening eased. Their concern touched him. Cat was abrasive, Meg cantankerous, but he realised in that moment that they cared for him. Lady Julia had been worried, too. He wondered if Ingrid shared their concern.

The servants fussed over him, bringing him bread and pottage to eat while they rubbed his shoulders with blankets. Lady Julia came into the kitchen and insisted that he come upstairs to the solar. If he was ill, she said, then he needed to be moved to a room on his own, for that was the most effective way of stopping sickness from spreading. Meg seemed to think that warmth and company would do him more good, but she didn't argue with her mistress. Wolfram let Cat walk him upstairs to one of the guest rooms in the solar. He felt bad about dripping rainwater over the thick rug when he crossed it. One of the male servants helped him undress and change into a nightshirt, then he was put to bed and wrapped up in blankets.

Wolfram slept through most of the next day. The hike home combined with his fever had taken everything out of him. Whenever he woke, there was always someone sitting beside his bed, usually Lady Julia, occasionally Cat. He pretended to be dozing so he wouldn't have to speak to them. He still felt wretched about everything that had happened. Even the desire to tell Lord Erik about Aldrich wasn't enough to rouse him to action. He lay awake much of the night, no longer tired enough to sleep. The room was dark and draughty. He shivered beneath the thick blankets, tossing and turning with his thoughts. He hated being ill. With so many visitors, there had often been sniffles and fevers going around at his mother's inn. He needed chores to keep his restless mind at bay, but his thoughts were the only company he had in the early hours of the morning. It wasn't often that Wolfram stopped to ponder things deeply or at length. All he could think about that night was the day he'd spent with Aldrich. The events kept repeating in his mind's eye: the trek up the stream, the night at the farmhouse, the chase, the duel.

How was a man like Aldrich able to walk about Elkinshire doing whatever he wanted? It seemed like everyone was afraid of him. Even Dunstan had been reluctant to assert his authority. Aldrich must have a fearsome reputation; that was the only thing that made sense. He'd said he worked for Lord Erik's knights, which was a common enough arrangement between men-at-arms and nobles, but it didn't excuse his actions. What was it he'd said? When he and his men didn't get paid, there was trouble?

Lady Julia said Elkinshire wasn't a lawless place. Did that mean Aldrich was the one causing the trouble? He certainly had the means to. With his gang of armed men, he could easily go around stealing livestock, damaging crops, and vandalising property. If everyone was afraid of him, who was going to call for his arrest? Erik's knights probably thought their lives would be easier if they appeased him rather than risking a confrontation.

The more Wolfram thought about it, the more it frustrated him. When he talked to older men about the war, they often said that fear had a way of breaking down law and order. People turned a blind eye to evil when the alternative was inviting its ire. There was no war in Elkinshire, but there was definitely fear, and something had to be done about it.

Dunstan and the other squires returned home the next day. Robin came upstairs and told Wolfram what had happened. They'd stayed in Kilwick searching the farms for him and Percy Butcher until Aldrich returned a couple of days later. He'd given them a version of events that eschewed the duel and the plan to torture their captives. According to him, Percy and his cohorts had fought back and been killed when they caught up, while Wolfram had wandered off and gotten himself lost in the forest. When Dunstan heard that Wolfram was back at the castle, they'd taken Aldrich at his word and returned home.

Wolfram wanted to talk to his friend about everything that had happened, but Robin was soon needed downstairs again. Lord Ricaud, the baron whose visit Erik had been so concerned about, had arrived. Meals needed to be prepared, horses tended, hunting organised, and floors scrubbed. Wolfram was left on his own again until Dunstan came to see him. The lanky man-at-arms looked even surlier than usual, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair tangled into a bird's nest. To Wolfram's relief, Lady Julia came in with him.

"Don't be harsh with him," she said softly. "He's unwell and needs his rest."

"The stupid pup's unwell in the head," Dunstan growled. "Running off without my say so. If you weren't in that bed, you'd be out in the courtyard getting your back whipped raw."

"There will be no whipping while Lord Ricaud is here," Julia said firmly. "It's very important that we make his stay a pleasant one."

Dunstan grunted something noncommittal, but the rebuke succeeded in taking the edge off his temper.

"So, what happened to you?" he asked Wolfram.

Piece by piece, Wolfram recounted the story. He tried not to leave anything out. Dunstan had impressed upon him the importance of getting the full picture before you took a man to trial, and Aldrich needed to be punished for what he'd done. By the time he'd described the dishonourable attack on Tom Butcher and his flight through the forest, his throat was sore from talking.

"We need to gather everyone up and arrest him," he concluded. "He murdered three people."

"Three outlaws."

Wolfram gave Dunstan an incredulous look. Was he really siding with Aldrich? Lady Julia waited for the man-at-arms to elaborate, but he just stared at the edge of the bed with a furious expression.

"We're aware of what Aldrich and his men have been doing," Julia said at length.

"Then why haven't you stopped him?!"

"Do you recall the conversation I had with you not long after you arrived, Wolfram? I believe I explained our problem. Lord Erik does not have enough men to arrest Aldrich, nor the confidence that it would be to our benefit in the long run."

"Aldrich's grandfather was the richest bastard in Elkinshire," Dunstan said, his voice full of derision. "And his mother's only grown that wealth. The merchant tax she pays is half of what keeps this castle running. If she packs up and takes her business elsewhere, it'll be the ruin of Erik's household."

"But if we deal with Aldrich, won't the knights start paying their taxes again?" Wolfram asked.

"Maybe. Or some other upstart might step in and pick up where Aldrich left off–probably put up to it by another lord who fancies adding Elkinshire to his estate. There are plenty of barons out there who'd love to show the king that Erik can't manage his land anymore. We're a ship full of holes, lad, and the moment we open up another one, we'll sink."

"But that needn't be the case forever," Lady Julia said. "With you and the other squires coming of age, we'll soon have the men to start asserting our authority once more. Just think–if Dunstan had taken twice as many men to Kilwick, would Aldrich have been so bold in standing up to you? And if our alliance with Lord Ricaud can be secured, we shall secure the future of Elkinshire for another generation."

"It's just wrong," Wolfram said bitterly, his curiosity about Lord Ricaud subsumed by his frustrations. "Why can't we go to the sheriff of Tannersfield?"

"And make a public spectacle of our failure?" Dunstan snorted. "Even if we did manage to put Aldrich on trial, he'd have all the witnesses he could pay for–ones whose word carries more weight than yours."

Julia nodded in agreement. "Believe me, Wolfram, this is a conversation we have had many times before. Aldrich is a wicked man, but he is a problem for tomorrow, not today."

"It's just an endless circle," Wolfram said. "The knights have to pay for his protection, so they can't afford to pay Lord Erik, so he can't afford to protect his knights, so they have to pay Aldrich."

"Bloody hell, Wolf, why couldn't you have been that astute a couple of days ago?"

Wolfram looked down at the floor in shame. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone off with him. I just wanted to catch Percy Butcher."

"Well, it sounds like he's been caught one way or another. Nothing to be done about it now. But I'm going to take it out of you the moment you're well enough to leave this room, mark my words." Gruff though he was, Dunstan no longer seemed furious. He would never say it out loud, but Wolfram sensed that he'd accepted his apology. A weight lifted from his heart.

"I'll do my penance."

"Too right you will," Dunstan grumbled as he turned toward the door. "You'll wish you were back with Aldrich after I'm done with you." He exited the room, leaving Wolfram alone with Lady Julia.

"Does Lady Ingrid know I'm up here?" he asked hopefully.

Julia gave him a sympathetic smile. "If you were hoping for a visit, you may have to wait a little longer. Ingrid will be busy entertaining Lord Ricaud and his entourage while they're here."

"Oh."

"I wouldn't get your hopes up," she said gently. "She isn't a good match for you."

Wolfram turned away, feeling his face burn with something other than fever. He knew what she meant. Ingrid was too high born for him. He'd told himself the same thing a hundred times, but while his infatuations with other girls came and went, Ingrid was always there. He wished she was the one sitting at his bedside wetting his brow with a damp cloth and stroking her smooth fingers through his hair. Perhaps that would have made the past few days seem worth it.

Ingrid didn't come to see him that day, nor the day after. But the evening of the day after that, when Wolfram's fever had come down and he was starting to feel like his old self again, the door creaked open and Ingrid stepped inside. Wolfram's heart leapt. He'd been sitting atop his blankets trying to read a book of Elkinshire's history that Lady Julia had brought him. He snapped it shut and swung his legs off the side of the bed.

Ingrid held out a hand to stop him from rising. She lit a couple of extra candles from the one beside the bed and drew up a chair. She'd brought her board game with her.

"Would you like to play?" she asked in a distant voice.

Wolfram nodded eagerly. "Any time, milady."

"Cousin Julia says you've been unwell."

"I'm feeling much better now."

"At least no one else seems to have caught your malady. That really would have ruined Lord Ricaud's visit, don't you think?" She added a sarcastic sniff to the end of her sentence.

"I'm sure it would have. Lady Julia said I had to stay in here to keep the miasma from spreading."

"Father Everwin says it's eye contact that spreads sickness, so you'll forgive me if I keep my attention on the board." Ingrid began setting the coloured pegs in their holes, his blue, hers rose, as always. "I needed to escape the headache downstairs."

"I've been hearing the noise from up here. It sounds like Lord Ricaud and your father are having a good time."

"Oh, yes. My father especially. The news was all good for him this evening."

The noises from downstairs weren't all Wolfram had been hearing during his stay in the solar. Lady Julia's room was next to his, and Lord Erik often went in to visit her. After the dull sounds of conversation faded, the bed sometimes began creaking and knocking against the wall. They were obviously more than just a nobleman and his ward. Perhaps that was why Ingrid disliked Julia.

"Him and Lady Julia make a lot of noise in there," he blurted out. It was a slip of the tongue, the sort of thing he might have said to Robin or one of the other boys. A heartbeat passed before he realised his mistake. "I'm sorry, milady," he stammered. "That was impolite of me."

To his surprise, Ingrid laughed. "You really are a dumb pup sometimes, aren't you?"

Wolfram stared down at the board, cursing himself for saying something so stupid.

"It's alright," Ingrid said softly. "I like dumb pups."

Wolfram looked up at her. Despite what she'd said about making eye contact, she was gazing at him intently.

"I say things without thinking sometimes."

"That's refreshing. But you're like that, aren't you? All those men downstairs," Ingrid scowled in the direction of the door. "They can be so coy about what they mean when all they really care about is themselves. You're our little wolfhound. Simple and brave and obedient. Getting into fights for your master. What was it like, fighting Aldrich?"

"You heard about that?"

"I listened to Dunstan tell my father the whole story, but I'd rather hear it from you."

Wolfram wondered how he could describe it. He wasn't a very good storyteller.

"It was fast. Even faster than practice. I wasn't frightened, I don't think. Well, I was, but I couldn't really feel it. It's like when your toes are cold and it doesn't hurt when you stub them."

"You're precious, Wolfram. I'd keep you in a basket at the foot of my bed."

He flushed, not sure what to make of the oddly intimate compliment. His heart was pounding like it had during the duel. Maybe that was why he was speaking so carelessly.

"Do you like me, milady?"

"I'm very fond of you."

"Would you ever marry a man like me?"

Ingrid smiled. She was so beautiful when she smiled, yet so cold, as though it was an expression she'd grown used to wearing without feeling it. "Whether I would or wouldn't hardly matters now, does it?"

"Why not?"

"As of today, I'm engaged to Lord Ricaud. Didn't you know?"

Wolfram felt suddenly unsteady. Something stuck in his throat. The bed seemed to drop beneath him with a sickening lurch.

"That's what this whole visit was about," Ingrid continued. "My father wanted to make sure everything was perfect. That's why he sent you off to deal with that murder business before it got out of hand. I suppose it worked. Ricaud is fairly wealthy, you see, so Elkinshire will be able to prosper with his dowry. I expect he'll gift me some of his land, and when my father dies we'll inherit the estate here."

"Right."

The pair of them stared at the game board for a long moment.

"Rather miserable news, isn't it?" Ingrid said.

"Yes."

She reached out to take Wolfram's hand. "Go on, you make the first move."

Wolfram took one of the pegs out of the board and slotted it into a new hole, not caring where he put it.