Sir Bentley and Holbrook Court (9 page)

“Eirwyn, you came!” The little girl's eyes were bright blue and full of life. A little button nose was sprinkled with freckles, and her smile was higher on the left than on the right but conveyed a heartwarming exuberance.

The young woman knelt and captured Anya in her arms and hugged her. Bentley just looked at her wonderingly
Eirwyn. What a beautiful name for a Maiden of Mercy
.

“Yes, my little Anya, I came.” Eirwyn wiped another tear away. “How's yer ma today?”

Anya kept her arms on Eirwyn's shoulders as she looked in her eyes. “Not so good today. The doctor's inside trying to help.”

“I'll talk to 'im,” Eirwyn said. “This is Bentley. Will you stay here an’ talk to 'im for a bit?”

Anya looked past them at Parson, who was now checking on their horse and the riggings. She turned her crooked smile on Bentley. “Sure.”

Eirwyn went to the wagon first and retrieved a small pouch. Bentley heard coins jingle within as she took it to the shack.

Anya walked to Bentley and put out her left hand. “I'm Anya.”

Bentley knelt down and shook it. “I'm pleased to meet you, Princess Anya. I am Sir Bentley.”

Anya giggled. “I'm not a princess, and you're not a knight.”

“Well, you look like a princess to me, and since you're talking to me, I must be a knight.” Bentley gave a bow. “Tell me, little princess, do you like stories?”

Anya's eyes got big. “I love stories. Will you tell one?”

“Absolutely.” Bentley lifted Anya onto the back of the wagon. She squirmed in anticipation, finding just the right spot to settle in for a good listen.

“Once upon a time in a land far, far away,” Bentley began, “there lived a King.” He found a stick to swing about as a sword as he narrated and reenacted part of the King's story that he had heard as a child. Anya was mesmerized by the tale, and Bentley was so engrossed in his telling of it that he didn't realize Eirwyn had returned.

At the end, Anya tried to clap, and Eirwyn added to the applause. Although slightly embarrassed, Bentley bowed first to Anya and then to Eirwyn. At that, her clapping slowed, and her countenance dropped slightly.

“That was wonderful!” Anya exclaimed. “Will you tell me another?”

“Of course,” Bentley told her, “but not tonight. Next time I will tell you about a great Prince who came to save the people from the clutches of the Dark Knight!” he said with wide eyes. Anya giggled again.

“Come, little miss.” Eirwyn lifted her from the wagon. “I brought somethin’ special fer ye, and yer ma's askin’ fer ye.”

“Good-bye, Sir Bentley,” Anya said, and Eirwyn paused to look at him.

He grinned sheepishly “Good-bye, Princess Anya.”

“I like Bentley,” he heard the little girl say as Eirwyn carried her back into the shack. When she returned, Bentley offered a hand to help her into the wagon.

“I'm pleased to meet you… Eirwyn.”

She smiled, and he was once again repulsed by her rotten teeth. She allowed him to help her up. This time he sat next to her in the wagon. The odor had either diminished somewhat or he had grown accustomed to it. She guided the horse out of the village and back on the road toward Creighton's farm.

“Does Parson always sit back there?” he asked.

“Always.”

“What you've done for these people today is remarkable,” Bentley said. “Do you do it often?”

“Not often enough,” she replied, looking straight ahead.

“Lord Kingsley's taxes are too harsh for the people.”

A smirk flitted across her face, but that was all.

“Where are you from, Eirwyn?”

She sighed heavily. “My father owns land not far from here. We raise lotsa different crops… and hogs.”

“I see,” Bentley said, thinking,
That explains the smell
. “Would you mind if I helped you on your next mercy run?”

Eirwyn was quiet for a moment. “I don't think that'll work.”

Bentley nodded, and the rest of the trip back to the farm was made in silence. When they arrived, Bentley jumped from the wagon.

“I am…honored to have been a part of this. Thank you, Eirwyn.” He turned to leave.

“Bentley.”

He turned about.

“Thanks fer the hep. And don't tell no one my name.”

He nodded and smiled. She smiled back, but this time with her lips closed. As the wagon passed by, Parson looked at Bentley and nodded too. This time Parson's gaze was not empty, and the friendly gesture warmed Bentley's heart. He watched the wagon disappear down the road to the east, wondering if he would ever see this Maiden of Mercy and her large companion again.

LORD OF
OPPRESSION

Over the next couple of weeks, Bentley worked closely with Anwen in the family's field, learning as much and as fast as he could from her. Though the farm was quite small—like all the farms around it—the labor was grueling, especially on meager rations, and his body protested with sore muscles, aching joints, and blistered hands. After three weeks, however, the blisters on his hands receded and his muscles became accustomed to their new use. He came to find joy in the labor, much as he had when training with the sword, discovering small ways to improve efficiency and watching the labor of his hand bear fruit.

His thoughts often turned to the young woman named Eirwyn and her missions of mercy. He was amazed at how wonderful it felt to have been even a small part of her efforts. He kept an eye on the road in case she happened by again.

Creighton, Anwen, Meg, and Nia quickly came to seem like family to Bentley. Meg and Nia adopted him as a big brother, and he spent many hours playing with them. He discovered he had a gift for telling stories, and the girls implored him nightly to do so. Most often his tales
were of grand knights and fair ladies, and he relied heavily on his past experiences in Chessington to help fill their imaginations with wonder. Their favorite story of all was the true chronicle of Sir Leinad and Lady Tess. Their eyes gleamed as he told of that couple of old, of their unwavering commitment to the King, of their love for each other, and of their mission to bring the promise of a Deliverer to the people.

Creighton slowly recovered, and by the fourth week he was able to work a few hours each day. Walsch came to visit them regularly, and friendship quickly developed among them all. One morning, to everyone's delight, Walsch stopped in with fresh corn cakes. They sat at the table and shared a breakfast together.

“At midday let's take some of our greens to Holbrook, shall we?” Creighton said to Bentley and the rest of his family.

Everyone stop chewing their food and looked at him as if remembering their last trip to the village.

“I'll be fine,” Creighton assured them. “You all have nothing to worry about.”

Walsch laughed. “At least you picked a day full o’ sunshine an’ blue sky.”

Bentley laughed too, which helped Anwen and the girls relax.

“Perhaps we shall see Lord Kingsley and his family on the estate tour,” Creighton added with a smile.

“Why should we want to see that?” Anwen asked. “They are cruel and—”

“Anwen!” Creighton said. “We don't want to give the girls an attitude of ungratefulness.”

“I don't like them anyway, Papa,” Meg said. “Especially the Painted Ice Princess. She's evil!”

“Meg! That's enough!” Creighton declared.

“Ice Princess evil!” little Nia mimicked.

Creighton looked disgusted. “Look what you've done now, Anwen! You're going to get us in trouble one day.”

Walsch laughed loudly and slapped Creighton on the shoulder. “I think you're outnumbered, Creighton, for I'm with them!”

Anwen shook her head. “Sometimes you're too kind, husband. Lord Kingsley and his children don't deserve your devotion, especially that pompous son of his.”

“Perhaps not. But I have to watch out for you and the girls, so I will do whatever that takes, even give my devotion to a ruler such as he.”

“Excuse me,” Bentley asked, “but who is this Ice Princess? And Lord Kingsley has a son?”

“Lord Braith and Lady Gwylin are Lord Kingsley's son and daughter,” Walsch explained. “Braith is the older.”

“Lady Gwylin only leaves the castle once a month for the estate tour,” Anwen added, “or when Lord Kingsley takes them on a trip to another region.”

Meg added, “She's called the Painted Ice Princess because she always paints her face white and is cold as ice.”

Anwen leaned forward as if to tell some juicy story. “Lord Kingsley's wife, Lady Rhiannon, died in childbirth. There is a rumor that she had two baby girls and that Gwylin's twin sister died with the mother, but some say she is still alive and so hideous that Lord Kingsley never lets her be seen by anyone.”

Creighton put his hand on his wife's hand. “Anwen, you're going to fill the girls’ heads with all sorts of silly notions.”

“What of Braith?” Bentley asked. “What kind of man is he?”

Creighton leaned back in his chair. A look of despair came over him.

Walsch finished a drink from his cup. “We'd hoped that Lord Kingsley's son might one day rule more justly than his father.” He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his tunic. “But alas, Sir Avarick has been the boy's guide these past seven years, and I fear he will be worse than his father.”

The five of them were silent for a time, and then Walsch stood up. “On that fine note, I'd best be off.”

Anwen gave him a hug. “Thank you for the corn cakes, Walsch. You and Bentley have been too kind to us.”

Walsch blushed. “'Tis nothin’. They was just going t’ spoil anyways.” With a smile, he left the cottage.

Later that day, Bentley and Creighton were out in the field harvesting a ripe crop of barley. Bentley had quickly mastered the use of the sickle, though it caused him to miss the feel of his sword in his hand.

“Oh joy,” Creighton muttered as he looked toward the road from Holbrook.

Bentley followed his glance and saw three mounted men coming their way.

“Who is it?” Bentley asked.

“Sir Avarick,” Creighton said nervously. “Just smile and agree to whatever he says.”

As the riders approached the farm, Creighton and Bentley ceased their labor. Creighton lowered his gaze, but Bentley stared up at the menacing form of Sir Avarick. He was partially clad in black armor and was indeed a mighty warrior to behold. His jaw line was broad, square, and smooth except for a small scar near his right ear. His hair was jet black, his dark eyes piercing as he glared down at Bentley. “Lower your eyes, knave,” his deep voice boomed.

Bentley hesitated, offended by the arrogance of the man. He dropped his gaze momentarily, then glanced back up to see Avarick looking sternly at one of his cohorts.

“Why didn't you tell me this farm had two laborers?”

“I did not know, my lord.” The knight bowed his head in submission.

“Is this true?” Avarick demanded of Creighton.

Creighton glanced up, then lowered his eyes again. “My leg was broken in an accident, my lord. This kind man agreed to help me until
I fully recovered. I couldn't get to town to see the landlord to tell him, but we were going today.”

Avarick glared at Creighton. “Don't lie to me, peasant. If you are working in the field, you are certainly able to see the landlord. You are not authorized to hire a laborer!”