Chapter 31: A Mouse Among Foxes
Murchad Crewe
My father lost no time in announcing Mae's impending nuptials to "the honorable" Ser Helyas Manning. Since the Chantry had been dissolved the banns could not be posted as they had been traditionally. Instead, I was sent to the public square of Cloughbark to stand before the few people who dared leave their home when it was whispered that a retinue from my father's house came through the streets.
The village looked stark and empty as I stood near what used to be the Chanter's board. My mouth felt full of sawdust as I intoned solemnly, "I, Murchad of the house of Crewe, make this first proclamation of the intention of the esteemed Templar Knight Commander, Ser Helyas Manning, to wed the widowed Lady Maerwynn Crewe before the birth of the Firstfall moon. This is announced with the full consent of Arl Donngal Crewe. If any know of an impediment to this marriage, speak your peace in the sight of the Maker."
Men and women had cracked the doors of their homes in order to hearken to the news. It was hypocritical to make such an announcement to them when they would no doubt maintain silence for fear of retribution. My father's guards held the hafts of their swords, ready for any response. Even had I spoken, I might have been cut down.
My sister had been coerced into this marriage to ransom her friend in the dungeon. She was in misery and none of us could intervene without consequences. Feelings of overwhelming wretchedness crowded my chest when I considered it and found it hard to breathe.
For my entire life I had been threatened by my own father to meet his exacting expectations but being the youngest son and without power had afforded me a certain amount of freedom. Most times I could find ways to avoid what I considered truly reprehensible through careful consideration. I was not as cunning as Ronan, but I knew how to disguise my guile with timidity if it became necessary. Neither my father nor my brothers suspected me, believing me to be weak and of little consequence. When they were unaware, I could travel into the village and help the people within. Amid my father's various trips to Swidden, Fendril's slavish attention to training the guards and Ronan's various machinations to consolidate power in order to move against Fendril, they had let much of the running of Cloughbark unobserved, particularly the needs of the peasantry that worked the fields that fed us. For the last two years I would often travel into the surrounding villages to find out what the people needed. At times I even went so far as to work in the fields to ensure our harvests.
This past season had been disastrous. My father had become more paranoid of any moves of disobedience. When my mother was confined to her quarters he then turned his attention more fully on me and I could not assist the people without his notice. Aside from a rise in wild animal attacks, some of the animals that worked the fields, such as horses and oxen, became more unpredictable, becoming ill or temperamental. Horses would suddenly become crazed, throwing off their plows or dragging them over furrows that had already been made. Handlers would be injured and unable to continue working until they healed. All this occurred and, added to the sudden drop in our population due to Templar winnowings; we had not nearly enough of a workforce to harvest all of the crops necessary to sustain us for the coming winter.
In an act of desperation, I tried to mention this to my father, hoping he might be moved to provide some kind of aid or encourage the Templars to desist in their movements that threatened the very workers who provided the means for our survival. He responded with little concern, stating that we would be provided for during the winter months and there would be more than enough for the staff of the manner. He assumed that the plight of the people in the surrounding villages were not his problem. They were fodder for his ambition, but what was he working on, how could the arling survive without food and people? It gravely troubled me how dismissive he was of the loss of such necessities. It did not surprise me that he cared less for their personal plights than I did.
Before my father's grip had tightened on me and the Chantry had been dissolved, I had secretly encouraged the Reverend Mother to advise some of the edge villages to evacuate to Herfirien during the summer months and damn the crops. I knew that my uncle would care for those people, though it might cause more of a burden on his own stores, but he would find a way. I could neither openly contact him for fear of my father's wrath, nor advise the people myself without overstepping the bounds of my role as the youngest son. It troubled me to consider that perhaps he had lashed out against our Chantry because of possible stirrings toward moving people out of harm's way and without his express consent, though he gave no hint that he suspected my intervention.
For a time my father toyed with the idea of presenting me to Ser Manning's Templar order for training, assuming that would curry favor and remove me as a point of contention for the seat of arl on his death. Now that Mae was marrying Ser Manning, it probably did not feel as necessary to him. With Fendril's death I was now suddenly the spare, provided Ronan saw me as no threat and refrained from plotting against me. Both my father and brother watched me like hawks.
It had been conveyed to me by my mother that my father had used my good intentions to trap my sister. He had also made it near impossible for me to speak with her alone. On Ronan's orders, more guards prowled the hall. It was as if we were at war and expecting an invasion. In the past months there had been a rise in correspondence from Arl Boese to my father, often being carried by rough men that I assumed to be mercenaries, as if the Templars were not worrying enough.
I began to suspect that my father and Arl Boese were arranging secret raids just beyond the Orlesian border and were bringing a force together in order to carry it out. It seemed a plausible explanation for my father's sudden disinterest in the farming of the land, for why would he need to produce supplies if he could steal them. Conversely, such acts could bring open war and without support from our king, if the empress got wind of such activities, she could send her own forces against us. The rest of Ferelden was still recovering from the recent Blight and our country's weakened state might give Orlais just the excuse needed to invade. Such actions would be reckless, which would go against my father's very nature. He was careful, even as he was cruel.
Looking out at the village, with the weathered hovels that people had obviously been patching with green wood to weather the fast approaching winter, I felt a twinge of guilt. How could I leave these people to the mercy of my father? Even if I did try to intercede, would not my actions only invite my father to heap more abuse upon them, just as he did when my sister would take their part?
Of all of his children, my sister was the valiant one and far more charismatic than any of us. Had she been born a man, she could have ruled the whole of Ferelden before she turned eighteen. Men and women listened to her, taking what she said to heart. The compassion that she readily displayed made people love her, even more than they feared my father at times for she was a match for his temper.
I did not inspire such confidence; my father had beaten such feelings from the people that they feared him above all else and at times suspected me of being his agent. Perhaps that is why my father had always preyed upon Mae, allowing her no room to prosper. She would have been able to overthrow him had he allowed it, and he would never allow that. He did not fear me for I had not the command of such faculties; therefore I had been able to move freely for as long as I did.
I was no hero, no knight; I was a mouse while my brothers were foxes prowling for the weak. The best I could do was hide and creep out as opportunity allowed and the people did not trust me, though they would occasionally allow me to assist in small acts of kindness. It had been too long since I had ventured among my people and any good I had done previously had been eclipsed by the current actions of my father. I could not blame the servants who had revealed my ruse when I had stolen from the estate to inform Bruna of Mother's condition. My goodwill was outweighed by the potential of my father's ire.
After the announcement had been met with predictable silence, I returned to the estate flanked by guards. They were grim and did not bother to address me, they were only under orders to monitor the announcement and ensure that I would return without speaking to anyone. Either father overestimated my standing with the people or he had become paranoid enough that he would hazard no potential waywardness on my part since I had already attempted to supersede his authority when I had gone to Bruna.
While entering the grounds, the portcullis crashed closed behind our detail and one of the guard's horses spooked. The man was thrown and struck his head on the cobbles. Three grooms ran forward, trying to calm the beast, but it wildly continued to rear and kick for many moments. Another guard bravely dragged the luckless rider away from where the horse could have trampled him, but he need not have bothered. The man had been killed by the blow to his skull. The beast had to be destroyed by a sharp knife to its jugular vein since it had killed its rider and we could not suffer a violent animal to live because of the potential for continued violence. Blood flowed everywhere until we waded in it and it had to be rinsed away with many buckets of water.
"That is the third animal to become violent this week," I overheard one of the grooms whisper ominously to the other as they carefully disposed of both bodies from the courtyard; "Miles broke his arm and was nearly kicked in the head. This bodes ill! I have never seen so many animals behave this way. Bodicea is usually gentle and she bit my shoulder this morning."
"It is not just here. My brother lives in Hollowglen and they have had a wolf attack their goats. It killed five before his son managed to get an arrow through its gizzard." The man confided this in a tenor of dread.
The other man responded with disbelief, "Five? Wolves might kill one goat and drag it away if it were hungry. That is reasonable to expect, but not five, not by one lone wolf. It must have been sick."
The groom nodded sagely, "There is evil abroad in the Cauldron, make no mistake. May the Maker have mercy on us!"
"So let it be," I whispered in grim agreement as I made my way into the manor house.
As I made it a point to peer into my father's study. He had lost no time arranging for the Orlesian artist, Master Beaumont, to begin work on a betrothal portrait. The man was jittery, since he had come here almost a year and a half previously, doing various works to honor my father, his patron. He had learned how fickle my father's temper could be and realized that he could be ruthless on observing his darker moods and his cruelty to the other servants. The man tried to appease him always, pushing himself to complete each masterpiece as quickly as possible.
The smell of egg yolk wafted to my nostrils as the man nervously mixed his paint with a brisk motion of his wrist, combining the yolk with whatever pigment was necessary to achieve the desired color. The tempera paints dried quickly, meaning he could complete his works with the least amount time for the paint to dry. Once the man had been a skilled oil painter, but had discovered that it did not dry fast enough to meet my father's approval.
The panel had been prepped with a base coat of white paint and he had used charcoal to create an outline of his subjects on the other side of the room. Mae sat in a small chair by the fireplace, while her betrothed stood gravely by her right side, towering above her in his armor sans helmet. They were both angled so that they were looking to their right, making their left profiles prominent and it made Mae's scars difficult to be seen in the portrait. Her right hand was elevated slightly, resting gently on Manning's armored forearm. A thick, silken azure ribbon was tied around her wrist on one end and was tied around his gauntlet on the other end.
The Templar had not given her a ring, as was traditional, but instead had bestowed a pendant depicting a gold sword of mercy with a small sparkling chip of ruby at its hilt. It displayed prominently against her breast, done purposely to be seen in the painting. She had insisting a black velvet gown, more suited for a woman in mourning than a woman newly betrothed. When father had tried to bully her to choose another gown she had staunchly refused, stating that no other color aptly captured her humor.
This choice of apparel did not vex the stern Templar. He insisted, "It is far more fitting for a Templar's bride to dress somberly. It represents an air of meek decorum, capturing the seriousness of the life we have been called by the Maker to lead. Also, with the recent death of her eldest brother, any gown too colorful would be inappropriate."
The pair sat silently, the ebony skirt of her dress splayed around their feet in rich folds, draped carefully so as not to be too close to the grate as it crackled, casting vague shadows across my sister's countenance. Those shadows did not compare to the ones in her eyes or the pale circles beneath them, for she had not slept peacefully since the deal had been struck. I predicted, however, that those details would not find their way into the finished painting.
On the panel where the outlines of my sister and her future husband waited to be given color, I noticed the outline of a vixen sitting at her feet. This addition had been requested by my father, representing our house. The Templar's shield was hanging on the wall behind them as arranged at Manning's insistence. The presence of these men filled every aspect of the painting, but my sister, my true sister was absent. What sat woodenly in the chair was the shell intended to meet the appearances that my father demanded as the ransom for the life of the man in the dungeon.
"So, Murchad, what do you think of Master Beaumont's subject," my father inquired of me from a corner as he oversaw the nervous artist's progress, "fitting, is it not? I plan on hanging it in the study and then have Beaumont make a second copy as a wedding gift for your sister."
I nodded, answering tactfully, "I am sure that Master Beaumont will execute it aptly. His skill is unrivaled among his peers."
"I hope you are correct," my father acquiesced, not noticing how Master Beaumont cringed slightly as he finished preparing the paint.
I can only imagine what control it took for the man to banish the slight tremors in his fingers that I noticed as he arranged his palette. With a breath he proceeded to paint the unhappy woman that sat before him with a resigned, steady expression. All else seemed to fall away but the task before him.
"Did you proclaim the banns?" my father asked.
"Yes, Father." I responded hollowly as I noticed my sister closing her eyes momentarily at the words, the only indication of emotion that she allowed herself.
When Manning had led her back from the dungeon, escorting her roughly to my mother's quarters where mother had nervously waited, she had tears running down her cheeks. As soon as the man had departed from her presence she had collapsed. I had been allowed to go to them from my own rooms when I requested it from the guards, but they had to stand in the doorway. What secrets they expected us to exchange, I puzzle to consider, but she sobbed openly as my mother cradled her in the middle of the floor.
I got to my knees beside her, placing a gentle hand upon her shoulder but she shook it off, refusing my comfort, "Go, depart from me, Brother. I destroy all who attempt to reach out to me. I could not bear if anything were to happen to you on my account. Leave before the curse of me ensnares you."
I raised questioning eyes to my mother, but she shook her head and gestured for me to leave. I complied and returned to my room, my gut feeling weak with the strength of her sorrow.
When next I saw her, she maintained a mien devoid of emotion. Much of that was probably pretense to deny Father satisfaction. She would not allow him to see how deeply the pair of them had wounded her. I had witnessed this response many times during our childhood. She had become adept at it with Fendril and Ronan, who made wagers on who could more deeply disturb or upset her.
"Ah, dearest Mae," Ronan enthused as he suddenly entered the study, as if conjured by my memories. His words sounded false as they flowed from his lying mouth, though the voice was pleasant, "You look radiant, as a blushing bride should. You will be a treasure for your husband."
The sudden tension in her jaw showed the strain it caused her to hold her tongue. I absently wondered if Master Beaumont had noticed as he hurriedly began to apply a second coat to the non-existent vixen in the corner before turning his attention to the folds of Mae's dress. What I would have given for her to throw of the mantle of complacency and surge forward in all her angry glory, as I had once seen her do to Ronan when we were about eight. She had thrown herself at him, with fists flying, bloodying his nose when he had taunted her beyond her forbearance.
My brother was obliviously gushing to Manning about the discipline the Templars had exhibited during his recent visit to the compound, "They have all the penitents in hand and are making splendid progress, but I am sure you are well aware of that. Arl Boese seems quite pleased and concurred with my observations."
The words caused me inward pause, "penitents?" I dared not ask, but what he said made me feel uneasy. Mae flicked her eyes briefly at me, as if she felt it too.
"On the morrow I will return to my men," Manning declared, "I will escort my lady to Swidden on my way to Heidrunscap. She will pass her time as guest to Lord Boese while I make final preparations before the wedding. Is that not right, my pet?" He said this last with a bent of patronizing my sister, who made no reply or gave him any acknowledgment.
My brother smirked, "Ah, the gift of a meek and silent woman. Ser Manning you are truly blessed. If only I could find one so agreeable. Perhaps I shall send word to Denerim come spring and make inquiries of eligible noble woman there. Surely some must have survived the darkspawn." My sister's face flushed slightly and I construed she was near her breaking point, and it caused me fear.
"I would relish a visit to the post at Heidrunscap. It would be beneficial to me to examine the Templars in training, do you not agree, Father?" I cut in, drawing my father's sharp eyed attention.
He considered me a moment before stating, "You have never shown an interest in such things before, Murchad. Why so eager now?"
Imposing a convincing smile on my lips and donning an insipid look in my eyes, imitating a pup eager to please, I insisted, "With poor Fendril now gone, Ronan will be busy taking on his previous duties closer to home. You will need a liaison to represent our family with the Templars and occasionally Arl Boese. Is it not reasonable that I serve in this capacity as Ronan did?"
"Perhaps," my father concurred following a pregnant pause. "I take it you would wish to accompany Ser Manning and your sister to Swidden?"
"I would not presume, Father. I merely wish to meet your pleasure." My words were wheedling within my own mind, hoping he would agree to my request. If I accompanied Mae it might offer her a degree of comfort and support. I did not wish to see her travelling alone with my foreboding future brother-in-law. I could strive to devise a means of escape for us when we were no longer under Father's scrutiny.
"Father," Ronan sputtered, interrupting my thoughts, "Murchad is unaccustomed to such exchanges. Is it wise to so abruptly remove my current responsibilities? In a month or so, when things are more settled with the winter upon us, perhaps he could be more properly versed in the customary functions of a liaison."
"Perhaps, but Murchad makes a valid point," my father countered, "As my heir, you will need to spend more time here, building ties with the guards and drilling. I will need you here. It would not be amiss if your brother accompanied Mae and Ser Manning, familiarizing himself with the operations of Arl Boese and the Templar order, since they wield the greatest power here in the Cauldron." My father smiled politely at Ser Manning as he said this.
"As you wish," Ser Manning agreed, casting me a pointed look from the corner of his eye.
During this discussion, the artist had finished most of Mae's dress, but he observed in his heavy Orlesian accent, "The Lady is flushed from sitting by the fire, Arl Crewe. Perhaps she should retire for a time while I work on Ser Manning's regal profile. She can cool herself and when she returns I will be able to complete her, using her alabaster skin as a perfect contrast to the darkness of the dress. We would not wish her complexion to resemble an overripe tomato."
Father seemed annoyed by the artist's presumption, but allowed Mae to be excused, instructing me, "Walk your sister to your mother's quarters. Do not dawdle, but return to me immediately. We have arrangements to make for the morrow."
I bowed slightly to him, approached my sister where she sat, gently untying the azure ribbon from her wrist, momentarily freeing her from her bonds. The brown eyes that looked up at me spoke gratitude as I took her hand and led her from the room. It was a small escape, but it allowed us a moment to speak as we had not done since her arrival during that fateful night.
"I need your help," she breathed to me when we were out of earshot of the study, but dared not speak too loudly for fear a servant or guard should report it to Father.
I nodded, "Anything, Mae, but I am nearly as shackled as you. Since your arrival I am under constant scrutiny. It will only get worse as Ronan becomes more active as heir apparent."
"Is there any way you can see to Ser Sellose's conditions? I do not trust Father's word to free him. I fear he will try to have him executed or keep him indefinitely. Father tortured him, Murchad! Though I have cooperated, he is not scrupulous and neither is Manning." She wheezed, she struggled to hold back the tears she had been bottling for hours and some spilled down her cheeks.
"I will do what I can, Mae," I promised. "I swear I shall help as the Maker allows."
She nodded, "That is all I can ask. At least see that he receives food and some kind of poultice for his burns."
"What did they do to him?" I questioned when she mentioned burns, but on being asked she suddenly looked ashamed, broken, and I wished that I had held back my curiosity.
"Never mind, Mae," I rushed forward as we came to Mother's door, "he will be cared for and I will strive to help him in any way I can."
"There was a woman with him," she added, "make sure that she is cared for as well. The poor creature had been crying when I had been first brought to the dungeons to see him. I had feared that it was Bruna, but it was not her voice and Father would have recognized her if it was. That woman was probably some luckless traveler or Avvar woman that they had come across."
I assured her I would do my best, and kissed her forehead reassuringly before leaving her, giving my mother a fond nod as she opened the door. I scurried back down the hall, but stopped short at the stairs that lead to the dungeon. Outside the door was a sentry and I stopped to speak to him. My father was expecting me, but I had to fulfill my promise to Mae. If I acted like Ronan, I might be able to convince the guard to do as I asked without a worry of my father finding out. The guards answered to authority and I had to change my attitude in order to become an authority.
"Guard, I need you to see to the needs of the two prisoners. Make sure they receive proper attention. I will return within the hour to see that they have received food and are clothed." I commanded, fixing the man with a hard glare.
The man seemed startled by my address and was flustered when he answered, "But I have not received any orders from Arl Crewe regarding the prisoners."
"Previously you answered to my brother, Arlson Fendril," I explained, taking care to edge each syllable with annoyance, "and my father did not bother with such concerns as prisoners. My brother, Arlson Ronan, will soon be taking over my late brother's responsibilities, but I too am a son of the arl. In the interim I have interests in seeing this estate run smoothly. It would not be wise to cross me. You are no doubt familiar with the methods of my older brothers. I too was raised at my father's knee and know how to find blood. Have I made myself clear, dear fellow, or should I report your reluctance to heed me to my father? He is far less understanding than I when it comes to questions of authority."
The guard seemed troubled and opened his mouth a few times before nodding his compliance, "Yes, Arlson Murchad, I will see to the prisoners immediately. When you return you will find all your commands have been met."
"Make sure they are," I snapped without wavering before continuing on to the study without looking back. I could vaguely hear the crash of a heavy oak door being opened and the clatter of armor as the man harried himself to fulfill the tasks I had demanded.
"This mouse will have to learn how to bark like a fox from now on if I am to be of any use to Mother and Mae. There is no room for cowering now." I muttered to myself as I approached the door to my father's study and walked inside the den.