Set a watch, OLord, before my mouth; keep the door of my lips. – Psalm 141:3
Kensie stalked furiously towards the stables. Damn that peasant! Damn his snot-nosed impertinence! The brat had spoiled a rare good moment for Kensie and reminded him of the general scorn that surrounded him. As if to compound Kensie's anger, the clouds moved in and the rain poured down.
As soon as Kensie set foot in the stable, Blood began to bellow and kick at his stall door. Kensie hurried to the stallion who quieted and whuffled his master while Kensie stroked his neck.
Kensie fetched brushes and commenced grooming Blood in the crossties. The stallion nearly purred while Kensie brushed and curried his coat. His insistence on grooming his own horse was another reason for many of his peers to scorn him; in their eyes, such chores should be left to servants. Kensie did not care. There were a few others, such as Urson Felthan and Rubin Larkin, who groomed their own horses either because they were too poor to hire a groom or, like Kensie, were passionate horsemen. A few of the latter were tentative acquaintances and treated Kensie with respect.
"Going to work your lad, Milord?" A voice asked from behind him. Kensie looked around and saw Tahk, the assistant stablemaster responsible for this section of the stables.
Kensie grinned at Tahk. Despite the difference in their ranks, a common love of horses had brought them together and Tahk's open admiration of Blood had made them friends. While Tahk knew of Kensie's reputation, Kensie's care and attention to his horse made everything else inconsequential in Tahk's eyes. For Kensie, Tahk's skillful handling of horses had won his respect. Tahk was the only person Kensie really trusted to handle Blood.
"Yes, Tahk. He needs the exercise and I need a good ride to clear my mind." Kensie answered easily.
"The école is pretty empty right now," Tahk said, "You should be able to get a good workout."
The école – the covered riding ring – was almost entirely for the use of the nobles. Keren would only allow the trainees to use it if there was a gale strong enough to prevent the trainees hearing her instructions. The école was usually full of nobles if the weather was even slightly less than perfect. In a heavy rain, no highborn would be riding anywhere else; even so, they tended to avoid riding at all when there was a wind to spook their high-strung horses. With the wind and the rain this afternoon, the highborn were huddled in the palace, unwilling to expose their precious skin to the elements even for the walk between the palace and the stables.
"No. He needs a good gallop. So do I." Kensie said.
Tahk's eyebrows shot up. "In this rain? You'll be drenched."
"That's why I'd like you to get a hot mash ready for him when we get back and put his rug over the woodstove to warm it." Kensie said. "I can walk the aisles to cool him out, but I want him to dry from the inside out."
Tahk grinned. "You are a horseman, aren't you? Any other highborn would have left the walking out to one of us stablehands and been more worried about his own hide than his beast's. I'll have a hot mash and a warm rug ready for your lad when you get back."
"High praise, coming from you, Tahk. My thanks!" Kensie threw the reins over Blood's neck and swung up into the saddle. With a wave to Tahk, they clattered down the aisle and out into the storm.
Kensie returned just under a candlemark later. As Tahk had foretold, horse and rider were drenched with little rivulets of water running off them both.
Kensie pulled off his rain cloak, then untacked Blood. Using a scraper, he took the worst of the water out of the stallion's coat before throwing the warmed rug over Blood's back.
Kensie walked Blood until the stallion was cool and dry, then groomed him carefully. Kensie drew comfort from the horse's obvious pleasure in his master's attentions.
Finished at last, he put Blood back in his stall while Tahk dumped the hot mash into the feed bucket. The horse plunged his nose into the bucket and began gobbling greedily. Kensie gave the stallion one more affectionate pat on the neck before donning his rain cloak and heading back towards the palace.
Despite the pouring rain, Kensie whistled cheerfully as he trudged up the path.
Kensie's father was waiting for him at his suite in the Palace. Wyeth Poldara grinned proudly as his son entered. After Kensie handed his rain cloak to a Geoffrey, Wyeth embraced his son. "I hear you have been dueling in the salle. Tell me all about it."
Kensie told the story as accurately as he could, though he could not help swelling a bit when he told how he had scored seven points on Evan Aitken without the latter scoring at all.
"There are already two versions circulating in the Palace. One, that you essentially chopped Lord Evan into little tiny bits before pounding him into the floor and the other, that Evan nearly destroyed you and would have won if you hadn't cheated by using your fists. Most are telling the former story, Evan and his friends are trying to get people to believe the latter." Wyeth's amusement showed.
"Well, I did knock him out with the pommel of my sword, but only after he came at me bare-handed when I'd disarmed him." Kensie said.
Wyeth shrugged. "I've used my pommel when I was too close to use the blade. I'd say Evan Aitken is making a fool of himself if he tries to argue that it was unfair. Still, his father will believe him." He shrugged again. "No matter. Viscount Colin and I haven't gotten along since we met at Sendar's coronation. Just one more thing for him to gripe about."
After bathing and putting on Court Clothing, Kensie followed his father to the Great Hall, where the nobles were assembling for dinner. For once, Kensie was not ignored by the others at the table, who questioned him about the bout with Evan Aitken.
Count Wyeth was particularly pleased as Lovat Astey and Rubin Larkin persuaded their fathers, Earl Orrin Astey and Duke Perin Larkin, to join their table. Count Wyeth had been cultivating the acquaintance of the Earl and the Duke, both of whom were extremely wealthy, in hopes of joining some of their ventures. Kensie's acquaintance with their sons provided an opportunity for Wyeth to meet the fathers.
For once, Kensie did not dine in a circle of silent exclusion. The three young men enjoyed their own discreet conversation while their fathers talked matters of trade. Lovat wanted every detail of the bout with Evan Aitken. Kensie told the story plainly; Rubin, who had been present, gave a more fulsome version. Though Rubin outranked Evan and was thus exempt from the latter's condescension, he thoroughly despised him and took great pleasure in recounting Evan's comeuppance.
Once the event had been fully dissected, Rubin moved on to the subject of horses, a passion he shared with Kensie. Lovat, though not as fascinated as the others, joined the discussion as well.
When the evening ended, Kensie retired happily to his bed. It had been his best day since coming to Haven.
The next day started well for Kensie. As many smiles as sneers greeted him as he went about the Court. Evan Aitken had many enemies who were all to glad that Kensie had humiliated him.
Kensie attended his morning classes, including his lesson in the salle with the other advanced students.
As Kantor had confirmed, Alberich thoroughly demonstrated every error that Kensie had made against Evan the day before; the Weaponsmaster showed how Kensie could have been caught by his mistakes and made him practice until he had the moves correct. Alberich had also noticed Kensie's deliberate decision to hew to the 'classical' style. He tested Kensie to ensure that the young lord knew when to use the more direct approaches that he would need in real combat and made Kensie demonstrate how he would have used those openings in war.
After Alberich had run through the exercises with Kensie, he told Kensie to spar against Lovat Astey with the instruction that they were to take turns: Classical vs classical, classical on one side vs open combat on the other (and the reverse) and open combat on both sides.
Lovat, who was a better swordsman than Kensie, outpointed him in three of the four pairings. Kensie only outpointed Lovat when the latter was restricted to the classical style and Kensie was allowed the moves of open combat.
When they were done, the two walked the circuit of the salle to cool out, stopping to stretch regularly. As they walked and cooled, they talked casually of the sparring they had just done, each carefully complimenting the other on well-executed moves. The conversation slowly tailed off and they walked a circuit in silence, only glancing at each other from time to time.
Lovat stopped and faced Kensie, who looked back at him. Inwardly, Kensie dreaded that Lovat was going to say something about the final battle against the Tedrels. Instead, Lovat asked "Do you know Herald Tobias Abdiel? The one who lost an arm at the Battle of Redruth?"
Kensie nodded and resumed walking; Lovat walked beside him. "I've met him twice. Once when he cleared my mother's handmaiden of theft" – Kensie omitted the fact that his mother was the accuser – "and once at an inn called 'The Blue and the White' in Leuven."
"He is my second cousin." Lovat said. "I ran into him this morning on the way to the stables. He told me about that encounter in Leuven. He said that you defended yourself against a fully armed Tedrel trying to kill you. That you killed him with nothing but a brass lamp in your hand when he tried to stab you in your sleep."
"I won't say that a brass lamp is a gentleman's weapon," Kensie said lightly, "but when you wake up with a knife coming at you, you use what you have at hand. My sword was ten feet away, so I grabbed the lamp and swung it at his head."
He grinned at Lovat. "I was so frightened that I just kept hitting him even after he was down. The Healer who examined the body said that he was dead by the fourth blow, but I hit him at least another half dozen times."
Lovat gave Kensie a measuring look. "Why didn't you run?"
"I would have died if I'd turned my back on him." Kensie said.
"True." Lovat said.
The two resumed their silent walk. Once they were done, they donned their cloaks to return to the Palace. As they parted, Lovat offered his hand. Kensie shook it.
"I've never been in a death fight." Lovat said. "I think you are a brave man."
Lovat turned and walked away, leaving Kensie standing speechless.
Kensie's euphoria lasted less than half a candlemark. As he entered the classroom for Court Judgment, he came face to face with Evan Aitken.
Evan grinned at Kensie. "Broken yet upright, bloodless upon Blood, steel puts me to flight yet I will beat you with wood. What am I?" He asked.
Lacaral met Bredin at the Collegium door to carry him to the salle. Bredin, now practiced in the technique, vaulted easily onto his Companion's back. The faces of his fellow trainees twitched enviously as they set out to walk beside their yearmate. Bredin reflected that they might not be so envious if they had felt the water from Lacaral's wet hide soaking through their trousers and realized that sitting higher exposed Bredin more fully to the wind and rain.
::Chosen, you have done a very cruel thing.:: Lacaral said.
Bredin was startled by his Companion's statement. Lacaral's tone was serious, not joking. "What do you mean?" He asked.
:: "Broken yet upright, bloodless upon Blood, steel puts me to flight yet I will beat you with wood. What am I?":: Lacaral quoted.
Bredin was even more puzzled. "That was a riddle I told Jan last night. What of it?"
::A very barbed riddle. Would you have told it to Lord Kensie?::
"No. He would have gotten angry. But I didn't tell it to Kensie, I told it to Jan."
::Who told it to Amos Songer, who told it to his distant cousin Trion Songer in Bardic, who told it to his high-born friends.… It is all over the palace now.:: Lacaral said.
"So?" Bredin said warily, not sure what Lacaral was going to say.
Lacaral heaved a huge sigh. ::Chosen, nothing spreads so fast as a nasty joke. And nothing can cause the same pain. I told you yesterday that I believed Lord Kensie's story. Most people do not, especially among the nobility who never miss a chance to cut their enemies down.::
"You mean that Kensie has heard it?" Bredin felt the blood draining from his face, wondering if Kensie would know he had started it.
::He has had it flung in his face a dozen times already. How did you feel when Kensie called you 'Boiling Bredin'?:: Lacaral asked.
Bredin flushed. "Not very good." He admitted, then attempted to justify himself. "Well, now he can feel what it's like to be teased."
::Is that the kind of person you want to be? Vindictive and petty?:: Lacaral's disgust was plain.
"No." Bredin said, shamefaced.
Lacaral sighed again. ::Chosen, the damage is done. Kensie has been worn down by the scorn that surrounds him. Kantor and Alberich were working to build him up a bit. You have undone that with one cruel joke.::
"I am sorry." Bredin said.
::It's not me you should apologize to. More importantly, you have to learn that unkind words can travel far beyond the person you utter them to. Particularly if they have some wit that will speed them along.:: Lacaral's tone reminded Bredin of Father Toma's.
"I'll try." Bredin said. They had reached the salle. Bredin slid down from Lacaral's back, hugged his Companion and went in to the salle.
During the lesson, Bredin was could not tear his mind from Lacaral's admonition. He was so distracted that Alberich singled him out for intense drill, leaving Bredin with several bruises and orders for extra practice on his own.
The remainder of the day was a special hell for Kensie. The cruel riddle was flung in his face scores of times; Evan Aitken seemed triumphant. A few, like Lovat, Rubin and Urson, stood by him quietly, reassuring him with their presence that they were undisturbed by the latest taunt. Kensie strove to maintain an appearance of calm, but the abrupt reversals over yesterday and today tore at his guts. At the end of the day, he trudged out to the stable and flung his arms around Blood's neck, weeping silently into the stallion's mane for several sunwidths before regaining his composure. The anxious stallion nuzzled his master and blew softly on his shoulders.
At last, Kensie groomed and saddled his horse before slowly riding down to Poldara house. Except when invited to the homes of his peers, Count Wyeth alternated between dining at home and at the Court; for lack of other invitation, Kensie joined his father.
Kensie took Blood to the stable himself. The stableman was now used to the routine, although, in a kind of reverse snobbery, he felt Kensie was acting beneath his rank.
As Kensie expected, Spod was waiting there with news of what Geoffrey Teows had done that day.
Kensie had recruited Spod and given him livery. It was still striped, but the colors were now the brownish red and harvest gold of Bransat. Kensie had hired Spod for the purpose of keeping an eye on his manservant. Kensie had hinted to Geoffrey that he would replace Alfonse Dane as major-domo of Bransat Manor once Alfonse's age forced him to retire. Kensie told Geoffrey that Spod was to be his eventual replacement, which was true, though not in the way Geoffrey thought. Geoffrey was told to show Spod how to perform the duties of a manservant and have the boy follow him as he went about his duties. As Kensie expected, Geoffrey assigned Spod the duties Geoffrey liked least, including cleaning Kensie's tack and riding boots. This gave Kensie the opportunity to talk quietly with Spod in the stable while Kensie groomed Blood and the stableman went about his other duties.
Spod had been glad of the chance for advancement. He had proved every bit as clever as Kensie hoped and quickly realized the potential of what Kensie offered. Loyal service in spying on Geoffrey might lead to a permanent sinecure as Kensie's manservant. Spod devoted himself wholeheartedly to both his official and unofficial duties. Though Kensie was often amused by the Spod's impertinence with Geoffrey, he always maintained indifference when the latter punished the boy for his jibes.
Kensie was careful never to be entirely alone with Spod: His reputation was poor enough without risking the rumor that Spod was his catamite. As the stableman went about his duties, Spod and Kensie were always clearly visible; the slightly deaf stableman only caught bits of their conversation.
Spod's news that evening only deepened Kensie's despair. In the late afternoon, Geoffrey had sent Spod off on an errand. Kensie had warned Spod that Geoffrey would do so; that would be when Geoffrey met his contact. Spod was to do the errand while some of his fellow street urchins tailed Geoffrey and reported back to Spod later.
"Soon as I headed off fer them shirts," Spod said, " 'e headed straight fer the Bird in the Hand. Taim and Mik saw him go in, but they didn't see the face o' who he was talkin' to. Just saw the man's back. Tall man, thin an' wearin' a grey raincloak wi' a beaked hat. The man passed him a pouch and Geoffrey put it in his pocket and the man left quiet like after a while. Mik tried to foller, but the man gave 'im the slip.
"When he was gone, Geoffrey done keep on talkin' and started tell some joke about you and Blood and steel and wood and everybody laughed." Spod saw Kensie's face flush and stiffen.
"Beggin' yer pardon, ser. I didn' mean t' offend yer." Spod finished cautiously.
"No, Spod. You did not offend me. You told me what I needed to know. I don't like what Geoffrey said, and he will pay for it someday, but I need to know he what he is saying." Kensie flicked a brief smile at Spod. "It takes loyalty and guts to tell a highborn what he needs to know, Spod. I thank you." Pulling a halfpenny from his purse, he tossed it to Spod, who caught it with a grin. "And here are two groats for Taim and Mik." Spod caught both coins in a single motion.
At that moment, Kensie realized it was not sufficient to demand Spod's loyalty; Kensie would have to be loyal to Spod. "Go and assist Geoffrey now." Kensie ordered. Spod rose and went off with a smile. As he passed Blood, he stroked the stallion's head. Blood pricked his ears forward; his master liked Spod, that was sufficient for Blood.
The stableman was not nearly as deaf as Kensie thought. While Kensie bathed and changed for dinner, the stableman reported to Count Wyeth, who had recruited him to spy on Kensie.
The Count grinned at his son's cleverness in recruiting Spod and the street urchins to spy on Geoffrey. His own agents were far too conspicuous and had failed in their attempts to follow the disloyal manservant. Wyeth would have to see if Odelle Deschner could place an agent in the Bird in the Hand in case that was Geoffrey's regular meeting point with his handler.
That evening, while Kensie was doing his assigned reading on Court Judgment, the doorman came to his room. "Milord, there is a young Herald at the door who says he wishes to speak to you."
"Bid him come up, Paulus." Kensie said. "You shouldn't make a Herald wait outside."
"I did, sir, but he said he preferred to wait outside."
Curious, Kensie went down to the door.
It was not a Herald who waited, but a Herald Trainee. Bredin Kase. He and his Companion waited in the shelter of the portico. The wind whipping around them and through the door drove drops of the heavy rain with it. Both Bredin and his Companion were soaked.
Kensie stiffened. "What do you want?" He said, keeping his voice flat, in the tone Widow Clay's book described as used 'when speaking to one unworthy of notice.'
Bredin bobbed his head and pulled his forelock. "I have come to apologize My Lord." His voice betrayed his nervousness.
Kensie's brow furrowed. "For what?"
"For the riddle, My Lord. That riddle that was going around today." Bredin licked his lips. "I was the one who thought of it. I – I am sorry, My Lord."
Kensie stared at Bredin for a long moment. Without speaking a word, he slowly closed the door in Bredin's face.