19. Drunken Fool
King Uther was in a foul mood. For three long weeks he had looked forward to this hunting trip with a few of his closest Knights. Time and again they had had to postpone due to urgent matters of state in the ongoing battle against rebellions but now, finally, the opportunity had arisen and the small band of men had departed.
All had been going so well… until the first case of the sickness made itself known. Luckily, Uther himself had been spared from the violent effects of the mysterious illness but the projectile vomiting and feverish sweats had decimated their little camp in a matter of hours and they had been forced to return to the castle for urgent medical care.
Uther shivered in disgust as he stormed along the corridor; it was as if the awful, fetid stench of rotting stomach juices was permanently lodged inside his nostrils. All he longed for now was a long hot bath to scrub away the residues of bile and rabbit stew that had been spattered across his person.
From the opposite end of the corridor as he approached his chambers, he could hear noises emanating from behind the solid wooden doors. The conspicuous lack of guard posted outside pricked at his senses and immediately he was alert to the possibility of an intruder.
Slowly drawing his sword, Uther curled his fingers around the stout iron handle, readying himself to attack. It was with some surprise that he registered the muffled sound of a female voice and instantly he flung open the door, charging into the room with his blade held aloft.
The sight that confronted him was not anything that he had expected and his sword arm fell heavily to his side in shock. There, in the centre of the room stood the very dishevelled form of Torquil, pressed heavily up against a poor unfortunate kitchen girl who was struggling most violently against his advances. As the King burst into the room, Torquil staggered backward in surprise, revealing his most prominent state of arousal and the loosened chords of his britches that he had opened to allow himself better access to the unlucky girl before him.
"What the devil is the meaning of this outrage!" seethed the King, his eyes throwing fiery missiles at his inebriated servant.
Torquil staggered back further still, unsteadily supporting himself on the table as the girl tugged the front of her torn bodice closed and fled from his side, trembling uncontrollably in the corner of the room. The young manservant seemed unsure of what action was best to take and so made vague gestures while gaping at the King like a fish in the final death throws of its sorry life.
Visibly shaking with rage, Uther took two purposeful steps forward and caught Torquil but the scruff of his neck, shaking him angrily until his bones rattled, "How dare you abuse your position in this way!" he spat, hurling the boy against the wall where his unsteady legs crumbled beneath him and he sank to the floor in an untidy heap. "Not only are you drunk on duty, you have the gall to molest a member of my staff in my own bedchambers!" he yelled, the vein on his temple bulging out in an alarming manner.
The girl in the corner stifled a strangled sob as Uther's tirade ended and she clamped her hand over her mouth, lest she draw further attention to herself. Seeing her distress Uther forced himself to moderate his rage and quickly pulled a light cloak from his armoire and draped it carefully around her shoulders.
"Are you hurt child?" he asked quietly, his eyes briefly scanning her quaking form for signs of serious damage.
"No sire," she whispered in reply, her large hazel eyes wide with shock.
"Good," he replied, shooting a heated look in Torquil's direction, "Then why don't you step through to my antechambers? I will deal with this scoundrel and then summon someone to attend to you."
Nodding through her tears, the kitchen maid scurried hastily from the room in relief. Striding swiftly across the room, Uther looked up and down the corridor, cursing once again the apparent lack of guard.
"Why is there no sentry posted at my door?" demanding Uther, kicking angrily at Torquil where he lay at his feet.
"I gave them an important mission," he drawled, tapping the side of his nose theatrically.
"More important than manning their own station?" he spluttered incredulously.
"I can be quite persuasive," chuckled Torquil, giggling inanely to himself despite his predicament and apparently forgetting his initial fear.
"What a pity those skills cannot help you now," replied Uther sarcastically as he threw open one of the lattice windows and peered down into the courtyard below. "Guards!" he shouted loudly, curling his lip in grim satisfaction to see several men jump immediately at the sound of his voice and sprint hurriedly towards his chambers.
"Your actions go against every moral and chivalric code that this land upholds," continued Uther, his eyes blazing fervently, "As such you shall be hereby stripped of your title as Kings Man and spend three days in the stocks."
"Stocks?" repeated Torquil disbelievingly, his bleary eyes struggling to focus on the shape of the King.
"Count yourself lucky, my first instinct was the dungeons."
"You cannot…" he slurred, his face a picture of indignity, "Abraith would not allow it."
"What exactly is it to do with him?" seethed the King, his patience running thin.
A troubled look spread slowly across Torquil's face, his drink addled mind gradually catching up to his mouth as he realised he had said too much. A thin sheen of sweat appeared upon his brow and he clamped his lips tight shut, glaring mutinously at Uther.
"Answer me you clotpole!" spat the King in frustration, "Why would Abraith not allow you to be…" Uther's words trailed away to nothing as the first inklings of a dark and sinister plot nudged their way into his consciousness, "Abraith recommended your appointment," he breathed quietly, "No… he insisted upon it… tell me Torquil – why would he do that?"
Torquil said nothing; his blood-red eyes staring darkly back at him as the first of the guards hurried breathlessly into the room. Ignoring their arrival, the King continued to fix his ex-manservant with a look of pure loathing.
"You were there till the very end," he continued, not bothering to wait for a reply, "By my Brother's side, Abraith himself said as much."
Still Torquil kept his mouth firmly pressed into a tight and resolute line of silence, his present situation acting as a remarkable means of sobering the young fool up.
"What did you do?" seethed the King through tightly clenched teeth, his nostrils flaring in anger and his voice dangerously low.
Shaking his head slowly, Torquil remained resolutely mute in defiance of his sovereign's questions. Turning abruptly on his heel, Uther marched angrily out of the room, "Take him to the dungeons," he barked as he went, "Instruct the gaoler to stoke the fires; we shall rip the information out of him."
Finally Torquil found his voice, screaming obscenities at the guards as they wrestled him into their custody. Looking back over his shoulder, Uther paused briefly in his departure, raising his voice over the din to utter one last command; "And," he shouted, his eyes burning dangerously in the fading light, "bring me Abraith!"