A while later when a discreet knock came upon his door, Olivier opened it cautiously in case it was Rose again. However, it was only one of the servants telling him his presence was required by the Comte downstairs. It took a few minutes for Olivier to make himself presentable. He noted out of the corner of his eye the servant growing increasingly anxious as the minutes ticked by. Finally, Olivier was ready and had to practically sprint to catch up to the servant who was already halfway down the hall. As they went down the grand staircase, Olivier observed the remnants of a fading bruise on the servant's cheek and couldn't help wondering if it was the Comte Dufort's handy work.
When they reached the foyer, an impatient Comte was pacing the tile floor awaiting his arrival. The clearly disturbed man walked towards the servant, hand upraised. But Olivier quickly inserted himself between the Comte and his target.
"My apology, Comte Dufort. I was dawdling and your servant kept reminding me to hurry. That I must be punctual when you summon." Olivier made a small deferential bow from the waist. "I humbly beg your pardon."
Lowering his hand, but still glowering, Dufort questioned the servant in a voice as sharp as a blade, "You were ordering about the heir of the Comte de la Fére?"
Olivier quickly interrupted again. "Your servant was most circumspect. You have trained your staff well, Monsieur. My father's vassals could do well by your expert guidance."
That ingenious comment seemed to cool Dufort's wrath as he turned away from the staff to address Olivier. "Your father is a good man. Though, as I have observed myself, he is a bit lax with his servants. A firm hand and the occasional example keep a household humming along smoothly."
Waving the servant off, the Comte threw an arm over Olivier's shoulders. As they proceeded outdoors and towards the barn, he told the boy about his last visit to the de la Fêre estate and the issues he had observed with the servants. Keeping up the pretense, Olivier nodded every now and then and made what he hoped were appropriate noises as the Comte told his tale of woe. Olivier thought the words coming forth from Dufort's mouth were completely inane. The only ill-mannered lout in the tale was the Comte Dufort himself. But to keep the peace, Olivier kept his opinions to himself and his face schooled in a look of what he hoped was polite interest, not disgust as he truly was feeling.
As they approached the stables, Olivier noticed that the staff that a minute ago had been watching Karl work, slowly melted away when they spotted the Comte's approach. It appeared no one wanted to be around the master of the estate.
Dufort moved to where he could observe the blacksmith at work. With his arms folded over his chest, he stood watching with a slight frown on his face.
"How skilled are you, Smithy?" he demanded after a few minutes of ever-increasing frowning.
The farrier, who had been affixing a horseshoe on a hind-foot of one of the Comte's carriage horses, banged in the final nail, then stood up to face the man. "Nothin' metal I can't fix, mend or, if it's an animal, shoe."
"He is very good," Olivier hastened to add. "My father was lucky he chose to settle in Pinon."
The Comte snorted derisively. "More likely he was lucky your father let him settle in Pinon, seeing he was kicked out of his own country."
The young Comte knew that wasn't what happened. Karl, as an apprentice, had come to France with his master, had fallen in love with a French maid and decided to stay. Olivier had heard the tale more than once. However, he knew Dufort wouldn't listen or believe him, so, he kept his mouth shut.
"Come. I have something else that needs mending," the Comte demanded, as he walked away, assuming all would follow.
Karl gave the mare he was shoeing a pat on the shoulder before he started after the departing man. Olivier trailed behind them both, noting a few of the estate workers peering from recesses as the Comte passed by. Not one of them looked happy to see him and in fact the opposite seemed true. If he didn't know better, he'd swear he saw malice in the servants' eyes.
He followed the two men towards a closed door in the rear of the stable that looked like it once used to be a large horse's box stall. The air was still and stale and smelled strongly unpleasant, though of what, Olivier was not sure until the Comte opened the door.
Dufort entered the enclosed space first, followed by Karl who, after stepping over the threshold immediately came to a halt causing Olivier to run into his broad back. Caught off balance, the smithy staggered to the side inside the room giving the boy his first view of what lay within.
Iron manacles were attached to the walls of the small room and two sets hung from the ceiling. The odor of urine, and the sweat of terror and humiliation, hung heavily in the stifling air.
The Comte ignored all the things that were making Olivier and Karl cringe as he made his way across the dirt floor to a set of shackles near the far wall. "These need mending. The iron rings are separating," he declared as he picked them up and held them aloft. He gave them a little shake and the iron rang in a bone chilling tone.
Karl and Olivier had regained their equilibrium and stood there frozen in dismay.
The Comte had no patience for their naivety. "Really, boy. Surely your father disciplines his servants."
"Not like this," Olivier croaked out.
Dropping the shackles, which fell to the ground with another ominous clang, the Comte moved across the small space and picked up a stained and well used whip. "Your father never whips his property? Or his sons?" The Comte gave the whip a light crack. "You've never felt the sting of his wrath?"
Olivier went quiet for a moment before answering. "I won't deny that my father has, more than once, found the occasion to resort to discipline."
A satisfied smile curled in the corner of the Comte's mouth. "And is it not true that the mother of our King, Marie de' Medici was known to have whipped our sovereign for his own good? And look what a marvelous man it made of him."
Again, Olivier hesitated before he answered. He had heard that very story from his own father's lips while he was instilling some discipline in what he often considered his wayward son.
"And his servants. Your father has never raised a hand to them?" the Comte pressed.
"On occasion, he has, Sir. But only for grievous infractions." Olivier swallowed uncomfortably. "And never in a manner such as this," he stated as he swept his hand through the air.
"Spare the rod, spoil the child. Same with servants." Comte Dufort stared down at Olivier, who had a stricken look on his face still and added, "You are what, nearly thirteen? Best you learn these lessons now so you will be successful in running your father's estate someday. You'd do well to heed me." A small smile made its way onto the Comte's countenance. "Who knows. Someday we may be kin. If so, upon my demise, you and one of my lovely daughters will find yourself overseeing a combined grand estate, one of the biggest in France. Heed well, for my lessons in properly cowing the servants will be invaluable."
Olivier was already convinced of two things. He would never marry one of this lunatic's daughters and he'd never treat his servants with such cruelty. But wisely, he kept his thoughts to himself and simply turned away to step outside into the aisle to find some fresh air.
Karl, who stood quietly in the background felt he had no choice but to stay in the horrible torture chamber and examine what the Comte wanted repaired. The smith was no fool and feared if he displeased this man he might find himself in these shackles getting a taste of the Comte's wrath. He knew the young Comte Olivier, no matter what his thoughts on the matter, was in no position to stand up to the older Comte and would lose any battle he might think to start. Karl also knew the Comte de la Fére would not be pleased if Karl let something happen to his progeny, expecting the smith, in his absence, to watch out for the boy. So, Karl felt he had no other option but to keep his head low and do as the Comte Dufort demanded. Soon enough they would be on their way home if everyone kept a cool head.