A Midsummer's Saga Pt. 05

Gabrielle rushed up the stairs and into Dodo's room. Through the open entry door she could see the gatehouse. Paula hadn't gone in yet, but a small assortment of servants was already gathered to help her off the horse and provide refreshments. Okay then, it's safe.

"Thank you, Dodo, I'm done with the prisoner," she said, and stepped outside. She took off all the jewellery she was wearing and stowed it away -- it had done a good job propping up her royal authority, but surely would look suspicious to Paula. She dallied there in front of the tower as the lady and her entourage rode in, dismounted, and eventually dissipated into either the guardhouse or the inner courtyard. It was a pleasant day for riding, Gabrielle thought, somewhat overcast and refreshing. Why couldn't they have kept away for an hour more? When Paula was home, there was always a chance she'd call for her on a whim, and in that case the servant sent to fetch her must not find her anywhere irregular. Her talk with Aerin was definitely over.

On the other hand, what good would an hour more have done? Surely they could not have put that cock to a good use with Dodo around. And it's not like the boy was actually in the mood, anyway. It was just a reflex, an animal response beyond his control.

Still, she would have liked to see that thing, maybe feel it, and the opportunity was gone for good now. Dodo had been very hesitant to let her in, and she was pretty sure he'd bring this up with Clement if she ever tried again.

As she was considering all that, a boy servant came from the kitchen bearing two tin bowls and a loaf of bread, bowed to her awkwardly, and called out to Dodo. The giant guard invited him in and the bowls were laid on the table. The servant, having then additionally presented Dodo with the bread, went away.

The bowls contained steaming, watery groats. Gabrielle watched the two sullen brownish piles. "You eat the same food as the prisoner?"

"Yes, your worship."

"This doesn't look very tasty."

"Grub was better when I worked at the kennels," he admitted, with a touch of sadness.

"It shouldn't be like this."

Now Dodo looked at her with confusion. "But your worship! Clement organized it this way. Surely it's for the best!"

Of course.

As she walked across the courtyard heading towards the inner gate she recalled that hope that flickered in Aerin's eyes, before he suppressed it, when she told him he wouldn't die. She cursed under her breath. In a couple weeks Titulus will come and paint those dungeon walls with the boy's blood, and that will be it. She shouldn't have played with him like that. But what's done is done; it was beyond her to help him in any way. If she appealed to Paula to let him go, the awful woman would probably order him chained to a wall in a deeper cell still. There was nothing to be done.

She was by the inner gate then, and this is when she noticed Father Pelagius crossing the courtyard on a route perpendicular to hers, going from the chapel to the kitchens, walking sprightly and humming an upbeat tune.

Hold on. Maybe there was at least one little thing she could do for Aerin.

Pelagius was always in a great mood when visiting the kitchens. He knew all the cooks and servants on first name basis and was on excellent terms with them -- as luck would have it, they were a very pious bunch, and deferred to him greatly. There he could stay for a long time, in warmth and delicious smells, in mild light reflected off copper pots, surrounded by ovens, bunches of herbs, drying meats and stewing vegetables, discussing food and religion, his two favourite subjects. As far as he was concerned, the Behem kitchens were a visible sign of the gods' benevolence to mankind.

He was in an especially good mood today as he oversaw all the lambs, fowls, pies and sauces being prepared for his personal use. The midsummer festive season was fast approaching, and at this time good food was always the most bountiful.

"I tell you that you make the best midsummer honey cakes in the world, Gunnhild," he said to a laughing elderly cook. "No, really. I thought nothing could top the ones I remember from my childhood, but yours are just perfect. Truly, it's the gods' gift to you. And I see we got the shellfish delivered. I must say that though I dislike the sea, I like its fruits. What's better than to enjoy them here on solid land, where the air is still? The cisterns of Behem have quite enough water for anyone. Let us have no meandering, I say."

He paused as the door opened behind him; Gabrielle walked onto the reddish flagstones of the kitchen floor, prompting a wave of curtsies and bows. Pelagius beamed.

"Ah, child! You've finished your lessons, then?"

"Yes, Father. They were very instructive."

"Hard?"

"Excuse me?"

"The lessons."

"Oh. No, not very."

"And how could they be for you. Such a bright young lady." He turned his massive head to a cauldron and lifted the lid. "The duck stock is looking perfect. What excellent ducks we have around Behem, truly a credit to all the duck race."

Gabrielle took a look at the pile of assorted meats and veggies stacked on the table by Pelagius. "Is this food for you, Father?"

"For me and the boys," Pelagius smiled. "I like to oversee the preparations."

Gabrielle leaned on the table. "Father, I wanted to talk to you about the holy texts that you gave me to read. A recent one is troubling my mind."

Pelagius raised his eyebrows, over the ladleful of stock he was tasting. "Indeed?"

"Yes, there was the tale of blessed Duke Joris. The one that, when famine came, opened his larders to his peasants, and himself lived on acorns and stale bread all the way to the next harvest." The cooks milled about them, keen to hear the priest pontificate.

"A truly holy man. Charity is one of the greatest virtues, child. What troubles you about this?"

"It's just, I'd like to follow his example, but I cannot. There's this loyal man, Dodo, and there's his prisoner -- who's a prisoner of war, really, not some murderer or traitor -- and they're stuck in that tower all day, with only groats and bread to eat."

"Yes, most unfortunate."

"I'd share my own food with them, like Joris had, but I eat from the Great Hall's supplies, at Lady Paula's table! And surely I cannot demand of her to share her own food with people so low, what with her working tirelessly for the realm all the time..."

"No, it would certainly be presumptuous of you to request such a thing," said Pelagius, submerging the ladle back in the stock. The grey metal turned a thin gold, and then a rich brown, as it sank deeper, tiny bits of chopped parsley dancing around it.

"I guess I have to bear this, then. If only I had any say over my own food, I'd surely do the right thing." She looked to the floor with the appropriate degree of sadness. There was a compassionate "oh" from the old cook. Pelagius, meanwhile, froze with the ladle halfway back to his mouth. Some of the kitchen staff stopped whatever they were doing and were glancing at him. He looked to his pile of finest supplies. A small plucked quail stared back at him, with an accusatory expression on its beak.

Gabrielle bit her lip not to smile. She'd set up this battle of pride and gluttony just right. Pride had the support of a dozen deferential servants, waiting for Pelagius's reaction. Gluttony was severely outnumbered.

At length, the venerable priest slurped his stock and addressed the kitchen at large. "It's funny that you should mention that, because this is what I really came here today to request. I wish that all this splendid food goes to Dodo and his prisoner, while we at the chapel feed on groats for as long as they remain in the tower. Let nobody think that the servants of the gods in Behem don't put to practice the things they preach!"

The cooks and the servants issued calls of absolute delight at this holy man. Gabrielle joined in and Pelagius blessed them with a benevolent wrinkly smile, and his bald head shone with goodness and piety. The spectacle must have almost made up for the lost food to him.

A short time later Gabrielle was walking towards the inner courtyard with a lot more verve than before. Before she passed the gate, she noted the castle's bath house by the inner wall, and on an impulse swerved towards it.

The bath house's supervisor was a plump short and amply moustachioed man who never had too much work to do between the morning and the evening, when all the soldiers came here to clean themselves, and so was in the process of playing dice with his attendant when the door suddenly flung open and the princess butted in.

"Are you in charge of this place?"

The supervisor dropped his dice, which scattered in all directions on the floor.

"Y-yes, your ladyship!"

"Do you supply water to the dungeon?"

"Y-yes, we send Dodo a bucketful, just like Clement instructed—"

"Don't you know how unhealthy grime is? What do you think Titulus will say if his valuable prisoner gets sick and dies? You got to think about things like that, man!"

And before he had any chance to respond she walked out, slamming the door behind her.

*

He had a new task to occupy himself with at least, and that was to persuade his attraction to that blond menace out of his own mind.

She was a trick. She was not to be believed.

Calm down.

Aerin sat in his corner and tried to think. The groats that they fed him seemed to leave him hungrier after eating than before.

She claimed that she was a princess. Gabrielle. A pretty name. Shut up. He tried again to guess what was her purpose. She was only with him for a very short time, and went away as soon as the horn sounded. Maybe she wasn't sent here at all, but came secretly on her own out of curiosity? But then again, maybe they arranged this talk and these horns this way, just to make him think that and gain his trust? He spent several hours overthinking this at every possible angle.

Gotta face the truth, he figured. All hope is fake at this point. It's just... I don't want to die. I'm starting to wish I was never alive in the first place.

At some point towards the evening, he heard the door to Dodo's room open, and him talk with someone. The narrow passageway with the staircase was not facing the cell directly, but opened on the wall perpendicular to its grating, and furthermore there was the door at its top -- this prevented Aerin from ever hearing any actual words. He remained seated. Soon afterwards the outside door shut, the stairway door opened, and Dodo's quick steps echoed under the vaults. The man himself then appeared, grinning, and bearing a bowl and a mug.

"Food!" he announced, and shoved the things in, across the floor between the bars.

"What, again?"

Dodo grinned even wider. The smell reached Aerin. What the hell, roast meat?

As Dodo trundled back upstairs, Aerin inspected the bowl. Roast meat, alright. And lentils, and root vegetables, and sauce. A very generous portion, and a mug of ale to boot.

Alright, what is this. What, is, this. What games are they playing, exactly? What sort of elaborate mental torture have they planned?

His stomach kindly but firmly communicated to his brain that it was free to consider all these fine details at its leisure but, perhaps, this could wait until after the meal?

Minutes later he was lying on his back on the bedding, hurting from having eaten too fast. It was getting dim outside, and he still had no idea what to think.

The entry door opened again, and a different voice conferred with Dodo. Minutes later, the jailer appeared again, with a pair of manacles, and demanded that Aerin come to the bars to be chained to them.

As Dodo clasped one fetter around his wrist, the other around the bar, and disappeared in the stairway, Aerin braced himself. Now he'll find out what's the meaning of all this. Now they'll come and do something awful to him, just at the moment he had his tiny bit of contentment, and break his spirit that way... Dodo's steps were on the stairs again, heavy and careful. Oh, fuck. What is he bringing here, some torture device?

The thing turned out to be a very large wooden bowl, from which Dodo occasionally splashed out some steaming water. He also carried some bundle tucked under his arm. He put the bowl and the bundle on the floor, opened the door, brought the things into the cell, locked the door again on his way out, and finally unlocked the fetter on Aerin's wrist.

"Bath," he explained indifferently, and disappeared upstairs.

Aerin didn't move for a minute. Then, very carefully, he approached the bowl.

It was regular hot water, alright. The bundle next to it amounted to some grey soap, a rag to be used as a towel, and a pile of green hazel and mint such as was commonly used to clean your teeth. This kind of service was usually offered only by the more upmarket sort of inns.

Aerin looked at his reflection in the water. Hot steam was condensing on his face.

Maybe there was another logical explanation which he hadn't considered, he thought. Maybe everyone in this castle was simply completely fucking crazy.

*

And now, the fronts have changed. The clouds have dispersed and the sun alone made its rounds, high overhead, heating the earth with only the briefest pauses allowed for the short June nights, when the bushes lit up with fireflies. Peasants in the fields and tradesmen in the cities moved slowly now and sought shadow all day long. In the evenings, they met together and listened to music, and from the remotest corners of their houses they retrieved garlands and paper lanterns and festive clothes. Midsummer was at hand.

Some last safe havens for cool air persisted in the Behem Castle dungeons, where it pooled close to the floor and waited for better times. Aerin rather enjoyed it; still, he'd have given much to see the sky or the sun, at least for a moment. The stone ceiling above him was unmovable, forever unchanging, like a lid of a coffin. From the windows he could only see the chapel wall. Around noon, sunlight on the grass in the garden moved so close to the tower walls that it was almost in his reach. He would try to pull himself up to the grille and extend his entire arm, right to the shoulder, between the bars and out towards the edge of the window's niche. It was no use; the sunny area remained always inches away from his fingers, and as the noon passed, it crept back away from him, and he forever remained in the shadow.

The baffling food and bathwater kept coming, like to a guest of honour. If he still wondered about them, it was out of boredom rather than of any hope of solving the mystery. And although he consciously refused to believe Gabrielle's words -- the war will end, they will let you go -- they stuck somewhere to the bottom of his mind, and he kept repeating them in secret from himself. The girl herself never returned.

One evening Clement, while going to the armoury on some business, stopped by the door to the dungeon. Some enticing smell was coming from within. He knocked and peeked inside.

Dodo was at the table, finishing a lamb chop. A second one was still on his plate, and from the looks of it, it was rather carefully prepared, with herbs and all.

"Dodo, where did you get this from?"

"Evening, your lordship. Father Pelagius ordered this sent here!"

"Pelagius? Dodo, don't fool around. Seriously, where did you get this from?"

"It's true, your lordship! I swear!"

Clement gave him a good long look. Dodo's face was honest, incapable of covering any lie. Also, it seemed rather cleaner than usual. Clement scowled.

After finishing his business at the armoury, he went by the kitchens.

"Yes sir, some days ago Father Pelagius himself told us to send his food to the dungeon instead. Isn't this wonderful of him? Truly, he is a holy man!"

Clement muttered his assent to the cook and went back to the courtyard. He looked to the chapel, its windows lit in the dusk. It worried him when people did unexpected things. What was the old man playing at? Was he trying to show off his piety to the servants? Trying to curry favour with Dodo? Was he hiding something? Planning something? Or maybe he'd finally lost his marble?

Clement tapped his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He'd need to find out what's going on here.

Sunlight went away and then, in five or so hours, returned; Gabrielle woke up early, let Mista wash her, and went down for breakfast. For the last few days, she breakfasted in the Great Hall together with Paula -- the reason for this being, Father Pelagius had suddenly and inexplicably taken up the habit of coming over for meals. Paula was well pleased with that. She liked to have someone to talk religion with.

It was the day before the Midsummer Festival. The festival, celebrated on the last new moon before midsummer itself, others may see primarily as an opportunity to enjoy themselves. But Paula was well aware that it was first and foremost a holy day of the gods, who on that day would send their favour to their faithful, reversing any misfortunes. And even she had to admit that there were some misfortunes in urgent need of reversing.

Worrying news were coming from Redona, indifferent ones from Kontaria. The Redonians have managed to halt Harmeni offensive in a series of surprisingly bloody battles, and were now threatening to break into Harmeni territory itself. The armies of Harmen were regrouping, and the King himself took over direct command.

As for Kontaria, Titulus picked himself up quickly, reorganized, and went back into the forest, but in it he was wandering aimlessly. The Kontarians, having inflicted one defeat on that rainy night, now seemed content to just watch him move and slowly eat up his diminished supplies. If he couldn't figure out a way to force them into battle, he'd have to soon retreat and resupply, prolonging the campaign for more precious weeks, even an he and his troops were now increasingly missed in Redona.

Thus Pelagius's presence was a great relief to Paula. The old priest in the Great Hall did not speak of charity and mildness as he would in the kitchens; here, he talked of fire and righteous fury.

"The gods always punish the transgressors in the end, my lady," he said, helping himself to more salmon pâté. "We just need to be patient."

"That they do, father, that they do," she replied, more shrill than usual. "Our enemies will rot in hell before the summer's out, mark my words. The midsummer will be when the tide turns."

Jovin and Nicetas, the two injured cavalrymen now co-opted to the regular breakfast company, nodded but looked pensive.

"It will be a beautiful celebration tomorrow, my lady. I'm sure the god of war will listen to your prayers, and the townsfolk's."

"Oh, the townsfolk don't care. They just want to get drunk and dance, the rabble. Still, I'll have to be down there with them, it would be unseemly of me not to. You'll take good care of the castle, won't you, father?"

Pelagius put his palms flat together. "I will surely not let it collapse overnight."

Paula snorted. "I am glad to hear it. I'd like to stay here too, but the god of war likes noise. Perhaps you who stay behind can dedicate your prayers to some other gods. Such as Domalba."

Gabrielle did all in her power not to move a muscle. These last words were meant for her. Another one of Paula's dick moves -- the biggest festival of the year, when everyone from the poorest peasant to the King himself parties out until the sun's up, and she gets to be locked in the castle with a bunch of monks and guards. She glanced to the top of Paula's pointy head. I will strangle you in your sleep, she thought.

All day she spent in the dim chamber of the chapel with her head in her hands, rubbing her temples as Vulmar, Adhemar and Valdemar rambled around her about inane bullshit. In the afternoon, she hid in her chamber, from which she emerged only when the evening brought relief from the heat.