The Prince and the Wolf - 15

As it happened, once she found out that I was indisposed, Gramercy had the greatest difficulty in dissuading the mistress of the house from plying me with all manner of dainties, delicacies and comfits of her own devising, only mollifying her by allowing the accompaniment of calves-foot jelly and brandied apricots to the veal and dumpling stew.

'Why is it, do you think, that the meanest establishment in town is able to serve meals fit for a king, while the royal kitchens turn out inedible pap?' I sat back in my chair with a sigh, easing out my waistband.

'Now as to that, I cannot say,' Gramercy replied, stealthily attempting to filch the last of my brandied apricots. I'd had two, so I reluctantly relinquished the fourth to his hovering spoon. 'I swear these are the equal of the autarch's,' he said, kindly donating the stone back to my plate.

'Ay … and now we know from whence he obtains them!' I said, mournfully regarding the empty plates. 'I swear I could …'

I broke off, my eyes meeting Gramercy's in shocked dismay at the determined rap upon the door. Suddenly galvanised, I dashed for the bed as Gramercy cleared his throat to enquire as to the caller, while snatching up the discarded finery and throwing it to a corner.

'It's only me, sir; come for the dishes?'

'Ah! Yes indeed … one moment …' Gramercy helped me heap the covers over both myself and a thoroughly bewildered Geran, who thankfully held his peace as Gramercy opened the door just wide enough to exit the tray.

'I trust it was to your liking, sirs?' I could see her craning to descry me and gave her a weak wave and as disgusting a cough as I could muster, while Gramercy confirmed our appreciation.

'Should I bring supper, then?'

'Er … no; thank you, good woman, but perhaps a hearty breakfast?'

'Ay then, sir, and a good night to you both.' She was gone without further ado, Gramercy near slamming the door in his haste to be rid of her.

'Dear God, David … if this continues, I shall die from shock.' I couldn't help it, desperately trying to stifle my peals of laughter lest the landlady be still within earshot. Gramercy tottered toward the bed, collapsing upon a protesting Geran who emerged from hiding clearly demanding a conciliatory pat. 'I assure you, my princely friend, that I have encountered more peaceful times in pitched battle.'

'Ay again, my poor Gramercy.' My continued snorts drew a baleful glare from the lieutenant, now perched upon one elbow with his free arm caressing Geran's ears. 'And we have two days more …'

'Then I shall expire with honour,' he declared, 'and you may bury me beneath a bushel of the good woman's apricots.'

'I hope she serves them for breakfast!'

Now it was his turn to laugh, as he agreed most wholeheartedly.


'Gramercy …'

'Ay …'

'Have you fought in many battles?'

'Only one that could truly be termed a battle, but I've survived my fair share of skirmishes.'

We lay side by side in the double bed, with Geran snoring as usual between us. It was quite light, a setting half-moon shining straight through the flimsy drapes and with our planned confrontation of Olivar now so close, I was finding it difficult to sleep.

'Will you tell me of it, the battle? I've never seen anything more violent than your fight with Carsell.'

He chuckled dismissively. 'It was hardly a fight, David, thanks to your skill with hats.' He turned to face me, again propping up on his left elbow. 'And as for witnessing the violence of a battle, I pray you never do.'

'Was it truly gruesome, then?'

'Ay, my friend. We lost near a hundred good men that day and they the same, I'll warrant … though I'd not call them good.'

'So; who were "they", then?'

'Mercenaries, from beyond the mountains to our rear … at Palenta, I mean,' he added, hastily. 'I was but a common soldier at the time, aged seventeen and as yet unblooded. The old autarch was in power, fully believing himself immune from harm, the old fool.' Gramercy sighed, the memories clearly flooding back. 'You know of Marianne already, whom I had just met and loved most dearly. She went into the hills of course, with the other women and children, while the rest of us fought. I saw men near cloven in two, David; some with their entrails exposed, others pierced with a quarrel through the eye, or the throat. My closest friend died with fully five arrows in him.' He paused again, the moonlight enhancing the sadness upon his features.

'And what of you?'

'Me? Ha!' he exclaimed, 'I escaped with but a scratch …' He drew down his woollen undervest to show me his breast and the livid, puckered scar that ran from his left shoulder right through his split nipple, almost to his navel.

'Ay … I saw it previously. What did this?'

'A cutlass, though it was the last blow it delivered.'

'Did you kill him, then?'

'Ay … I cut his stomach open and left him to bleed to death.'

'Good for you!'

'Oh ay … I survived at least, though I was laid up for nigh on three months.'

'Did you win the battle?'

'We did, and handsomely, though I knew nought of it by then.'

'What happened to the autarch?'

'I said he was a fool, did I not?'

'Ay, you did.'

'He went out onto the balcony in his nightdress, to beg the bandits to desist … he was eloquent, I'll give him that. I truly believe they had begun to heed him … ere he told them they were ruining his magnificent gardens.'

'Ah … I gather they were unimpressed?'

'Ay … they'd already shot him thrice ere his men got him back inside, though it took him a full two years to die of it.'

'He must have suffered, then.'

'Ay … by the end of it, gangrene had both his legs off and rotted his insides away. It got so that none could approach him without the most powerful of scentpots beneath the nose.'

'I recall you termed him haughty and full of himself, but I believe no-one deserves such a death.'

'Mayhap you are right, my friend.' He yawned and patted my shoulder. 'I need my rest, David … goodnight.' He turned his back to me as I faced towards the moon, now setting behind the roof of the gatehouse and tried to sleep …


The following two days passed so slowly that when Sunday night finally arrived, I'd fully convinced myself it might never do so and it was a powerful shock to realise that come the morrow, I would either be the new king or merely a dead prince.

Our waiting had not been without its compensations, the lady of the house keeping both of us – and our occasional handsome, dark-eyed 'visitor' – supplied with fancy dishes from her kitchen. She took quite a liking to Geran, simpering before him like a maiden while he coquetted from beneath his black curls. Despite her flirting, both my companions readily agreed with me when I avowed that should I indeed succeed in wresting the throne from Olivar's evil clutches, my first act must be to obtain her services for the palace kitchens.

We rose early on the fateful day, myself so sick in the stomach that I could not eat the splendid breakfast which arrived at our door not an hour after Geran's change. My two companions seemed less affected than I, though given their respective recent lives, they were doubtless both used to such agonies. As Geran eagerly consumed my eggs and Gramercy the bacon and tomatoes, we rehearsed our plan for the umpteenth time. Though I could not be sure of it, I saw no reason why Olivar should have altered either the place or the protocols of his receptions. If indeed he had, then I conceded that we might well need to improvise.

We left the inn in good time to present ourselves among the earliest at the palace gates, the three of us to all appearances unknown to one another. As the gates opened and we passed between them onto the tree-lined cobbled drive, I could not help but look up at the two stone grotesques leering down at us from their vantages atop the gateposts. As a child, they had scared me and now, as a man, I could not but wonder why they still did.

Gramercy strode along just behind me, splendidly attired and plumed in full dress uniform, ostensibly to present his credentials as a visiting envoy from the autarch, while Geran and I purported to be mere townsfolk, bent upon some trivial petition. I again wore Geran's smock to lend some disguise to my features, while trying not to appear overly sinister; I hoped that with my sack upon my back and trusty stick to hand, I seemed rustic enough to be discounted.

The timing of it was everything; Olivar himself was of little consequence, but if we could not persuade his guards to our cause then all was lost and our lives presumably forfeit. My nervousness mounted near to cramping me as we shuffled in line up the palace steps and turned left down the wide corridor towards the reception hall. Thus far, it was as I had foreshadowed, but my inner shaking showed no signs of relenting when I realised we were ahead of time. Feigning a cramp of the stomach, I attempted to allow a local farming family and two hooded monks to precede me, the slimmer of the clerics gracious in his refusal, while the fat one merely grunted from beneath his cowl. The farmer looked at me as if I were mad and ushered his wife and brood in front of me without so much as a word.

The likenesses of my various ancestors stared down at me from their frames upon the walls, all of them seemingly scandalised that I should be attempting to usurp the throne, for in essence it was my intent, the only possible justification being that Olivar did not deserve to be sitting on it. He had murdered my brother, my father and heaven knows how many besides, and I was determined to be the instrument of his reckoning. 'And fie on you all if you are not with me,' I thought, eying a number of them with determination, though it did not appear to alter the sternness of their countenances one whit.

The moment was finally upon me with stomach-churning suddenness. The farmers were dismissed, still loudly protesting the justice of their cause as they moved aside and there he was, lounging upon father's throne like a bejewelled lizard. He'd put on quite some girth, his flowing robes of state unable to disguise the straining of the bodice beneath them. The look upon his face was one of supercilious boredom, his hand questing to a plate of stuffed figs as the old recorder seated before him demanded that I state my name and business, or be gone. I could not help hesitating, taking in the squad of guards spread out around the walls, with pikes, swords and crossbows at the ready, covering the small crowd of petitioners behind me.

'Did you not hear him, boy? Who are you? State your business!' Olivar's harsh command woke me from my inattention. I let my sack fall slowly to the floor, stooping to place the stick aslant it then rising again to lift both hands to my hood …

There were gasps from the crowd, the guards and Olivar alike, but his was the loudest as he rose slowly to his feet, his face ashen, supporting himself upon one arm of the throne as though his legs had quite given way beneath him.

'Why, my brother … do you not recognise me?'

'It cannot be!' he gasped, raising his hand to point a shaking finger at me. 'You are dead!'

'Not so, murderer … for here is your blood-money.' I took my hands from the pockets of the smock, tossing glittering coins to the floor before him. Three times I showered his feet and each time he recoiled with a shriek.

'And here is the ring of your assassin,' I cried, tossing it at his chest, thrusting him back upon the throne as if by a giant hand. 'He lies with the worms and will aid you no more!'

'Guards …' His feeble plea was stilled as I flung my arm at him.

'Olivar of Kurlane! I accuse you of the foul murder of Friedel, my brother and of my father, the king … and here is the proof! …'

I bent to wrench the knob from my stick, tipping the single scroll into my hand to more gasps from the onlookers. I handed the scroll to the recorder, feeling the trembling in his hand as he took it to peruse.

'You poisoned them both,' I cried, 'and how many others besides?'

Olivar was not for nothing my father's son and had quickly recovered some of his bombastic nature. Before I realised what he was about, he had risen to tear the scroll from the hands of the recorder and had lit it by the candle on the official's table. With a cry of disbelief, I watched as it burst into flames and was quickly converted to ashes.

'There is your proof!' snarled my brother, 'Guards! Arrest this poisoning wretch!'

'Hold!'

The cry came from behind me, as Gramercy strode forward, his hand raised to the guards, reinforcing the tone of authority in his voice. 'You see before you Sigurd Gramercy, envoy of the autarch of Palenta.' His finger flashed out to point at Olivar who had retreated again, his mouth open in shock. 'I too accuse you, Olivar of Kurlane, at the behest of my master … foul slayer of your own family, usurper of your father's throne, fratricide and regicide!'

'Arrest them! Kill them both!' Olivar's screams of rage were again beginning to stir the guards to action, two of them bringing their bows to the ready but still plainly torn between their bounden duty and what they were hearing. An agonised stillness seemed to settle for a moment, broken only by the carillon of the palace tower clock as it prepared to chime the hour. 'Do as I command! Kill them now!'

Again the crowd stirred as a third member of the crowd strode forward, or rather, waddled forward, because to my amazement it was the fatter of the two priests who now raised his hand to the guards. Slowly he padded towards Olivar, raising his other hand in accusation while tossing back his hood. My gasps echoed those of Gramercy and Geran behind me, who grabbed at my arm as the covering fell from the priest's head, for it was the autarch himself!

'I trust you know me, cousin,' and it was plain that Olivar did, as he cringed from the autarch's silky voice. 'You are a disgusting monster, for I, autarch of Palenta, do also accuse you of these crimes! Relinquish your ill-gotten throne instantly and you may yet receive your brother's mercy.'

'Never!' Olivar sprang to his feet, climbing over the side of the throne to wrest a sword from the nerveless hand of a guard. 'If no other will do it for me, then I will kill you myself!' He advanced towards me stealthily, his mad eyes starting from their sockets, the crowd hushing as the clock's deep chimes reinforced the tension.

'No!' My command stayed the guards and Gramercy alike. 'I warn you, Olivar … you attack me at your peril.' Drawing gasps from those around, I sent flames towards him from my ring, but to my consternation, they had no effect and still he crept closer.

'Trevian's silly tricks will not help you, little brother … or mayhap you think poison the only thing I obtained from Dithemus?' He took another furtive step as I again denied Gramercy's plea to intervene.

'Then behold your doom,' I cried, stepping aside to reveal the suddenly naked boy behind me, the crowd gasping as one with the last stroke of the clock, as I leashed a blinding flash from my ring. Olivar recoiled in fear as the boy became a writhing ball of screams and then just as swiftly, a huge, black wolf.

'No! Impossible! You cannot command such abilities!' He raised the sword again to slash at Geran, but his recovery was far too late. With a roar to deafen the hound of hell itself, my lover launched himself at my brother's throat and tore it out with one swift bite. The sword clanged loudly on the stone floor as Olivar's writhing body crashed to the tiles, Geran standing over him as if daring him to rise, still growling softly, while both Gramercy and I sheltered him from the guards' threats.

'It is over!' The autarch's voice rang out over the hubbub. 'Lower your weapons, for the murderous tyrant is dead. Long live King David!'

It took but a few moments for the stunned tension that had gripped the entire room to begin to relax, as the autarch and Gramercy quietly took charge, directing the guards to the clearing of the hall and sending officials off to summon various others, that the business of restoring order to the realm might commence. I myself was fully occupied, trying to persuade Geran that Olivar was indeed dead and no longer needed watching. He came away reluctantly, most of the guards still not convinced he was harmless and needing to be reassured by Gramercy or myself.

As I knelt to wipe his bloody muzzle, I realised my wolf had something between his jaws, part of a gold chain dangling down. When I asked him what he had, his mouth opened to release an object covered in Olivar's blood and lupine saliva. Plainly, my brother had been wearing it about his neck, a huge, deep blue sapphire, cunningly set within a gold mount; I gave my love a pat, wiped the gem clean on Olivar's ruffles and put it in my pocket.

[To be continued.]