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There was ice in the air when Oscar stepped outside. It chilled his lungs and pricked his throat on the first inhale, causing him to cough out a cloud of white breath as he tugged his scarf up to cover his nose and mouth. Hugging his jacket closed and hunching his shoulders against the bitter breeze, he cast a baleful glance at the iron gray sky and crunched his way determinedly across the frosted dirt of the stable yard. The satchel slung about his body thumped against his leg with each step.The guard manning the gate slipped one gloved hand from the heavy swathes of his cloak to wave at Oscar, and Oscar acknowledged him with a nod as he stepped beyond the tower walls and trudged on toward the long shape of the tribunal. Icicles lined the low eaves like menacing fangs. Oscar eyed them warily as he approached and quickened his step as he passed below to shoulder open the door.A burst of blessed warmth greeted him as he hustled quickly inside and slammed the door shut behind him. He pulled his scarf away from his face and rubbed his hands together, blowing into his cupped palms to warm them as he turned. The antechamber was cozy from the heat of the flames leaping in the grate. Their light danced along the edges of the books and scrolls crowding the shelves that stood sentry to either side of the hearth, and gilded the aged wood of the heavy desk that sat squarely in the center of the room. There were three chairs around it, but Oscar was surprised to see that only one was occupied.Colin was perched in the largest chair, a quill in hand and his sandy head bent so close over his parchment that his nose was nearly touching it. He bolted up at the sound of the door. “Oscar!”Oscar greeted him with a grin and a nod to his chosen seat. “I see you’ve promoted yourself to magistrate. Far past time for it, if you ask me.”Colin popped up out of the chair as though it had bitten him, a guilty flush pinking his cheeks. The chair rocked back and knocked him behind the knees, making him yelp and wobble while Oscar chuckled. Two years under Wamba’s tutelage had transformed Colin into a skilled asset to the tribunal. He had long ago surpassed Oscar in that regard and, according to Wamba, proved himself a worthy candidate to one day take on the weightier duties of justice. But all his diligent study had done nothing to remedy his clumsiness, further complicated by gawkish limbs after he had sprouted to nearly Oscar’s height over the course of only a few seasons.“He doesn’t mind me using it when he’s not here,” Colin said, fumbling with the papers on the desk. “The other ones are so hard.”“Oh, I remember,” Oscar said, watching with growing curiosity as Colin attempted to slide the parchment he had been working on beneath another that lay nearby.Oscar swung his satchel around and pulled open the flap, crossing the room as he scooped out the loosely bound collection of scrolls within. He dropped the whole armful onto the desk with a deliberately careless flip of his wrist that sent two of them bouncing off onto the floor.Colin scrambled to retrieve them, bending to chase one that skittered away from his hand. As his head disappeared beneath the desk, Oscar reached over and plucked his parchment out from its hasty cover. He flipped it over, and his brows rose as he saw what was written there in Colin’s neat hand.“Well, well,” he said lightly. “Who knew you had the soul of a poet?”“That’s private!” Colin scrambled up over the desk and snatched the parchment from Oscar’s hand, a ruddy flush blossoming across his face. Oscar relinquished it without it a word. Colin grumbled something under his breath and thumped back down into Wamba’s chair. He crushed the sheet in his hand and dropped it onto the table top, collapsing into a dejected slump.Oscar watched all of this, beset by sympathy for the boy’s obvious misery. He stepped around the desk and rested his hip on the edge beside Colin. “I could give you a hand with it,” he offered. “If you want.”Colin shot him an incredulous look, then turned his gloomy gaze to the crumpled ball of parchment again. “Thanks, but I think I’d rather take my chances on my own.”“What’s that supposed to mean?” Oscar reached out and knuckled the top of his head. “I’ll have you know I’ve written a verse or two in my time, and all of them very well received.”Colin dodged away from Oscar’s hand with a snort. “That's hardly a surprise. He would love a dirty tavern song if you were the one to recite it for him.”“You do have a point,” Oscar conceded with a shrug, unable to quite contain his smirk at the thought of serenading Wamba with one of the obscene ballads he had learned in his youth. “Who’s the lucky lady?”“It doesn’t matter,” Colin sighed.“Come on.” Oscar prodded his leg with the toe of his boot. “I won’t tell.”Colin glanced at him sidelong. “You promise?”“You have my word,” Oscar swore, laying a hand over his heart. “I will not tell a soul.”“It’s Claire.”“Claire?” Oscar leaned back, raising his eyes to the ceiling as he tried to place the name. He had a vague memory of a petite, pretty girl recently added to the flock of ladies in waiting. “Do you mean the queen’s little handmaid?”Colin nodded.Oscar chuckled. “Well, Colin, no one could accuse you of having poor taste.”“It’s not funny.” Colin muttered, his flush creeping back into his cheeks.Oscar swallowed down his humor and schooled himself to treat Colin’s torment with the gravity it deserved. He was not so far removed from his own long purgatory of wretched pining, after all, to have forgotten the acute misery of unrequited affections.He looked at the crumpled parchment, thinking about what he would choose to do were he in Colin’s place. “Does she particularly favor poetry?”“I don’t know,” Colin admitted. “It’s just the first thing I could think of that might get her attention. I’m useless at fighting.”“You know,” Oscar said, “if it’s her favor you want, there are other ways to go about it. Isn’t Claire the one with that little bit of white fluff chasing about her heels?” He clearly remembered the ridiculous confection of a dog, hardly worthy to be called such.“Etienne,” Colin said. “What about him?”Oscar smiled, pleased with his own ingenuity. “What if Etienne were to wander off and become lost for a while? I imagine Claire would be very grateful to whichever daring fellow brought him safely home.”“You’re suggesting I steal her dog?” Colin gaped at Oscar. “You think that’s the best way to win her favor?”“I did say you should give him back,” Oscar retorted with a shrug. “And she doesn’t need to know it was you that took him. Sometimes the course of love just needs a little help. That’s all.”Colin was laughing long before he had finished. “You would make a terrible father giving that sort of advice.”“So my brother has told me many times.” Oscar said. “I suppose it’s a good thing I’ll never have to worry about that.”“Thanks anyway, Oscar.” Colin was smiling, his shoulders dropping as his mood lifted.Oscar decided to count that as a victory. “Any time.”“What are these?” Colin asked, pointing to the scrolls that Oscar had scattered across the desk.“The records he requested,” Oscar replied. “Every property and estate bequeathed to the church that I could find.”“There are really this many?”Oscar shook his head. “That’s only the last two years. Just since we rearranged the archive.”“Alright,” Colin said. “I’ll give them to him tomorrow.”“What is he doing mucking about in church business, anyway?” Oscar asked. “Hasn't he courted enough suspicion from them already?”It was a poorly kept secret at court that the new Archbishop of Canterbury had no fondness for Wamba. Oscar suspected that his grudge over Wamba’s interference in his affairs while he was Bishop of York had never been forgotten.“I don’t know, exactly.” Colin waved a hand at the trove of documents on the shelves. “He’s been pulling down all sorts of things from those records, but he hasn’t told me what he’s looking for.”“Interesting.” Oscar tapped a finger against his chin, then pushed himself off the desk and straightened his empty satchel. “I suppose I’ll just have to ask him myself.”Oscar tugged his scarf up over his nose again as he walked to the door, bracing himself to face the cold.“See you later, Colin.” He looked back at the boy, and winked. “Good luck.”
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Wamba was not in the library when Oscar returned that evening, but there was a tray of supper waiting for him on the table. He built the waning fire back to a hearty blaze to ward off the cold that glazed the windows with frost, then did the same in the bedchamber before he settled down to his solitary meal. The lumpy pottage was nearly tasteless, but Oscar devoured it with a will. The winter was already the harshest Oscar could recall in his life, barring only that one bleak season he had been forced to spend alone while Wamba was trapped at York.The misery of those long ago months had gone far beyond the inclement weather, but the current spell of bitter cold had consequences for more than just Oscar. It followed on a harvest diminished by poor yields and rampant blight, and there were rumors of a constant stream of the starving and destitute arriving in the city each day. The denizens of the king’s tower were more sheltered than most from that deprivation, but even here those not lucky enough to be invited to the king’s table were obliged to subsist on the sort of humble dish that now graced Oscar’s bowl.He had been raised on such fare, so he ate it with good cheer, then settled on the couch to savor his single cup of precious cider. He had just swallowed the last of it and set the cup aside when the door opened, and Wamba finally appeared. He hustled his way quickly toward the fire, pausing only to offer Oscar a warm smile.“Hello, Oscar.”“Hello.” Oscar grinned, though he was distracted by a spark of intense interest as he noted that Wamba was not in his robes.The elegant black doublet and trousers left the wardrobe for only the most formal of official business, to Oscar’s abiding regret. Nothing else made his lover appear quite so fine, a blessed blend of distinguished and desirable that drove Oscar’s thoughts down a decidedly lascivious turn.“You’re looking very important,” he said, letting his admiration color his words.Wamba chuckled as he stretched his hands toward the fire. “The emissary of King Philip’s court arrived today.”That explained the finery. Wamba had been engaged for more than a month in the king’s quest for resources to see the struggling kingdom through the winter. By his cheerful air, Oscar assumed that those labors were at last bearing fruit.“They brought good news?”“Very good,” Wamba nodded. “As of tonight, we have finally agreed upon favorable terms for France to supply the provisions we need.”The quiet satisfaction of that pronouncement throbbed in Wamba's voice, and the way the corners of his mouth turned up just softly, his joy at being of aid to those in need making Oscar’s heart beat just a little faster.“It’s warmer over here, you know,” he said, patting the couch at his side.Wamba quirked a knowing smile at him over his shoulder. “Is that so?”“I’ve been keeping this seat warm for you especially,” Oscar told him.“I suppose I can hardly refuse if you’ve gone to such trouble.” Wamba left the fire to approach Oscar, but stopped just shy of his reach. “Although…”“Although?” Oscar’s hand was already outstretched in impatient anticipation of him.“Perhaps that is not the seat I would prefer.” Wamba took that final step, and raised one knee to brace it on the couch between Oscar’s legs. A cool hand cupped Oscar’s jaw, tilting his face up as Wamba bent down and laid his lips softly over Oscar’s.Oscar breathed out a sigh through his nose, pressing up into the kiss as his hands at last found purchase on his lover’s body. They settled at Wamba’s waist, while Oscar prodded Wamba’s lips apart with his tongue and was quickly granted entrance. Wamba’s mouth was sweet with a hint of the rich wine favored by the king. Oscar lapped it from his mouth, letting his hands slide around Wamba’s back in an attempt to draw him in closer.Wamba’s free hand threaded into Oscar’s hair, cradling the back of his head as Wamba gently pressed for control of the kiss. A thrill raced through Oscar at the subtle signs that the successful negotiation had left him in a mood to decide the course of their loving. Eleven times of every dozen, he still preferred to let Oscar lead in the familiar steps of that tender dance. But that last time, those rare nights when he asked with his small gestures for Oscar’s surrender, were the surest proof of the trust they had won between them.This was how it usually began, the slow foray of Wamba’s tongue into Oscar’s mouth a question, never a demand, and when it came, Oscar could hardly tear his clothes off fast enough. Now, he responded to the gentle query with bald enthusiasm, falling back and twisting as he did, so that he could draw Wamba down between his open legs. Wamba followed, one hand braced on the arm of the couch beside Oscar's head. His narrow hips settled down atop Oscar’s, pressed close between his thighs, warm and perfect.He broke from the kiss to study Oscar’s face with a soft smile, stroking his hair back from his brow with gentle fingers. Oscar stared back at him, his chest tight with the familiar ache of unbearable tenderness. He knew every line and angle of those dear features, could recall them without effort even when they were apart. But no matter how clear the memory, his eyes still hungered for the sight of his lover at the end of each day.He reached up to trace his fingers through the lock of hair just above Wamba’s ear, where threads of silver were generously interwoven with the gold now. They were a subtle reminder of all he had survived, the life he had led nipping at his heels though he was not yet thirty. Oscar knew that many of those were his doing, remnants of the difficult road they had taken to become what they were. Yet for all the pain, the joy was still greater.Oscar slid his hand around to urge his lover down into another kiss, and hooked the leg that was not trapped against the back of the couch around Wamba’s leg. Wamba’s laugh swept across Oscar’s lips as he covered them, bolder now that he was assured of Oscar’s willingness. The cold faded quickly from his attention as Oscar rucked up the back of Wamba’s doublet to slip a greedy hand down into his trousers. He took an appreciative grip on the spare flesh of Wamba’s rump, shocking a surprised sound from his throat and an insistent twitch of his hips against Oscar’s. It was a heady thing, to have every sense so filled with him, until the world was reduced to nothing but him.At least, until the sudden sound of creaking hinges broke that happy spell with a shock of panic. They startled apart, and stared at one another in horror while Oscar’s heart stuttered and lurched within him.Then a cheerful voice chirped, “Oh! Good evening, my lord. I didn’t know you had returned.”Oscar’s breath escaped him in a relieved gust, panic waning as Wamba looked up and cleared his throat. “Yes. Good evening, Emma.”“I didn’t bring any supper for you. I thought you would be dining with the king. Did you want some?” Emma’s shoes tapped on the stone floor as she approached, and Oscar dared a peek at her from the corner of his eye.“No, that’s perfectly alright.” Wamba's voice was weak. He shifted minutely against Oscar, who was painfully aware that they could not separate themselves without treating Emma to even more of a spectacle than they already had.She had been in Wamba’s employ since Oscar first offered her the job after their return from Coningsburgh. It was a significant step up for her, removing her from the tyranny of the royal steward into a position of responsibility in the household of one of the king’s closest advisors. Most importantly, Oscar knew that she was a true friend who could be trusted to guard their secret. Over the course of two years, she had been witness to a great many affectionate gestures and remarks, but nothing quite so blatant as their present embrace.To Emma’s credit, she appeared completely nonplussed by the delicate scene into which she had stumbled, a serene smile on her small face. There was, however, a distinct glint of amusement in the hazel eyes that met Oscar’s before she turned to gather the dishes on the table.“I’ll just clear this away, then,” she said pleasantly. “Will you be needing anything else, my lord?”Wamba finally lost the battle against his own embarrassment, and dropped his head down to hide his face against Oscar’s neck. “No, that will be all. Thank you, Emma.”“Very well,” Emma said. “Enjoy your evening, my lord.”They remained as they were, breathing slowly, while she bustled out and closed the door firmly behind her. Then Wamba collapsed down atop Oscar and began to laugh. Oscar was laughing, too, shedding the shock as he extracted his hand from Wamba’s trousers to wrap both arms around his shaking back.“I’ll say it again. We need a lock on that door.”Wamba pushed up on his hands, his face flushed with laughter. He shook his head and smiled down at Oscar. “It wouldn’t do any good. She would have a key.”“She isn’t the only one who might wander in unannounced,” Oscar reminded him.The thought sobered both of them, and Wamba nodded. “Then by all means, do what will give you peace.”“I will.” Oscar craned his neck up to brush his lips against the slope of Wamba’s mouth. “Tomorrow.”Wamba returned the playful kiss, humor restored as he asked softly, “And tonight?”Oscar smiled up at him. “Tonight is for you to decide.”
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The fire had driven back the worst of the chill in the bedchamber, but gooseflesh still rose on Oscar’s skin as the protection of his tunic was drawn away.Wamba’s hands smoothed the little bumps down again, kindling a sparking hum of warmth as they trailed across Oscar's chest and down his waist to settle at his hips. Their boots were abandoned in the library. Wamba’s doublet lay draped over the edge of the empty tub, tossed aside by Oscar’s careless hands. The open collar of the simple linen shirt he wore beneath bared a slice of his pale throat, and the silver chain resting against his skin. Oscar traced the tips of his fingers along that gap, captivated by the sweet vulnerability of it. He hooked a finger beneath the chain and drew it toward him, lifting it from its hidden home.The coin was warm from Wamba’s skin. The angles of the ancient words etched across its surface caught the firelight as Oscar rubbed it between his fingers. Wamba’s eyes rose to meet his, dark and soft as he laid his hand flat over the mated half of that token, resting on Oscar’s own chest. The meaning of those runes was dutifully transcribed to parchment and stored away among Oscar’s belongings, but the truth of what they represented required no translation.It dwelt there in the bare space between them, pulsing like a shared heart and drawing them irresistibly together. Wamba’s hand slid up Oscar’s neck and into his hair, urging him down without a word to affirm it once more. Oscar eagerly accepted the kiss, riding the slow waves of mounting desire as Wamba cupped a gentle hand over his sex and rubbed him in time to the soft motion of his mouth. The readiness with which Oscar’s body woke to his lover’s touch was no surprise to either of them. Soon enough he was straining his laces, and Wamba smiled against his lips as Oscar made a plaintive sound low in his throat.Wamba took Oscar’s hand in his and stepped back. Oscar moved to follow him at once, hating every inch of unnecessary distance between them. As he trailed Wamba to the bed, he had the presence of mind to spare a glance for the door that led out into the corridor, ensuring that it was barred.It was, and the door to the library firmly closed behind them, their privacy as secure as they could reasonably expect. Then the full force of Oscar's attention was drawn back to his lover, who stood before him with a smile on his face. He swept a hand over Oscar’s cheek and asked softly, “Will you undress yourself for me?”“Of course.” Oscar's hands flew at once to his painfully tight laces. He let his trousers fall to puddle at his feet and stepped out of them, then reached out to pluck at Wamba’s tunic with a grin. “Should I undress you while I'm at it?”Wamba laughed and stretched up to place an affectionate kiss on his cheek. “I think I can manage on my own tonight. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable?”“How do you want me?” Oscar asked him.“However you wish.”Wamba swept their generous pile of furs and blankets off to one side, then stepped back from the bed to allow Oscar to climb up while he stripped off his fine clothing. Oscar was momentarily fascinated by the skin abruptly on display, but forced himself to look away and do as he had been asked. He considered his choices for one brief moment before he turned onto his front, bracing himself on his knees with his arms folded and his head resting atop them.The bed dipped as Wamba climbed up beside him. Gentle hands settled on his hips, warm lips laying a kiss just at the nape of his neck. Oscar shuffled his knees open wider and breathed out a sigh, while Wamba traced a trail of slow kisses down his spine. His hands stroked up Oscar’s back, sweeping around and across his chest before they ventured down his belly to smooth along the sensitive inner stretch of his parted thighs.Oscar’s body sagged, his back bowing as he fell under the spell of those stroking hands. Wamba did not bite and he did not bruise, as Oscar was wont to do, but there was no less power in his touch. His was a different sort of possession, an onslaught of patient caresses that slowly turned Oscar’s limbs to liquid, unraveling him with that bottomless care and affection.Before he knew it, Oscar was whimpering, his hands kneading at the bedding for something to grasp while his sensitized skin twitched. He was on the verge of begging for something more, but the plea on his lips faded to a relieved moan when a single slick finger teased across his hole. He pushed back against it eagerly, and was immediately rewarded when it slipped inside him.He took it greedily, hungry for sensation. Wamba teased him with a few short strokes and a quick brush across that small miracle inside him that sent liquid fire darting up his spine. Then Wamba’s hand withdrew, and when it returned another finger had joined the first.“Alright, love?” he asked, his voice soft and rough as his lips found Oscar’s nape again.Oscar nodded, his eyes tightly closed, and concentrated on letting his body surrender to that delicious intrusion, until Wamba was able to slip a second finger into him easily, then another a moment later.The familiar stretch was just shy of painful, but the anticipation of the reward to follow had Oscar’s hips rocking eagerly back to meet Wamba’s hand. As always, Wamba was careful with him, coaxing him open with that nearly inhuman patience. It was Oscar whose restraint was first to falter, the aching want Wamba had nurtured in him forcing a hoarse entreaty from his throat. “Now. Please.”“Are you ready?” Wamba asked him, the hand that was not buried inside Oscar smoothing across the small of his back.“Yes,” Oscar groaned. He clamped down deliberately on Wamba’s fingers. “Take me, husband.”He could feel Wamba’s shudder, and savored the helpless sound he made. Oscar knew what the word did to him, and was not above using it this way if it won him what he wanted. He was rewarded when Wamba was abruptly pressed against him, his hands bracing Oscar’s hips while the brand of his cock slid along the slick valley of Oscar’s waiting rump. It was immediately dominant in his awareness, fiercely desired. He pushed up onto his hands to drive his body back in insistent invitation.Then his lover was finally inside him, sliding in smooth and slick and perfect until his hips were pressed flush to Oscar’s skin. Oscar moaned with the relief of it, letting the shuddering waves of delight course through him. Wamba’s chest came to rest on his back, covering him with warmth as his he rocked into Oscar in a gentle thrust.Oscar had been surprised to discover how much he enjoyed being taken this way. It was not particularly dignified, and had the distinct disadvantage of offering him no chance to enjoy Wamba’s kisses, nor to watch his composure shatter as he lost himself in Oscar’s body. Those pleasures were precious in themselves, but Oscar loved how neatly their bodies slotted together this way, seamless as the two halves of their coin, and how deep inside him Wamba was able to reach.He tilted his hips back to meet Wamba, joining in the effort as they found a rhythm that set Oscar’s pendant swinging with every thrust.“Oscar,” Wamba said, a hot exhalation panted into Oscar’s neck as his breath grew short.“Yes,” Oscar replied, the only word his pleasure fogged mind could grasp. “Yes.”Then even that last coherent thought was stolen as Wamba shifted one hand from his hip to clasp his cock instead. Oscar keened, every muscle drawing tight as Wamba worked him in quick, determined strokes. He surrendered to it, his body moving of its own accord now, back to meet each thrust of his lover’s hips, then forward into the slick grip of his hand, until the pleasure surging inside of him finally burst free. His voice escaped him in a helpless cry as he pumped hot seed over Wamba’s hand.His lover was there with him, his climax spilling hot into Oscar’s body as he sagged against Oscar’s back. They stayed that way for a long moment, panting against one another. Then Oscar toppled over onto his side, taking Wamba with him. Wamba curled his body close and clasped his arms around Oscar’s chest, not yet ready to relinquish the embrace.A smile tugged at the corners of Oscar’s mouth as he laid his hands over Wamba’s. He laced their fingers together and hugged his lover’s arms tight to his body, perfectly pleased to languish in that sweat slicked contentment. If Oscar had his way, they would never need to be parted at all, but remain locked together for the rest of their days. It was unthinkable to him now that this might ever be taken away. He had come close to losing it once, and the constant threat of discovery was a danger that Oscar had not always appreciated, though it lurked ever just beyond the carefully barred door.That thought led to another.“Colin told me you’re reading through the tribunal records again,” he said into the quiet that had fallen over them. “What are you looking for?”Wamba took a breath and carefully pulled away from Oscar. “Nothing of consequence.”Oscar regretted the loss, but the question was too important to let Wamba dismiss it. He turned to face his lover, studying his calm expression. “You asked Nicholas for the church bequests from the archive. Did you not want me to know?”“I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you, Oscar. It was an official request, sent by the king’s scribe.” Wamba’s shoulder lifted in a shrug. “His majesty tasked me with finding other sources of aid should the negotiation with France prove unsuccessful.”“Isn’t the church already providing for the hungry?”“To an extent,” Wamba said. “I have a suspicion that they might be able to spare more resources than they have so far admitted to us. They have been amassing their own wealth for decades, beyond the purview of the crown. Bishop Langton has been a particular champion of this effort.”“So you decided to go sniffing around his coffers?”“I was trying to determine whether my supposition was correct. That’s all.”Oscar reached out and laid his hand on Wamba’s jaw, tracing the long, white scar on his cheek with his thumb. “You knew it might be dangerous. That’s why you didn’t let Colin help, isn’t it?”“It was just an idea,” Wamba said. “Nothing will come if it.”“I would still prefer it if you didn’t court disaster quite so freely,” Oscar told him. “For my sake, if nothing else.”Wamba’s mouth curved in a lazy smile. He took Oscar’s hand in his, turning it to place a kiss in the center of his palm. “Alright, Oscar. I won’t look into it further, unless we truly have no other choice.”“Thank you.” Oscar knew it was the best assurance he could expect Wamba to give. His stubborn lover would not forswear any course, no matter how grave the danger, simply to protect himself. It was Oscar’s duty to guard him now, from every enemy that would seek to do him harm.Happily, it was Oscar’s duty also to love him, and it was to this that he returned his attention, leaning close for a sweet kiss as he set his worries aside for another night.
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“I despise you.”Oscar snorted a laugh, but did not bother to look up from his writing. “And a good day to you too, Nicholas.”“There is not a single thing good about it,” was Nicholas’s petulant retort, accompanied by the pointed thump of his body into the chair across from Oscar. “And I have had quite enough of you flaunting your revolting happiness in my presence, so you will desist at once with that ridiculous humming.”Oscar set his quill aside and sat back in his chair to look at Nicholas. The young nobleman’s handsome features were pinched in a scowl, and his tawny curls seemed more of a frazzled tangle than their usual artful tousle. There was no denying that Nicholas was as clever as he proclaimed himself to be, but his brilliance was offset by a tendency toward impatience and the occasional fit of capricious pique.Oscar was more than a match for his harmless temper, so he put a fatuous smile on his face and said, “Was I humming?”“You most certainly were,” Nicholas snapped, “and Cedric was nearly as insufferable at council this morning. How the pair of you manage to remain so idiotically besotted after all this time is an enduring mystery. I would never have given you leave to chase after him had I known the result.”“Yes, you would,” Oscar said with a smirk. “You scoff and moan, but you’re really just a horrible romantic at heart.”Nicholas was also one of their staunchest allies, though he would hardly admit to it. Once Wamba’s wariness and resentment over the archivist’s attempted seduction of Oscar had been smoothed away, a friendship had formed between them, shored up over the course of many a council meeting and official feast to which Oscar was not invited. This turn of events had not been especially surprising to Oscar, knowing the appreciation each of them had for a worthy wit against which to test his own.But there was nothing of friendliness in the gray eyes that narrowed at Oscar, or the acid voice that said, “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”“Oh,” Oscar said, as he grasped the root of Nicholas’s frustration. “What happened to your friend? Lord Godwin, wasn't it?”Nicholas’s scowl darkened. “He has returned home to spend the winter at his estate. With his wife.”“Ah. I see.”In fact, Oscar had precious little insight into the tangle of constantly shifting relationships that made up Nicholas’s private affairs. To hear Nicholas tell it, his was the more usual way of things among men of their particular persuasion, and Oscar’s singular devotion the rarity. Perhaps that was true for the nobility, but for all he blustered, Oscar could see how every fresh rejection saddened Nicholas. For it was always he who was rejected. The spark within him dampened a little more each time, until he grew defiant and went out to prove himself again.“Anyway, he’s a tremendous bore,” Nicholas sniffed.“What about your breakfast with the queen?” Oscar asked, offering what he hoped would be a more pleasant topic. “Was that not enjoyable?”Nicholas’s laugh was dark. “How could it be, when I can hardly engage in any adult conversation for that little terror dogging my every step?”“I’m fairly sure you're not supposed to talk about the king’s son that way,” Oscar said, biting down on his amusement. “I'd think you would be pleased that little Prince Henry is so fond of you.”“I suppose I should be grateful that someone cares to be in my company at all,” Nicholas grumbled, “but I did not come all the way to London to serve as official entertainer of royal brats.”“Weren’t you the one telling me all about the advantages of cultivating royal favor?”“At present, this particular royal offers me little for the amount of aggravation he begets.”“He is going to grow up, though,” Oscar said reasonably.“You suggest that I should resign myself to the role of nursemaid in hopes that he might keep me in my dotage?” Nicholas ran a frustrated hand through his hair, mussing it even further. “No. I am too young for celibacy. I left the church for a reason.”“From what you’ve told me, the priesthood is not as celibate as all that.”“You are absolutely correct,” Nicholas said. “It is intolerable that I should find more ready companionship in a monastery than in the king’s city.” He stood suddenly from his chair, an air of determination about him as he brushed down the sleeves of his heavily brocaded robe.“What are you going to do?” Oscar asked.“I am going to find something worthy of my attention,” Nicholas said, one fine brow arched high, “and you are coming with me.”“What?” Oscar waved at the book open on the table before him. “You told me to finish this today.”“Only because you failed to do it yesterday.”“I was searching for the church records!”“At the request of your lover, who I note suffered no lack of your company for the delay he caused.” Nicholas pointed an imperious finger at Oscar. “You will finish that today, but your time is mine and so you will do as I say and come with me. Consider it punishment for your smug satisfaction.”Oscar shook his head, but he knew from experience that there would be no winning the argument. He closed the book and stood, following Nicholas out of the archives and down the corridor.“Where are we going?”Nicholas answered him by turning a corner and pushing open a small wooden door. A flurry of snowflakes burst into the corridor on a breath of frigid air.“You’ve got to be joking,” Oscar groaned, but Nicholas did not pause as he swept out onto the narrow rampart beyond. Oscar muttered a curse and followed, huddled with his arms crossed over his chest as he shuffled up beside Nicholas.The archivist rested his elbows on the parapet, gazing down to the training yard below. Oscar leaned over to get a view of what had captured his attention. Through a fog of his own breath, he saw the garrison turned out for their daily drills, sparring in pairs on the frozen dirt of the field. The clash and commotion almost looked like a battle from their high vantage, but for the towering figure of the captain Farren, who marched among the men barking instructions and corrections.Oscar darted a glance at Nicholas, whose eyes roved over the men below with a gleam of intense interest. “Is this just an aesthetic study, or are you seriously thinking of trying to seduce one of the king’s guards?”Nicholas gave Oscar a pitying look. “You don’t honestly believe that there’s not a single man among them who might be open to the idea, do you?”“I’m only worried that you might take a fist to the face, or worse, if you’re not careful.”Nicholas smirked. “How many times must I tell you, Oscar? I have a sense for these things.”“Yes, but just because a man has certain inclinations doesn’t mean he’s prepared to do anything about them.”“You’re truly worried about me.” Nicholas's smile grew wide. “That’s so very sweet.”Oscar rolled his eyes heavenward. “My mistake. I thought the smug, preening types were more to your taste.”Nicholas laughed, his gray eyes narrowed to slits with genuine amusement. “I’m not above enjoying a bit of rough now and again. Sometimes a stout stave and a vigorous spirit are worth more than sparkling repartee.”“You’re unbelievable,” Oscar snorted, a flush creeping into his cheeks at the bold picture Nicholas painted.“I’m looking for a bit of amusement,” Nicholas corrected him, “and even though I am far too good for any of them, I don’t mind taking one for a tumble if he can get the job done. It's simple expediency, Oscar.”“Excuse me, my lord,” called a voice behind them.They both turned. Emma was standing in the doorway, looking between them.“What is it?” said Nicholas.“I was actually hoping to speak to Oscar, my lord,” Emma replied, dipping her head. Her eyes met Oscar’s. “Someone’s arrived to see you.”“Are we finished here?” Oscar asked Nicholas.“Yes, very well,” Nicholas waved a hand to dismiss him. “Don’t forget about the transcription.”“I won’t,” Oscar said, “and you don’t forget what I said.”“Don’t worry about me, Oscar.” Nicholas grinned at him. “I’ve decided that today is going to be a good day after all.”Oscar shook his head, but returned the smile as he followed Emma into the corridor. He swept stray snowflakes from his hair as they walked. “Thanks for the rescue. How did you find me?”“The guard at the archives said you had come this way. What were you doing outside dressed like that?”“Just one of his fancies,” Oscar said. “Have I told you he’s mad?”“Often,” Emma laughed, “though I suspect that’s what you like best about him.”She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, only for it to immediately spring free again. She wore her riotous curls gathered loosely at her nape, freed from the cap she had worn as a chambermaid. Wamba had never thought to give her any sort of uniform, only a wage more than generous enough to allow her to choose her own clothes. She wore a moss green dress laced at the sides over a linen shift, proper for a matron, but her eyes danced with the mischief of the girl she had been when she and Oscar first met.“Did you have a pleasant evening?” she asked innocently.Heat began to creep into Oscar’s cheeks again. “Emma…”“I’m just teasing!” she said, patting his arm with a smile. “I didn’t realize you were such a prude that I couldn’t even mention it.”Oscar rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to will away his flush. “I wasn’t sure how you would feel about it. That's all.”“The same as I always have,” Emma said, with a shrug of her small shoulders. “Nothing’s changed, so long as he hasn’t done anything to mistreat you.”“You know he wouldn’t,” Oscar said quietly.“You should think about putting a lock on the door, though.”“So I’ve been telling him. I think he’s finally seen the sense of it after last night, though I’m not relishing the battle with Alard.”“Leave that to me,” Emma said. “You get his lordship to write out the request, and I’ll talk to Gregory. Perhaps Alard doesn’t need to be bothered at all.”“Thanks, Emma.” Oscar gave her a warm smile. “You don’t have to call him that, you know.”“What are you talking about?”“All that lordship nonsense. You know he’s no such thing.” That was the one thing Wamba had made sure of when he agreed to take Emma on, that she was aware of his true standing and the risks inherent in it before she made her choice. In the end, it had not swayed her.“That may be,” Emma said, “but he’s a far sight better than nearly all of them, and he’s paying my wages to boot. As long as that’s true, I’ll be giving him my respect and making sure the rest of the servants do the same.”Oscar chuckled, newly grateful to have been blessed with such a friend. “Thanks, Emma.”As they turned the corner and approached the library, Oscar realized that he had not even bothered to ask who was waiting to meet him. Emma gave no clue as she ushered him inside, only shooed him on and shut the door behind him, leaving him alone with the mysterious visitor.It was a young man, standing close to the hearth and dressed in gray from top to toe. The smile on the pale face that greeted Oscar was unfamiliar, but a wave of recognition passed over him as he met pale blue eyes behind a shock of white blonde hair.“Morris?”
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Oscar was across the room with arms thrown wide before he thought better of it. He paused, reconsidering, but Morris opened his own arms and closed the distance, greeting Oscar with a brief, friendly hug.“Morris! It’s really you!” Oscar laughed, thumping him on the back.“You said I should come and find you if I was ever in London,” Morris said, “so here I am.”Oscar stepped back to look him over properly. Little remained of the starved, hunchbacked boy who haunted the inn at Blackburn. Morris still spoke softly and his white blonde hair fell as ever across his eyes, but there was a confidence in his voice that had not been there before and he stood nearly straight, barely a hint of a hump to his stocky shoulders. He met Oscar’s eyes without hesitation.“Look at you,” Oscar said, amazed. “I hardly recognized you.”“While you look just the same as you ever did."“Save for the lack of daggers sticking out of me, you mean,” Oscar said with a laugh. He clapped Morris on the shoulder. “Come and sit down. Tell me what you’ve been doing with yourself.”Morris took a seat on the couch at Oscar’s prompting, while Oscar perched on the front edge of the high-backed chair on the hearth. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and fingers laced loosely together, eager to hear Morris’s tale.“Lord Percival took me with him to York after we left Blackburn, but I didn’t remain in his service for very long. I went to see the healer Miriam, on Cedric’s introduction. She was able to give me a remedy for my back.”“I can see that,” Oscar nodded. He had privately wondered just how much could possibly be done to straighten Morris’s spine, twisted as it was by cruel confinement in a pillory on the heels of an undeserved flogging. His doubt was proved happily unfounded by the evidence before him.“It required me to spend hours with her, over a number of months. To pass the time, she told me about her craft and she let me ask her questions. I wanted to learn more about healing, and she thought I might have a talent for it. She invited me to become her apprentice.”“I remember Cedric saying something about that after he saw you in York,” Oscar said. “It’s remarkable that she was willing to teach a secret art of the Jews to one not of their faith. You did a good job winning her over.”“I don’t know that they mean to keep it secret, so much as many of our people condemn it for witchcraft and refuse to recognize its merits,” Morris said. “In three years, I’ve never seen Miriam turn away anyone who came to her for aid, no matter their faith.”“I’m sure you’re right,” Oscar agreed. He was familiar with the prejudices held toward the small community of Jews living in England, founded on rumor and propagated by the church. “What of your mother? Was Miriam able to heal her as well?”Morris shook his head, a hint of a shadow in his expression for the first time. “There was nothing to be done for her. Age and illness had too much of a hold on her already.”“I’m sorry to hear it.”“She was able to live out her final days in comfort, at least,” Morris said. “Lord Percival is a good man. He provided for her care until she passed.”“That is very admirable,” Oscar agreed, “and I’m sure it gave her peace to know that you were assured a better life.”“Hers was not easy,” Morris said. “That’s true.”“Neither was yours,” Oscar said. “Have you been back to Blackburn?”“Once, to lay my mother to rest beside my father.”“How is the town? Did you see Rose?”“She’s still there.” Morris’s smile returned. “She married, and she and her husband took over the inn. I think you would find it a much friendlier place than when you were there last.”“That’s good to hear,” Oscar said, “though I don’t know that I’ll be hurrying back all the same.”Morris laughed softly. “I don’t blame you. After all, you barely escaped with your life.”Oscar echoed the laugh, though the truth of those words was still an uncomfortable one. But for the keen eye of an unusually skilled woodsman, he and Wamba might have both lost their lives in Blackburn. He had the scars as an ever present reminder of his brush with death, and still revisited that harrowing moment in his dreams on occasion, helpless as a sword hovered poised to strike him through. Some nights the arrow flew in time. Others it did not.He pushed the memory away to ask, “So what is it that’s brought you to London at last?”“I came with Miriam,” Morris said, “at Rachel’s request. There’s a fever spreading south of here, and some in London have started to fall ill. They wanted to lay in stores.”“A fever?" Oscar frowned. "As though the blight were not enough for one winter.”“We bought up all the herbs we could on our way south. Willowbark and feverwort and a few other things.” Morris shifted in his seat. “I should be getting back to them, actually. There’s a lot of work still to be done.”“Of course.” Oscar slapped his hands down on his knees. “I didn’t realize you were so busy, or I wouldn’t have kept you. I appreciate you coming all the same.”“This isn’t just a friendly visit, actually,” Morris admitted. He opened the satchel he carried to pull out two jars and set them on the table. “Rachel asked me to deliver these to you.”“I was meaning to go and get those,” Oscar winced. Emma had taken over most of his old responsibilities, but Oscar had insisted that he be the one to see to Wamba’s medicines. Perhaps it was old guilt for having failed so miserably at this task once, or simple reluctance to hand over the care of his lover to another.“It was no trouble to bring them,” Morris said. “He told me something about how he got those injuries when he came to see Miriam at York. Does he need anything else?”There was, in fact, one other bottle that was growing dangerously close to empty. Oscar opened his mouth, hesitated, and finally said, “Not at the moment.”Morris looked at him, then reached into the satchel again. He drew out a squat glass bottle of umber glass. “Not even this?”Oscar’s face immediately began to heat. He laughed to cover his embarrassment. “So clearly you had some idea.”“You weren’t taking any special pains to hide it,” Morris said, setting the bottle of oil down beside the two medicine jars.“That was my mistake,” Oscar said, “and I assure you I have learned my lesson.”“I don’t know yet how long I’ll be in London, but if you need anything while I’m here, let me know. I owe you both a great debt.”“You owe us nothing, Morris,” Oscar said. “The aid you gave us was invaluable. What say we leave off this talk of debts and just agree to be friends instead. I’m certain Cedric would say the same.”Morris smiled. “Friends, then.”There was a new warmth within Oscar that had nothing to do with embarrassment. For all their possible enemies, it was good to know that they also had friends. Wamba had been so completely alone when Oscar met him, far from his home and isolated by the secrets he was forced to protect. It still hurt to remember it, but Oscar was proud of the close circle of confidants they had built for themselves over the years. Emma and Colin, Farren and Thomas, Emmett and even Nicholas were friends to both of them now. He added Morris to that number, another who knew the truth and loved them no less for it.“You must come back and visit him when you have time. I know he would be very pleased to see you.”“I will.” Morris closed his satchel and stood.Oscar walked him to the door of the keep and saw him off with a smile, before he went to attend to his duties. He worked quickly, eager for the arrival of evening, when he could share all he had learned with Wamba.
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Oscar told Wamba about Morris’s visit over a quiet shared supper that evening. He was as pleased as Oscar expected, though his smile dimmed when Oscar shared the reason for Morris and Miriam's journey to London.“I did not know that news of the fever had spread as far north as York already,” Wamba said. “I only heard word of it this week, and his majesty cannot have known for much longer than that.”“I suppose Rachel’s people have their own means of sharing information.”“That they do,” Wamba agreed.“Do you think it’s going to be very bad?” Oscar asked him, a faint flicker of worry twisting in his gut. “Rachel wouldn't have sent for Miriam’s help otherwise, would she?”“It is almost certainly too early to tell,” Wamba said. “From what I have heard, the illness has thus far been confined to the coastal villages south of here, though there is considerable concern that it could spread. Either Rachel has some knowledge of it that we do not, or she acts out of an abundance of prudence.”Wamba traced the tip of his spoon through the dregs of thin stew in his bowl but did not eat it. Oscar took the spoon from his hand and replaced it with the last crust of bread instead. “Do you think they might find a cure?”“Perhaps,” Wamba said, “although I would not hold out much hope for one. Fevers of this sort are a thing to be survived, not cured.” He broke the bread in two and nibbled at the edge of one half. The rest he handed back to Oscar.“Then there is nothing to be done?” Oscar asked. He accepted the bread and stuffed the whole of it into his mouth.“There are some on the king’s council who hold that we should close off the city before the fever can reach us.”The bread was a painful lump in Oscar’s suddenly dry throat. “They want to abandon all those people to die? Without offering them any help at all?”“The suggestion is not without reason.” Wamba’s dark eyes met Oscar’s, calm and considering. “The winter has driven so many to seek refuge here already. The city is near to bursting with them. They make their beds even in the gutters and below the docks. A fever could spread quickly in such a crowd. Hundreds might die.”“What of the hundreds who are already dying?” Oscar insisted. “Can they not at least send food? Medicines?”“Can we really justify squandering our stores of food, already in such meager supply, to sustain those whose deaths are surely only a matter of time? Would those resources not be better spent on the hale?”Oscar stared at him, stunned to hear those callous words from his endlessly compassionate lover’s lips. Wamba’s mouth quirked in a sad little smile, and he reached out to lay his hand over Oscar’s.“I do not agree with this thinking, Oscar, but you see, that is the sort of terrible arithmetic we are forced to perform now. With luck, the fever will spread no farther, and we will greet the spring with most of England intact. That is my hope.”“And in the meantime?” Oscar asked.“In the meantime, we do all we can to prepare, and try not to worry too much about what might happen until it does.”As much as Oscar might have wished to put the fever from his mind, however, it seemed that he was not to be given leisure to forget. He arrived at the archives the following morning to discover Nicholas rooting about in the rear shelves like a pig searching for tubers. Oscar followed the sounds of his banging and swearing until he found the archivist heaving tattered tomes atop a growing tower at his side.Oscar crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against a shelf, watching him puff and swipe his disheveled curls from his face. “Do I even want to ask what you’re doing back here?”Nicholas’s head snapped around, his narrow gray glare pinning Oscar where he stood. “You!”“Were you expecting someone else?”“Where have you been?” Nicholas demanded, throwing another book down atop the pile. The sleeve of his blue velvet robes caught beneath it. He snarled another curse and tugged it free, nearly toppling the tower.“What are you talking about?” Oscar said. “It’s barely dawn.”“Is it?” Nicholas squinted up at one of the high, narrow windows. With the light on his face, Oscar could see what appeared to be faint smudges of exhaustion beneath his eyes.“Are you alright?” Oscar asked, pushing off the shelves to approach him. “How long have you been here?”“Never mind that.” Nicholas waved a distracted hand at the tower of books. “Now that you’re finally here, you can carry these to the table. When you’re done, go to the royal physician’s chambers and collect his records as well.”“The physician?” Oscar gathered up an armful of books. “What do you need with him?”“We have been tasked to provide an approximation of how quickly this fever might spread, based on what has been recorded about such events in the past.”Nicholas wove his way back through the shelves as he explained. Walking behind him, even with the books blocking his view, Oscar could see that he was moving oddly.“What happened? Did you drop a book on your foot?”“I most certainly did not,” Nicholas scoffed. “What a ridiculous thing to suggest.”“Well something's the matter with you,” Oscar noted mildly, as he set his burden down on the table. “If I’m going to see the physician anyway, I can fetch you something for it. Just tell me what needs curing.”“That is none of your business,” Nicholas told him, “and if you persist in this line of questioning, I promise you will know my wrath as you have never even imagined.”To Oscar’s amazement, an undeniable blush was stealing across Nicholas’s face. He watched the archivist march stiffly over to his chair and fling himself down into it, only to jolt straight up again with a wince.Oscar blinked at him as he realized what ailed Nicholas. “Oh, I see.”Nicholas turned his red face from Oscar, directing his glare at the far shelves. “If you dare say one word about it…”The slow grin that stretched Oscar’s lips was entirely beyond his control. “So your quest yesterday was a success?”“I'm certain you have already been able to conclude as much,” Nicholas grumbled.“And this new conquest was actually too much for you?” Oscar chuckled. “You, the great seducer of the king’s tower?”“As it happens, these soldiers are uncommonly proportioned,” Nicholas admitted, his blush growing even darker.Oscar sat down in his own chair and decided to have mercy on Nicholas’s bruised pride. He tilted his head as he regarded the archivist. “If you got what you were after, why are you in such a foul mood?”“That really is none of your concern."“Alright," Oscar relented, "but my offer stands.”Nicholas did not deign to reply, so Oscar let it drop and went to fetch the rest of the books he had pulled down. Nicholas began to read them over while Oscar went to collect the second set of volumes from the physician. Once they had all the records spread out before them, they fell quickly into the familiar pattern of their work.Oscar’s role was chiefly to make notes as Nicholas began to weave the strands connecting what he read, holding a bewildering amount of information in his head as he sifted and sorted records spanning back nearly fifty years. It was an impressive feat, although the patterns he uncovered were not happy ones. Over the course of the morning and afternoon, a grim picture slowly took form in Oscar’s scribbled hand. Combined with what Morris and Wamba had told him, it did not bode well for the city escaping the spread of disease.It was growing dark and the archive was cold when Nicholas snatched Oscar’s notes out from under his quill and began to read them over. Oscar stood, stretching out his aching back, and brought Nicholas a pair of candles. The archivist scratched a few notes in the spaces between Oscar’s words, then thrust the handful of pages back against his chest.“Write this out again. I’ll need a clean copy by morning.”“Alright,” Oscar said, seating himself again with a faint sigh.“And wear your best clothes tomorrow.”Oscar paused with his quill hovering just over his inkwell. He looked up at Nicholas. “Why?”Nicholas smirked at him. “Because you’re coming with me to report to the council.”
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For all the years that Oscar had served as assistant to the king’s magistrate, and later his archivist, he had never before been invited to the king’s private council. He was unsure of Nicholas's intent in taking him now, but intrigued enough by the prospect that he held his tongue and refrained from asking questions that might cause Nicholas to change his mind.His heart stumbled on a shiver of nerves as he stepped into the audience chamber. Pale winter sunlight filtered in through the high slit windows at the far end of the hall, melding with the light of the fire beneath to cast the intimidating hulk of the throne and the people around it into dark shadows, devoid of any hint of familiarity. The scene transported Oscar back to his very first day in the tower, when he knelt alone surrounded by the mocking court.He pushed the memory away, and his nerves along with it, reminding himself that he was no longer without allies. Not least of these was Nicholas, who led the way directly toward the throne. The shadows flanking it resolved as they drew near, revealing the faces of the Earl of Norfolk and the Earl of Chester, two of the king’s most trusted vassals. Ivanhoe was absent, home at Rotherwood for the winter, but there were another ten or so men scattered about the room, all of whom Oscar knew only by reputation. At the center of the council was the king himself, seated upon his throne and clad in a velvet coat lined with fur. He lifted a brow when his eyes landed on Oscar.“What’s this?” Richard asked. “Have you been taken by a sudden infirmity of the arms, Nicholas, that you require your assistant to carry your scroll for you?”Nicholas dipped a courtly bow before the throne, the arm bent across his middle refuting the king’s suggestion. “After my research yesterday, your majesty, I thought it best to acclimate him to the proceedings of the council, lest the encroaching fever strike me down and he be required to fill my post.”Oscar frowned at him, only to be met with a glare and a pointed jerk of Nicholas’s head. Oscar quickly remembered his manners and offered his own obeisance. “Your majesty.”He knew that the king had some minor fondness for him, manifested most often in his habit of needling Oscar for his own amusement, but it was Wamba for whom Richard held genuine affection. He had long ago made clear the limits of his tolerance for Oscar, and the fate that would await him should he commit any trespass against his lover again.Richard ignored him now, his attention sharp on Nicholas. “Is the view so dark from where you stand?”“Indeed it is, sire,” Nicholas said, lowering his head in a nod. “Would you have my report?”The king hummed and rubbed one hand through his sandy beard as he surveyed the hall. “We are missing a few men yet, and I would prefer not to discuss this matter without Maynard or Cedric.”It was for this latter that Oscar had begun to surreptitiously search the audience chamber, but he hardly had time to be disappointed before the door opened again. As though the king’s words had summoned them, Wamba entered the hall with the royal physician Maynard just a step behind him. There was a tightness about his expression that had not been there when Oscar saw him off at the gate that morning.It fell away when he lifted his eyes and saw Oscar, the hint of a surprised smile tilting the corner of his mouth, as though he had forgotten that Oscar would be there. Oscar immediately grinned back at him, helplessly charmed, until a sharp elbow jabbed him in the side and he flinched.He turned from Wamba to scowl at Nicholas. “That hurt!”“Mind yourself,” Nicholas hissed at him. “I did not bring you here to humiliate me.”“I didn’t ask you to bring me at all,” Oscar returned in a furious whisper.“If you are finished, gentlemen,” the king reprimanded them in tones of long-suffering boredom.“Quite finished, sire,” Nicholas said primly.“Then we are finally all present and prepared to proceed?” Richard asked with a pointed look at the newcomers.Wamba bowed. “Forgive me, your majesty. It was I who detained Maynard.”Richard brushed away the apology with a wave. “No matter. You are in time to hear what Nicholas has discovered. If you please, Nicholas.”“Of course, sire.” Nicholas stepped forward, taking the center of the hall with a subtle toss of his head. “As you commanded, I have in the brief time allotted to me made a study of all available knowledge on past occurrence of pestilence and plague, and my conclusions bode ill for your kingdom.”Standing just behind him, Oscar struggled to keep his expression blank as he watched Nicholas perform. He held his scroll clasped tight in one hand and wondered idly whether Nicholas had forced him to copy it over purely out of spite, as he clearly had no use for it.“Go on,” said the king.“As one might expect, the existing records date back only these past fifty years, but even within that span, England has suffered a great many episodes of winter fever. How many was it again, Oscar?”Oscar startled, shocked to be addressed. He stared at Nicholas, whose cool gray gaze looked back at him expectantly, then quickly cleared his throat.“Sixteen.”“Yes, sixteen,” Nicholas nodded. “Or in other words, one fever of note every few years. A moderately common occurrence. However, my lords, it is important to remember that not all of these bring about equal numbers of dead. Which was the least fatal, Oscar?”Oscar did not know why Nicholas was forcing him to speak when he knew the numbers just as well, but he dutifully answered, “The last. Three years ago. One in twenty who fell ill died.”“And the worst?”“One in five.”There was a long moment, while Nicholas let the council consider that. The king held both hands steepled before him, his brow furrowed. Oscar darted a glance at Wamba, who was exchanging a meaningful look with the physician that Oscar could not decipher.“That is all well and good, Nicholas,” Chester broke the silence at last, “but even you would surely not claim to know what will happen in future based upon records that could be no more than hysterical exaggerations.”There was a chorus of murmured agreement from the hall. Nicholas rounded on Chester, his eyes narrowed and voice clipped as he replied, “The good earl must certainly be forgiven for holding less faith in my honorable predecessors than I, but fortune favors us such that we have no need to rely on records alone. The deadliest of these fevers is within our living memory. Is that not correct, Oscar?”“Yes,” Oscar agreed. “It was just over fifteen years ago.”Nicholas turned a full circle, looking at each man of the council. “And who among us was here in London at that time?”He received no reply. Oscar looked around as well, with growing incredulity that not a single man remembered the endless nightmare of that long-ago winter. Though the king had not yet returned from the Holy Land then, and perhaps some of the others had been there with him, as Ivanhoe had.“Oscar.” Wamba’s quiet voice interrupted his thoughts.Oscar looked at him.“He means you.”“Oh!” Oscar looked quickly between him and Nicholas, who treated Oscar to an unimpressed look.“You were here, were you not?”“Yes,” Oscar said, realizing suddenly why Nicholas had insisted upon his attendance, and why he had forced Oscar to give the report.“Then you may confirm it for us,” Nicholas said. “Would you say that the records are exaggerated?”“No,” Oscar replied at once. He shook off his shock, and took a breath. “Not at all. The fever killed my parents. It killed my uncle, and my friend’s mother. It killed our neighbors. Entire families.” He had been too young to understand all that was happening around him, but he remembered the fear that fell like a pall over the city, the carts that creaked through the streets as they carried away the dead, and the stink of the corpses of those who had none left to mourn them. He remembered watching his brother collapse in tears over their parents’ sickbed.Nicholas spoke again. “The reports from Brighton, from Hastings, and now from Horsham all tell of a similarly deadly disease.”“All of those are a day or more from here,” said another voice from the back of the hall. “We cannot be certain it will even reach London.”“Can we not?” Nicholas asked. “How many of our sixteen fevers began in the north, Oscar?”“Five,” Oscar replied.“And how many in the south?”“Three.”“And of those, how many ultimately reached London?”“All of them,” Oscar said. “They all came to London.”“Your sums are flawed, lad,” Norfolk said. “If eight came to London, then eight did not.”“They could not come here, my lord,” Oscar retorted, “because they began here.”“Frankly,” Nicholas added, “I am amazed that the city has been spared as long as it has.”“All of this is no more than bald conjecture,” Chester insisted.Oscar rolled his eyes and turned to Nicholas to remark, loud enough to be overheard, “Why did we bother to do all that work if they’re too thickheaded to listen to you?”Nicholas smirked, but Chester took one threatening step toward Oscar, his face growing ruddy.“Alright,” the king said, breaking his silence at last to intervene. “While he makes it crudely, Oscar does have a point. Nicholas has the weight of evidence in his favor. Let us move beyond questioning him and turn our energies to action.”“I propose we close off the city at once,” said someone behind Oscar.“That has been your solution from the beginning, Howden,” Norfolk said, “and it is no more useful now than it was three days ago. London is no Jerusalem that we can simply shut her doors and keep our foes at bay forever. If the pestilence reaches the gates, it reaches the city.”“Better to close the gates than to sit idly and make no move to defend ourselves while we wait for it to come upon us,” Howden said.“My lords,” Wamba said, his voice carefully level, “I fear it may already be too late for that.”Richard immediately turned the weight of his stare upon him. “Explain.”Wamba stepped forward to stand beside Nicholas, facing the throne. “The reason I delayed Maynard, sire, was to ask him to confirm my suspicions.”“What suspicions are those?”“Two men were arrested last night for causing a disturbance at an inn near the Aldgate. The innkeeper believed them drunk and called the watch. They were brought before the tribunal this morning. What appeared at first to be intoxication was in fact a sort of delirium. I had them held so that Maynard could examine them.”“Maynard?” the king turned to the physician.“It appears to be a fever, sire,” Maynard said, rubbing one hand over his bald head. “By the signs, most likely the very one of which we have been speaking.”“The two men are secure now?” Richard asked.“They are,” Wamba said.“Then see that they are kept apart from the other prisoners until we know for certain what afflicts them.”“The longer they remain, the greater chance they spread this malady to others,” Howden said. “Would sense not dictate that the danger be purged?”“Do you propose to murder innocent men, my lord?” Nicholas asked him.“Of course not,” Howden said, “but they should be removed from the castle. Let us close off the tower, at least.”“No.” The king shook his head, his expression grim. “If they are in the cells, then we are already too late. They are here. The fever is here, and now we must reckon with it.”Oscar looked down at his scroll, clenched in a white knuckled grip. No one spoke.
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Oscar was dismissed once the council moved on to other matters, but his new awareness of the threat was not so easily banished. It continued to weigh on him, while he spent a few distracted hours attempting to sort the pile of records Nicholas had thrown into disarray. Finally, his nerves thrumming, he abandoned that task and went to look for Wamba instead.He found his lover in the library, leaning down over Colin’s shoulder to shepherd him through one of the more arcane books of manor law. It was a scene that Oscar would have found unremarkable on any other day, but the utter normality of it grated on his frayed humor.Wamba paused, one finger resting on a weathered page, and greeted Oscar with a smile. “You’re back early. Did Nicholas run out of uses for you?”“Even if he had, he’s very creative at coming up with new ones.” Oscar forced himself to return the smile, though it felt stiff and unnatural on his lips. “He never came back. When did the council end?”Wamba’s stood straight, a puzzled tilt to his head. “An hour ago, at least.”“He must have had something more important to do.” Oscar approached the table to look at the book. “What are you doing?”“Reading about trial by combat,” Colin answered him with a grin that seemed far too cheerful for the subject at hand.“We were posed an interesting question of precedent today,” Wamba explained, “and Colin has taken it upon himself to examine whether the crown’s lay tribunal might possess the authority to annul a condemnation by trial in a baron’s court.”He smiled at Colin as he spoke, his voice warm with approval. Colin ducked his head to hide his flush, abashed as ever at his mentor’s praise.“It sounds like you had a doubly eventful morning, then,” Oscar said. “Are you certain those men are ill?”Wamba’s smile faded, the gravity of the council meeting creeping into its place. “There is little enough doubt, and the physician has none. Any hope we had of the city escaping the worst is gone. All we can do now is to protect as many lives as possible.”“What did you decide?” Oscar asked.“Yesterday I proposed that we begin moving people out of the city, to havens further north, but it's too late for that now. Sending them out would do no more than to spread the fever even further.” Wamba took a step back from the table and crossed his arms over his chest. “Some will leave anyway. His majesty plans to send the queen and their son to a secluded estate. Many of the remaining courtiers will follow.”“How lucky for them that they have their castles to run to.” Oscar failed to smother his bitterness, though he knew that there was nothing that the nobles could do to help even if they remained. “Is that what Nicholas plans to do?”“He did not say.” The hint of a smirk quirked the corner of Wamba’s mouth. “Honestly, I suspect he might rather face a plague than the prospect of an entire winter with his family.”Colin chuckled at his book.Wamba looked down at him and reached out to tap the top of his head with a finger. “You’re not to repeat that.”“What about you?” Oscar asked. “I’m sure Ivanhoe would give you shelter at Rotherwood until spring.”“I don't doubt it,” Wamba agreed, “but King Richard will remain in London, and I will have work to do here.”“You mean the tribunal?”“Among other things.”The worry that had wormed its way into Oscar’s chest began to claw its way up his throat. “Can’t you close the tribunal? At least until the fever has passed?”“It's not so simple as that, Oscar."“Why not?” Oscar demanded. “Surely there’s no dispute so urgent that it can't wait a few weeks.”“And what of those awaiting judgment? Should they sit imprisoned, possibly unjustly, for the sake of fear?”“So you would expose yourself to that danger for the sake of criminals?” Oscar’s voice was louder than he intended, sharp with his growing temper. Wamba faced him down with the look of ruthless calm that was a mask for his hurt, or his anger, and Oscar realized that they stood on the cusp of a full-blown argument.Colin shifted uncomfortably where he sat between them. The movement snapped their fixed stare. Wamba looked at Colin, his face softening. He laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Why don’t you take that with you tonight, Colin? We can discuss your thoughts in the morning.”Colin gathered up the book and his other scattered papers with palpable relief. He knocked his shin on the table leg in his haste to rise, but barely winced as he headed for the door. “Goodnight, sir. Goodnight, Oscar.”“Goodnight,” Wamba replied, watching as he left.The door closed, and they stood in silence for a long moment, not looking at one another. The distraction had snuffed out Oscar’s temper, leaving only a hollow sense of defeat. “I can’t stop you if you want to keep the tribunal open,” he said, “but I can’t stop worrying about you either.”“Oscar...” Wamba said quietly.“I promised to protect you, but I don’t know how to protect you from this.” He kept his eyes deliberately averted, trying to ignore the way they burned. “The last one took my family. What if this one takes you?”He heard Wamba move, but did not look at him until a gentle hand slid over his cheek and forced him to turn his face. Wamba’s expression was open, letting Oscar see his worry and his weariness. “I fear for you, too,” he said. “If I could send you to safety I would, but I suspect you wouldn't agree to go alone.”He offered no reassurance, but Oscar would not have trusted it even if he had. He drew Wamba to him instead, wrapping him up in the tenuous safety of his arms. “I won’t go without you.”“I know,” Wamba’s arms closed about him in return, “and I do not have it in me to run, Oscar. I never did.”The same was apparently true of Nicholas. Oscar discovered the archivist roosted within a nest of moldering manuscripts the following morning.“I take it you’re not planning to flee the city?”“Of course not.” Nicholas did not bother to look up at him. “Though it is gratifying to see that your account of the horrors that likely await us has spurred some observable action on the part of the council. Even if it is no more than the whole lot of them running off with tails tucked.”“You could have warned me about that, you know,” Oscar said, “instead of setting me up to make a fool of myself in front of them.”“I did no such thing.” Nicholas did look up then, with an affronted frown. “Surely you have some appreciation for my method.”“What method is that?”Nicholas held up an instructional finger. “I made you appear knowledgeable and worthy of their attention before I asked you to share truth that none of them could refute. Only thus were you able to change their minds.”Oscar frowned, puzzling this over. “Why did you need me to change their minds? Don’t they listen to you?”“There is a distressing tendency amongst the nobility to reject outright those infelicitous realities which we cannot control.” Nicholas looked back to his manuscript. “They would more readily accept a dragon I had conjured before them in the audience chamber than a pestilence they cannot simply command to do their bidding.”“So you couldn’t have done it without me, is what you’re saying,” Oscar noted.“I suppose you deserve a modicum of praise,” Nicholas begrudgingly admitted, “for playing your part well.”“I’ll take what I can get,” Oscar smirked, eyeing the mess on the table. “Where did you get all of this?”“I have been working on them in my chambers. I decided to bring them here this morning.”“You brought them?” Oscar asked, raising a brow.“Alright, a servant brought them,” Nicholas said, waving an impatient hand. “What difference does it make?”“What are they?”Nicholas sat back, his eyes lighting as he explained, “They are, in fact, six variations on a Saxon epic which appears to have roots in tales borrowed from the northern barbarians. It has taken me years to collect them, and I have only just begun a comparative study.”“Is that how you plan to pass the winter?”“As I will have few other distractions, with the court abandoned, I see no reason not to.”There was something oddly determined about his expression. Oscar almost questioned it, but decided on levity instead as he remarked, “I don’t suppose you’ll be needing me, then.”“What are you talking about?” Nicholas said. “You’re already behind, thanks to our little diversion with the council. Get to work updating the estate records.”He pointed to the crate tucked between two tall shelves, where the notices of births and deaths other doings of England's noble families were collected while they waited for Oscar to handle them. His good humor was whisked away like so much smoke when he saw that it held easily a dozen more scrolls than it had just a few days before.“Where are they from?” he asked, dreading the answer.“Sussex, I believe,” Nicholas said. “And I would not dawdle, if I were you. There will no doubt be more tomorrow.”Sussex, to the south, from where the fever now spread. Oscar took a deep breath, and reached for the first scroll.
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The exodus began two days later.Due to his stubborn refusal to leave Wamba’s side even one moment sooner than necessary, Oscar was present to witness the departure of the king’s family. The queen’s retinue was gathered in the bailey when they walked out that morning, so they stopped to show their respect along with the rest of the castle as the royals emerged from the keep.The train was at least thirty strong, with an entire regiment of soldiers to guard their passage. Half a dozen stout carriages had been prepared, in deference to the gentle upbringing of the queen and her ladies in waiting. Queen Agnes made her way to the grandest of these, wrapped in layers of fine furs against the cold with her dark hair tucked up beneath a modest caul. Her son was equally bundled, so that his rosy little face could just be spied peeking out from a nearly round ball of fur. The prince squirmed as he was lifted up and presented to King Richard to make his farewells.The king took his son in his arms and laid a kiss upon his small cheek, then handed the child off into the waiting hands of the nurses within the carriage. Agnes watched all of this with dispassionate eyes, and stood stiff to receive her own parting kiss from the king. The sight was distinctly uncomfortable, so that Oscar was forced to looked away. He had heard the rumors, as all of them had, of the chill that strained the royal marriage. He had chosen not to give too much credence to what might be no more than gossip, aware that there was plenty of speculation about his own exploits behind closed doors, but it was difficult to deny the truth so plain before him.Agnes granted a much warmer welcome to Nicholas, who approached as Richard retreated. He took her hand in his and pecked a courtly kiss to her gloved fingers. She smiled and said something to him that made him demur with a hand pressed to his chest and a deep bow. The queen tittered and allowed him to help her up into the carriage.“She should have a care for how openly she shows her favor,” Wamba murmured, for Oscar’s ears alone.“Nicholas is her only friend here,” Oscar replied, “apart from her ladies.”“That is the heart of the problem,” Wamba said. “Her refusal to speak English, or at least take some few English ladies among her retinue, fosters a great deal of resentment among the noble families. Nicholas is a conspicuous exception. It would be very difficult to defend him now, if someone chose to make accusations of impropriety.”“The king knows better,” Oscar pointed out, though he made the argument more for its own sake than out of any real conviction. He knew that Wamba’s judgment was superior to his own when it came to reading the winds of the court.“He does,” Wamba agreed, “but the truth is not an argument I would recommend in this particular case.”He quirked a small, private smile at Oscar. His lips were a little reddened still from the impassioned kisses Oscar had pressed upon them just before they left their chambers. Oscar had an urge to do so again, but limited himself to returning the smile instead.At the far end of the bailey, the portcullis creaked, distracting Oscar’s attention. The queen’s train began to move, and the gathered servants to disperse.“There’s Thomas,” Wamba said. “I’ll be off.”“Be careful,” Oscar told him.“I will.” Wamba gave Oscar one last smile before he turned and went to join his guard.Thomas was easy to find, towering head and shoulders above the milling people. He was not much older than Oscar, but he had the advantage of a far more imposing stature. He was one of very few whom Oscar trusted to defend Wamba with as much determination as Oscar himself. That trust was all that kept him from insisting that he be allowed to accompany Wamba all the way to tribunal.Thomas nodded to Wamba as he approached, with a barely perceptible smile softening his stern visage. Colin was there beside him as well, waiting with his usual armful of scrolls. Oscar watched them go, until a flash of familiar green caught his eye. He looked up, surprised to see Emma’s diminutive form perched atop the parapet near the gate. Flanking her was the angular shape of Gregory.“Do you mean to stand about gawking all day?” Nicholas’s voice sniped at him from behind. “I sincerely doubt you’ve finished your work so early.”“You’re one to talk,” Oscar scoffed as he turned. “How much longer do you expect me to make your excuses while you disappear off at all hours?”Nicholas’s behavior had grown increasingly erratic since that first curious morning, unexplained midday disappearances followed by whole nights when he eschewed his chambers in favor of the archives, unmoved from the time Oscar left him in the evening until he returned the following morning.“I’m sure I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean,” Nicholas sniffed. He tossed his head and turned from Oscar to observe the stately departure of the queen’s train. This had the no doubt accidental effect of revealing a rosy bruise tucked up just beneath his ear. Oscar recognized it at once, having left more than a few such marks of his own upon his lover.“Oh,” he chuckled, his voice slow with smug delight. “I see how it is.”Nicholas shot him a narrow glare. “What on earth are you talking about?”“Even you can’t outsmart everyone all the time.” Oscar tapped his own neck where the bruise decorated Nicholas. “It’s your mysterious new friend who’s been stealing your attention, isn’t it?”A swift flush rushed into Nicholas’s cheeks, though he did not allow it to lessen the force of the scowl that he turned on Oscar. “That is not in any conceivable way your concern.”“That’s not very fair,” Oscar noted smoothly, “seeing how you’ve taken no end of interest in my private life.”“That’s hardly the same thing,” Nicholas said. “You are answerable to me, and it is well within my rights to know what you are about when it might cause your work to suffer. The same is not true of you.”“Have it your way, then. As you always do.” Oscar rolled his eyes for Nicholas’s benefit, but added more quietly, “I’m glad you haven’t done yourself any more injuries.”Nicholas blinked at him, openly abashed for one astonishing moment before he cleared his throat and waved a hand at Oscar. “That is quite enough of your cheek. Come along. Those reports won’t see to themselves.”Oscar decided not to press him further, but neither did he follow. He looked back to the wall instead, where Emma and Gregory stood. “Why don’t you go ahead? I’ll be there in a moment.”Nicholas frowned, but as usual he was willing to grant Oscar more latitude than his acerbic words would imply. “Don’t dally,” was all he said before he walked away.Oscar headed off in the opposite direction, crossing the bailey to the barbican where he climbed the narrow stairs up to the parapet. Emma and Gregory were tucked in separate gaps in the stone, both of them transfixed by whatever it was that lay on the other side.“What’s going on?” Oscar asked as he approached. Neither of them glanced his way.“Look at that, Oscar,” Emma said, standing on tiptoes to get a view as she pointed out over the wall.“There are so many of them,” Gregory said. His voice was faint, lacking the habitual sneer that he had the misfortune to inherit from his father. His equine face was very pale, beneath his shock of orange hair.Oscar stepped up beside Emma and leaned over her head to peer down to the open green beyond the moat. His breath caught at the sight of a drab throng of people, all jostling as they pressed toward the castle gates and the queen's creeping train, hands extended and faces raised in supplication. Some held children aloft. Facing off against them was a solid wall of soldiers, long pikes in their hands though they stood to attention and made no move to attack. Suddenly the heavy guard afforded the retinue seemed much more reasonable.“How long has it been like this?” Oscar asked.“There have been people sleeping out here for weeks,” Gregory said, “but it’s just in the last few days that they began to gather like this.”“Where did they all come from?” Oscar asked. “What do they think they’re going to find here?”“They’re fleeing the fever,” Gregory said. “I suppose they thought the crown might give them shelter.”“Instead, they’ve come for nothing, and trapped all of us in here to boot,” Emma said.“The king hasn’t forbidden anyone to leave, has he?”“Not yet,” said Emma, “but who would go out with the city like this?”The answer to that question caused a hot swell of panic to rise in Oscar’s throat. The tribunal lay on the far side of the castle, but Wamba had to cross an equally open stretch of ground to reach it. Oscar did not think even Thomas could overcome such a number alone.“Not I.” Gregory stepped back from the wall, shaking himself and brushing down his doublet, as though to banish the alarming sight. He looked at Oscar. “I spoke to my father, by the way. You’ll have your lock today.”Oscar had completely forgotten about the request. He looked back to the crowd.“Thank you,” he said. “Though I don’t think any lock will be enough to keep us safe now.”
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It was less than a week before Oscar's worst fears became his reality.Every morning he reluctantly watched Wamba leave the safety of the castle, and was plagued by nameless dread until he welcomed Wamba home at night. Until the day when Colin came running to find him.The young scribe appeared without warning, stumbling into the archives and grabbing at the shelves to keep his feet beneath him as he careened toward the table. Oscar took one look at him, wild-eyed and disheveled, and dropped the box in his hands. He caught Colin by his narrow shoulders, halting him before he lost his balance. The boy's robe was torn, one sleeve hanging by bare stitches, and stained with earth where he must have fallen to his knees."What is it?" Oscar demanded. "What's happened?"Colin heaved two panted breaths. He choked, "I think you need to come."Terror burst to life within Oscar's breast and flowed out to possess his limbs. He rattled Colin, rough in his urgency. "Is he alright?""I don't know," Colin wheezed. "He's still on his feet. Thomas wants to take him to the physician, but he's refusing to go.""What's wrong with him?"Colin shook his head and wiped a hand across his face, his soiled palm leaving a streak of dirt across his cheek. "There was a man. He came up to us when we left the tribunal. Cedric shouldn't have stopped. Thomas told him not to. Then somehow there were more of them and they were all around us. Someone managed to strike him."That was all Oscar needed to hear. He turned Colin about by force and pushed him back through the shelves. Nicholas had not deigned to make an appearance that morning, so there was no need to make his excuses. "Where are they now?""Your chambers," Colin said, "unless Thomas convinced him to go to the physician."Oscar spat a curse and released Colin as they made their way out into the corridor. "Thomas should have just picked him up and carried him there.""Thomas wouldn't do that.""Then he should at least do his damned job and make sure things like this don't happen!"Colin lengthened his stride to keep pace with Oscar's angry march, and did not reply. Oscar's indignation simmered hot, fueled by no small fear of what sight might await him. He did not slow as he approached the library, throwing the door open with such force that it struck the wall a shuddering blow and swung back toward him.Three startled faces rose at his entrance, but he had eyes only for one, pale beneath streaks of stark red. Wamba was seated in the tall chair closest to the hearth. Thomas stood beside him, holding a shallow wooden bowl in his hands, while Emma pressed a clump of bloody linen to Wamba's brow.Oscar strode quickly toward them, his fear disgorging a furious rebuke. "How could you be so careless?""Oscar!" Emma gasped, shock and disapproval in the glare she turned on Oscar.Wamba peered at him from his one visible eye. "So that's what Colin was up to," he said wearily. "Really, this is all a lot of bother over nothing.""Nothing?" Oscar snapped, flinging an agitated hand at him. "You were attacked by that mob! I warned you this would happen.""Thomas got us out quickly enough.""Thomas should never have let them near you in the first place," Oscar countered furiously. He scowled at the soldier, whose face remained impassive, then looked back to Wamba. "What were you doing talking to them at all?""It's my duty to listen to the people who come to the crown seeking aid," Wamba said. "They're desperate, Oscar, but they don't mean to cause anyone any harm.""How can you say that?" Oscar bellowed. "They nearly split your head open!"Wamba squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the heel of his hand to his temple, a tight little grimace on his face. "Please don't shout, Oscar," he said quietly. "You can scold me all you like later. Just not… not right now."His words punctured Oscar's anger, and forced him to face the uncomfortable awareness of how foolish he must seem, raging uselessly while his lover was in pain. He took a calming breath and closed the last few steps between them, reaching for the cloth clutched in Emma's hand. She treated him to a warning glare before she relinquished it and moved back to allow him to take her place.Oscar carefully peeled the linen rag from Wamba's skin, revealing a jagged gash just at the edge of his hair. It bled sluggishly, but it was not nearly as terrible as Oscar had imagined. He set the cloth aside and took a clean length from the bowl in Thomas's hands, heavy with cool water. He wrung it out, then went to his knees between Wamba's feet and reached up to press it to his wound.Wamba flinched away from his hand, a fleeting gesture that nevertheless cracked Oscar's heart."I'm sorry," he said softly. "I'm a heel.""You are," Wamba agreed. "I don't know why I put up with you."He chuckled, but from this close distance it was clear that his eyes were not quite focused on Oscar's face, and that was not all. Oscar frowned and pulled the cloth away. He placed the flat of his palm to Wamba's brow instead, then slid it down to cup his cheek."Why are you so hot?""All the excitement must have gotten to me." Wamba lifted one shoulder in a shrug, offering a halfhearted grin.Oscar did not return it. "What else? Do you have chills?""It's the dead of winter, Oscar," Wamba said. "Of course I'm cold."Oscar put the cloth aside and pressed Wamba's hands between his own. They were trembling faintly. "Are you dizzy?""A little," Wamba admitted, "but I think that's to be expected after taking a hard knock."Oscar pushed himself to his feet. "Right, that's it. We're going to see the physician.""There's no need," Wamba said with a groggy shake of his head. "He has plenty enough to keep him busy without bothering with me."Oscar glared at him, trying to decide whether the merits of having Wamba examined were worth the battle it would take to get him there. "Fine," he said at last. "If you insist on being a stubborn mule about it, you can stay here, but you're at least going to bed.""I still have work to do," Wamba protested."Colin can take care of it," Oscar said firmly. "Can't you, Colin?" He looked at the boy, who stood watching them with his hands clutched together before him.Colin nodded vigorously. "Leave it to me, sir. I'll see that everything gets done.""Then it's settled," Oscar said. "Let's clean you up and get you to bed."Wamba's acquiescence to that was all the proof Oscar needed that he was in a poorer state than he had so far admitted to them. He sat quietly with drooping eyes while Oscar wiped the streaks of dried blood from his face and Emma secured a bandage around his wound. He insisted on walking to the bedchamber on his own, though he did not protest when Oscar took his elbow to steady him, nor when Oscar undressed him, slipped a warm woolen nightshirt over his head, and guided him to the bed."Just give me a few hours," Wamba murmured as Oscar covered him with a mound of blankets and furs."Not likely," Oscar snorted. "You're going to stay here until morning."Wamba chuckled, and slipped one arm from the warm cocoon Oscar had made for him to stroke a clumsy hand over his cheek. "Don't fret so, Oscar. I'm hardier than I look."Oscar heart knocked against his ribs. He bent down to rest his brow against Wamba's, close and careful. "I know just how strong you are," he said softly, "and just how fragile."Wamba's weary laugh swept across his mouth, so Oscar tipped his face down and pressed their lips together in a tender kiss. Wamba leaned up into the touch for a moment, before his mouth fell abruptly lax beneath Oscar's. He was asleep. Oscar sat back to watch his face, his skin nearly as pale as the bandage but for the two spots of color that had appeared in his cheeks."You should not let him sleep too long," Thomas's voice came from the doorway. "A blow to the head could addle his brains, if you don't wake him once or twice before morning."Oscar tore his eyes from Wamba to look at him, taking in the scar that sliced through Thomas's brow, skirting dangerously close to the corner of his eye. "I will."Thomas looked back at him, silent for a long moment. Then his eyes dropped. "I'm sorry, Oscar. I should not have let the crowd come so close."Oscar recalled his own words, spoken in the heat of anger, and reflected that he was far past the age when he should be so easily ruled by his temper. "Don't blame yourself. He doesn't blame you, and neither do I. If he had even a scrap of a will to defend himself, you wouldn't need to be so constantly on guard.""I need to go tell my father what happened.""I don't envy you that." Oscar gave him a weary smirk.He stood and snatched up Wamba's bloody robe from the floor, rolling in into a ball as he followed Thomas back into the library. Colin was helping Emma wipe up the last of the mess on the hearth, a mound of bloody rags piled in the bowl beside them."Thank you both," he said, awkward with embarrassment. "I apologize for losing my temper."Emma looked him over critically for a moment, then nodded, silently accepting his apology. True friend that she was, she let the matter rest, and reached for the robe in his hands. "I'll see to that. Do you need anything else?""Some supper later wouldn't go amiss," he said. "I don't suppose you could convince the cooks to part with something a bit more appealing than gruel?""I'll do what I can." Her eyes flicked toward the bedchamber. "You just see that he rests.""I will," Oscar promised.She smiled, and tapped his arm with her small fist. "He's going to be fine, Oscar. You'll see. There's nothing to worry about."He forced himself to return the smile, and tried to believe it.
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There was absolutely something to worry about the following morning, when Wamba would not rouse. Sometime during the night, while Oscar slept, the tremor in Wamba's hands had overtaken his entire body and the flush in his cheeks spread down across his chest, a creeping stain of fever. Oscar shook him by the shoulders, calling his name, but no sooner had Wamba's eyes opened to dark slits than they slid closed again, consciousness slipping from his weak grasp. His breaths came slow and labored, and Oscar knew that there was no time to waste with the physician.He was shouting for Emma before he had even freed himself from the damp linens. She burst in from the library while he was wrestling his tunic over his head."Oscar? What's wrong?"Oscar yanked his sleeve up his arm, waving a frantic hand at the bed. "He won't wake, and he can't breathe. I'm going to get help. Will you stay with him?"Emma's stared at the bed, taking in Wamba's state. She asked, hushed, "Is it…?""I think so." The terror of that nauseating truth shuddered through Oscar. So many days spent fearing this very thing, yet he was still so woefully unprepared to face the reality, unarmed against an enemy he could not see. His heart shuddered in his chest, his lungs seized, and for a moment his vision blurred as the room seemed to whirl around him.He stumbled, one blind hand outstretched for something to brace him, until small hands found him and held him firm. The strength of that grip grounded him, stilling the mad tilt of the world. Emma's hazel eyes caught his, determination in every inch of her round face. "Keep calm, Oscar. You'll be of no use to him if you collapse. There's nothing you can do now but see that he has the help he needs. Go and get it. I'll be here. I won't leave him alone."Oscar clasped a hand over hers on his arm, breathed in and then out in a shaky sigh. He nodded. "Thank you. I'll be as quick as I can."He went back to the bed, just for a moment, just long enough to assure himself that Wamba still breathed. He drew the blankets close around Wamba and stroked a hand across the matted tangle of his hair. He did not allow himself to think of it as a farewell as he snatched his coat from Emma's hand and flew out into the castle. The corridors were empty, the few servants who lingered after the flight of the court tucked away from the cold and the pall of fever.The gates were another matter. They remained under heavy guard at all hours, barred against throngs of the desperate who continued to come seeking succor. Oscar paid the soldiers no mind, striding toward the gate with single-minded focus, but they were alert to his approach. By the time he reached the barbican, Farren was waiting for him, his stance wide and arms crossed across his massive chest."The king has ordered the gates remain closed," Farren told him. There was something uncommonly haggard about his stern face, a grimness that betrayed the toll the past month had taken on him.Oscar had learned long ago that he was better served to practice prudence when dealing with the guard captain, but he had no patience for tact today. He met Farren's heavy gaze with an unwavering stare of his own. "I need you to let me leave.""On what business?""Wamba is ill."Farren's face twisted, a flash of anguish before he schooled his features. "My son told me what happened yesterday."Oscar shook his head. "His wound didn't cause this. Perhaps it weakened him enough that the fever could take him more easily, but he is truly ill.""Then you should go and speak to Maynard. The royal physician is charged with the care of the people within these walls.""You know as well as I do that Maynard can do nothing to help," Oscar said. "Rachel knows him best, and she knows how to cure this cursed illness.""There is no cure," Farren said. "My men have scoured the city seeking just such knowledge as you believe her to possess. It is not to be found.""Not a cure, then," Oscar snapped, "but something to help him, to put him at ease. Would you really deny him what he needs?""I must have the king's permission to open the gate.""There's no time for that!" Oscar was horrified to feel hot pressure gathering at the backs of his eyes, his frustration at a breaking point. "Even now he suffers. Please, let me help him."Farren closed his eyes, the pain on his face the clearest feeling Oscar had ever been able to read on him. He wondered if even Farren's love for Wamba would not be enough to sway him from his duty, if Oscar would be forced to fight his way out and risk being forbidden to return.Farren opened his eyes and stepped aside.Oscar did not hesitate. He shot ahead like a stone from a sling, throwing his thanks over his shoulder as he flew through the gate. There was a cry as he emerged, a whirl of white faces and dirty hands blocking his path, but he could not let himself be distracted by any of them. He shoved his way through the press, across what had once been a pleasant green, to the city beyond. He ducked quickly from the main thoroughfare into the narrow side streets and into a scene from his worst memories.The sick and dying huddled in whatever shelters they could find, half concealed beneath stairs or in the alleys between buildings. Some, he was certain, were already gone, but he did not stop to examine them. He was beset by a burning temptation to turn toward his brother's home, to discover how his family fared in this nightmare which he was only beginning to truly grasp, but his immediate aim was too important. He kept his eyes to the front and let his feet guide him along the familiar path to the Jewry.The scene there was no better. The flight of narrow stairs up to Rachel's little apothecary was draped with despair. A woman in a brown cap sat curled over her knees. Oscar spied a small tuft of dark hair on the gray skin of the deathly still bundle pressed to her breast. Another man stretched prone with head in hands, openly weeping.Oscar clenched his jaw and wound his way through this gauntlet of sorrow to leap up to the door. It hung open, wisps of smoke trailing out to disappear against the ashen sky. The low room was littered with figures as pitiful as those who lingered outside, drab shadows slumped against the walls. An elderly man lay on one table, choking on whatever was in the bowl Morris tipped against his lips. Rachel stood at the other bench with her white hair bound back from her face in a knotted scarf and the sleeves of her black dress rolled up to her elbows. She ground a pestle down into its mortar with gnarled hands. A younger woman worked beside her, stripping leaves from a bundle of dried herbs. None of them acknowledged him."I need help."Rachel spared him only a single narrow glance, her lined face betraying no surprise to see him there. "Nothing wrong with you.""Not me," Oscar explained. "Wamba."Rachel's hands never paused in their work. "Bring him here and I will see him.""Can you not carry what he needs?" Oscar asked. "I can get you into the castle. The guard captain knows I'm coming back. He'll open the gate for me.""I go there, these people must wait." Rachel waved a stained hand at the pitiful figures littering the apothecary. "You think he deserves more?"Oscar's mouth opened, but he stalled before he could reply. It had never occurred to him that Rachel might refuse to help him. Not even as he walked through the streets and confronted the awful reality of how deeply the fever had dug its claws into the city. Not once had he doubted that others would give Wamba precedence above all, as he did. He knew that Rachel spoke sense, but he could not accept defeat so easily. He could not return to Wamba empty handed."Please," he begged, forcing the words from his tightening throat. "Please help him. I'll do anything."Her face was stone, unmoved by his pleading. A wave of helpless despair washed through him. Then another voice spoke."I'll go."Oscar's head snapped around, hope piercing him with the force of a bolt. Morris stood looking calmly past him, bracing the man on the table with one hand as his struggles slowed."You are needed here," Rachel said."I owe him a debt." Morris glanced to the other woman. "You can do without me for an hour. Can't you, Miriam?""That we can," Miriam said, brushing her long black hair back over her shoulder. "An hour, but no longer.""I understand." Morris ducked down to scoop up a satchel from the floor, pulling bundles and bottles from the bench as Oscar watched with a lump in his throat."Morris..." Oscar tried to speak, but relief had made him dumb.Morris turned, slinging the satchel over his head, and nodded to Oscar. "Let's go."
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Emma was waiting for them when they returned. She was perched atop the chest at the foot of the bed, chewing anxiously on her lip, but leapt up at once when she saw them."Where have you been?" Her scowl snapped from Oscar to Morris and back again. "What's he doing here? You said you were going to get help. I thought you meant the physician!""He's better than the physician." Oscar strode past her to the bed, anxious to see how Wamba had fared in his absence. "Has there been any change?""He's still breathing," Emma reported, "although it sounds as though it pains him."Oscar eased back the blankets to confirm this for himself. Wamba shifted at the wash of cold air over his sweat damp skin, curling his limbs close to his body as he muttered something Oscar could not make out. He heaved a strangled breath, but it was enough for Oscar that he showed any signs of life at all."Let me see him." Morris was already at the bedside. He pulled vials and bunches of herbs from his small satchel and arranged them on the bed table. Oscar stepped aside to allow him to bend down close to Wamba.Morris pressed a hand to Wamba's throat, then his brow. His touch was brisk and dispassionate, pale eyes assessing. He tugged Wamba's shift aside and examined the bloody lace of a rash that stained Wamba's chest, then reached up to tug away the bandage that swathed his wound.Oscar's breath caught at the sight of it, an ugly red maw within a patch of dark bruising. "Could that have caused this?""No." Morris probed the raised skin with deft fingers. "The wound is clean. It will heal, if he survives the fever."The sober words sent Oscar's heart plunging into his boots. He clenched his shaking hands to fists and asked, "What can I do?"Morris threw one hand out behind him. "Douse that fire.""What?" Emma squeaked. "I just built it up. He won't stop shivering and his hands are like ice. He's freezing.""He's not," Morris replied. "He only feels that way. The fever is making him burn from within. He needs to be cooled, not heated further. It is a common mistake.""How do we cool him?" Oscar asked."Bring water," Morris said. "Cold water for the bath. Snow would be better, if we had it, but there has been none.""It almost never snows in London," Emma said."That is unfortunate." Morris turned his pale eyes to her. "You have a well, though?""Of course.""Then water will do," Morris said. "Quickly."Emma drew herself up, affront in every line of her body."Emma," Oscar murmured, "please."Her eyes turned to him, and her shoulders fell."Alright, Oscar. I'll leave the water in the corridor. You can fetch it from there.""Thank you."Morris did not look up as she left, intent on shredding a handful of dried herbs into a small stone bowl. Oscar slipped into the space he had left at the bedside and laid a hand on Wamba's head. His hair was damp and his cheeks flushed, all evidence in support of what Morris had said, but Oscar's heart was leaden already with the thought of deliberately causing him hurt, even in the name of curing him."I didn't see you dousing that other fellow in meltwater," he said to Morris."If you mean the man in the shop, I wasn't trying to heal him. What I gave him was only to ease his last moments."Oscar hesitated, horror sliding cold down his limbs. "You mean you killed him?""No." Morris did not look up from his bowl. "The fever did that. I merely allowed him to pass without further suffering."Oscar turned to stare at his calm profile. He wondered what terrible things Morris must have witnessed that he would speak with such calm calculation of ending a life.Morris glanced at him sidelong. "He is not beyond saving," he said with a nod toward Wamba, "if you do as I say."Yet even as Oscar listened, it seemed that the pauses between Wamba's breaths grew longer, each exhale bearing a more final depth than the last. Morris was right. There was no time to waste. A knock on the door told him that water had arrived, so he pulled down the tub and went to fetch it. He poured the first bucket slowly across the grate to douse the fire. It sent a cloud of steam billowing out into the room, but once the flames were quenched the air quickly began to chill. The rest of the buckets he dumped into the bath, watching the water slop against the sides with shards of glassy ice littering its surface.Meanwhile, Morris had set to work grinding the herbs into a fine dust with a pestle. He tipped a glass vial and tapped out a few drops of amber liquid into the bowl. "Is it ready?""I think so." Oscar dipped his hand into the water. His fingers quickly began to numb. "Are you certain about this?""I am.""You had better be," Oscar said.He went to the bed and bent down to scoop Wamba up into his grasp, sliding one arm around his shoulders and the other beneath his knees. He murmured an apology when Wamba groaned at the jostling. He hung limp from Oscar's arms, lacking the strength even to hold his head up, at least until the moment his foot touched the water.He woke then, truly woke for the first time, his body gone taut and a gasp in his throat. His fever bright eyes flew to Oscar's face, desperate hands clutching at him."It's alright," Oscar assured him as he bent his knees and lowered Wamba down into the tub. "It will be alright."Wamba clawed at his shoulders, hard enough to leave bruises. He fought to escape Oscar's hold, but his strength was quickly exhausted and Oscar was able to settle him down into the icy water. The look he turned upon Oscar then, confusion and betrayal, made Oscar think that a knife to his guts would hurt less than causing this pain to the man he loved."Why?" Wamba croaked."I'm sorry." Oscar kissed his hair, catching both of Wamba's shaking hands in one of his own. "I'm so sorry. Please just trust me."Wamba said nothing more, only hunched shivering in the tub with his sodden nightshirt clinging to skin that was rapidly turning from flushed to white. He refused to meet Oscar's eyes, so Oscar resigned himself to many future apologies and went to fetch another pair of buckets from the corridor. He poured them slowly into the bath, while Wamba tucked his feet up against his body, recoiling from the fresh cold."Here," Morris said, appearing beside him with a bowl in hand. "Get him to drink this."Oscar took the bowl and lifted it to his nose to give it a sniff. He recoiled at once from the smell, snorting out an involuntary sound of disgust. "What is this? What are you trying to do to him?""It will help him. Do you need to know more?"Oscar looked between the bowl in his hand and his shrinking lover. He quailed. "Why can't you do it?""He's more likely to refuse me than you," Morris said, "and I need to prepare the rest of the medicine."Morris did not wait for Oscar's reply. He returned instead to his makeshift workbench, leaving Oscar with the bowl and yet another unwelcome task. He swallowed as he knelt down beside the tub and reached out to cup a hand over Wamba's cheek. Wamba turned his face away.Oscar turned him back, his hold gentle but firm, and pressed the bowl to Wamba's lips. "I need you to drink this."Wamba's features wrinkled in disgust as the stench reached his nose. "I don't want to.""You must," Oscar insisted.The look that Wamba gave him then was even worse than the first. Every ounce of faith in Oscar was gone. Wamba looked upon him as a stranger, or worse, an enemy. Oscar did not relent, pressing the bowl against Wamba's mouth until he at last conceded to choke the noxious concoction down.Oscar stayed beside him, stroking a wet cloth gently over his face and throat, even as he was pointedly ignored. Within minutes, Wamba's eyes began to droop. Oscar caught his head as he sagged and guided him to rest safely on the edge of the tub. Wamba was asleep, and his suffering was ended, at least for the moment. Oscar heaved himself wearily to his feet."You couldn't have put him to sleep before we put him in the bath?" he asked Morris."There was no time. I must return to Miriam, and I needed to make enough of this before I left." He stepped aside, revealing a neat row of squat clay jars lined up at the bedside."What are they?""More of what you just gave him," Morris explained. "Put him in the bath again later, and again tomorrow, and every day until he stops sweating like that. You can give him the medicine first, if it makes it easier. You have enough for a week.""A week?" It might as well have been an eternity, from where Oscar stood."He will go one way or the other within a week," Morris said. "They all do. But you should know which is more likely in another day or two.""How long should he remain in there?" Oscar asked, waving a hand to Wamba."Not very long. There is a danger of cooling him too far. Give him just a few minutes more."Oscar nodded."And take this," Morris said. "In case of the worst."He held out a small glass vial of clear liquid, no larger than Oscar's thumb.Oscar scowled. "If that's what I think it is, I don't want it.""You might," Morris said, "if he takes a turn for the worse."Oscar stared at the vial, the weight of all it represented settling heavy upon him. He could not take it.Morris turned and set it on the bed table instead, beside the medicines. He slung his satchel around his body. "I will not be able to return, Oscar, but I will pray for him.""Does that speed the cure?" Oscar asked wearily."I don't know," Morris admitted, "but I don't think it can hurt."Oscar forced himself to set aside the anger that Morris did not deserve. He had done a great kindness for Wamba and for Oscar, when there were many others in need of his skills."Thank you, Morris," Oscar said, forcing a small smile. "What do I owe you?"Morris returned the smile. "I thought we had agreed to speak no more of debts."Oscar watched him leave, then locked the door behind him and went at once to the tub to retrieve Wamba. He was lost in a dead sleep, so Oscar shifted his limp limbs to peel his nightshirt from him. He wrapped Wamba in a bath sheet and carried him back to bed, where he stood staring at his lover.There were things to be done out in the castle. Oscar could not summon the will to bother with any of them. Exhausted, he stripped off his own soaked tunic and crawled into the bed. He curled close around Wamba, wrapping an arm around his waist. He stared over Wamba's shoulder at the bed table and the small vial that Morris had left there, wondering if he could ever choose to use it. He decided that he should have asked Morris for a second dose, for if Oscar chose to end Wamba's life he must surely end his own.Wamba's breath hitched and rattled within him, setting Oscar on alert, before he lapsed once more into the rhythm of his drugged slumber. Oscar clutched him closer, enough that he could feel the slow movement of Wamba's breaths and the thrum of his heart. As terrible as those labored breaths were, he could not wish them away, for what replaced them might be even worse.
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Wamba's fever deepened that night, bringing with it his nightmares. He writhed and fought against hands meant to soothe him, his muttered pleas rising to a hoarse shout when Oscar finally resorted to using his greater strength to overpower him. He held Wamba still to force another dose of noxious herbs into him, consigning him to unconsciousness once more. It was too late to send for fresh water, so Oscar opened the windows to let bitter winter air invade the room while he settled his limp lover into the tepid bath that he had not bothered to empty. He sat beside the tub and held Wamba's slack hand in his, stroking a penitent thumb over the fresh bruises on Wamba's wrist while frosty tears itched down his cheeks.The days that followed bled into one exhausted purgatory, measured out only by the slowly dwindling cache of potions on the bed table. Oscar hardly slept. He passed the quiet hours instead counting Wamba's breaths, terrified that any one might be his last. Nights slid sluggishly into days spent avoiding the questions in Emma's worried eyes, too frightening to acknowledge while Oscar's whole world teetered on such a delicate edge. The vial that Morris had left lurked ever at the edges of his awareness. It was a testament to his cowardice that he could not bring himself to dispose of it, but let it linger there, a last recourse at the end of the inexorable march down the row of medicine jars, looming ever closer.Emma was the only other person he saw during those terrible days. It was she who brought the cups of broth that Oscar attempted to force into Wamba with little success, and she who prepared the ice cold baths that Oscar continued to inflict on his lover. It was she who made his excuses to Nicholas, or so he assumed, for the archivist had not come looking for him. He was not important. Nothing was important except staying by Wamba's side. Now that Morris had made it plain to him, Oscar saw how the illness burned him from within, searing crimson across his skin even as it sapped his strength to feed its own ravenous appetite.Then, miraculously, the tide of that battle turned. The stain began to recede, fading back over Wamba's chest and retreating across his collarbones. Oscar could hardly believe his eyes. He prodded at Wamba's skin, wondering whether his exhaustion was causing him to see visions of what he most desired, but it was true. Wamba's breathing eased, growing deep and restful, and Oscar broke down weeping with relief to hear it. He crawled up onto the tumbled bed and laid his weary body down beside Wamba, staring at his lover's drawn features until darkness rose and took him.The next thing Oscar knew was the sensation of a hand sliding through his hair. He cracked open leaden lids and met a pair of dark eyes looking back at him.Oscar blinked, then blinked again. He willed his fogged mind to clear, trying to recall why this was so remarkable. Memory arrived in a rush, and he bolted up onto his hands. Wamba's hand flopped to the bed, lacking the strength to follow, but his eyes were open and clear and fixed on Oscar."You're awake!""That is debatable." Wamba's voice was rough and weak. The corner of his mouth twitched in a feeble approximation of his usual teasing smile. Oscar had never seen anything so wonderful.Giddy with rising joy, he swooped down and laid a kiss on Wamba's mouth."Hm," Wamba licked his lips huffed out a weak chuckle as Oscar withdrew. "That cannot have been pleasant."He pushed his matted hair from his eyes with one bone white hand. His lips were dry, his breath musty with the remnants of the awful potions, his skin streaked with stale sweat. Oscar kissed him again."I don't care," he said. "All that matters is that I can still do this."Wamba's face softened. "Are you well, Oscar?""I wasn't," Oscar told him, "but I am now. How do you feel?""As though I've been trampled by a whole herd of sheep," Wamba said with a shadow of a smile.Oscar burst out laughing, his grin stretched wide at the shared memory. "You know I could never let that happen.""I know." Wamba's smile faltered, and his eyes dropped to Oscar's hand where it rested on the bed between them. "I apologize for putting you through this, Oscar. It seems you had the right of things all along."Oscar's guts twisted. Wamba's contrition never sat well with him, but it spawned a particularly unbearable discomfort now, with the memory of his lover's pain so fresh."I was bound to be right at least once or twice, if you kept me around long enough," Oscar said lightly. "What do you remember?""Very little," Wamba said, and Oscar dared to hope that the worst of their terrible week was lost forever to the fog of fever. Wamba's eyes lifted again. "I remember you. I know you've been here this whole time. Thank you for that.""Where else would I be?" Oscar caught Wamba's hand in his to lace their fingers together and press kisses into the hollows between his knuckles. "There's more we'll need to do to get you back on your feet. What do you think? Can you eat?""I'm quite hungry, actually," Wamba told him, then blinked as though startled to hear those words from his own mouth.Oscar laughed. "It truly is a day of miracles."That brought the smile back to Wamba's face, stronger than before. "What I think I would like most, though, is a bath.""Of course." Oscar pushed himself up from the bed, but Wamba's hand caught his wrist before he could rise. Oscar paused to look back at him."A warm one, if you please."Oscar released a slow breath, letting the gently admitted truth settle over him. Wamba remembered, but Oscar was forgiven for his necessary cruelty. He bent back down to knock his brow to Wamba's. "Anything you wish."Wamba's hand slid across Oscar's cheek to clasp the back of his neck, with a tenderness that set Oscar's heart tumbling within him. It was a long moment before he could pull away and go in search of his boots."Where has Emma gotten to?" he mused aloud. "She's usually here by this time.""She was here," Wamba said behind him. "I told her to take a few days for herself.""Of course you did." Oscar shook his head. "That was generous of you.""This has not been easy for her either."Oscar plopped down on the edge of the bed at Wamba's back and leaned over him to give him a narrow look. "I think you just like me waiting on you hand and foot."Wamba turned to lie on his back, his narrow body framed between Oscar's hip and the hand braced on the bed. The smile he gave to Oscar was sweet. "I do not deny that this is a happy consequence."Oscar snorted and pressed one more kiss to Wamba's brow. Then he forced himself up to gather what he needed to see his lover restored. In truth, he never resented a chance to be alone with Wamba and see to his care personally.The bath was first, poured out steaming hot before a roaring fire and liberally dosed with Rachel's powders. Wamba insisted on tottering to it on his own unsteady legs, but he did not refuse Oscar's assistance. He sank into the heat with a low moan. Oscar left him to soak while he stripped the bed of its soiled linens and traded them for fresh. He found a clean, warm shift for Wamba as well, and laid it to one side while he went to attend to his drowsy lover.Wamba had succeeded in washing his own body, but he lacked the strength to raise his arms above his head, so Oscar fetched a cup to carefully wet his head. He worked a handful of soft soap into Wamba's hair, letting his fingers caress and linger more than was strictly necessary. It was only once Wamba's eyes began to droop in earnest that Oscar hurried to finish his task, lest he miss the chance to make the most of Wamba's miraculous appetite.Watching him finish an entire bowl of stew without any prodding was satisfying, but it was only once Oscar had Wamba on the couch in the library, swathed in a heavy robe with a mug of honeyed milk in his hands, that Oscar began to feel something close to peace. He sipped at his own mug and stared at Wamba's profile as he contemplated the fire."I should speak to the king.""Not today," Oscar said. "You still need time to rest."Wamba considered this, then nodded. "You're right. Although I should at least send a message to let him know that I've recovered. I should ask about collecting the new reports as well. There must be much that I have missed.""There were some letters for you, actually," Oscar said. Emma had mentioned them, though they had been quickly forgotten at the time.He stood and went to the table where a neat stack of folded parchment sat squarely before Wamba's chair. He scooped them up and carried them back to the couch. "That should be a start.""Thank you, Oscar." Wamba had already begun leafing through the papers. He pulled one from the bunch and cracked open the seal."If you want to send a note to the king once you've read them, I can write it for you." Oscar returned to the table to fetch a few sheets of blank parchment, along with a quill and ink. "Don't worry about my handwriting offending him. Nicholas has made it his own personal crusade to make a proper scribe of me."Wamba did not reply. Oscar turned back, concerned, and stopped still when he caught sight of Wamba's face. Wamba held a single sheet of parchment in one shaking hand. The other was pressed tight to his mouth, and tears streamed from his eyes."Oh, no." A chill raced through Oscar. He asked, dreading the answer, "Who?"Wamba's eyes turned to him, red and drowning. "Colin."
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“I must go and see him.”Wamba swiped at his cheeks, bracing one shaking hand on the arm of the couch to push himself to his feet. Oscar cast the quill and parchment aside and strode quickly back toward him. He leapt forward just in time to catch Wamba as he swayed and began to topple forward. He tugged Wamba close to brace him against his own body, turning his hasty grip into a firmer hold around Wamba's back.“It’s too soon,” he said. “You need to regain your strength first.”Wamba forced his knees to steady, standing straight as he turned his wan face up to Oscar. His gaze was wide and lost, his voice weak. “It’s Colin.”Just those two short words, but they hit Oscar with the force of a mace. The bond between Wamba and his apprentice was a rare one. Oscar had even resented it once, in earlier days before he learned what it meant to fully trust his lover. What began as an admiration approaching idolization on the part of the young scribe had matured over time into a mutual respect and affection that was unique among Wamba’s friendships.“I know,” Oscar assured him gently. He reached for the parchment still clutched in Wamba’s hand, prying it from his fingers to cast a quick glance over the scant information there. “I know, but there’s no way to tell how long ago this was delivered. It may already be too late.”Fresh tears welled in Wamba’s eyes, cast loose as he blinked dumbly at Oscar, and Oscar knew that this was a battle he had no will to fight. He could force Wamba to remain, but Colin was dear to him, and just as Oscar had been unable to sit idle while Wamba suffered so he could not fault Wamba for feeling the same about Colin.“What if I go instead?” he offered. “I can bring you news.”“I can’t just wait here,” Wamba said. “I can’t, Oscar.” He clutched at the back of Oscar’s tunic, restless fingers pressing his urgency into Oscar’s flesh.“Alright,” Oscar conceded. He could carry Wamba if need be. “We’ll go together.”Oscar helped Wamba don his boots, and at his urging packed the last few doses of medicine he had not used into a hastily emptied chest. Oscar tucked the small case beneath one arm and offered the other to Wamba to lean on as they made their careful way out into the corridor.The scribes were housed with the pages, squires, and other skilled apprentices in a row of individual cells not far from the steward’s quarters. The shortest path to reach it required them to navigate two sets of spiraled stairs. It was slow going, but Wamba made no comment, shuffling determinedly on even as more and more of his weight came to rest on Oscar’s arm.His whole body was trembling by the time they stood at last at the head of the apprentices' quarters. There was no need to ask how he felt, so Oscar said only, “Do you know which one is Colin’s?”“That one there.” Wamba pointed down the corridor. His fingers trembled, whether from exhaustion or the fear of what they might discover Oscar could not say.He stepped forward, forcing Oscar to follow or relinquish his hold. A faint light shone below the door, an encouraging sign that someone still remained within. Oscar tapped a knock against the door, dislodging Wamba’s hand around his wrist as he did.There was a murmur of muffled words, a brief shuffle, and the door opened. The face of the man who stood there was unfamiliar to Oscar. He appeared to be of middle years, with a sandy beard half overtaken by gray. He looked between them with a faint frown. Behind him, a young woman in a woolen cap stood blocking their view of the room’s small cot.“Who are you?” the man asked.“Sir,” Wamba said, “I…”He faltered, but the young woman spoke instead. “You’re Cedric, aren’t you?”Wamba blinked at her. He nodded. “I am.”“Cedric?” The man before them straightened and released his tight hold the door. Wamba’s body drew stiff against Oscar, as though bracing for a blow. Instead, the extended hand seized his in warm welcome. “Of course. I should have known. Colin has told us so much about you, I feel as though I know you.”“You are his father, then?”“Adam,” Colin’s father introduced himself, “and this is my daughter Matilda.”“Colin has told me about you as well,” Wamba said softly. “I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, though I regret with all my heart that it must be under such circumstances as these. How does he fare?”Matilda moved aside to grant them a view of the bed. Colin was sprawled across the blanket, flushed and breathing hard as he fought the grip of the fever. Wamba took one trembling step toward him, his face draining of what little color remained.“Is there a place he can sit?” Oscar asked.“Of course. Come inside.” Adam stepped back, allowing Oscar to guide Wamba to the stool at the bedside.“How long since the fever took him?” Oscar asked Adam.“We got word yesterday. We came at once.”“You had no trouble entering the city? The tower?” Oscar remembered the desperate throng he had faced on his way out.“None, though we had been warned to expect it. The city is very quiet.”“So the fever is passing?”“I hope that perhaps the worst is past.” Adam looked at his son. “Though not for him.”“This was my doing,” Wamba said, bowed beneath the weight of his guilt. “I put him in danger. There is no apology I can offer that will atone for this.”“I can see that you were struck down as well,” Adam said. “If there is any reason at all to how these things are decided, it is for God alone to know.”His absolution did little to reassure Wamba, who pressed his fist to his mouth and did not reply. Unable to comfort him as he wished, Oscar looked about the room instead. A pack was open on the floor at Matilda’s feet, a cloak slung over the lip of the chest behind the door.“Are you leaving?” he asked.“Yes,” Matilda replied. “We came to take him home.”Oscar glanced back at Colin, clearly trapped within the grasp of the fever. “Do you think it wise for him to travel now?”“Luton is less than a day from here. We will have him in his mother’s care by nightfall.” Adam looked at his son as he spoke, a serenity to the pain in his expression. “If God has decided to take him from us, then at least he should pass among his family.”Wamba straightened his back, visibly casting aside his drifting thoughts. “I think he would be glad of that as well.”Oscar suddenly recalled the crate under his arm. It rattled as he shifted it from his elbow to offer it to Matilda. “Here. You should take this with you. It will help.”She took the box from his hands, studying the jars. “Is this medicine? I thought there was no cure.”“It’s not a cure, really,” he explained, “but it will give him peaceful rest, and strength to fight. I suggest you use one before you take him out.”“Alright.” Matilda looked up. “I don’t believe I caught your name.”“Oscar.”“Thank you, then, Oscar.”Wamba stood, reaching one hand out to Oscar, who quickly took it. “Is there anything else you need?” he asked Adam. “Anything I can give, you have only to name it.”“You have already done more for him than a humble family such as ours could have asked,” Adam said. “Whatever comes, we will not forget it.”A rogue tear slipped down Wamba’s cheek, but he met Adam’s eyes squarely. “Please tell him that, when he is ready, his place will be waiting for him. We will be waiting for him.”“I will.”By the time they returned to their chambers, Wamba’s strength was exhausted. Oscar nearly had to drag him the last few steps to the couch, where he fell to stare listlessly at the fire.“How much longer can this go on?” he murmured.“I don’t know.” Oscar knelt on the rug at Wamba’s feet to ease off his boots. “We’ll just have to take our challenges one day at a time, as we’ve always done.”“What am I going to do?”“Without Colin, you mean?” Oscar asked.Wamba nodded.Oscar sat back on his heels and looked up at him. “I’ll help.”Wamba’s gaze finally shifted, uncertain eyes settling on Oscar. “In the tribunal?”“Here, there,” Oscar shrugged. “Whatever you need.”“You have your own duties,” Wamba reminded him. “I can’t ask you to give them up.”“I’ll talk to Nicholas.” Oscar forced a wry smile to his face, stiff as it felt. “He’s probably replaced me by now anyway.”“Oscar...” Wamba breathed.He reached out for Oscar, and Oscar moved quickly into his embrace, kneeling up to close his arms around his lover’s grief and illness ravaged form. “You are my first responsibility. You always will be.”He wished that he could carve off a piece of his own strength and give it to his lover to speed his recovery. As no such magic was known to him, he decided to content himself with what he could do, and pray that the fever was done wreaking its destruction upon them.
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Oscar managed to keep Wamba to their chambers for one more day, though he made no effort to stop him spending the greater part of his waking hours reading through the pile of papers that had collected while he was ill. He understood Wamba’s urge to throw himself into his work, to distract from his worry over Colin’s fate.The following day, Wamba insisted on going to speak with the king. Oscar accompanied him as far as the king’s private study, where he relinquished his guard along with the armload of scrolls that Wamba had decided to take along with him. Wamba’s palms brushed over the backs of Oscar’s hands as he accepted them, the subtlest of caresses.“Thank you, Oscar.”“Send for me when you’re ready to go back.”“I haven’t forgotten the way,” Wamba said with a touch of a smile. “I’ll see you later.”Oscar swallowed down his discomfort, recognizing the gentle rebuke for what it was. He was well aware that he had allowed his protective instincts to run unchecked for long enough. He could not continue to hover over Wamba forever. “Alright.”Wamba gave him a true smile before he turned to make his slow way up the final flight of stairs to the king’s door. Left without any further reason to delay, Oscar set out for the archives. It was not so very many days since he had last walked the familiar corridors, but the normality of it felt strange to him, as though eons had passed between that last journey and this. The comfortable patterns of their lives had been thrown into such disarray, Oscar could only imagine when they might recapture that balance again.He was so distracted by these thoughts that he hardly looked up as he passed the guard standing before the archives, muttering a perfunctory, “Good morning.”“Good morning, Oscar.”Oscar paused with one hand on the door, frowning at the weathered wood as he tried to decide what was so unusual about the greeting. He turned his head to look up, and then even farther up, until he met a familiar pair of green eyes. “Thomas?”Thomas did not bother to confirm the obvious truth. Oscar stepped back to face him.“What are you doing here?”“Guarding the door,” Thomas said. His scarred brow lifted just a touch, though it communicated his amusement clearly enough.“Did your father do this?” Oscar demanded, guilt sprouting cold on his skin. “Is it a punishment? What happened to Wamba wasn’t your fault. I can go and tell him that.”“No, Oscar,” Thomas said.“You’re right,” Oscar nodded. “Better if I have Wamba tell him himself.”“Oscar.” One of Thomas’s large hands dropped down onto his shoulder, stopping him short.“What?”“It’s not a punishment. I asked for the post.”“Really? Why?” Even Oscar knew that standing guard over the king’s dusty record books was vastly beneath Thomas’s regular responsibilities.“The tribunal’s closed,” Thomas said simply, “and it’s cold outside.”“Cold. Right.” For a man who had spent years on the northern border, it was a strange reason, but Oscar decided to let it go. “If you say so.”Thomas let his hand fall back to his side.“You’ll be with him when he goes back, though, won’t you?” Oscar asked. He could not imagine sending Wamba out without Thomas to protect him, whether Oscar was there or not.“Of course.”“Then by all means, enjoy staring at the wall in the meantime.” Oscar smirked at him as he finally pushed open the door and entered the archives.“Don’t you dare come in here!” Nicholas’s irate dictum echoed over the clatter of the door as it closed.Oscar sighed, his hands already raised in a gesture of placation as he emerged from between the shelves to approach the table. Nicholas was nowhere to be seen, so Oscar spoke to the far side of the room instead.“I know you’re probably not too pleased with me.”That was as far as he got before Nicholas’s tousled head popped around the edge of the nearest shelf.“Oh,” he said flatly. “It’s you.”“Yes.” Oscar dipped his head. “I should have sent word earlier.”Nicholas swept around to the table, waving off the apology with a dismissive hand. “I had word from your servant.”“She’s not my servant,” Oscar reminded him, even as he decided that he would be buying Emma some very nice gifts in the near future.“Cedric’s servant, then,” Nicholas said tartly. “I assume your lover is recovering, as you are standing upright and not shattered into pieces on the floor.”“He’s on his feet.”“Good,” Nicholas said. “Then you will no doubt be prepared to dedicate all of your energies to sorting out the chaos this bedamned plague has made of our records.”Oscar rubbed a sheepish hand against the back of his neck. “Actually, I was hoping to ask one more favor.”Nicholas cast his eyes heavenward, shaking his head. “Of course. How foolish of me. Pray tell, what further indulgence may I grant you?”“Cedric’s scribe has fallen ill.”The irritation fell from Nicholas’s face. “Colin?”“Yes, Colin,” Oscar said, surprised that Nicholas remembered. He was notoriously poor at recalling the names of those he considered beneath his notice. Perhaps he had never considered Colin such.“Do you think he will recover?”“I don’t know,” Oscar said. “His family came to take him home. I’ve offered to take his place in the meantime.”“Of course,” Nicholas snorted. “I suppose you expect me to handle the archives by myself?”“The tribunal is only in the mornings. I’ll still be here the other half of the day.”“Oh, what difference can it possibly make at this point?” Nicholas collapsed down into his chair with a disgusted sigh. “Most of England is dead. It would probably be faster to just burn the records and start over again with whatever is left.”The pronounced slump of his body, elegant though he made even that gesture appear, gave Oscar pause. He looked properly at Nicholas for the first time, noting the hint of wildness about his eyes and the disarray that conquered the table. Clearly Nicholas had been fighting battles of his own.“Has something happened?” Oscar remembered suddenly his odd greeting. “Who did you think was coming in here?”Nicholas made a sound of utter disdain. “Do not remind me of that ridiculous oaf. Is he still loitering about in the corridor?”“I don’t think so.” Oscar glanced back over his shoulder, just to check that no lurking enemy had crept into the room behind him. “There’s no one out there but Thomas.”“So he remains!” Nicholas sat straight up in his chair. He pointed an imperious finger at Oscar. “I have never known a man so insufferable! Go and tell him to leave.”“You want him to leave?” Oscar echoed, baffled.“Yes! Go tell him at once!”Oscar decided that Nicholas earned the right to be spared any comment on his eccentricity. He went back to the door and opened it, sticking his head out into the corridor.“Nicholas says you should leave,” he told Thomas.The corner of Thomas’s mouth twitched. “No.”“I don’t think he’s going to like that,” Oscar said. “There’s no one here. It won't hurt to leave the archives unguarded for a bit.”“I’m staying.” Thomas did not take his eyes off the far wall.Oscar shrugged and closed the door. He went back to report to Nicholas. “He refused.”To Oscar’s astonishment, Nicholas’s face flushed red, his eyes narrowed in a look of pure fury.“What must I do be free of him?” he shouted to the rafters.Oscar opened his mouth, but no words came, as his baffled mind began to see how the pieces of this odd puzzle fit together.“Thomas?” he croaked at last. “Thomas is your conquest?”Nicholas’s scowl was pure venom. “Close your mouth, Oscar. You look like an imbecile.”Oscar walked slowly to the table and sat down in his chair, letting the shock settle. “It’s been Thomas this whole time? Since that day we went out to watch the training?”“Exactly how fickle do you think me?” Nicholas snarled.It was all the admission Oscar needed. “So why are you trying to get rid of him? Did he do something wrong?”“Everything about this is wrong,” Nicholas said, a decidedly petulant cast to his features.“Did he hurt you?” Oscar pressed him, recalling Nicholas’s visible discomfort that first morning.Nicholas shifted, sighed, and admitted grudgingly, “No. He has been perfectly well-behaved, but this cannot continue any longer. The sooner your lover deigns to return to his duties, the sooner I will be free of that nuisance.”“He clearly doesn’t agree,” Oscar noted. “Why are you trying to chase him off?”“He’s…” Nicholas paused, at a rare loss for words.“He’s what?”“A soldier.”Oscar lifted a brow at him. “You said you were looking for a soldier.”“For a tumble!” Nicholas burst out. “A night! Not to dally with and certainly not to form any sort of attachment with!”The flush on his face grew darker still. He muttered something under his breath and turned his face away, staring resolutely at the rear shelves while Oscar parsed out his meaning.“So you are attached to him,” he said quietly, “but you think he’s what? Beneath you?”“I do not think he is beneath me, Oscar,” Nicholas said, his words equally hushed. “I know it.”There was a rush of indignation on Thomas’s behalf, but Oscar waited for it to pass and tried to see the matter from Nicholas’s eyes.“Because he’s a soldier? Not of noble blood?”“Yes.”“What does that matter?” Oscar asked. “If you enjoy his company and you suit one another, why should anything else matter?”“That’s all very well for you and Cedric,” Nicholas said darkly. “His brother does not seem the slightest bit troubled that he's taken up with a commoner.”Oscar ignored the urge to correct his gross misunderstanding on that count, and asked instead, “So you’re worried about what your family will think? When has that ever bothered you?”“Can you imagine what my brothers would have to say if they knew I let a common soldier bed me like some tavern wench? The shame it would bring on my father?”“More than the shame of you bedding half the married men of the court?”“You have clearly learned nothing of the nobility if you cannot see the difference.”“I don’t give a fig for your strange rules,” Oscar agreed, “because I don’t think your family is the problem. I think you’re afraid.”The look that Nicholas turned on him was utterly betrayed, as though Oscar should have known better than to speak this truth so plain. Oscar had never had any patience for dissembling when honesty would serve, though he also had no wish to humiliate Nicholas.He said, as kindly as he could manage, “You don’t need to be. Thomas is a good man. He isn’t like Godwin or any of those others. He isn’t like your lover from the abbey. He would never betray you that way.”Nicholas scoffed, but the tight pinch of his brows smoothed, and his shoulders dropped a little. Then the sound of the door opening startled them both. Oscar looked up, while Nicholas scrambled to snatch a scroll from the cluttered table.Thomas appeared between the shelves, his eyes going to Oscar. “Message for you, Oscar. There’s someone asking for you at the gate.”“I suppose I should go and see who it is.”“Fine,” Nicholas said. He stared at the scroll spread on his lap rather than raise his eyes, though the fresh rush of color in his cheeks betrayed his ruse.“I’ll be back.”Thomas led the way back to the door, taking up his post again as Oscar closed it behind them. He took two steps down the corridor, stopped and turned back.“Thomas.” He knocked his fist against Thomas’s pauldron, staring up into his serious face. “Don’t give up. I know how infuriating he can be. He’s vain, and arrogant, and a complete terror, but please don’t give up on him.”Slowly, Thomas smiled.Oscar nodded, satisfied, and went to see what news awaited him. Expecting his brother, it was a surprise to reach the portcullis and be pointed instead toward a much older man. There was something familiar about him, a sense of old resentment buried somewhere within Oscar’s memory, though it was not until he drew close that recognition struck.“You’re Cara’s uncle. Walter.”“I am,” Walter said, “and you are done avoiding me.”The merchant had aged considerably since Oscar saw him last, his beard nearly white and skin permanently creased from his habitual scowl. It brought an answering look of distaste to Oscar’s face.“I didn’t know you were looking for me, or I would have had this over with as quickly as possible,” he countered. “What are you doing here?”“These soldiers have turned away every messenger I sent, so I decided to come myself.” Walter glowered at the guards stationed before the gate.“They’ve been turning everyone away because of the fever. What was so urgent that you had to trouble yourself?” Oscar asked, even as he realized there could only be one explanation for Walter’s presence. “Has something has happened to Cara?”“The fever took her,” Walter said, “like it took half the blighted city.”This truth did not seem to trouble Walter, but the words struck Oscar like a kick to the chest, and for a moment he struggled to draw breath. “When?”“A week ago.”A week. Just as Oscar was beginning his fight to keep Wamba alive, his friend had fallen to the fever. Horror and guilt rose up, that he had never reconciled with her as he always intended, that now he would never have that chance.“Are you listening to me?”Oscar forced his attention back to Walter, hating him with a viciousness he had not felt since he was a boy. “What?”“I said you have no more excuse for shirking your responsibility.”“What are you talking about?” Oscar snapped. “Cara made it clear she had no use for me.”“That was her choice, but she’s gone, and I’ve looked after that little by-blow of yours long enough.”Oscar frowned at him, uncomprehending. “My what?”“Your son, you fool. I’m talking about your son.”
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Oscar went back to the archives. All he could think to do was flee to a place of safety as he grappled with the enormity of what he now knew. Nicholas had disappeared, and Thomas with him, leaving the archives abandoned. That suited Oscar. He admitted himself with his own key and drifted about the room on tides of long habit, lighting candles and sorting scrolls, all through a fog that felt very much like dreaming.He paused, quill in hand, and considered whether it might all be a dream after all. Or if what lay at the center of that bewildering tangle of emotion in his breast seemed so terrible because it spoke to a quiet desire that he had never truly relinquished. It was too great to confront all at once, so he plucked those threads apart one by one, examining each before he set it aside.First, and greatest, was grief for the loss of his cherished friend. The way he had been banished from Cara’s life those years ago had wounded Oscar deeply enough that he had made some very foolish choices in the aftermath, but he had never truly given up hope that she might one day forgive him whatever hurt he had caused and welcome him back into her life. Looking back, he wished he had not accepted her decision to break with him so easily. That was a regret he would likely carry with him to his grave.Beyond grief lay doubt, twined up in the bittersweet memory of the night he and Cara had spent together. A simple joy shared between friends reunited, a celebration of his new liberty after his sentence in the tower had come to an end. Cara had been his first, but he had not been hers. She had confessed as much to him that night. Whatever Walter might think, whatever Cara might have told him, there was no way to know for certain that her child was Oscar’s.Even if he wanted it to be.That was the truth that challenged the very foundations of the life he lived. It hurt to allow that while he had been willing to relinquish fatherhood as a lesser joy than the one he had chosen, it was a decision made while one was no more than a distant possibility and the other stood before him, a promise made flesh in the form of his lover. The fear of what Wamba might say, of how this could change them, was second only to the fear of a world in which he would be forced to choose between the love of his heart and the child of his body.By the time Oscar reached the end of this exhausting spiral of emotion, he had cleared away at least half of the mess on the table and the room was growing dim with approaching dusk. Wamba would be waiting for him. Oscar was no closer to an answer, but he had run out of time. He doused the candles and locked the archives behind him as he steeled himself to face his lover. He wondered if criminals might feel this way as they were led to their deaths, the nauseating stew of fear and anticipation that made him wish that his end at least come quickly if there was no salvation to be had.The face that greeted him when he opened the library door was no hooded executioner.“Hello, Oscar.” Wamba smiled at him from his seat on the couch. “You’re later than I expected.”Oscar opened his mouth, but no words would come to him.“Oscar? Are you alright?” Wamba’s smile collapsed into a look of concern. He pushed himself to his feet and came to take Oscar’s limp hands in his own. Wamba’s fingers were chilled, but the touch was a comfort nonetheless.It loosened Oscar’s throat enough to speak. “Someone came to find me today.”Wamba’s dark eyes softened in immediate sympathy. “More ill news? Not your brother, I hope?”“No. It seems…” Oscar stared at Wamba, at the endearing little furrow between his brows, and hesitated for one final moment before he dropped the ax on both of them.“What is it?” Wamba prompted him gently.Oscar swallowed and choked out, “It seems I have a son.”The change that came over Wamba was immediate. Every speck of color in his face vanished, and he stumbled as his legs buckled. Oscar caught him by the elbows to guide him safely down to the couch, but Wamba pulled away from Oscar’s grasp, leaning back with one white fist pressed to his mouth.“Wamba,” Oscar began, desperate to explain himself before he caused any further misery.Wamba’s hand slid over his face, shielding his eyes from Oscar as he asked in a whisper, “Alice?”“No!” Oscar cried. “Oh, no. Nothing like that.”He dropped to his knees at Wamba’s feet and reached out to take his hands again, clasping them close between his own. Wamba did not pull away, but he would not meet Oscar’s eyes. They were both trembling.“Oscar...”“Please let me explain,” Oscar said quickly. “I swear I have never betrayed you. I couldn’t.”“Then how?”Oscar knew he had only one chance to get this right. The words he chose now could break both of them if he was not careful. He started from the beginning. “My friend Cara. I’ve told you about her.”“The one who owned the tavern,” Wamba nodded.“Not for very long,” Oscar said. “She needed money to pay the tax collector to keep it. That was the reason I broke into the tower in the first place. To steal that coin for her.”“I remember.” Wamba’s mouth was a tight line, but he was listening.“She knew about you, how I felt about you,” Oscar confessed. “She was the only one I told. That day when I left, the night before I came back, I spent it with her. It was only that one night, long before I knew I had any chance with you at all. I didn’t think anything more of it, really, but now I’ve been told that she had a child from it.”“Why did she wait so long, only to tell you now?” The way Wamba said it, the plaintive note of fear that he could not mask, tore at Oscar’s heart.“She didn’t tell me. Her uncle did.” Oscar’s voice faded as he spoke that truth that he still could not bear to face. “She died. The fever took her.”Oscar did not know how he looked as he said it, but it must have been deeply pitiful, for Wamba’s arms were wrapped around him a moment later. It was an awkward embrace, with Oscar still on his knees, but it was exactly what he needed. Oscar fell into it, laying his throbbing head down in Wamba’s lap.“I think she never told me because she knew how much you mean to me,” he mumbled into Wamba’s robe. “She knew that I would marry her if I found out, and she would come between us. Every time I saw her, she always asked me if I was making you happy. She wanted us to be happy.”“Oh, Oscar.” Wamba’s hands smoothed over his shoulders, and he bent to press kisses into Oscar’s hair. “Then we owe her a debt of gratitude.”The tears came silently, welling up to spill from Oscar's tightly shut eyes. Wamba let him weep for a few quiet minutes, one unsteady hand stroking up and down Oscar’s spine, before he spoke again.“So you have a son.”“Perhaps.” Oscar sat back on his heels, scrubbing at the dampness clinging to his cheeks. “It might all be a misunderstanding.”Wamba brushed Oscar’s hair back from his brow. “There’s only one way to know. You should go and meet him.”“I don’t know if I’m ready,” Oscar admitted.“You will be,” Wamba smiled, though there was a hint of sadness to it. “Who is looking after him now?”“Cara’s uncle. A merchant named Walter.”“That’s kind of him.”“Hardly,” Oscar snorted. “He’s the most unfeeling man I’ve ever met. He did nothing to help Cara when her father died. Instead, he waited for her to fail so he could take the tavern from her. He said that if I don’t claim the boy, he’ll have to start earning his keep.”Wamba was quickly alert, his back straight and his eyes gone sharp. “Go and claim him, Oscar.”Oscar looked up at him, baffled by the sudden change. “It’s late now. I’ll go tomorrow.”“No.” Wamba shook his head, a tight knot forming at the corner of his jaw. “Go now.”“What difference will one more night make?”“I'll go if you will not,” Wamba said, and Oscar finally saw the urgency in him for what it was. He should have recognized it sooner, knowing Wamba as he did.“He must be no more than five,” he said. “Surely you don’t think…”“He is a child,” Wamba said, “in the care of a man who feels nothing for him, and without his mother there to protect him. All of that is true?”“Yes.”Wamba pushed himself up and prodded Oscar to his feet as well. “You should never underestimate what men are capable of.”That was how Oscar found himself with a cloak shoved into his hands, keeping pace with Wamba’s determined stride as he led the way to the gate. Oscar had a distant thought that he should try to convince Wamba to stay behind, not least because he was still recovering from his battle with the fever, but there was nothing of frailty in Wamba now. He had a greater energy in his urgency than he had in weeks, and in truth Oscar was relieved to let Wamba take charge, let him put order and purpose to the wild tilt of Oscar’s indecision. He saw the correct path, and all Oscar need do was follow.Oscar slung his cloak about his shoulders while Wamba explained their errand to an incredulous Farren. Beyond the gate, it was Oscar’s task to guide them through the city. Though the bitter cold of deep winter had finally loosened its hold, the streets were nearly deserted, those who remained no doubt mourning their dead and rebuilding their strength. The lantern over the door of the Gull and Anvil was dark, but the light of a fire glowed in the front window. Oscar slowed as he approached, until the brush of Wamba’s shoulder against his gave him strength to raise his hand and knock.The door creaked open an inch. A single eye in a slice of pale face peered at them through the narrow gap. “The tavern is closed. Go find your drink elsewhere.”“I’m not here for a drink,” Oscar said. “Walter is expecting me.”The eye narrowed at him, then grew wide. The door swung open, revealing a young woman with a blue kerchief covering her head. “You’re Oscar.”“I am,” he agreed warily. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”“I could hardly mistake you.”“What’s taking so long, Amelia?” came an irritable shout from behind her. “I want to get this done.”“Oscar's here,” Amelia replied, her sudden scowl leaving no doubt about her feelings toward the man who hailed her. She stepped back, swinging the door wide to let Oscar pass.The Gull and Anvil was exactly as he remembered it, its pitted wooden bar and motley collection of stools close beneath a low beamed ceiling. Oscar took it in as he stepped over the threshold, swamped in vivid memories of hours spent here with Cara. His eyes jumped to the storeroom door, fully expecting her to walk through it at any moment. Except she was not there any longer. Oscar took a breath to steady himself, and reminded himself that he was not alone. He glanced at Wamba, who looked around the tavern with assessing eyes. It was strange to see him there, out of place in a scene from Oscar’s past.“So you came. That's a surprise.” Walter was seated at a table not far from the fire, stacks of coins and a rough skin marked with a growing tally spread out before him. He had turned in his chair to treat Oscar to an unfriendly glare.“Where is he?” Oscar asked, eager to be quit of this man and this hollowed out place.“I sent him up to bed,” Amelia said. She was already moving toward the stairs. “I’ll go and fetch him.”“Pack his things,” Walter shouted after her. His beady glare returned to Oscar. “In the meantime, I’ll have a few shillings out of you.”Wamba rounded on him faster than Oscar could speak, his eyes hard with fury. His voice was perfectly even. “I trust for your sake, sir, that you are not in the business of selling children.”Walter faltered, but quickly recovered, puffed up like an indignant toad. “I’ve kept that little leech at my own expense while this lout shirked his responsibility. Should I expect no compensation for the inconvenience?”“I already told you why your messengers were turned away,” Oscar snapped at him. “That wasn’t any of my doing.”“Your bastard has been a thorn in my side for years. I should collect every penny I’ve ever had to spend on him from you. With interest.”“That was Cara’s choice, not mine,” Oscar said coldly, “and I’m still not convinced this isn’t some ploy you’ve concocted to weasel a handful of coin out of me. How are we to know the boy’s even…”Wamba’s hand clamped down suddenly on his forearm, halting him mid-word. Oscar turned to find him staring wide-eyed at something behind Oscar.“Oh, Oscar,” he breathed. “He is yours.”Oscar swung around, his gaze skipping quickly past Amelia to the small figure that stood before her. He looked down into a pair of bright blue eyes, identical to his own, and knew at once that it was true.Whatever divine hand had formed Oscar and his brother to be so alike had undoubtedly shaped this boy as well. A pointed chin and puckish little nose, two slanted brows beneath a wild shock of black hair. He saw why Cara had felt she had no choice but to chase him away. She could never have convinced him that this child belonged to any man but him.Oscar and the boy stared at one another, until Wamba broke the silence. He stepped past Oscar and knelt down between them to offer the boy a smile. It was unsteady, but very kind, much like his voice as he said softly, “Hello.”“’Lo,” the boy replied. He knuckled one eye with a small fist and yawned.“Sorry to wake you,” Wamba said, “but we were eager to meet you. What’s your name?”“Eral.”Wamba glanced up at Oscar, waiting for him to speak, but Oscar could only stare dumbly between them.“It's a pleasure to meet you, Eral,” Wamba said. “My name is Cedric. And do you know who that is?”He pointed to Oscar, and Oscar abruptly found himself the target of that unnervingly familiar blue gaze.“He looks like me,” Eral said.“That he does,” Wamba agreed. “Well spotted.”“This is a ridiculous waste of time.” Walter stomped toward them with a scowl, and several things happened at once. Walter reached for Eral, who retreated back against Amelia’s skirts, while Wamba shot to his feet to step in front of Walter, facing him down with a stony glare.“Enough!” Oscar barked, the threat of a fight snapping him free from his stupor at last. They all stopped, staring at him.He took advantage of the pause to follow Wamba’s example, dropping to one knee to put himself face to face with Eral.“Eral, my name is Oscar,” he said. “I’m your father.”Eral’s small face pinched in a frown. “My father is far away.”“Who told you that?”“Mother,” Eral said. “She said my father lives in a castle. He has an important job so he can't come to visit.”Oscar had to fight to draw a steady breath, but he forced a smile to his face and nodded. “She was right. I have been far away, but I came back.”“Why?”“I came back for you,” Oscar told him, “to see if you’d like to come and live with me now.”“Are we going to your castle?”Oscar hesitated. He had not asked Wamba what he should do with the boy after they met him. Oscar briefly considered taking him to his brother, but he had not seen Emmett since Christmas.“Yes, Eral,” Wamba spoke over Oscar’s shoulder. “We’re going to the castle.”Oscar glanced up at him. Wamba smiled back, small and hesitant, as uncertain as Oscar, but the promise was made now. Oscar looked at Eral, only five years old, even younger than Oscar had been when he lost both of his parents. But Oscar had never been without family. He had always had Emmett. He could do no less than that for his own child.He offered Eral his hand. “Would you like that?”A tiny palm slid into his, warm and light, and something soft and peaceful settled in Oscar’s heart.“Yes, Father.”
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Even his desire to see the castle could not conquer Eral’s weariness at the late hour. He set out enthusiastically enough, one hand tucked securely into Oscar’s, but as their path through the darkened streets stretched on, his strength began to flag and his steps slowed to a shuffle. Oscar took one look at his listing head and drooping eyes and bent to scoop the boy up into his arms.It was a familiar motion. Oscar had often held his nephews this way. It should not have shocked him as it did, but there was something about this particular weight resting against his chest, the way slender arms circled his neck in instinctual trust, that shook something deep within him. The feather soft breaths that brushed Oscar’s skin and the patter of Eral’s heart, quick as all small hearts beat quick, echoed back in a bond that was as startling for its fierce edge as for the speed with which it had appeared. Oscar cradled the child as close as he dared, captivated by the shapes of the bones he could feel beneath his hands and the bump of small feet against his hips as he walked.A murmur of nearby voices broke the trance that had fallen over him. Oscar paused to turn and look behind him, where Wamba and Farren held quiet conference. The guard captain’s face was creased in a frown, and Wamba had both hands clasped around Farren's leather bracer, leaning heavily into him as they walked. The small pack containing Eral’s meager possessions had passed at some point from Wamba’s hands to Farren’s. It seemed the urgency that had driven him to make the journey to the tavern was spent now that Eral was safely retrieved, taking his strength along with it.Sharp little needles of guilt pricked at Oscar’s heart. He had become so engrossed in Eral that he had forgotten Wamba’s condition. His first urge was to go to his lover, but he had only one set of arms, and they were already occupied. It was with a sinking sense of dismay that he realized there could be many moments like this ahead, when he must choose to care for one at the cost of the other.“Are you alright?” he asked instead, voice low so as not to disturb to the slumbering child.Wamba and Farren both looked at him. Farren’s glower only darkened, but Wamba summoned a weary smile to his wan face. “I’m fine, Oscar. It’s not much farther. We should get back and let him sleep in a proper bed.”Wamba took another determined step, matched at once by Farren, who supported him with the constancy of a stone statue. His presence was a mercy to them both, whatever dark opinion he might hold of Oscar at that moment. Oscar waited for them to pass by, letting them walk ahead of him so he could at least observe how Wamba fared, even if he could do nothing to help. It was effective at keeping his strange fascination with Eral at bay until they arrived at the tower.“Do you need anything else?” Farren asked, handing Eral’s pack to Wamba before their chamber door.“Not tonight. Thank you, Farren.” The smile Wamba showed him was warm with the quiet affection they shared, an understanding cultivated in a time long before Oscar knew them. Farren returned it, though there was a grimness about his eyes as he glanced between Wamba and Oscar.Oscar set that look aside to consider later, more concerned with relieving himself of the burden in his arms. Precious though he increasingly held it to be, Eral’s weight seemed to be growing with each passing minute. Oscar followed Wamba into the library and made straight for the low cot tucked between the hearth and the shelves of the far wall. It had been Oscar’s for many years, before he claimed his preferred place in Wamba’s bed, but in all the time since they had never bothered to remove it. Perhaps it merely served the pretense of chastity they maintained, but Oscar was pleased at the thought that their hesitation had somehow been in anticipation of this moment, a premonition of things to come.He bent to sweep aside the blankets and set Eral down on worn linen sheets. It took some doing to pry the boy’s arms from his neck, but he hushed Eral’s murmur and guided his disheveled head to the pillow. He slipped off Eral’s shoes, then tucked the blankets carefully up around his narrow shoulders. Eral settled quickly, smacking his lips as he curled into the blankets. Oscar watched him, fascinated by every minute detail of his expression.He turned to grin at Wamba. “The bed seems to agree with him.”Wamba stood on the far side of the hearth, watching both of them with shadowed eyes and Eral’s pack dangling from his hand. He wore an expression that Oscar could not quite read, suspended somewhere between worry and longing. He covered it with a stiff smile and opened his mouth as though to make some reply, but no words followed.Oscar’s heart lurched as he finally recognized Wamba’s tight posture, the way he kept a distance between them. He had been so quick to action in the tavern, decisive where Oscar could not be. That certainty was gone, consumed by whatever misgivings had stolen his voice. Oscar wondered if Farren might have put some doubt into him, or if he regretted allowing Oscar to bring Eral here at all, now that the deed was done.Whatever the cause, Oscar was at liberty now to give his whole attention to his lover. He crossed the hearth to Wamba, who offered him the pack as he approached, his eyes skittering away from Oscar’s face. Oscar took it from him and set it absently aside, reaching out to slip his other hand around Wamba’s waist and pull him close instead.“What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”Wamba’s hands rose to settle on Oscar’s chest, unsteady as the rest of him. “Nothing, Oscar. It’s been an eventful day. That’s all.”“It has,” Oscar agreed, “but that's not what troubles you. Do you regret bringing him here?”“No,” came Wamba’s immediate reply."Then what?""Do you think…” Wamba trailed off.“Do I think?” Oscar pulled away, just far enough to witness that wistfulness overtake Wamba again as he looked past Oscar to where Eral slept.“Do you think he might be happy here?”Oscar considered that for a moment. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve only just met him. I hope he will be.”He watched Wamba’s throat bob on a swallow.Oscar stroked a hand over Wamba’s hip and leaned in to murmur into his hair, “What are you afraid of?”“This is nothing like what he’s known,” Wamba said quietly. “I only wondered if you might wish to give him a different life.”“A different life?” Oscar frowned, turning the question over in his head until he was sure he had understood what Wamba was trying to ask, in his oblique way. “A life without you, you mean?”Wamba’s shoulders lifted in a shrug, but Oscar felt the shudder that ran through him all the same. “He deserves to have a mother.”Oscar should have expected this. He had been repeatedly warned, though it had taken him longer than he cared to admit to truly understand, how deeply Wamba believed that he would always be first on the block when a sacrifice was required.Even when there was no need for a sacrifice at all, if Wamba did not wish there to be. Oscar forced his voice to remain steady as he replied, “He had a mother. I know she loved him, and it would only dishonor her memory to try to replace her. Besides which, I made you a promise.”“That was before you knew he existed.” Wamba was still staring at Eral, the anguish of guilt clear in every line of his face. “And it is because of me that he never knew you.”“That was not your fault. The choice was made for us, and we don't deserve to be punished for it. He will be happy here. How could he not?” He pressed his brow gently to Wamba’s, catching his gaze. “You love him already, don’t you?”Wamba stared back at him, very close, and whispered, “Of course I do. He’s yours.”The power of the emotion that swelled inside Oscar made his lungs seize and his heart shudder. He took an uneven breath, but wasted no words on promises of forever. He spoke only the truth that Wamba needed to believe in that moment, and let him take it as he would.“I need you. I can’t do this without you. Please say you’ll help me.”Wamba’s eyes went soft, the worry easing with the assurance that he would not be cast aside. It gave way to that boundless generosity that Oscar had come to rely on. “Yes. Anything you need.”Oscar had no choice but to kiss him then. Wamba responded on long habit, his lips parting for a brief taste before he pushed Oscar back.“He might see.”“He’ll get used to it.”Oscar tugged his lover’s body more firmly against his own and kissed him again, with the full force of his devotion. He pressed his tongue between Wamba’s lips as he wrapped both arms about his narrow waist to lift Wamba from his feet. Even weary as his arms were, that weight was no burden. Wamba’s hands slid around his neck, threading into his hair and cradling his head, and that sensation required no examination. This was as natural to Oscar now as breathing, this slow space where they basked each in the presence of the other.He carried Wamba through to the bedchamber that way, kicking the door closed behind them. He set Wamba down on the bed and stood back to study the delicate flush that had risen in pale cheeks.“Are you strong enough for this?” he asked, teasing a finger over the first stay of Wamba’s high collar.“Please don’t ask me that now.” Wamba pulled Oscar back to him, his face tilted up in invitation. “Please just…”Oscar understood. It was weeks since they last had occasion for this simple pleasure, weeks of upheaval and tragedy and the constant threat of losing everything they had built together from one moment to the next. The need to reaffirm that bond clamored within both of them, too desperate to be denied.Still, Oscar was gentle as he took Wamba’s mouth again, stroking slowly into him as his hands went about the familiar labor of undoing Wamba’s robe. He caressed the smooth skin of Wamba’s chest as he slid the cloth back over his shoulders, his thumb absently tracing the edge of a scar as it was revealed. Wamba clung to Oscar’s shoulders with one arm to keep their mouths firmly attached while he kicked free of the rest of his garments and moved on to Oscar’s. They were forced to part when he tugged Oscar’s tunic up and over his head, but dove in again at once as soon as it was free.Oscar's hand caressed the pale length of a bare thigh, kneading tenderly at sensitive flesh as it went. Wamba made a soft sound into his mouth and shifted his legs apart, making space for Oscar to press close. Oscar paused and stepped back instead. Wamba let him go only reluctantly, his hands trailing over Oscar’s skin as he stepped away.He watched, worrying one reddened lip between his teeth, while Oscar fetched the small orange vessel he had stored in the medicine chest to make space for Morris’s potions. He set it on the table and lifted the bedding away to invite Wamba beneath. “Here. Get under the blankets.”Wamba did as he asked, though he caught Oscar by the wrist to tug him down after. Oscar followed, settling his body carefully atop his lover. He pulled the blankets up to cover them both as Wamba bent his knees to make a place for him. Their cocks greeted one another, already weeping with the joy of this long-awaited reunion. It was warm and intimate, ensconced in their bed and surrounded by the mingled scents of their bodies. Oscar let the comfort of it settle over him as he slotted his mouth to Wamba’s again and was eagerly welcomed.He rocked his hips against Wamba’s, savoring the slow build of tension, until Wamba shifted to reach out for the oil. Oscar caught his hand before he found it. He snatched up the other for good measure, then threaded his fingers through Wamba’s to trap his hands against the pillow above his head.“Oscar,” Wamba protested.Oscar silenced him with a kiss. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”He kept both of Wamba’s hands captive in one of his as he lifted himself up far enough to slip his other between them and press slick fingers inside his lover’s body. Wamba’s eyes closed, his mouth falling slack on a slow sigh while Oscar carefully worked him open. Oscar had a special fondness for this moment. He delighted in studying the way Wamba’s features flickered, watching Wamba’s pleasure build without the distraction of his own until his hips writhed and he looked up at Oscar with a plea in his eyes.Oscar slipped his hand free and used it to guide his cock as he pressed close to gently breach Wamba's body. It was excruciating, the slow slide that set every inch of his skin alight, but he kept to his chosen pace until he was sheathed fully inside his pinned lover.He nosed at Wamba’s jaw, nipped at his throat as he asked, “How does that feel?”“Hot,” Wamba panted out. “Full.”“Does it hurt?”“No.” Wamba’s head shook. “No, it’s good.”“Good.” Oscar licked a long line up Wamba’s neck. “I love that sound you make.”“What sound?”Oscar slid halfway out of him, then thrust slowly back in, taking careful aim as he did. Wamba’s back bowed, his fingers closed tight around Oscar’s, and his voice rose on a high, soft cry.“That one.”He followed the thrust with another, and another, until the sounds that escaped Wamba were more sob than moan. His voice was weak as he gasped out, “Oscar. Oscar.”“I’m here,” Oscar assured him, pressing kisses to his hot cheek. “I'm here. I’m not going anywhere.”He kept his motions slow and tender, drawing it out so that words were well beyond both of them by the time climax swelled and rolled past in languid waves, leaving a shivering contentment behind. Oscar lay close between Wamba’s legs as their bodies quieted, draped over his lover like a blanket. Wamba slipped his hands free of Oscar’s grasp and threaded them into his hair. It was peaceful, sharing simple heat and touch in the wake of their loving.Oscar kissed a gentle line along the fine peak of Wamba’s collarbone. “Thank you for making me see sense tonight.”Wamba’s fingers stroked down his neck, teasing the sensitive skin behind his ear on their return. “I know the loss of his mother is a deep wound, but at least he appears otherwise unharmed.”It seemed a shame to Oscar to risk the tranquil moment they enjoyed, but his curiosity got the better of him. He took one of Wamba’s wandering hands in his and asked, “Did you really think someone might,” he hesitated, unable to voice the word, “rape him?”Wamba fell still. “It is not unheard of,” he said quietly, “and not a thing to be risked if there is any other choice.”“How old were you?” Oscar asked him. “The first time?”Wamba just looked at him for a long moment, and Oscar wondered if he had pushed too far. Then Wamba said, “Six. I was six.”Shock washed away the last trace of Oscar’s contented languor. He braced himself up on his elbows, staring at Wamba, who lowered his eyes. Oscar grasped for something to say, anything that could remedy the horror of that truth, but in the end all that would come to him was, “Will you tell me what happened?”“There is little more to tell.”“Who was it?” Oscar pressed, though he was almost certain he already knew the answer.“My first master." Wamba took a quiet breath. “I did not understand what he meant to do, at first. It was a pain like I had never felt. I thought he was killing me, that he meant to boil my insides with a hot iron like he had threatened to do before. I couldn’t even beg him to stop. He had beaten my voice from me already.”He glanced warily at Oscar, frozen in horror, and huffed a rueful breath.“I'm sorry. That was too much.”“No,” Oscar said quickly, shaking his head. “If you could live through it, I can survive hearing about it. You never have to keep these things from me. Whatever you want to tell me, I'll listen. I just wish I could have been there. I wish I could have stopped him.""And what a darling little savior you would have been."Wamba offered a smile, but Oscar could not make light of his pain as Wamba did. He had witnessed for himself how those old hurts haunted his lover still. He turned Wamba’s hand to press gentle kisses into his cupped palm."I'm amazed that you could let anyone touch you at all, after that.”Wamba’s hand on his cheek was tender. “It’s not the same, Oscar. You’re not the same. Don’t ever think that you are.”“Whatever happened then, you’re safe now,” Oscar said, “and so is he.”“Yes,” Wamba agreed, “and we will see that he remains that way.”“And,” Oscar said firmly, “we will be very happy together.”Wamba smiled, and Oscar thought he just might believe it as he pulled Oscar back down for another kiss.
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When Oscar woke, he was alone.He swept one hand across the empty stretch of linen beside him, but no trace of Wamba’s heat lingered. It was unusual that he should wake before Oscar, doubly so after Oscar had so thoroughly exhausted him with pleasure, and Oscar could not quite snuff the ember of worry that sparked in his belly. Squinting in the morning light, he lifted his head and looked around the room. The adjoining door to the library stood open, though there was no sound that Oscar could hear.Oscar pushed the blankets aside and climbed from the bed, pausing to tug on his clothes and shock the sleep from his head with a dash of cold water before he went to investigate. Nothing seemed out of place in the library at first, until the cot in the corner came into view over the back of the couch.Eral was curled beneath his blanket, as they had left him the night before, but he was not alone. Wamba slumped beside him, his head and shoulders resting just on the edge of the cot while his legs, bare beneath the hem of his nightshirt, were folded tight against the unforgiving stone floor. The cause for this odd pose became apparent when Oscar crept closer. Wamba’s head rested on his left arm. The other was clutched tight between both of Eral’s, small hands curled close around Wamba’s lax fingers.It woke a complicated emotion within Oscar, adoration and exasperation entangled with wonder at the trust already growing between the two people dearest to him. He bent down to sweep a caress along Wamba’s back, shielded from the biting chill of morning by only a single layer of wool.Wamba stirred, his dark eyes peeling open as he lifted his mussed head from its awkward perch. He winced as he shifted, and looked drowsily about until his gaze fell on Oscar and his eyes blinked into focus.“Oscar.” His voice was soft and rough.“You shouldn’t be out here like this.” Oscar brushed his hand up Wamba’s shoulder and pressed a firm thumb into the tight muscle there, cramped from Wamba’s hunched posture.Wamba glanced between him and Eral. “He came looking for someone. He’s not accustomed to sleeping alone.”“I’m sure he’s not,” Oscar said, “but that doesn’t mean that you should be sleeping beside his bed.”Wamba’s eyes widened then, a flicker of sudden dismay that was gone before Oscar could even acknowledge it. He bowed his head. “I’m sorry. I should have woken you.”Oscar kneaded gently at the knotted muscle beneath his hand, kicking himself for the thoughtless choice of words. “That’s not what I meant,” he said quietly. “I'm so glad that he trusts you, but you’re going to make yourself sick again. You need to give your body a chance to heal.”“I know,” Wamba replied. “I will.” He reached out to ease Eral’s fingers open, prying his own free one at a time. He placed the boy's hands gently down atop the blanket with a short parting pat to each.Oscar offered his hand to help Wamba to his feet. “How many days did you give Emma?”“She should be back tomorrow.” Wamba’s gaze wandered over Eral again, then over the small pack half tucked beneath the cot. “I’ll see about finding us some breakfast while you get him up. He could do with some more sensible clothing. Perhaps another blanket or two.”Oscar’s laugh throbbed within him, thick with helpless affection at how naturally Wamba’s caring instincts came to the fore. He caught his lover around the waist and pulled his lean body in tight to his own. “I see you're intent on spoiling him as swiftly as you did me. What would we do without you?”Wamba returned the embrace, wrapping his arms around Oscar’s back with a pleased smile. “Heaven knows.”Oscar let him go with one final hug before he turned his attention to the slumbering child. Eral’s features were soft in peaceful rest, no hint of whatever fright had driven him to seek out company in the night, and Oscar felt the spell of fascination falling over him again. He settled on the edge of the cot near Eral’s knees, reaching out to brush back spikes of straight black hair that sprang up again at once, as untamable as his own.Eral roused at the touch, a grumble in his throat as his body uncurled in an artless sprawl of a stretch, his eyes still stubbornly closed.“Time to rise, Eral.” Oscar spoke with a smile.The boy’s eyes snapped open, darting from Oscar to the window to the shelves and back as he remembered. “Father?”“That’s right.” A thrill shivered through Oscar at the word, the smile growing. “Do you remember where you are?”Eral kicked his way free of the blanket, clambering around until he was sitting beside Oscar. “You brought me to your castle.”“Not my castle, exactly,” Oscar said with a chuckle. “What do you know about King Richard?”“He’s king of all England,” Eral said, swinging his arm as though wielding a sword. “He fought evil Prince John to win back the throne.”“That he did,” Oscar agreed. “This is his castle. I am only one of many who live here.”“Really?” Eral’s blue eyes were enormous in his head, lit with excitement as his legs swung above the floor. “You work for the king? He let me stay in his castle? Can I meet him?”“You might,” Oscar said, queasy at the thought of how Richard would react to the existence of Oscar’s child.Oscar heard the door between the bedchamber and the corridor open and close, his signal that Wamba had gone off on his promised errand. Oscar looked toward the sound, feeling suddenly quite out of his depth, alone with his son and the many delicate questions still to be answered.Such as the one that next erupted from Eral. “How long am I going to stay here?”Oscar turned back to him, a faint frown pinching at his brows. “I thought you wanted to live here. With me.”“Forever?” The excitement was fading from Eral’s face, replaced by something that looked to Oscar alarmingly like distress. “What about Mother?”Oscar gaped at him, closed his mouth, opened it again. Finally, he asked, “What about her, Eral?”“Won’t she be lonely if I stay here? Can she come and live here, too?”Understanding formed a choking knot in Oscar’s throat, sinking down through his stomach like a stone. He laid a hand on the child's narrow back. “Eral,” he said softly, “where do you think your mother went?”“Amelia said she went to the country. To get better. She was sick so she had to go get better and then she'll come home.” Eral’s chin was wobbling dangerously now, whether from missing Cara or the sense that worse was yet to come.Oscar would have given anything not to be the bearer of that terrible news. He thought about waiting for Wamba to return, to have him near if not to speak the awful truth himself, but Eral was staring at him with blue eyes already welling with tears and Oscar could not delay the inevitable.He drew Eral's small body into his lap, trying to ground them both with that touch as he looked into his son’s eyes and said, “I’m very sorry, Eral, but your mother won’t be coming back.”The tears trembling at the corners of Eral’s eyes broke free even as his brows drew down in a scowl. “Why not?”“She was very ill. The physicians weren’t able to save her.” Oscar’s vision was swimming now, Eral’s pain summoning his own to the surface as they faced the worst together. “She died, Eral.”“That’s not true!” Eral hurled his fist against Oscar’s chest, fighting his hold. “It’s not true! You’re lying! Why are you lying?”Oscar held him tight, but did nothing to block the angry blows. He had reacted much the same, once. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wish it were not true.”Eral’s collapse was sudden, no more than a breath between his anger and his sorrow. He sobbed into Oscar’s tunic, the cloth bunched in two small fists. Oscar did not fight his own tears as he stroked Eral’s head and his shuddering back. He tried desperately to recall the words his brother had used, the reassurances that had given him hope the night he understood that his parents would never return. When the storm of Eral’s tears finally calmed, Oscar cleared his throat.“I know it won’t be the same,” he said. “It can never be the same without her, but you’re not alone. You’ll never be alone. I’d like for us to be a different sort of family.”Eral sniffled against his chest. His hands tugged fitfully at Oscar’s tunic. “You and me?”“Yes,” Oscar said. “Would you like that?”Eral was silent. Oscar did not press him to answer, waiting patiently until Eral looked up. His pointed little face was resolute despite the tears streaked across it. “I think so.”“That’s good,” Oscar smiled. He paused, knowing he must approach the next question with caution. “And what about Cedric? Do you like him?”Eral considered this. “He’s nice,” he said at last. “He told me a funny story and let me hold his hand so I could go to sleep.”“He is nice,” Oscar agreed, amused by the innocent assessment. “What would you think about having him as part of our family, too?”Eral’s small nose wrinkled, and for a moment Oscar’s heart stumbled. “Like Uncle Walter?”Oscar’s breath punched out of him on a relieved laugh. “No. Very much not like Uncle Walter.”Eral nodded. “That’s alright, then.”“Thank you.” Oscar leaned down, lifting a brow as he said, hushed, “He’s very important to me, you know.”“Did he know Mother, too?”“She knew him,” Oscar said, “though not very well. What did she tell you about me?”Eral scrubbed at the salt dried on his cheeks, leaving a red flush. “She said you used to stay with her, but you went away for an important job. She said we should be proud of you because you make lots of people happy. She said you love us very much, but you're very busy so we can't see you.”The door opened then. Oscar and Eral both looked up at Wamba, carrying a tray laden with covered dishes. Oscar wondered idly what chaos must have erupted in the kitchens when he appeared, even without his robes of office. He decided to ask Emma later.Wamba smiled at both of them, though he said nothing to interrupt their conversation as he set the tray down on the table before the hearth and knelt down to relay the fire.Eral was looking at Oscar expectantly, and Oscar knew he deserved no less than the truth. “It's true. I love you, and I loved your mother. I loved her from the very day I met her.”“When you were young?” Eral asked, his eyes lighting again.“Very young,” Oscar agreed. “I was not much older than you, actually, and a terrible scoundrel.”“What did you do?”“My friends and I thought we would have a laugh by stealing a whole cask of ale from the Gull and Anvil. We snuck in through the back door one night, when the tavern was busy. We tipped one of the casks over on its side and tried to roll it out the door, but it got away from us. Knocked right into the frame and cracked open. Your mother came running with a broom in her hand. She whacked me over the head with it, and I fell flat on my face in a puddle of ale.”He was laughing at the memory of Cara, her fiery hair flying wild in the lamplight and her eyes wide as she realized what she had done. She did not apologize, but she did help him clean himself up after Simon and the rest had long fled. It was healing to remember Cara in that moment, beautiful and vengeful, the first of an unlikely series of events to set a friendship in motion that had resulted in the child who watched him now, eyes rapt and an answering smile on his face. Eral leaned against Oscar, the sharp point of his shoulder pressed into Oscar’s chest. Oscar hugged him close, relieved that the worst seemed to have passed.He looked over to Wamba, who watched them silently from the flagstones of the hearth. His expression was soft and a little sad, but there was none of the doubt that had plagued him the night before. The tray waited on the table beside him, untouched.Oscar scuffed a hand down Eral’s arm. “Are you hungry?”“Yes,” Eral said, though there was a pinched look to him of a sudden.“Something else?” Oscar asked.Eral glanced over at Wamba, then leaned up to whisper in Oscar’s ear, one hand cupped to shield his words, “I need the pot.”Oscar bit down on his laugh, forcing himself to treat this announcement with the same gravity that Eral had. He patted Eral’s back to prompt him to slide out of Oscar’s lap. “Of course. Let me show you the privy.” Oscar ushered Eral to the small closet tucked away in the corner of the bedchamber. “Do you need help?”Eral’s affronted look as he firmly closed the door behind him was all the answer Oscar received. He shook his head and chuckled to himself as he went back to the library. He sank down beside Wamba on the floor, close enough that their shoulders touched.Wamba smiled at him, small but sweet. “Your talk went well?”“I think so.” Oscar scrubbed a hand through his hair, blowing out a sigh. “Now we just have to decide what to do with him. He can’t sit alone in here all day.”“I had a thought, actually,” Wamba said. “If you'd like my advice.”“Always.” Oscar leaned harder into his shoulder, catching his hand to give it a rough clasp.“He’s too young to train as a scribe,” Wamba said, “but the king always has need of pages. It’s less dangerous than a post in the stables or the kitchens. He would have little reason to leave the keep, for the most part, and I’m sure he would learn it quickly. Young minds are very adaptable.”The way he looked at Oscar, just out of the corner of his eye, betrayed his uncertainty for how Oscar would react to this proposal. Oscar gripped his hand tighter, letting his gratitude show in his smile. “You’re brilliant. It’s perfect, but do you think the king would agree? He has precious little love for me, and I doubt he’ll be pleased to hear that I’ve managed to complicate your life yet again.”“You’ve always been a complication, Oscar.” Wamba leaned in to press a quick kiss to his cheek, softening the teasing words. “This will hardly be news to him.”“Fair enough.” Oscar scoffed, blushing even as his mouth quirked up in an answering grin. “What do you want him to call you, by the way?”“What do you mean?”“I think we should tell him your name,” Oscar said. “He’s old enough to understand secrets and how to keep them.”“Are you sure you want to put that burden on him? You would be asking him to lie.”“Only a small one.” Oscar said, “and I think he should know you. As you are. I don’t want to hide you, nor your name, nor our feelings for one another. None of it. Not here.”Wamba’s smile was blinding, and Oscar had already reached for him when Eral came barreling back into the room. He plopped down across the table from them, glanced curiously at their half embrace, then shrugged and began pawing at the tray.“What’s for breakfast?”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
While Wamba went off to speak to the king, Oscar took Eral on his first tour of the castle. The boy was practically vibrating with excitement at this world that must seem mythical compared to the humble home he knew. Oscar remembered what it was like to look up at towering stone walls from the far side and wonder at the lives of those who dwelt within, the grudging awe once he blundered his way onto the other side of the battlements and into a place of earthly splendors.Though not every part of the tower was gilded statues and carved buttresses. The greater part of the of those who lived in the castle were humble people performing the perfectly ordinary functions of life, if at a much more impressive scale than might elsewhere be seen. Their first stop was the kitchens, where they braved the casual chaos to return their empty breakfast dishes. Eral’s head turned every which way, to the giant roasting grates where whole haunches of meat were barded and spitted over searing hot flames, the cauldrons large enough to boil a grown man, the cavernous ovens turning out loaves that would feed the vast army of the king’s household. Eral took in these sights with open astonishment, and he was receiving just as many curious looks in return.Oscar chose not to address the question in the host of eyes that leapt from the boy at his side to his own face. He was certain that the answer was evident to those with sense enough to draw the obvious conclusion. Better that he accept his own shortcomings and make an ally of Emma rather than blunder about truths that might lead to questions he did not wish to answer. She would be a much more skillful steward of the rumors than he.That thought was a reminder that it would be prudent to introduce Eral to her before she had a chance to walk in and discover him for herself. He set out with that goal in mind, though he found plenty of reasons for detours through the parts of the castle where she was least likely to be found, in service of showing Eral the choicest wonders. The great hall, its tables pushed off in neat rows along the sides, was of particular fascination. As were the armory with its thrilling array of weaponry and the stables with their friendly beasts. Eral laughed as a gentle palfrey nibbled his hair and let him pat her velvety nose, showing none of the discomfort that Oscar still felt around horses.In the end, they delayed long enough that Emma found them first.She came scurrying up just as they reentered the keep, her hair a mess of flyaway curls. “Oscar! You won’t believe what they’re saying about you in the kitchens!”“Oh?” Oscar tilted his head, his voice deliberately careless as Eral followed him through the door.Emma’s mouth fell open, her eyes so wide they threatened to engulf her small face. “It’s true?”“I don’t know,” Oscar said. “You haven’t told me what they’re saying.”Emma’s eyes jumped from Eral to Oscar, narrowing dangerously. She dealt him a swift swat to the arm. “Are you really making light of this?”Eral jumped, so Oscar made an exaggerated face and rubbed pointedly at his arm, though he had hardly felt the blow. “It’s not exactly the end of the world, either.”“It’s just…” Emma huffed, “I leave you alone for two days, and this is what happens?”“It’s not as though I went and had him built yesterday,” Oscar protested, “and if it’s any comfort, you’re the first person I thought to tell. We’ve been looking for you. Haven’t we, Eral?”Eral dutifully nodded, his face betraying his mistrust of the strange and violent woman before him.That seemed to calm the worst of Emma’s indignation. She looked them over thoughtfully and crossed her arms over her chest. “I think you should tell me everything.”“Gladly,” Oscar agreed, “but not here.”They returned to the library, where Eral amused himself sorting through the small pack he had brought with him to the tower and Oscar recounted the entire story for Emma.She sat beside him on the couch when he was done, staring thoughtfully at Eral with a small moue. “What have you been telling people about him?”“Nothing.” Oscar smiled. “I thought I would leave that to you.”Emma huffed a grudging laugh. “No wonder they’re all in a tizzy. You just appear with a child who looks exactly like you and offer no explanation. They’ve already concocted half a dozen stories, you know.”“Any of them good?” Oscar tried for levity, though he felt heavier than he had a moment before.“Alice has been mentioned.”Oscar scoffed to cover his revulsion. Even years later, the mere sound of her name could still set his skin crawling. “Can’t they count? He’s far too old.”“You’re right, of course.” Emma watched Eral for another moment, before her eyes widened suddenly and she laid a hand on Oscar’s knee. “Oh, this could be perfect.”“What?”Emma turned to him, her grin positively devious. “What if you were secretly married all along?”Oscar snorted a laugh. “I am secretly married.”“Yes, I know, but don’t you see? This gives you the perfect cover to keep your true marriage a secret. If you had a wife before you ever came here, it would answer so many questions. Why you’ve never kept a lodging outside the walls. Why you’ve never shown any interest in Alice or anyone else. You have to know they've been looking.”Oscar was grudgingly impressed. “Do you think they’ll actually believe it?”“They will once I’m done.”“So you’re just going to go out there and tell people that I was married when I was fifteen and never shared that fact with anyone?”“Please, Oscar,” Emma sniffed. “As though I would ever do anything so obvious as telling them. Trust me, when I’m done they’ll think it was their idea.”“There must be enough who know the truth to create some doubt.”“There are rumors enough, but no proof.” Emma pointed at Eral. “He is proof.”“I know it’s thanks to you that we haven’t been found out yet,” Oscar said. “I’m glad you’re on our side.”Emma smile was smug. “Leave it to me.”That settled, Oscar was feeling much more confident that Eral would not disrupt the set order of things entirely, but there was one more introduction he preferred to get out of the way.He leaned down to ruffle Eral’s hair with a hand and asked, “What do you say to one more adventure before dinner?”“Is it as good as the armory?” Eral asked.“Not quite,” Oscar said, “but I think you’ll like it.”The archives were unchanged from the day before, which was more than could be said for Oscar.That rueful thought extended to Nicholas, who seemed in much better spirits than he had been when Oscar saw him last. The scattered agitation was soothed, and there was a languor about him that Oscar chose not to question. It was enough to see him acting more himself, even if the return of his studied disdain for every facet of Oscar’s existence was part of the bargain.Nicholas was draped in his chair, book in hand and at conspicuously loose ends. The sight of Eral hovering behind Oscar’s legs prompted no more than the list of one utterly unimpressed brow.“I see you have deigned to return,” he drawled, “and that you appear to have acquired a child. One of your brother’s brood, I assume?”“He’s mine, actually,” Oscar said, wondering how many more times he would need to say it before it began to feel real. He nudged Eral forward with a hand between his shoulders. “Nicholas, this is Eral.”Nicholas’s expression froze for a single instant before the customary insouciance returned. “I see. Not content to merely betray Cedric, you have now decided to parade the evidence about in front of him for all and sundry to witness? Are you trying to lose your head?”“It’s not like that,” Oscar ground out, painfully conscious of Eral standing just beside him and well within range to hear.“So you haven’t returned to cavorting with that foul little pink creature in your spare time?”Oscar rubbed one thumb against his temple, where a headache was beginning to form. “You do realize that I only met Alice three years ago? Just around the same time I met you?”“Yes? And?”Oscar looked down at Eral, who met his eyes, equally perplexed, before turning back to Nicholas. “How old do you think he is?”Nicholas waved a careless hand, his eyes returning to his book. “I am hardly an expert on the maturation of small children.”“He’s five,” Oscar said, exasperated, “and his mother was my childhood friend. She didn’t survive the fever, and he’s come to live with me. With Cedric’s full support, I might add.”Nicholas gave a soft scoff, shaking his head. “You are either completely delusional or the luckiest fool I have ever encountered.”“I am very lucky,” Oscar agreed, “and completely grateful for it.”Nicholas glanced over at Eral, really looking at him for the first time. “And I suppose you’ll be expecting me to educate the little mongrel?”Oscar blinked, unsure how to respond. The first thought that made it past his lips was, “You would do that?”Nicholas finally laid his book on the table and flowed to his feet, his crimson robe sweeping the tops of his boots. “If I am to be engaged trying to make something of that royal brat either way, I suppose I might as well throw yours in as well.”The breezy delivery could not mask the immense worth of the gift he offered. Oscar’s gratitude welled up, choking and sudden. “Thank you.”“You, young man.” Nicholas bent down to level a narrow-eyed stare at Eral. “Have you a will to learn?”Eral looked up at Oscar.“I did not ask him,” Nicholas said, catching Eral’s attention back to him. “I asked you. Do you wish to learn?”“I think so,” Eral answered him.Nicholas waved a stern finger just before his nose. “Be certain. I warn you now, I do not take kindly to idlers or lackwits. If you are to be my pupil, you will dedicate yourself to your studies and surpass your father in every regard. Not that he has set an exceptionally lofty bar.”Eral just stared at him. Oscar smirked. “You know he probably doesn’t understand half of those words, don’t you?”Nicholas stood straight and shook his hair back from his face. “Then he will learn. Why we insist upon treating children as though they are some lesser form of life, I will never fathom. I was reading astrological treatises at his age, and unless he has been irreparably encumbered by the inheritance of your blood, we should expect no less of him.”“With luck, he has plenty of his mother in him.” Oscar smiled down at Eral, who was grinning back.“And we have already established that you possess that in vulgar supply.” Nicholas returned to his chair and picked up his book. “Now that that’s settled, we can all get back to work.”
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When Father promised him a family, Eral thought he knew what that meant.To him, family was a close and cozy thing. Family was Mother. Every day of his life she was there at the center of his world. She was comfort and love and laughter. That time he fell off an ale barrel trying to fetch down fresh candles from the shelves and she scolded him to be more careful, she told Eral that he was all she had. Eral was sorry for making her worry, but he thought she was not quite right. Father was there, too. Not in person, not real enough to see or to touch, but he was with them through the stories Mother told Eral when they were cuddled up together in bed each night. Eral loved those stories, even if they sometimes made Mother sad.His only other family was Uncle Walter. Eral hated him because his visits usually made Mother cry. She tried to hide her tears from Eral, but he knew what it meant when she went alone to the storeroom and would not let him follow. Eral did not think Uncle Walter deserved to be called family.There were other people in Eral’s world. The girls who came to work at the tavern never stayed for long. Most were kind to Eral, so long as he did what they told him to, but they were not family. Nor were the men who came to drink ale and sing songs and shout at one another in the tavern every night. Eral learned to keep out from underfoot and do his chores quietly so they did not notice him.So family was Mother, until Mother was taken away. Now family was more.Real Father was even better than one Eral saw in Mother’s stories. Father in Eral’s imagination was handsome and brave, kind and intelligent. Real Father was those things too, but he was also cheerful and playful and a little bit silly. Real Father was strong, warm hands and a voice that rumbled in his chest when he held Eral close to him. His laugh was open and easy and made his eyes squint to narrow blue slits.Eral loved to make him laugh, because he would ruffle Eral’s hair with his rough hand and sometimes kiss the very top of his head. This made Eral squirm with delight, even though it was the sort of thing people did to babies and Father should probably not do it to Eral. Eral almost told him that, until he saw Wamba do the same thing to Father one night when Father said something to make him laugh.Wamba was part of Eral’s family now, too. Most people called him Cedric, but Eral was allowed to call him by his secret name. He had to remember not to use it outside their chambers, or in front of anyone he did not know. It was all a little confusing, but Eral did not mind. He was proud that they trusted him to keep such an important secret, and he was happy to have Wamba in his family. Wamba knew all the best adventure stories, even better than Father’s, though Eral would never tell them that.Wamba also knew how to make coins and sweets appear and disappear between his fingers. Eral thought it was magic, until Wamba showed him the trick of it. Not magic, but simply clever hands, and Eral thought that Wamba must be the cleverest person he had ever met. Even though he never made Eral feel stupid for not knowing things. He let Eral curl up against his side when he told Eral stories after supper, and answered all his questions until Eral was satisfied.As if that was not enough, Eral’s world continued to grow as the days passed.Emma was Wamba’s servant but she was also Father’s friend. She liked to scold Father when she thought he was being ridiculous, but she never scolded Eral. Instead, after he wrinkled his nose at the plain porridge that Father and Wamba ate, she brought him honey and dried currants to sweeten his breakfast. That made Father grouse at her until she sighed and agreed to bring him some of his own. Eral offered to share his, but Father just winked at him and tousled his hair, so Eral knew he only did it to tease her.Emma let Eral help her with her chores sometimes, too. Trailing along after her with arms full of washing or empty dishes, he learned his way about the castle. It was much larger than the tavern, and full of so many people. Not all of them were part of his family, because that would be impossible, but some were.Eral decided he very much liked Nicholas, whose voice was cutting but who never raised his fists. Father said that he was all bark and no bite, but Eral thought Nicholas was more than that. He liked listening to the way that Nicholas spoke, each word sharp and precise even if Eral could not understand all of them. When he learned that Nicholas would be his teacher when he was older, Eral was delighted. He wondered if he might learn to speak like Nicholas, or if he would sound like Father instead.Then there was Thomas, who spoke very little. Eral thought maybe it was because he spent so much time with Nicholas, and Nicholas said enough for both of them. When he told Father this, Father snatched him up in a hard hug and laughed for a long time and not even Wamba’s gentle scolding could make him stop. Thomas was even taller than Father, and his job was to keep Wamba safe. Eral was glad that someone so strong had that job, because it was very important to him that nothing bad happen to Wamba.So the castle became Eral’s home, as winter passed away and the weather warmed, but even that was not all. In the spring, Father took Eral back into the city to meet a new uncle. Uncle Emmett was much younger than Uncle Walter and looked just like Father. Eral also had an aunt and two new cousins. Peter was too little to be any fun to play with yet, but Mark was only a bit older than Eral and knew all the good places to hide when they were sent out to join the other children playing in the square.Through the open windows of the house, Eral could hear Uncle Emmett shouting at Father, and he worried that he might have gotten Father in trouble. Mark did not seem bothered by it, though, and by the time Aunt Mary called them in for supper, Father and Uncle Emmett had made peace again. Aunt Mary gave Eral a double helping of pudding and told him he was always welcome. Eral walked home with a full belly and smile on his face, his hand tucked into Father’s warm palm.Wamba had family that he wanted to share with Eral, too. His brother Wilfred was a knight and looked just like a hero from one of Wamba’s stories. He rode a snorting white horse and carried a broadsword that was nearly as tall as Eral. He stared at Eral for a very long time when Wamba first introduced them, and Eral had just begun to worry when Wilfred smiled and leaned down to drop his helm over Eral’s head.Eral’s delight spilled out of him in question after question then, while Wilfred’s smile grew wider. Wamba laughed softly as Eral tried his best to lift Wilfred’s sword, but could not budge the tip from the ground until Wilfred’s hand wrapped around his on the pommel. Wilfred even helped Eral up to sit on the saddle of his charger, and from that moment on he was one of Eral’s favorite people.He told Father the whole story over supper that night, and decided his new wish was to become a knight just like Sir Wilfred. Father made a sour face, but he only looked at Wamba and said, “Now see what you’ve done?”Eral was certain that nothing could be better than that, and it would have been true, except that Wamba told him they were going the next day to meet the king. After that, Eral could hardly sleep for the excitement. When Wamba took him to meet King Richard, he looked at Eral much as Wilfred had, but Eral knew better than to worry. He already knew that the king would not be part of his family, but Eral would work for him personally, which was nearly as good. There were other pages, boys his age and older, but Eral was determined to be the best of all of them. He was proud to have such an important job, just like Father had.Though he still did not know exactly what Father’s job was. It was something to do with Nicholas, and something to do with Wamba. Eral knew that Wamba was very important to Father. Even though he never said it, Eral thought that Father was just as important to Wamba. They often sat close together when it was just the three of them. They shared little touches and warm words, but like Wamba’s name, it was something they kept within their chambers.Even without Emma’s warning, Eral knew that he should not tell anyone about the times he caught them kissing one another, very different to how they kissed Eral. He knew he should never say that they shared a bedchamber. Those things were theirs, but he was not jealous, because they were always happy to make a place for him when he needed.So Eral’s world had grown. Yet even with all of the new family he had been given, he still missed Mother.Sometimes he wondered why she could not have had a place in his wonderful new life. He did not understand why he had to lose her to have these things, and more than once he thought that he would give it all up to have her back.Some nights his sadness grew too big for his body, and he cried for her. On those nights, Father or Wamba would sit with him. Sometimes both of them, and that was what he liked best. It was easier to feel safe with a warm presence at each side, even if neither shape was the one he missed. Those nights, Eral and Wamba would listen while Father told stories about Mother. They were stories that she had never told Eral, about adventures his parents had together before Eral was born, but Eral did not doubt that they were true.Father told him Mother would be with him for as long as he remembered her. He knew that he could never forget her, so she would always be with him. He remembered how she used to smile when she told Eral about Father, how she seemed proud and sad at once. He chose to remember her that way. He knew she would be sad, because she missed him, but he would do everything now to make her proud of him too.
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By the time the thaw came, the worst was long over. The court began to return, in cautious dribs and drabs, but London remained quiet. A pall of grief hung over the city as it took its final tally of the lost. Those who survived picked up and carried on. As the seeds thrusting determined green shoots through the barren earth, they forged new paths and patterns for their lives out of what remained.Oscar was among them. He dedicated his mornings to the tribunal with Wamba and his afternoons to the archives with Nicholas, splitting his efforts as equitably as he could manage. The arrangement was far from perfect, placing an extra burden upon all of them, but as there was no other help to be had, they made do as best they could.Regardless of what other demands awaited him, Oscar never failed to take time at midday to share a meal with Eral. It was important to Oscar to dedicate himself as much to fatherhood as to his other duties, even if Eral grew ever less appreciative of the daily ritual as he became accustomed to his new home.“I don’t suppose you might care to sit while you eat?” Oscar asked him pointedly.“Or chew?” Wamba suggested, watching Eral across the table with an amused smile.Eral paused only to shoot a disgruntled look at both of them before he resumed shoveling stew into his mouth as quickly as he could swallow it. His chair was kicked back from the table and he bounced on his toes as he ate, the whole of him vibrating with the obvious desire to dispense with the meal and return to more exciting parts of the castle. Oscar and Wamba shared a look. Wamba shrugged, his smile growing.Eral had taken to his new duties with an unexpected zeal, enthused by daily exposure to the king and the importance of his role. He raced about the castle now as though he had been born to it, with equal alacrity whether his errand was to summon the king’s privy council or fetch the king’s lunch. It was a perfect occupation for a boy of Eral’s age, making efficient use of his overabundance of energy, and even Oscar could not deny that Eral looked perfectly adorable in his diminutive livery, the uniform that all pages wore to mark their station.Eral swallowed his last mouthful and slapped his spoon down onto the table. “Can I go now?”Oscar said nothing, merely made a show of taking another bite, his studied lack of haste designed to make Eral squirm.“Where are you off to this afternoon?” Wamba set his own spoon down and sat back in his chair, though his bowl was only half empty.“Ralph is taking me with him.” Ralph was one of the other pages, older than Eral by a few years and quickly become something of a hero. He featured often in Eral’s excited retellings of his days. “He’s going to show me the counting room. He carries the king’s purse, and he says I can too sometimes if I learn to do it right.”“The counting room,” Wamba echoed, an amused pitch to his voice as his eyes slid to Oscar. “You know, I believe your father might have visited there once.”Oscar snorted into his stew.Eral turned to him, his eyes alight with curiosity. “Really? What was it like? Does the treasurer really write with a peacock quill? Are there really stacks of gold all the way to the ceiling?”Oscar coughed to clear his throat. “Not quite to the ceiling, but it is a sight to behold. Just have care that nothing accidentally falls into your pockets.”Eral’s small face collapsed into a stern frown. “You mean steal? From the king? Who would do something stupid like that?”Wamba began to laugh, pressing one hand to his mouth to stifle the sound. “Who, indeed?”Oscar shot him a glare. “I think you mean to ask who could possibly be so clever as to sneak into the king’s counting room undetected.”“Not entirely undetected,” Wamba remarked mildly.Eral had no idea what they were talking about, and clearly no interest in finding out. He was at the limit of his patience, bouncing a restless little jig at the side of the table. “Please can I go?”Oscar shook his head, waving him away with one hand. “Yes, fine, off with you.”Eral flashed him a lightning fast grin before he turned and raced from the room. The door closed behind him with a resounding bang.The silence that he left in his wake lasted only long enough for Wamba to take up his spoon. “Is something the matter?”Oscar met his questioning gaze, realizing only then how tightly he had clenched his jaw. He let the scowl slide from his face, sitting back in his chair with a sigh. “Our novelty seems to have worn off quickly. Time was he would rather have been here than anywhere else. Now he can hardly wait to be free of us.”It was difficult to put the mild irritation into words. Oscar had hardly been able to admit to himself how he missed the closeness of those first weeks after Eral arrived.“It’s a good thing, Oscar,” Wamba said, his words as gentle as his smile.“A good thing that he would rather see as little of me as possible?” Oscar’s voice was petulant even to his own ears, but here if nowhere else he could confess his selfish thoughts.“He is secure in your affection,” Wamba said, “enough that he does not feel the need to constantly try to win it. Do your nephews not do the same to Emmett?”Oscar considered that, thinking of Mark and Peter's growing independence from their father. “You’re right,” he said grudgingly, “as usual.”Wamba ignored the petty gibe. “You should be proud.”“Proud that I have made myself unnecessary?”“Far from that,” Wamba assured him. “The moment he has some exciting new discovery or accomplishment to share, he will come running back here to tell you. He wants to make you proud. Have no fear.”Oscar huffed a rueful breath, comforted in spite of himself. He pushed his chair back to stand. “When did you become so wise in the ways of children?”“Certainly not all children,” Wamba said, “but it is impossible not to see the way he idolizes you.”Oscar’s smile faltered as the chair came to an unexpected halt and nearly tipped backward. He steadied it, looking around as he did. A small boot was wedged fast beneath one of the legs.Oscar bent to retrieve it, wagging it at Wamba. “If only admiration could give him the ability to keep his things in order.”Eral's corner of the library had crept steadily outward over the weeks, propelled by a sudden surfeit of new possessions as much as the general slovenliness of a young boy. A collection of odd treasures was scattered along the shelves at the foot of the bed, a cloak spilling over it to trail across the floor. Emma did the best she could, but Eral was a whirlwind that even the three of them had failed to tame. Oscar tossed the boot to join its mate where it lay crumpled beneath the cot.“About that,” Wamba said, “I have been thinking.” His tone was careful, his sidelong glance one that meant he thought Oscar might not like what he had to say.“Haven’t you done enough of that for one day?” Oscar asked with a grin.Wamba granted him a reluctant laugh. “It’s probably foolish, but I wondered if perhaps we should consider looking for a slightly larger space.”Oscar’s first reaction was denial, strong and instinctual at the thought of living anywhere else. These chambers were their home, their sanctuary for all the time they had known one another. Yet as that pulse of rejection faded, he saw that Wamba’s suggestion was not unreasonable. The spreading chaos of Eral’s presence alone was argument enough in its favor.Oscar tilted his head, considering. “There aren’t many chambers in the castle larger than this one, outside the royal apartments.”“You’re right," Wamba agreed. "That's why I thought we might find a home in the city.”That sent Oscar reeling all over again. “You mean leave the castle?”“It was only a thought.” Wamba shrugged, long fingers plucking absently at the edges of his sleeves. “If you're happy here then we need not discuss it further. It just seemed to me that Eral might like to have a room of his own. Emma would no longer be beholden to the king’s steward for the things she needs. I'm fairly certain we have the funds to afford it, and we would still be needed here most days.”Oscar’s heart began to swell as he listened to Wamba make his case, as though Oscar would ever need such thorough convincing. If this was something Wamba wanted for all of them, Oscar could only love him desperately for it. As Wamba rambled on, Oscar circled the table and bent down to plant his hands on the arms of Wamba’s chair and cut him off with a kiss.Wamba froze for a moment, before his hands rose to frame Oscar’s jaw, his mouth softening beneath Oscar's. It was indescribably sweet to give in to his urges and act upon his affections. For that was the other unforeseen consequence of Eral’s arrival. They did not hide their relationship from him, but neither were they wholly free with their affections where he might see. He still found his way into the bedchamber some nights, though not nearly as often as he had those first few weeks. It meant that their lazy Sunday morning were a thing of the past. They must choose the moments for their intimacy carefully, and clear away all trace of it before Eral might have a chance to discover them.They parted slowly, on a shared gasp. “In this new home you speak of,” Oscar said, low and warm against Wamba’s mouth, “would we also have a chamber of our own?”Wamba’s lids lifted halfway, dark eyes meeting Oscar’s. His hands stroked down Oscar’s neck and settled on his shoulders. “I suppose we might.”Oscar brushed his lips across Wamba’s gently, side to side. “One far, far from his?”“That would depend upon the size of the house,” Wamba murmured, distracted as he tried to draw Oscar back into the kiss.“Then I shall find us the grandest that London has to offer,” Oscar promised, leaning in for one more long press before he reluctantly pulled away. “I’d better be off. Nicholas will never let me hear the end of it if I’m late again.”Wamba took a deep breath, visibly gathering himself. “As should I.”Oscar watched Wamba lick his reddened mouth and only just resisted the urge to dive back down for one final taste. He gave Wamba a meaningful look instead. “I'll see you later.”Wamba’s soft laugh followed him out the door. Oscar walked with a spring in his step, considering what sort of house they might find. He had no idea what Wamba envisioned when he spoke of a home in the city, but if Oscar had his way it would be a manor worthy of Wamba’s standing and his reputation.There was no guard at the archives when he arrived. Oscar tried the door and discovered it locked, so he shook his head and fished out his own key. Nicholas was prone to disappearing on whatever random whim might take him, though he at least had the grace to admit that most practical aspects of the record keeping were Oscar’s doing.Oscar slipped his key into the lock and opened the door, but stopped when a heavy thump made him startle. He stood, key in hand, and listened.From beyond the shelves, a long groan reached his ears. Oscar immediately began to move, alarm flooding his limbs as he called out, “Nicholas? Are you hurt?”A second cry was the only reply, higher and sharper than the first. Oscar leapt forward, rounding the corner of the shelves to reveal the table.“God in Heaven!” He reeled back, whirling about and away from the sight that met him. He closed his eyes painfully tight, but it was too late to spare them the image of Nicholas bent over the table, his robes folded up across his back and Thomas behind him.“What do you think you’re doing?” Nicholas’s voice snarled, though the cutting tone was blunted by his marked shortness of breath.“Me?” Oscar waved his arms in furious agitation. “What are you doing?”“What I damn well please,” Nicholas snapped. “Now get out!”“I have work to do!” Oscar protested, stupidly.“Out!” The word was very nearly a howl.Oscar fled.He locked the door again with trembling hands, then hustled down the corridor and straight out onto the rampart overlooking the practice yard. He leaned over the parapet wall and clenched the edge in both hands, concentrating on the grit of the stone beneath his fingers to ground him. The breeze was fresh and Oscar turned his face into it, letting it cool his heated blush.Oscar was honestly pleased that Nicholas and Thomas had found such a good match in one another. He had told Nicholas so. That did not mean, however, that he needed such vivid proof. When he could breathe freely again, Oscar turned and slumped down in the shadow of the wall, stewing in indignation. If Nicholas had time for midday assignations, Oscar would feel no compunctions about indulging his own affections again.He waited long enough that he was certain it was safe to return. Then he waited longer. Eventually, he spied Thomas joining the soldiers down in the yard, his towering form unmistakable even from a distance. Only then did Oscar venture back to the archives.The usual guard had returned, standing sentry as though he had never left. Oscar eyed him suspiciously, wondering whether he might be complicit, or merely content to accept an unexpected reprieve when offered. The guard’s blank face revealed nothing, so Oscar chose the prudent course and did not ask.He sidled through the door and called out, “Is it safe to come inside?”“Don’t be ridiculous, Oscar,” Nicholas replied. “Of course it is.”“It wasn't so ridiculous half an hour ago.” Oscar peered warily around the shelves. Nicholas was sorting a ream of cracked parchment that Oscar recognized as one of his personal projects, bright eyed and smiling. Most importantly, he was fully clothed.He laughed at Oscar’s cautious advance. “That should teach you to knock, at least.”“You wouldn’t have heard me,” Oscar pointed out, “what with all the noise you were making. You really couldn’t wait?”“I did lock the door.”Oscar lifted a crate of scrolls from the floor and dropped it atop the table with a thump. “You know very well I have a key.”“Perhaps we should devise a signal of some kind,” Nicholas suggested. “A certain color handkerchief on the door?”“Or perhaps we could simply agree that the royal archives are not the place for that sort of thing.”Nicholas sniffed. “I do hope you're not suggesting I let him tumble me in a storage cupboard like some scullery maid. I have had quite enough of that for one lifetime.”“You have a chamber,” Oscar pointed out. “A large one. With a bed.”Nicholas swept his damp curls from the back of his neck, his tongue flicking over his lips. “A bed is far from necessary, though it is the only way to get a leg over the enormous bastard.”Oscar groaned as yet another uninvited image added itself to his growing collection.“Anyway,” Nicholas continued as though he had not heard, “how many times do you think I can send him sneaking off in the dead of night before someone notices? We are not all so privileged as to share quarters with our lovers.”"It's not without its challenges," Oscar said. “Cedric thinks we should find a home in the city.”Nicholas looked at him, a knowing glint in narrow gray eyes. “Finally got tired of the impressionable little interloper walking in on you at all hours, did he?”“You know far more about these things than you ought to,” Oscar observed. “I just hope we can find something suitable.”Nicholas gave a careless shrug. “I should think you could have your pick.”Oscar dropped into his chair. “What do you mean?”“The fever has decimated the ranks of the upper houses as well as the lower. There are bound to be a good few homes in need of new masters.” Nicholas circled the table as he spoke. He plucked down a volume from the shelves behind Oscar and tossed it into his lap. “Why don’t you start with that?”Oscar flipped the book open and leafed through the last few pages. It was a property record that he had not touched in many months. The neat strokes that stared back at him from the page were not his own, but they were nearly as familiar.“Have you been...” he looked up at Nicholas, incredulous, “doing work?”“There’s no need to act so stunned,” Nicholas sniffed, sitting primly across from Oscar. “It’s not as though I forgot how to write just because you came along.”It was likely as close as Nicholas would ever come to acknowledging the kindness he had done Oscar by taking on his neglected responsibilities without so much as a snide comment. Oscar closed the book and set it aside for later, letting his smile show. “Alright.”“Hmm?"“I suppose once in a while wouldn’t hurt,” Oscar said, “but please see that whatever handkerchief you choose is a very bright color.”
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Thomas was equally unconcerned to have Oscar as an unwitting witness to his liaison with Nicholas.Oscar’s show of disgruntlement when he and Wamba greeted Thomas the next morning was met with a placid expression. Oscar gave up the front, though he still sidled close to Thomas as they left the castle and crossed the narrow green. “Thomas.”“Oscar.”“Would you be so kind as to give me a word or two of warning when you plan to visit Nicholas in the archives?”Thomas’s mouth twitched up, his small but honest smile utterly lacking in any sort of embarrassment. Even tempered by his stoic nature, it was unmistakably the smile of a man deeply besotted. Oscar knew that feeling. He was guilty of more than a few reckless deeds committed under its influence, and knew that nothing he could say would convince Thomas that the risks he took were not worth the reward. So he merely shook his head, grudgingly pleased that Nicholas’s affections were, for once, fully returned.Wamba overheard the remark and shot them both a curious look, but did not ask Oscar what he meant. They had arrived at the tribunal, and the time for casual conversation past. Wamba breezed through the antechamber and straight on into the main hall with Oscar and Thomas at his heels. He took his seat at the center of the dais, while Oscar settled at the small scribe’s desk tucked away to one side and uncorked his inkwell.Oscar had settled back into his old role with little difficulty, though uncertainty over Colin’s fate drained most of the satisfaction he might have felt for a second chance to spend his days at Wamba’s side. They had received only one letter, several weeks after Colin returned to his family home. It informed them simply that the young man had survived his first battle with the fever but that his recovery was slow. Wamba’s reply was prompt, saying again those things he had expressed to Colin’s father on the day of their departure, but as yet there had been no further word.So Oscar sat in Colin’s place and performed the familiar duties of his post. The rhythm of the tribunal was unchanged from the first time he had taken that chair, though every day the hall seemed to be more crowded than the day before, as tempers heated in concert with the warming weather and the people came to air their grievances to the king’s magistrate.All of their simple disputes would be heard before the tribunal closed its doors for the day, but the first part of the morning was reserved for those accused of more serious crimes under the crown. The men tried on the previous morning were brought out first to hear their sentences. They were only two, and their respective offenses worthy of no more than a fine and stern warning. Oscar sat idle as this business was dispensed, since there was no need to record the penalties already decided and committed to the records.The two men were shuffled off without further ceremony, and Wamba looked to the bailiff. “Do you have anyone today, Randall?”“Only one, your lordship,” Randall replied, “and a number of witnesses.”Wamba nodded. “Very well. Bring them forward.”Randall waved to the guard at the side door, from where the accused was to enter. The new arrival cut a pathetic figure, sniveling and sniffling as he was led into the room and forcibly held erect before the dais by a soldier to either side. He was a young man, certainly younger than Oscar. His yellow hair hung lank across a sharp-boned face waxy with fear. His hands were bound with iron manacles, though judging by his state he was unlikely to pose much of a threat even without them.“What is your name?” Wamba asked calmly.Oscar took up his quill, prepared to capture notes, but it hovered useless while the accused choked and stuttered.“Randall?” Wamba asked.“The watch recorded his name as Andrew Wells.”“Very good,” Wamba said. “Master Wells, of what crime are you accused?”Andrew broke into fresh sobs. His legs gave way, forcing the guards to catch his weight. Oscar tried very hard not to roll his eyes.Randall spoke again. “He was discovered early yesterday morning at the markets at Smithfield. One of the cattle pens belonging to Merchant Albright was opened and a dog let loose to drive the beasts into the river. Most were able to swim to shore, but four head drowned. Two more fled and have yet to be recovered.”Wamba’s head tilted as he regarded the trembling youth before him. “Master Wells accomplished this feat alone?”“Two of his companions were also detained,” Randall said. “They are in accord that the plot was the sole work of Andrew Wells.”“You said there were other witnesses?”“Two of Merchant Albright’s men arrived shortly after the pen was opened. They attest that they saw only one culprit.”“They are here?” Wamba’s eyes scanned the room. Two men in plain workman’s clothes stood and he nodded to them. “Very well. Let us hear the witnesses.”Oscar bent his head and scratched busily along as the details of the tale were explained. The whole misadventure would have been laughable, were Oscar not aware that the theft of livestock was a serious crime and carried a heavy penalty. It was no wonder that Andrew’s friends, if they could be called such, were so eager to distance themselves from any responsibility.By the time all four men had given their testimony, the picture of Andrew’s guilt was vividly painted, and there was little more to be said, but Wamba looked again to Andrew.“Master Wells, I have heard the evidence against you and will judge accordingly, but I would be remiss if I did not give you one final chance to speak. Have you nothing you wish to say on your own behalf?”“Please, my lord, I didn’t mean anything by it.” Andrew at last gathered himself enough to mount a feeble defense, but even his persistent snivel could not humble the haughty tone of one born to privilege. It grated on Oscar’s ears and nerves as much as the pitiful excuse.Wamba’s voice never rose beyond his usual calm tenor, unmoved by the outburst of emotion. “Regardless of what you meant, you are responsible for the outcome of your own actions.”“It wasn't my fault!” Andrew insisted. “It was just a bit of fun after too much drink. That’s all.”“A bit of fun at the expense of a respected man who by all accounts did nothing to provoke your insult upon his property.”“I knew the cattle could swim,” Andrew said. “They were only supposed to scatter and no harm done!”“But harm has been done,” Wamba said, unaffected but not unkind, “and what was lost cannot be recovered. London is but weeks out from a hungry winter, and food that might restore the people of the city is not to be wasted for the sake of childish amusement.”Oscar was perilously close allowing his impatience to show on his face. He shifted quietly in his seat, marveling at the startling lack of remorse in Andrew’s plea. Had the young man only offered an apology or shown any genuine regret, it would have served him better in Wamba’s tribunal.Instead, now that his emotional pleas had fallen on deaf ears, Andrew's expression turned resentful. “What are you going to do to me?”“I do not make these decisions lightly,” Wamba told him. “You will be returned to the cells until Monday when the tribunal next opens.”The jut of Andrew’s jaw turned belligerent, but Wamba spoke before he could seal his own fate with some new protest.“Is there anyone else here who wishes to be heard on this matter?”There was an immediate stirring toward the center of the hall. A moment later, the crowd parted to reveal a lady of middle years. She was finely dressed, her long, golden hair gathered beneath a demure caul. Despite her age, her features were clean and even, inviting the eye to linger in admiration. Oscar was immediately drawn to her, perplexed by something inexplicably familiar in her presence.She stepped forward to stand beside Andrew, displacing one of the guards. She laid one hand on Andrew’s shoulder and raised her solemn face to the dais. Wamba acknowledged her with a nod and looked down to his notes. "What is your interest in this matter, madam?""Andrew is my son."The shift in the air was so subtle it nearly escaped Oscar’s notice. Wamba’s eyes rose with an uncommonly quick start and fixed upon on her face. The silence stretched barely a moment longer than was natural, before Wamba took an audible breath.“And what is your name?”“Diana Wells,” the lady said. “I stand here on behalf of my husband the Merchant Wells of York, who even now makes his way to join us in London.”Oscar watched as a furrow appeared between Wamba's brows, an exceptional betrayal of emotion for the famously inscrutable magistrate. He looked back to the lady, searching for a clue to the mystery of Wamba's slipping composure. She must have sensed his stare, for she darted him a sidelong glance, and it was so utterly familiar that it struck Oscar like a fist to the throat.His eyes snapped again to Wamba, and back, tallying up the pale gold hair, the sharp jaw, arched brows and narrow nose into a single undeniable whole. Her eyes were lighter than Wamba's, a shade like rich honey. His lips were thinner and his chin more pronounced, but the small differences of sex did not outweigh the overwhelming evidence before Oscar's eyes.“Was your husband witness to the events of yesterday?” Unbelievably, Wamba spoke with no noticeable inflection, though the intensity of his stare did not wane.“He would speak to the character of our son. My husband is a respected man among the people of York. He has built his house upon his spotless reputation, and both of his sons are cut of the same cloth. Andrew is no criminal.” Her voice was clear and firm, her bearing aristocratic, though Oscar knew it could not have been inborn if his suspicions were correct.Wamba had not known her on sight. That much was clear. It was her voice that had revealed the truth to him. A voice raised now in defense of her child, as she remained unaware of the identity of the man before her. Andrew leaned into the comfort of her hand on his shoulder, an adoring son with all confidence that his mother would safeguard him from the weight of the law.“His actions lead us to a different conclusion, madam,” Wamba said.“This was but a youthful folly,” Diana said, her tone placating, “and already rectified. My husband has agreed to make reparations to Merchant Albright for double the value of the lost cattle, with generous tithes to the church as further atonement.”“That is as it should be,” Wamba replied, “and as those sums have already been agreed, I will levy no further fine upon your family. Yet the fact remains that your son has committed a crime for which the law prescribes certain penalties upon his person.”Andrew shrank further toward his mother. She did not look away from Wamba, her expression stern as though he were a recalcitrant child. She was clearly a woman accustomed to being obeyed. “He has atoned, at length and in the presence of the holiest men of the church. Certainly a family such as ours, which enjoys the friendship of no less than the Archbishop of York, brother to our esteemed Archbishop of Canterbury, cannot be judged lacking in piety.”It was as good as a threat, and Wamba’s eyes narrowed for one moment before his expression returned neutral. “Lofty friends indeed, madam, and worthy counsel for the cleansing of Andrew’s soul, but here we concern ourselves with matters of earthly justice.”“Surely earthly laws are mutable if one is beloved in the eyes of God.”Oscar’s quill came to an abrupt halt, marring his parchment with a blot of dark ink. His eyes snapped to Wamba, who had heard such arguments many times over, and looked upon them with particular distaste. His eyes and voice were cool as he replied, “The laws of England are written and enforced under the authority of her king, whose mandate is divine. Would you posit that an official of the church might stand above God’s anointed ruler?”Diana’s eyes widened as she realized her misstep. For the first time, she lowered her head. “Of course not, my lord. We respect the authority of the king’s tribunal. What will you do with my son?”“I will give this matter all due consideration,” Wamba said again. “You will hear my decision on Monday. You may go."Randall quickly directed the guards to remove Andrew and invited those with grievances to come forward. In the sudden commotion, Oscar abandoned his post and crossed the dais. He dropped to one knee beside Wamba's chair, looking up into his chalk white face.“Can you continue?”Wamba blinked at him for a moment before he forced a tight little smile onto his lips. “What other choice do I have?”Oscar made himself return the smile, though every part of him wished desperately to offer Wamba better comfort. A neat queue of people was forming down the center of the hall, guided by Thomas, who glanced back at them every few moments with a frown. Oscar could not say whether he worried for Wamba or feared that they had suffered a sudden catastrophic loss of discretion.“You can stop this at any time,” Oscar reminded Wamba in a hurried whisper before he returned to his seat, but of course Wamba gave himself no reprieve. The rest of the morning passed in a blur. Oscar’s quill moved and words appeared on the page before him, but he could not for the life of him remember anything he had written. When the hall emptied and the doors closed at last, he clapped the cork back into his inkwell and stood.Wamba was slow to move, sitting silent in his chair, so Oscar took him carefully by the elbow and helped him to his feet. He led Wamba through to the antechamber, shutting out the curious glances of the guards. The fire was unlit, the only illumination the single shaft of sunlight that fell against the wall in a dusty beam. It was there that Oscar braced his back and pulled Wamba tight into his arms.Wamba was shaking, everything he had held inside through the long hours of the tribunal overflowing now that he was behind closed doors. His unsteady hands clutched at Oscar’s tunic as he leaned into the safe haven of Oscar’s embrace. Oscar's arms were trembling as well, even clasped fast around Wamba's body as they were. They stood that way for long minutes, just breathing and waiting for badly rattled nerves to calm.When the knot in his throat had dissolved enough for Oscar to speak, he whispered, "Are you absolutely sure?"Fresh tremors wracked Wamba’s form. "Her voice is the same, and her name."Tears pricked at Oscar’s eyes, welling in sympathy at the simple wonder of those words. He carded his fingers through Wamba's hair and held him, waiting for his shaking to ease. It took time, but Wamba at last stood straight, relieving Oscar of his weight. Oscar let his arms drop to encircle Wamba’s waist, not quite ready to relinquish him. Wamba let himself be held, resting his hands against Oscar's ribs. His eyes were shadowed.Oscar bent his head down and pressed his temple to Wamba’s. “So that’s your mother.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Thomas found them there a short time later, the tolling of the noon bells following him into the antechamber.“Is something amiss?”Wamba extracted himself slowly from Oscar’s arms, brushing his sleeves down as though he could physically shed the lingering shock. “No,” he said firmly. “Nothing is amiss, and I am due at council.”Oscar caught his wrist as he turned. “Aren’t you going to talk to her?”Wamba stilled, one hand coming to rest atop Oscar’s. He did not look back. “It would not be seemly to do so now.”“What does that mean?”Wamba’s shoulders rose and fell, a complicated gesture halfway between a shrug and a sigh. “Her son is imprisoned and I must decide his fate.”“You’re her son, too.”If this revelation surprised Thomas, he did not show it. His face was serious and calm, a stark contrast to Wamba’s sudden grimace.“I cannot know that for certain. Perhaps it is no more than faulty memory and wishful thinking.”It was her voice that had sparked his recognition, a voice captured in the fractured recollections of a small child, final impressions of a mother who had disappeared from his life when he was barely old enough to remember her. There was reason to question his memory, but Oscar could not deny the evidence witnessed with his own eyes.“You can know by asking her.” Oscar pulled Wamba gently back around to face him, sliding his hand down so that their fingers twined. “Don’t you want to meet her?”Wamba’s gaze was fixed on their joined hands. His reply was very soft. “I do.”He had not often spoken to Oscar of his mother, but Oscar was certain it was not indifference that made it so. Wamba spoke of her little because he had so little to share. He knew almost nothing of her, or why she had left him behind. If they had a chance to answer the questions that had haunted Wamba since childhood, Oscar would not let it pass.“Then let's talk to her.”Wamba finally lifted his head and looked at Oscar. “You'll come with me?”“Of course I will.” Oscar forced a reassuring smile to his face, even as he lamented that Wamba even felt the need to ask.“Alright.”"Thomas," Oscar said, "could you please find Madam Wells and ask her to return this evening? At the vesper bell, so she is less likely to be noticed.”“She will need an escort,” Wamba added.“Yes,” Oscar agreed, “and I think it might be better to meet her here, rather than bring her inside the castle.”Their plans made, Thomas escorted them back to the gate before he departed on his errand. They were forced to go their separate ways then, Wamba to council and Oscar to the empty archives, but as the afternoon dragged on, Oscar struggled to keep his mind centered on his work. His attention drifted, his burning curiosity an itch at the back of his head that made him long for the distraction of Nicholas and his chatter. He could only imagine how much worse it must be for Wamba.When the windows at last grew dark, Oscar closed his books with a sigh of relief. There was just time to collect Wamba and make the walk to the tribunal before the vesper bell. The library was warm and welcoming with a roaring fire in the grate. Wamba sat at the table with Eral, a bountiful supper spread before them. Eral knelt up on his chair as he shared some new adventure between bites. Wamba listened attentively, nodding along to Eral’s words, but he did not appear to have touched the food.He looked up when Oscar entered, then glanced to the window.“It’s time,” Oscar told him as he crossed the mismatched carpets.“Where are you going?” Eral twisted about in his chair to peer at Oscar, two small hands curled over the wooden back.Oscar reached out and ruffled his hair. “To a meeting.”“A meeting? Now?” Eral’s nose wrinkled. “But it’s nearly time for bed.”“It is,” Oscar agreed, “and that is where we expect to find you when we return.”Eral hummed his disagreement with that, wriggling in his seat. “What about supper?”“Eat as much as you like,” Oscar said. “We’ll have ours when we return.”Eral unfolded his legs and plunked his rump down in his seat, clearly despairing at the idiocy of adults. Oscar chuckled and looked to Wamba, but his humor fell away when he saw his lover's expression, the nauseated marriage of hope and dread that had overtaken him.The walk to the tribunal seemed to take longer than usual, an endless procession of guttering torches and closed doors. The weeds in the yard were black in the late evening light, the stars just fading into view in the bruised sky. Oscar walked close to Wamba, the occasional brush of their shoulders the best reassurance he could offer outside their chambers, where curious eyes were ever a concern.Thomas had sent one of his fellow soldiers to escort them to the tribunal. The fire in the antechamber was lit and the room was warm. That must have been Thomas’s doing as well, for Oscar was certain that Wamba was too distracted to think of such practicalities. He seemed only half aware of his surroundings, drifting to a stop in the center of the room where he stood silent and unblinking. Whatever it was he dreamed or hoped or feared, it was nothing Oscar could divine from his face. He stepped between Wamba and the fire and took both of Wamba’s hands in his, offering what strength he had."Let's just hear what she has to say.”"What if I’m wrong?” Wamba said. “This could be a terrible mistake.”Oscar considered this, weighing the possibility. An idea came to him. “Why don’t you let me speak to her alone?”Wamba blinked up at him, his eyes focused fully on Oscar in his surprise. “Why?”“That way if it is a mistake, she'll never know you were here.”Wamba’s brows pinched together. "Deception is hardly the best way to win her trust, if she is who we think."“Let me try this my way first,” Oscar insisted. “Please?”Wamba considered it, then nodded. “Very well. Thank you for doing this with me.”“Whatever you need, I'll be here.” Oscar punctuated the statement with a kiss to Wamba's temple, a last touch before they were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. All the softness in Wamba bled out at once, leaving his face wooden and his spine stiff.Oscar quickly ushered him out into the tribunal hall. He closed the door so that only a sliver of darkness remained, just enough for Wamba to hear what was said in the antechamber. He took his place on the hearth as the door opened and Thomas stuck his head into the room.“Madam Wells has arrived for her audience.”“Thank you. Please show her in.” Thomas disappeared again. Oscar heard the deep rumble of his voice, and then Diana appeared. Her head was modestly covered and her eyes were hard. She came to a stop facing Oscar, halfway between him and the door.“I was summoned.” Her gaze was fixed on Oscar, and he thought the open door to the hall might have escaped her notice. “It is most improper that my husband was not allowed to accompany me.”“Thank you for coming,” Oscar said politely. “I regret the irregularity, but I trust the escort provided has adequately seen to your safety.”“He was adequate,” Diana replied, short. “For what purpose have you called me here at this hour?”“You were asked here because I believe you might be able to shed light on a question of some interest to me.”His deliberately vague words roused an immediate suspicion in Diana. Her voice simmered with accusation as she said, “I saw you watching me this morning.”“I meant no disrespect, madam,” Oscar replied. “I assure you I have no interest in anything more than answers.”“This has to do with my son?” Diana crossed her arms beneath her bosom, her narrow glare trained intently on his face. Oscar felt uncomfortably like a naughty child in for a scolding, but he held tight to his nerve and faced her calmly.“In a manner of speaking,” he said. “Tell me, is Andrew your only son?”“Do you mean to ask what I might be willing to trade for the court's lenience?”Oscar held both hands open before him. “No, madam. Nothing of the sort. As I said, I only wish to have my questions answers.”She stared at him a moment longer, thinly veiled suspicion in every angle of her face, before she allowed her posture to relax. “No, he is not my only son. I have two sons and two daughters. Andrew’s elder brother works with their father.”The brief flare of hope in Oscar’s chest died as she continued to speak. “You have four children, then?”“As I said. Two daughters and two sons with my husband. Andrew is my youngest.”Oscar took a breath, and took the plunge. “And dare I ask if you have ever had any children by a man other than your husband?”The flush that rose in Diana’s cheeks was swift and furious. She took one step toward Oscar and hissed, “I do not know what you mean to say, boy, but neither my husband nor I will stand idle while you cast doubt on the virtue of our marriage.”Oscar had just opened his mouth to reply when a hand came to rest on his arm, and Wamba's quiet presence slipped into his awareness.“Thank you, Oscar,” Wamba murmured, casting a brief sidelong glance at Diana. “It seems I was mistaken.”“Cedric!” Diana abruptly lost her spines. She took a step back, gathering herself with visible haste. Then her eyes widened and she gasped. “Cedric,” she said again, staring at his profile.“Madam,” Wamba tilted his head in a courteous nod, but did not look at her.“Are you Cedric?” she breathed, one hand clasped to her throat. “Are you really my Cedric?”Wamba's grip on Oscar’s arm closed tight. Oscar’s heart thumped in his breast.“I cannot say, madam,” Wamba replied. “You have stated most adamantly that you have but four children.”Diana was shaking her head, speaking as though she had not heard him. “I should have seen it sooner. You are my Cedric. You must be, with that face. To think that you were here all along.” Her laugh was pure disbelief, but she made no move to approach him.“Not quite all along,” Wamba replied, a tentative curve forming at the edges of his mouth, “but for some years now.”“I heard you were the son of that Saxon, but it never even occurred to me that you might be my child.” Her eyes lit, and there was something avaricious in them that put Oscar on sudden guard. “Andrew. Oh, you must release him. Surely you have it in you to show mercy for your brother.”Wamba turned to face her fully at last, the budding warmth in his face fading. “Forgive me, madam, but you were not invited here to discuss Andrew’s fate. On that, my position has not changed. I have heard both sides before the tribunal and will judge according to the law.”“Come now,” Diana said, suddenly soft and coaxing. “You cannot mean to see your brother flogged. Not after such a fortunate discovery as we have just made.”The blatant attempt at outright manipulation chilled Oscar to his bones. Diana had just been reunited with her lost child, but she had yet to show even the slightest hint of motherly affection or interest for him. She cared for her eldest son, it seemed, only so far as he might be swayed to use his authority to help her youngest. Oscar slipped his hand surreptitiously across the small of Wamba’s back, the closest embrace he dared offer here, and felt steel in his lover’s spine.“Fortunate,” Wamba echoed, his voice bleak. “Our relation may seem convenient to you, madam, but I cannot allow it to interfere with the proper course of justice. Flogging is the least punishment the law prescribes for the theft of livestock. He might better hope for it, and fear instead the loss of his hands, or even his life, which the law also recommends.”Diana was growing visibly irritated as he failed to bend to her will. “You would spill the blood of your family?” she snapped. “He is only nineteen. Still a child! He is too young yet to feel the lash.”Oscar’s stomach twisted painfully within him, and he finally understood what a grave mistake he had made pushing Wamba to meet Diana so soon. There was no way now to guard Wamba from the hurt of those words. He could see it in the tight little lines that appeared around Wamba's eyes.“I have made my position clear, madam," he said placidly. "You will hear my decision on Monday. Please do not speak of it further.”Diana’s face twisted in a sneer, an utterly foreign expression on her familiar features. “What should I speak of, then, if not my son?”“I wish only to learn why you made the choice to leave me behind.”She looked him over head to toe. “It's not as though I abandoned you. Galen agreed to take you on. I had an offer of marriage from a merchant. I would have been a fool to refuse him, and he would hardly take me with a bastard child clinging to my skirts. Especially one as fussy as you.”The words seemed needlessly hurtful to Oscar, and not a little unlikely. Oscar could not imagine Wamba as anything other than a pleasant babe. He was so sweet-natured even as a man. Yet she spoke of him as no more than a nuisance, with more indifference than malice.“I see,” Wamba murmured. “You had no choice.”“Of course not. Why would I choose that life when I had a chance to become a respectable woman? You can’t blame me for it, and you’ve done well enough for yourself.” She waved a hand at his robes, the antechamber around them. “Much better than I ever thought you would. Galen must have done right by you.”Oscar clenched his jaw to hold back the truth that clawed its way up his throat, hot with anger. He wanted to tell her that the best thing Galen had ever done for Wamba was to leave him for dead on a forest path, that he had forced Wamba to take her place the moment he was old enough to suffer the repeated brutalization and survive.He wanted to say these things, but he did not. Wamba's expression had closed. He had no intention of revealing his carefully guarded secrets to this woman. “Thank you for your candor, madam.”Diana lifted her chin, her arms again crossed beneath her bosom. “I would know your intentions toward me. I hope you do not mean to make our relation known.”The coldness of it was shocking, after she had pressed so hard for Wamba's mercy for a brother.“No fear of that, madam,” Wamba replied. “We may leave here as we came, as strangers. I have only one more question for you.”“What is it?”Wamba looked her in the eye and asked, “Can you tell me the name of my father?”“Oh,” she sniffed. “It was that Saxon.”The world around Oscar stilled, and a for a moment he was unable to draw a breath.“Not Cedric,” Diana continued. “The other one.”“Cedric was not my father.” Wamba choked on the words in spite of himself. Oscar was amazed that he could voice them at all, asking if his lover had also been his sire.Diana either did not notice or did not care what effect her words had. She stared into the empty air above their heads as she cast her memory back. “No, he didn’t want anything to do with me. He was mourning his wife. He had the better name, though, so I gave you that. It was his friend. A silent sort of person, and not much to him. He had a strange old name.”“Was it Hereward?” Wamba suggested, staring hard at her expression.Her lips twisted in a smile that did not reach her eyes. “That was it. Hereward. He had a daughter.”Wamba took a slow breath before he spoke again. “Thank you.”“Are we quite finished?” Diana shifted her weight, clearly eager to be released. The mood was heavy, the antechamber too small for all the truths revealed.“Indeed.” Wamba agreed.“Thomas,” Oscar called. The door opened and Thomas appeared, torch in hand. “Please escort Madam Wells back to her lodging. It is late for her to be walking about unaccompanied.”“Then I will take my leave,” Diana turned on her heel, dismissing them without another thought.“Good evening, madam,” Wamba said to her retreating back.She paused just before the door and looked back, her amber eyes on Wamba. “Do I have your word that the things I told you will not be made known? I have my reputation to consider.”Wamba was the picture of quiet dignity as he replied. “As you say, madam. I will not speak of it again. I trust likewise that you will make no further attempt to use it to your advantage.”She bristled at the reprimand, turning to march from the room. With a single long glance at Wamba and Oscar, Thomas followed.The silence that fell in the antechamber was deafening. Wamba stared at the door with distant eyes, his breaths slow and even. Oscar was equally stunned, struggling to comprehend a mother so eager to be quit of her child.The fire popped, a shower sparks leaping up in the grate. Oscar slid his hand up Wamba’s back and turned to whisper, “Come.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Eral was not in bed. He sat on the hearth, his uniform sullied with soot from the fire. A shallow wooden bowl was balanced atop his crossed ankles and he had a poker in hand, busily scraping coal-dark chestnuts from the edges of the flames. Broken bits of shell were scattered about his knees.“I thought I told you to go to sleep,” Oscar scolded him. He plucked his son from the floor and brushed him down with a hand to remove the worst of the stains.“I want to show Wamba something.” Eral squirmed away from Oscar's grasp to pelt on stocking feet toward Wamba, who had settled in his usual seat on the couch. Eral clambered up beside him, smearing the cushions with streaks of ash as he went.“What’s that, my darling?” Wamba's smile for Eral relieved some of his shocked pallor.Eral climbed up into Wamba’s lap, perching atop his knees and holding his hand up before Wamba’s face. “Look what I can do.”Wamba’s hand curved around Eral’s back, fingers splayed across narrow shoulders to prevent him falling backward in his excitement. The small, instinctual gesture made Oscar’s heart ache. There was such care in that touch, such tenderness for a child who shared not a single drop of his blood, a child he had agreed to raise without hesitation or reserve. At any given moment, the balance between compassion and sense in Wamba was like to be off-kilter, but Eral had a unique power to tip him over completely into the sort of doting affection that led Oscar to reflect that the true nature of parenthood was nothing to do with blood at all.Eral showed Wamba his hand, grimed with soot but otherwise empty. Then he reached out past Wamba’s ear and snapped his hand back, fumbling the burnt little heart of a chestnut into view. It was an endearingly inept display. Oscar muffled his chuckle into his fist, but Wamba did not laugh.His eyes widened, and he stared at the chestnut as though he had never seen something so miraculous. "My word! That is extraordinarily clever! You’ve been practicing, haven’t you?”Eral grinned like a madman and began to giggle. He popped the chestnut into his mouth as he toppled over onto his side with Wamba’s hand guiding him safely to the couch.Oscar knelt to sweep the errant chestnut shells into the fire. “If only he were half so dedicated to his letters.”Eral grumbled something under his breath and turned himself around to nestle in close to Wamba’s side. He bent his knobby little knees close to his face and looked up at Wamba. “Will you tell me a story about Reynard the Fox?”The request was not unusual. It had become their nightly ritual, but Oscar stood and said, “Perhaps we should save Reynard for another night.”“Just one story!” Eral pleaded.“It’s alright, Oscar.” Wamba gave him a small, grateful smile, before he returned his attention to Eral. “Which of Reynard’s adventures would you hear?”“Isengrim and the monks!”Wamba tilted his head. “You heard that one just yesterday.”“It’s my favorite,” Eral said, tucking himself more firmly into Wamba’s side.The story chosen, Oscar settled on the other end of the couch to listen. It was a familiar tale, and one that Eral knew almost as well as Wamba after so many evenings. He recited his favorite lines along with Wamba, until his eyes began to droop. Long before the story was over, Eral was fast asleep. After a time, Wamba fell silent, only watched his slumbering face with a creeping sadness that made Oscar ache.“Time for bed, I think,” Oscar reached over to scoop Eral up in careful arms. He was limp and unwieldy, but Oscar freed his limbs from the uniform and slipped his nightshirt over his head with a skill born of much recent practice. He did not linger over the task, but by the time he had tucked Eral beneath his blankets, Wamba was gone.The bedchamber door stood open, light flickering in the room beyond. Oscar followed it and found Wamba crouched on the hearth, coaxing the fire to new life with slow hands.“I think he might like you better than he does me,” Oscar said. His tone was light, but for once Wamba had no smile to offer him.He braced one hand on his knee and levered himself to his feet. His movements were sluggish and labored, as though the day had drained the life from him. “He deserves better than me.”Wamba’s voice was soft, but he might as well have shouted it for how clearly Oscar could hear his anguish. That eerie calm was his retreat when his emotions grew heavy enough to crush him. His first impulse was to swallow his pain up inside himself, but the mask could not conceal the echo in his words, the lament of an abandoned child who could only explain the violence done to him by believing that he must have done something to deserve it.“You love him,” Oscar said, serious now. “You need do no more than that to deserve his love in return.”Wamba said nothing, only crossed his arms over his belly, pale fingers clutching at the cloth at his waist as though he could stall the inevitable collapse if he only held himself together tightly enough.Oscar stepped close behind Wamba to wrap his arms around his lover, lending his strength and a safe place to fall. He pressed a kiss to the skin just above Wamba’s collar and said, slow and fervent, “You are good and you are worthy. You are everything. If she cannot see it then she does not deserve you."Wamba broke. A rough cry tore from his chest, and his body folded. Oscar caught him as his legs failed, carrying them both safely to the floor. He sat on the threadbare rug and pulled Wamba back tight against him. Wamba was bent nearly double, his hands to his face to muffle the deep, wracking sobs that heaved from his lungs.Oscar curved his own body about Wamba’s shuddering form, enveloping him and rocking him as he continued to murmur steady words of comfort. He was distantly aware that there were tears on his own cheeks. His rage at Diana was a howling beast in his breast, clawing for the chance to avenge the hurts done to his lover. The scars on Wamba’s skin were only the start. The wounds of his heart had never fully healed, but drove him still to bleed himself dry for the sake of those dear to him, and fear every moment that it would not be enough.Yet despite the pain she had caused, Oscar could not entirely hate her. For all her hatefulness, she had still given life to Wamba, and Oscar could no longer imagine life without him, without the trust and devotion born of all the struggles they had overcome together. It was trust that allowed Wamba to show him this pain now, trust that Oscar would see him through it. That deep well of sorrow collected over so many years flooded over in a torrent, and Oscar could do nothing but hold tight and wait for it to spend itself.By the time the worst had passed, Wamba was limp and listless, exhausted by the effort of expelling his grief. Oscar pulled him back to rest against his chest, long limbs framed between Oscar’s knees. Wamba's eyes were swollen and his cheeks red, like a small child after a tantrum, but there was nothing young about the hollow gaze that stared through the fire. Oscar did not prompt him to speak, did nothing but stay with him and wait for him to return to Oscar when he was ready.“I think...” Wamba’s ravaged voice was distant, as though he spoke to himself more than Oscar.Oscar acknowledged him anyway. “Hmm?”Wamba swallowed, took a breath and said, “I think he loved her.”Not privy to the train of thought that had led to this conclusion, Oscar stroked his palm across Wamba’s ribs and asked, “Who?”“Galen.” He could not hide his small flinch as he said the name, not with Oscar pressed so close. “I think he loved her, and she did not love him in return, and so he hated me. I overheard some talk, but I never understood what I had done to make him loathe me as he did.” Wamba was slowly curling in on himself as he spoke, drawing his limbs closer to his body so that he huddled between Oscar’s legs. “It was never anything to do with me at all.”The utter desolation of those words opened up a hollow in Oscar’s chest. He thought back to his younger self, remembering the desperation of love so long unacknowledged, and a moment of weakness that might have driven him to an unforgivable act. He did not think he could have ever let his own love twist to such hatred, but he could not say how much more dangerous he might have become with time. The doubt alone was enough to chill him to the bone.“That’s why he made you his slave?”“It might have been him,” Wamba said. “I do not remember when the collar was fitted. Once I was under his charge, he would have had the right to do with me as he pleased, but it is more likely that she gave me to him under those terms. To settle whatever debt she had to him and ensure that he would not pursue her and ruin her chance at marriage.”“That’s awful.”“I have long suspected as much. Only, I suppose I hoped that there had been some manner of coercion on his part, some measure of regret on hers.” He coughed out a wry little laugh. “I should have known better.”“It doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve everything you have now,” Oscar said. “You’ve come so far from where you started.”“I am good for one thing, at least. Even Galen saw that.” There was a familiar bitterness in it, the poison Wamba fed himself when his fragile sense of his own worth began to waver.There was nothing for Oscar to do but shore it up again, as much as he was able. “I know it’s difficult to believe me right now,” he said quietly, “but let me be clear. I do not love you because you share your bed and your body with me. It is because I love you that I want to share those things. That will always be true. I am yours until the day I die.”Wamba’s chest hitched in a fresh sob, but he only asked, "And when I am old and feeble?""When you are old, I will be old, too," Oscar shrugged, "and we may squash our wrinkled selves together in whatever way best pleases us."Wamba huffed out a silent chuckle at that. He turned his head to press the bridge of his nose to Oscar’s jaw, closed his eyes and simply breathed. “Thank you, Oscar.”“I’m sorry that I pushed you to meet her so quickly,” Oscar said. “I should have listened to you.”Wamba’s head shook, his eyes still closed. “It's better to have it done. Her feelings about me have surely been unchanged for years. A few more days would have made no difference. At least I no longer have to wonder.”Oscar was reminded suddenly of one answer that seemed particularly meaningful to Wamba. “This Hereward. You knew him?”“I never met him,” Wamba said, “but I knew of him.”“Hereward is the name of Ivanhoe’s son, isn’t it?” It had taken Oscar longer than he cared to admit to remember, but Rotherwood had taken to calling the boy Ward long before Oscar knew him.“Yes.” Wamba turned his face to the fire and rested his head back against Oscar’s shoulder. “He was named after his grandfather.”Oscar pondered that riddle for a moment, until the only possible truth suddenly revealed itself. “So Hereward was…”“One of the last pure blooded Saxons, bosom friend of my master, and the Lady Rowena’s father.”“So she’s your sister?”“If Madam Wells is to be believed," Wamba said.Oscar noted that he did not call her his mother, but made no comment. He asked instead, “What will Ivanhoe say when you tell him?”“I won’t.”“You have to!” Oscar twisted his head around to look at Wamba.His jaw was saw set in a stubborn line, resolute despite the errant tears that still made an occasional escape across his cheeks. “I certainly do not. Her words cannot be proven, and I refuse to sully the lady’s name by making claim to any relation. It would be needlessly hurtful.”“It means that they’re your family, too,” Oscar insisted. “Don’t you want them to know you that way?”“What more could I possibly hope for than that which they have given me already? Wilfred has been more generous with me than I have any right to expect. He offers me the privileges of family, even claims me as such here before the court. Asserting a true kinship would entitle me to no more, only blacken the name of a respected man. Why should that be something I would ever desire?”Oscar was reluctantly persuaded by his argument, at least for the time being. “If that’s what you want, I’ll keep this secret with you, but I still think Ivanhoe would want to know.” He kissed Wamba’s hair and hugged all four limbs around him. “You’re nothing to be ashamed of. I’m proud to call you mine. I would shout it from the rooftops if it wasn't likely to us both executed.”Wamba’s laugh was weak, but he made a game effort at a smile.“Come on,” Oscar said. “Let’s get to bed. Things will look brighter in the morning.”He stood first and offered a hand to help Wamba to his feet.“Best wash your face, or you’ll be stiff as a board before you know it.”Wamba did as he suggested, holding a damp cloth to his cheeks to cool the lingering flush. Eventually, he made his weary way to the bed where Oscar waited. Oscar tugged him close again, curling their bodies together so that his knees were tucked behind Wamba’s. He slid one arm around Wamba’s waist in a way that he hoped would ward off any nightmares. Wamba’s hand came to rest on his.Oscar closed his eyes, waiting for Wamba to drift off first, but it seemed sleep was slow to come. Wamba's breath did not slow, and his hand continued to stroke across the back of Oscar’s. The touch was soothing, and Oscar was slipping away into a doze when Wamba’s voice startled him awake.“Did you have a bad dream?”It took Oscar a long, befuddled moment to realize that Wamba was not talking to him.“No.” Eral's head was a tousled shadow poking up over the edge of the bed. “Why are you sad?”Wamba lifted the blanket in invitation, and the mattress dipped as Eral crawled up and settled beside them.“I lost my mother,” Wamba explained.Eral’s eyes shone in the darkness. “Me, too.”“I know Eral,” Wamba said softly. “I’m sorry.”“It’s alright. I have you and Father now. Maybe you can have Father and me. What do you think?”Wamba’s soft laugh was choked. “I think that would be wonderful, Eral. That would be perfect. Thank you.”Eral smiled and burrowed in close beneath the blankets, clearly intent on staying if he could get away with it. Oscar decided that he was welcome, at least for tonight. He reached over and patted his son’s head, tucked the blanket snug about all three of them, and let sleep take him.
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Sunday was a day of rest for them. The tribunal was closed, the archives empty. Even Eral was excused from his duties as a royal page so that they might spend that time on other pursuits. Yet this particular Sunday brought no relief. Wamba was up early, driven back to his work by the burden of the decisions he must make before the day was done. His shoulders were hunched and his face lined, but he set himself to his task as though nothing of what was written in his scrolls held any more meaning to him than on any other day.Oscar, meanwhile, wrestled an excited Eral into his clothes. Emma had promised to take him along with her to the Sunday market in the abbey yard, and he was near to bursting with the excitement of it by the time she arrived to collect him.“What about Mark?” Eral bounced on his toes while Oscar tugged his wool jacket straight on his shoulders. “Can we see him?”“Not today. We’ll go next week, alright?” Oscar was tremendously pleased by how quickly Eral had taken to his cousin, and Mark to him, though the resemblance between them was more than just physical, and mischief seemed to multiply out of all proportion to their size when they were together.“Alright,” Eral’s lips pushed out in a sulky pout. It was gone the next moment as he brightened and ran over to Wamba. He leaned against the arm of Wamba’s chair to peer at what he was writing, though he still had only a rudimentary grasp of letters. “Wamba, can you come with us?”“Not this time, Eral,” Wamba said with an apologetic smile, “but I will expect you to tell me all about it when you return.”Eral grinned back at him and hopped up from his stoop. “I will!”“Where’s the coin I gave you?” Oscar asked him.Eral pointed to the little pouch affixed firmly to his belt.“Good.” Oscar wiped a stray smudge of ash from his cheek and patted down his hair, to no avail. “You remember to mind Emma, keep an eye on that purse, and spend it wisely.”“Of course I will.”Eral’s affronted little frown tugged a smile to Oscar’s face. “I’ll walk you to the gate.”They waved to Wamba as they left, and he returned it, though the shadows were stark in his eyes still. Emma and Oscar walked side by side, letting Eral bound ahead of them down the corridor.“Something happened yesterday, didn’t it?” Emma asked quietly.“What do you mean?”“His lordship seemed very unlike himself when I brought supper,” Emma said, “and you were both gone by the time I came back.”Oscar hesitated only a moment before he decided there was little use lying to her. “Yes, something happened. I can’t tell you any more than that. I’m sorry.”“I don’t mind about the details.” Emma huffed. “I don’t trade in your secrets, and you know it. All I want you tell me is, can you fix it?”That time Oscar was not so quick to respond. He believed that the worst of the storm had spent itself the night before, the first burst of overwhelming sorrow released in tears, but he knew better than to think that Wamba would be so easily healed. The quiet gloom that crept upon him, made his movements slow and his voice subdued, was the more insidious adversary. Oscar had given all his reassurances, and Eral likewise, but even those might not suffice to draw Wamba back to himself.There was another prospect that occurred to Oscar, and though he immediately balked at the thought he did not dismiss it out of hand. There were few enough people whose words Wamba would heed without protest, who held sufficient sway over his emotions to help him heal. Knowing that, there was only one choice that Oscar could make.He saw Emma and Eral off at the gate, girded himself, and went to find Ivanhoe.The chapel doors were open, courtiers in their finery flowing out into the spring sunlight like fresh spawning fry, so he headed in that promising direction. Ivanhoe’s snowy white surcoat made him easy to spy among the crowd, side by side with the king in his signature red. They stood just outside the chapel doors, speaking with the royal chaplain. It was the king who saw Oscar first, his brow rising as Oscar approached.“Oscar,” Richard greeted him placidly. “How unusual to sight you in the environs of the chapel a Sunday morning.”The chaplain fixed a suddenly keen look upon Oscar. Oscar studiously did not meet his eye, turning to the smirking Ivanhoe instead.“Can I speak with you?” he asked, before adding a grudging, “my lord?”“Best have a care,” Richard advised Ivanhoe. “He only has faculty to keep his manners about him when he wants something.”“Are you actually here to ask a favor of me?" Ivanhoe asked, feigning amazement. "This is unprecedented.”His smug smile would have been infuriating under nearly any other circumstances, but Oscar was too weary to work up the deserved measure of indignation. “I am,” he said simply. “Will you hear me out?”Ivanhoe’s mocking expression fell away. “Very well. Let us talk. Excuse us, sire.”“Sire,” Oscar echoed. Richard dismissed them with a nod.“What assistance is it you need from me?” Ivanhoe asked as they walked.“Not here,” Oscar said, painfully conscious of the courtiers ranged about the path around them.Ivanhoe’s mouth closed, a new grimness in the set of his jaw, but he kept his peace until they had entered the keep and separated themselves from the crowd streaming toward the great hall and the meal that awaited them there.The knight turned toward the stairs that led up to his own chambers, but Oscar pointed down the corridor instead. “This way. Please.”He turned to lead the way, until Ivanhoe caught him by the elbow and turned Oscar around to face him. “This is about Wamba.”Oscar glanced over his shoulder, then back down the corridor. They were alone, and he nodded.“What’s happened?” Ivanhoe asked.Oscar wavered. “I think I should let him tell you.”“At least give me some idea of what I’m walking into. He could not come himself? Is he hurt?”“Not physically,” Oscar conceded. “I didn’t consult him before talking to you. It’s not the sort of thing he would choose to bother you over.”Ivanhoe’s grip on Oscar’s arm tightened, authority and warning in his tone. “Spit it out, Oscar.”Oscar took a deep breath, and said very quietly, “We met his mother.”“His mother?” Ivanhoe’s eyes widened, and his hand on Oscar went slack. “I had no idea he was looking for her.”“He wasn’t. It was just a coincidence. She came to the tribunal.”There was sincere light dawning in Ivanhoe’s handsome face, misplaced joy for Wamba at this news. “A chance reunion? That’s wonderful!”“She doesn’t want him.” The words alone ground in Oscar’s throat like broken glass. “She never wanted him, and she told him as much in no uncertain terms.”Ivanhoe’s expression fell slack at that, his mouth hanging speechless. Oscar had wished him to silence so many times, but there was no satisfaction to be found in that stricken look.Oscar filled the silence. “She sold him to Galen to go off and marry a merchant. She has a new family, and no wish for the indiscretions of her past to return and make a nuisance of themselves now.”“Can she not be reasoned with?”“Unlikely.” Oscar shook his head. “Her son is guilty of stealing livestock, and Wamba must sentence him. He will not bend, and she will not forgive him.”Ivanhoe crossed his arms and tapped at his elbow with two fingers, considering everything Oscar had revealed. “What is it that you think I can do?”“This whole thing has,” Oscar hesitated, searching for words, “it’s broken something in him. Something I alone cannot heal. I think that it would do him good right now to be reminded that he has a family, and a home that still misses him. I can tell him until I’m blue in the face. It’s you he’ll believe.”Ivanhoe softened as he listened. He reached out to Oscar again, this time a firm clasp on his shoulder. “You surprise me.”Oscar's temper pricked at that, an echo of old resentment, but his determination was greater. “I am not so proud as to pretend that you are not important to him, not if it will give him ease. You can give him ease.”No further words were needed, and Ivanhoe set off with purpose in his stride. It was he who led the way into the library with Oscar at his heels.Wamba was alone, hunched over his work and wiping at the corners of his eyes even as he continued to write, his quill moving slowly along the page. He stopped and raised his head when the door opened, only to freeze in place when he saw Ivanhoe. A flash of pure betrayal darkened his reddened eyes as they flickered to Oscar, but Oscar quickly shook his head to assure him that his secret was still safe.“Wilfred.” Wamba stood and circled the table to greet him, visibly struggling to gather himself.Ivanhoe did not hesitate. He walked straight to Wamba and caught him in his arms. Wamba stopped still, hands raised and hovering in the air at Ivanhoe’s sides. As Oscar watched, they closed slowly about the knight’s back, fingers curling tight into the wool of his surcoat. Ivanhoe was speaking to him, his voice so low that Oscar could not hear, but he could observe the effects on Wamba. He nodded against Ivanhoe’s shoulder, eyes closed though fresh tears escaped from beneath his lashes as he listened to what Ivanhoe said to him. It was a sight that might have caused Oscar to bristle with possessive anger on any other day. Now he felt only relief.Eventually, Ivanhoe pulled back. He smiled as he guided Wamba to the couch to sit. Wamba scrubbed at his cheeks, his flush darkening with fresh embarrassment at his state. Oscar went to the bedchamber to fetch him a cool wet cloth.“Do you have no wish to reconcile?” Ivanhoe was asking when he returned.“What I wish is of little consequence.”“Your wishes are important,” Oscar said, offering the cloth to him.Wamba shrugged as he took it from Oscar's hand. “What good does it do to force my company upon a woman who would clearly prefer that I had never been born in the first place?”Oscar wanted to refute that, but he could not. Diana had not said it outright, but she had made her feelings very clear. He took a seat in the chair by the hearth instead, letting Ivanhoe speak.“So you do wish to know her?”“I cannot deny that I suffer from a degree of curiosity about my family, but that family has no use for me.”“Your family is at Rotherwood,” Ivanhoe said, his voice firm.It was truer than he knew, but Oscar held his tongue.“Why don’t you come home with me?” Ivanhoe continued. “Spend a summer with us at Rotherwood. Oscar and Eral, too. I know that Ward would be glad of a new playmate.”Wamba did not quite smile, but there was new light in his face, shy pleasure at the invitation. Oscar knew how he loved Rotherwood and missed it still, in spite and because of the memories there, but he never returned without Ivanhoe’s invitation. He also never turned such an invitation down, which was why his next words were such a surprise to Oscar.“Perhaps next winter, if we may? There are things we would see to this summer.”Ivanhoe leaned back and draped his arm over the back of the couch, just as surprised. “Oh? Do you care to tell me of these important plans?”Wamba set the cloth on the table and folded his hands in his lap. “If all goes as intended, we will be finding ourselves a lodging outside the castle.”“A lodging?”“A house.” Oscar interjected. “At the very least.”Wamba tilted his head in a gesture that was neither agreement nor denial. “We shall see what we can find.”“Has the king finally had enough of you?” Ivanhoe asked with a laugh.“His majesty has been a most gracious host,” Wamba said, “but with our latest addition the space has become somewhat inadequate. Eral should have better than a cot in a library. He should have a room of his own.”Ivanhoe watched him carefully as he spoke, perhaps witnessing in him the same caring that Oscar saw when Wamba spoke of Eral. He smiled. “I think it’s an excellent idea.”Some of the tension in Wamba’s shoulders released, as though he had feared Ivanhoe's disapproval of his decision. It was likely he had. Even for this, that had nothing to do with Ivanhoe at all, a lifetime of living at the will of others still shaped his habits and his expectations, and Ivanhoe had possessed the power to command him, once.“Although,” Ivanhoe continued, “you know you will need more than a single servant if you are to keep a proper household. Where do you intend to find them?”“I had not yet thought that far,” Wamba admitted.“Well, if you’ve need of a cook, I might have one for you.”Wamba looked up. “Who?”Ivanhoe crossed one ankle over the opposite knee, taking up the better part of the couch in his sprawl. “Ardith is old enough that she no longer has need of a nurse, and Anna has more than once expressed a wish to come down to London. I am given to understand that she is nearly as accomplished in the kitchen as her grandmother.”Wamba’s genuine delight at that was immediately apparent. “That would be wonderful. Of course I am happy to give her a place to stay, whether she chooses to cook or no.”“You should let her cook,” Ivanhoe advised him. “Maybe a few more of Nora’s recipes on your table would finally fatten you up and keep you that way.”It was a familiar complaint, and led naturally into a comfortable scolding, and slowly, as Wamba listened to Ivanhoe chide him, he began to smile. Ivanhoe’s presence, the sound of his voice and the casual privilege of his posture were all irritating to Oscar, but he knew he had made the right choice seeking the knight out. As Wamba had said, Ivanhoe was his family already, connected by the affection of years and trials weathered, and no blood relation or lack thereof would alter that. Somehow, it made the secret of Wamba’s parentage a little less weighty.A knock at the door startled him from his musings. Ivanhoe was still speaking, so Oscar rose to answer it. A boy with wide hazel eyes and wheat blonde hair cropped close to his head stood in the corridor, dressed in the uniform of a royal page.“Ralph, isn’t it?” Oscar said. “Eral’s gone out for the day.”“Actually, I have a message for Lord Cedric, sir.”“Yes?” Wamba called from the couch. Oscar stepped aside to allow them to speak.“The king requests your presence, my lord.” Ralph said.“Very well,” Wamba pushed himself to his feet. “Where is he?”“In the audience chamber.”“Thank you.”Unasked and unopposed, Oscar and Ivanhoe both accompanied him. They passed by the entrance to the bustling great hall to enter the audience chamber by the side door, where there were fewer curious eyes to observe them.Richard stood before the throne, his red doublet a bright beacon in the shadowed room. A man in clerical robes was speaking with him in the lyrical tones of a language that Oscar recognized as French.“Ah, gentlemen,” Richard said as they entered. “I recall summoning one of you, but all are welcome.""Your majesty," Wamba greeted him with a bow. "You have need of me?""Indeed." Richard gestured to his companion. "Allow me to introduce you to Theobald. He is here on behalf of the archbishop with a most unusual appeal.”
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Theobald was surprisingly young. At least he appeared so to Oscar, though he had an air of practiced courtliness about him that was not in keeping with what Oscar had come to expect of clergy. He wore a short goatee and his black Benedictine robe was of rich fabric despite its simple cut. He offered them a florid bow and a greeting in heavily accented English.“A pleasure, sirs.”“The pleasure is ours,” Wamba returned with faultless manners but no true warmth.“Theobald is a recent arrival to our shores,” Richard explained. “He has been called by God to study at the knee of our esteemed Archbishop of Canterbury.”It was a subtle warning to all of them, and confirmation of Oscar’s suspicions that the young monk was a flunky of Stephen Langton, sent from the abbey to see his will done.“A great honor, I am sure,” Wamba said, “though I must confess my surprise at a visit from such an illustrious emissary of the church.”Theobald’s smile was flat and insincere. “No need for such modesty. You must know that the archbishop takes great account of the actions of the king’s chosen counselors. You have been of particular interest to him for years. As a zealous agent of the king’s justice, of course.”A shiver of warning prickled across the back of Oscar’s neck, though Theobald had not looked at him once since they entered the room. His feline gaze was focused squarely on Wamba, watching for any slight misstep.“An interesting choice of words,” Wamba countered coolly. “However it may appear to His Excellency, I endeavor only to fulfill the role that has been entrusted to me to the best of my ability, in service of my king.”“Yet I understand that your dedication has led you at times to tread upon territories outside your official sphere.”“Here, now,” Ivanhoe stepped forward, stern in stance and tone. “Come to the point. Did you come to make an appeal or to level accusations?”Theobald’s eyes flicked toward him and back to Wamba, his bland smile unaltered. “Of course. Forgive me. I forget that the English have so little patience for pleasantries.”“Only when they keep us from our dinner,” Richard interjected smoothly, stalling both Ivanhoe’s and Oscar’s affronted reactions to the barb.“What is it that you require of me, Brother Theobald?” Wamba’s face was as expressionless as Theobald’s, betraying nothing to a man who had now made himself known as an adversary.“In the English style, I will be brief,” Theobald said. “It has come to the attention of His Excellency the Archbishop that a young man under his spiritual guidance has been detained on your authority. He wishes the boy released into his charge.”“You speak of Andrew Wells,” Wamba said, and if there was a hint of weary resignation to it, Oscar thought he was the only one who might have noticed.“I do.”“The authority that detains him is not mine, but that of the crown. Master Wells was arrested at the site of his crime, which was witnessed by no fewer than four men. He was given a fair hearing, as all who come before the tribunal are entitled.”“Yet you failed to make consideration that he sought counsel with the church and made his confession the very day of his transgression. He has performed his penance and has been washed clean of sin in the eyes of God.”“His repentance is admirable, and a worthy pursuit for one so clearly in need of guidance from all available powers, but it does not pardon his crime in the eyes of the law.” Wamba spoke with no discernible affect now, though Oscar knew it must irritate him to be forced to retread this argument yet again.“I see that you are as principled as I have been told,” Theobald said, “though I think you must admit that there are subtleties here beyond the bounds of the law.”Oscar’s shoulders tightened, and he saw Wamba’s before him do the same, but it was the king who spoke first. “I have yet to hear any evidence that my magistrate has overstretched his authority in this case.”“There has been no irregularity in my handling of this matter,” Wamba agreed.“Has there not?” Theobald’s humorless smirk held all the menace of a naked blade. “I understand that you demanded a private audience with the young man’s mother, and refused to allow her husband to accompany her. This is very curious. You have something of a personal interest in the family?”“Madam Wells was treated with all respect and courtesy, and what was discussed with her had no bearing upon her son’s trial,” Wamba said, “but speaking of personal interest, how is it that the archbishop has taken such singular responsibility for this one young man among so many in need, particularly as His Excellency departed York some years ago upon his elevation?”“Andrew Wells was commended into his care when he served the spiritual needs of the people of York. The charge was passed to His Excellency’s brother upon his removal to London.” Theobald waved a hand. “But I have not come to explain these histories, only to make the position of the church on this matter heard. I will keep you from your dinner no longer.”He offered another elaborate bow to the king, acknowledged with a nod.He smiled once more at Wamba, flat and humorless. “I trust you will make the prudent choice.”They watched him leave, a considering silence falling in his wake, until Ivanhoe broke it. “An unusual man. You say he is a pupil of the archbishop?”“His hatchet man, more like,” Richard said with a scowl. “Word from France is that he has a reputation as an accomplished spy and lackey. Apparently, the pope himself is somewhat taken with him. What he has been sent to London to accomplish is something we must discover in time.”“Curious that such an important operative would be sent to intervene on what seems such a trivial matter,” Ivanhoe said.“If I had to make a guess, I would say that Theobald saw a perfect opportunity to size up our tenacious magistrate. Wamba has earned himself a reputation as a thorn in the holy paw.” The king rubbed a gloved hand through his beard, looking at Wamba. “I take it the lad is guilty of the crime?”“Indisputably,” Wamba said.“What sway is it that this family holds with the church to merit such an intervention?”“I know no more than you on that count, sire. I have yet to meet the Merchant Wells himself. He did not appear at the tribunal, though it seems he has found time to beg an audience at the abbey.”“And so you once again find yourself at odds with the authority of the church," Richard said thoughtfully. "You are disinclined to grant this boy clemency?”“I understand that youth is foolish,” Wamba said, “and we have all been guilty of hasty actions for which we have not well considered the consequences. It was already my intention to give him as merciful sentence as I can pass and remain within the bounds of the law. Unless you can see your way to changing the law for his sake, sire, I cannot see how he could be spared entirely.”“Except that it does happen,” Richard observed. “Friends in high places can become dangerous enemies. Simon Langton seeks ever to establish the see of York seeks as a law unto itself. I could not prevent his brother taking the seat of archbishop here in London, but at least he usually bows to the authority of the throne. Simon would rule the north and my governors have little say in it. His detractors are branded heretics and worse. They dare not cross him. You know that well enough from your own interactions with him.”“I do.” Wamba’s studied composure had begun to bleed away, the weariness and sadness that dogged him making themselves known in the defeated slope of his shoulders. “What would you have me do, sire?”Richard cast an assessing gaze over him, then shook his head. “I thought we were beyond me making these decisions for you.”“Of course, sire.” Wamba accepted the mild reprimand with a dip of his head, while Oscar seethed silently behind him.“That said,” Richard continued, “I have never known you to be cruel when you could be merciful.”“Yes, sire,” Wamba said. “I know what must be done.”“Good,” Richard said, “but beyond that, find out what you can about this merchant.”“He must have done the archbishop some sort of particular service to merit such an appeal on his behalf,” Ivanhoe said.“That is something I should like to know more about.” Richard raised a brow at Wamba. “You may have stumbled upon a larger hornet’s nest than you realized.”“It was never my intention to stir up trouble, sire.”“You have a funny way of showing it.” Richard noted. “Is it true that you met with the merchant’s wife alone?”It was Oscar’s mistake, that meeting, and a rush of dread chilled him as he wondered again just how far the consequences of his poor counsel would reach.Wamba said simply, “It is.”“For what purpose?”There was a moment of pause, a yawning silence before Wamba spoke again. “I recognized her. I wished to confirm my suspicions that she is, or was, my mother.”“Your mother?” Oscar noted the surprise on the king’s face, even as he wondered at how quickly the secret had begun to spread.“I was correct," Wamba continued, "but she expressed her desire that we not make mention of it again, which is why I am surprised she spoke of it to the church.”Richard turned to Ivanhoe. “You knew of this?”“I learned of it just today."Richard’s eyes swept over to Oscar, his incisive gaze putting the pieces together silently, then back to Wamba. “Will it be a problem?”“No, sire,” Wamba said. “It is as good as forgotten.”“Very well,” Richard said at last. “Keep me informed as to what you learn.”“Yes, sire.”“Now,” Richard said, “Will you join me at table, Wilfred? I believe we have a conversation to finish.”They departed through the door to the great hall, leaving Wamba and Oscar alone in the audience chamber. Wamba’s eyes were on the far wall, distant in contemplation, and Oscar wondered how many of those thought mirrored his own. What had seemed such a simple case of obvious guilt had grown and entangled itself into a decision of monstrous complexity. For all that Oscar wished to support Wamba's convictions, the enmity it would win them was no trivial concern, and that part of Oscar that wished only to extricate both of them with the least damage done was growing stronger by the hour.“So you’re going to sentence him?” Oscar asked. “Even knowing that the church will count it against you?”Wamba blinked and turned to look at him. “You heard the king. What choice do I have?”“You could pardon him,” Oscar said. “What harm would it really do? Just this once?”“What harm?” Wamba frowned, looking at Oscar as though he suddenly did not recognize him. “Except to betray the trust that has finally been rebuilt in the justice of the throne? Return us to the lawless days when men of power were swayed so easily from their purpose by the simplest temptations?”Oscar reached out for him, but Wamba stepped away from his hand. Just a single step, but it was a stunning rebuke. His misery was so apparent in every line of his being, the conflict that raged within him as each new challenge was presented. It was a difficult decision even if it had been a stranger. To add to that the choice to throw away family, and now to invite the animosity of the church, these were consequences neither of them had anticipated and that Oscar, truthfully, did not wish to see him bear.“You want to,” he said quietly.Wamba spun away, but not before Oscar saw the way his face crumpled. “Of course I want to! Never have I been more tempted, but I cannot. I cannot without betraying myself. It would make me no better than all the other men of power who have used their influence for their own ends.”Oscar understood how much his integrity meant to him. He truly did, but Oscar had also never met a rule he could not see his way to bending, for the right cause.“Then step aside,” he suggested. “Give it to Gilbert. He has little enough to occupy him right now.”“And if he decides to execute Andrew? What then? He is as likely to impose the fullest possible penalty as succumb to bribery. And then I will have killed my brother with my cowardice.”He collapsed suddenly, falling to sit on the edge of the dais and let his head drop into his hands. Oscar had never seen him so defeated in all the years he had watched Wamba perform his duty. He went to sit beside him, just letting their shoulders touch, and that time Wamba did not pull away.“This is truly the best I can do,” he said, voice small and muffled, “and I will make nothing but enemies by it.”“I know.”It was all Oscar had to offer, that and his presence at Wamba's side. He leaned back against the arm of the throne, letting the utter helplessness wash over him. His eyes wandered across the tapestry that draped the wall before him, a battlefield somewhere far from England, and knights in their regiments, charging out with crosses upon their shields. It seemed an apt symbol of their current predicament, and he sympathized suddenly with the Saracens posed opposite, only their bows in their hands to defend them from the advancing force. He remembered hearing tales of those battles, how the defenders fought to the last man, despite the strength of the foe they faced.Though it proved hopeless, for Wamba he was prepared to do the same.
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The clouds the following morning were as low as Oscar’s mood, scattering their misery down upon the heads of all those who had no choice but to venture out from shelter.They moved quickly across the green from the tower gate, but arrived at tribunal sodden regardless. Oscar followed Wamba into the cool antechamber, scrubbing a hand through his hair to dash away the wet. He gingerly pried open the flap of his small satchel to check that the warrant enclosed within had survived the voyage unscathed. He extracted it between the tips of his fingers and inspected it. The parchment was intact, down to the wax seal below the carefully inscribed words that dictated a penalty more merciful even than Oscar had expected.Wamba had agonized over it for most of the afternoon, with very little counsel from Oscar, before he finally went to justify his judgment to the king. Oscar did not know how it was received, or what they had discussed, but Wamba had returned with the approval he needed. Now all that remained was to see it through. Oscar looked across the desk to where Wamba attempted to put himself to rights. His hands bore a marked blue tinge as they brushed at the water beaded on the wool of his robe, but it was not only the cold that made them shake as they did.Oscar set the scroll on the desk and dropped his satchel as he circled around it, freeing his hands to catch Wamba’s and press them flat between his palms. Wamba looked up at him, fear in his eyes for all he fought to hide it and his pulse fast beneath Oscar’s fingertips. Oscar smiled, and scrubbed Wamba’s hands between his to warm them, then reached up to smooth down the damp locks tousled by the rain.“Whatever happens,” he said, “remember you’re not alone.”Wamba’s answering smile was unsteady, but undeniably warm. “Thank you, Oscar.”He reluctantly tugged his hands free of Oscar's, snatched up the scroll from the desk, and opened the door out into the hall. Diana was seated on the very first bench, a tall man beside her who Oscar did not recognize but assumed to be her husband.Wamba did not look at them, only took his seat and placed the scroll down upon the table. Oscar swept a glance across the gathered faces, but did not see the monk Theobald among the thin crowd, which was a minor relief after the infuriatingly diplomatic confrontation and the casual threats issued the day before.It was a matter of minutes before Andrew was ushered into the room, a guard on either side. He was visibly worse for wear after three nights in the cells, a patchy beard darkening his jaw and his fine clothing soiled. When he saw his mother, he lunged toward her with a cry, and she reached for him in return. Her hands closed over his shackled wrists for a moment before he was wrested back under control of the guards. She stared after him as he was marched to stand before the dais, then turned her burning eyes on Wamba, as though daring him to issue any word contrary to her will. Though he must have felt it, Wamba still did not acknowledge her. He laid one hand over the scroll and looked at Andrew, every inch the magistrate now.“Andrew Wells,” he began, “I have considered your actions as they were presented to the tribunal, as well as the impressive number of appeals that have been made on your behalf since. I hope that you recognize what a fortunate man you are, Master Wells, to have so many who care for you, who would steward your spiritual growth and take upon themselves the redress of your misdeeds.”Andrew did not even have the sense to appear humbled by this. Instead, he preened, puffing out his chest in smug anticipation of victory, but Wamba was not finished.“I am satisfied that your actions were born of folly, rather than intent to do harm, and that reparation has been made between your family and the Merchant Albright for the cattle that were lost. Therefore, I will impose no additional fine, and as this is your first offense, I see no cause to mark you as a thief by branding or removal of any part of your body.”It was a lengthy explanation, much more than Oscar was accustomed to hearing him give, but he recognized in it the plea for understanding, a wish that he might not be hated for doing what his duty required of him. It was heartbreaking, as he at last arrived at the sentence, and the face of Diana Wells darkened, her eyes hard with fury as it became clear that Andrew would not be pardoned.“The law does demand that you bear a physical penalty for the damage done, and so you will receive ten lashes upon your back.”“What?” Andrew’s haughty air collapsed with all the grace of a burst bladder. “You can’t!”“Further,” Wamba continued as though he had not heard, “as you have already been detained for many days, I have recommended that your punishment be dispensed with expeditiously. It will be carried out in the cells and you will be free to leave immediately after.”This was the decision that had most surprised Oscar, one that would spare Andrew the humiliation of being made a public spectacle for a crowd of bloodthirsty townsfolk. It was yet another mercy Wamba found to show Andrew, though Oscar was certain he would not be thanked for it.He was correct. Diana shot to her feet, her hands in tight fists at her sides and her glare hot enough to melt iron. She said nothing, merely stalked from the hall as her son was led away, still protesting at the top of his lungs. Merchant Wells followed, casting an equally menacing look at the dais as he did.Wamba set the scroll aside, to be handed off to the royal executioner later, as Randall took charge and the business of the tribunal recommenced. There were new prisoners to try, two men and a woman, though none had committed crimes of any great severity. They provided poor distraction from the pall of grim anticipation that hung over the hall.Wamba retreated into the antechamber the first moment he was able, and Thomas was quick behind him. “We will have him ready,” Oscar overheard as he followed. “What time will you come to the cells?”“No need to delay,” Wamba replied, one hand planted on the surface of the desk. “Let us have it done with now.”Thomas gave him an unusually long look, but finally nodded. “I’ll have the headsman summoned.”It had always seemed a curious title to Oscar, as the man was responsible for far more than executions. He and his deputies were the only soldiers sanctioned to deal justice on behalf of the crown, from simple floggings to the forceful interrogation of the crown’s enemies. Oscar did not know how one came to hold such a position, to say nothing of what a strange existence it must be. It was a gruesome business, and he had been witness to enough of it in the time he spent as scribe.Andrew’s sentence was a mere ten lashes, far from the worst Oscar had seen, but the dread that made his limbs heavy had nothing to do with the severity of the punishment and everything to do with what it meant for Wamba to stand and witness it.The cells were within the bounds of the keep, at the bottom of a short flight of stairs set into the wall. The air was always cool, kept so by the surrounding earth, but the rain had given it a dankness that made Oscar shiver as he ducked into the low cavern of the entryway. Andrew was housed in one of the near cells, and as they approached Oscar spied him curled in a far corner, sniveling into his hands.“We’ve moved the others to the back,” Thomas said to Wamba, gesturing to the far end of the corridor.“That is prudent,” Wamba replied. “Thank you.”“His mother is here. Will she be permitted to enter?”Wamba hesitated, Andrew’s pitiful moaning the only sound, before he nodded. “Yes, please let her in.”Thomas gestured to the guard at the door. A moment later, Diana stalked in, hostility in her every motion and a cloak over her arm. The executioner was just behind, and for once he was without his hood. It was unusual to see his face, but Oscar thought perhaps he worried less for the preservation of his identity in such a small company. Then another shadow blackened the door, drawing Oscar’s attention with its imposing shape. It revealed itself to be Farren, a grim scowl on his rugged face as he closed and barred the door behind him.Thomas unlocked the cell and entered with the executioner. Andrew shrank back from them, whimpering and pleading, but Thomas was impassive as he grasped the young man by the wrists and lifted him to his feet to hook his shackled hands to the hook set high in the wall. Diana stood close to the bars, her arms crossed over her chest. She had not looked toward Wamba once since she entered.“I will not deny you your right to bear witness, madam,” he said to her, “but you may wish to wait outside. It is not a pleasant thing to watch.”“You seem eager enough,” was her sharp reply.“I witness every sentence.”“So your sickness goes ever deeper than I realized,” she hissed. “What you do to my son, you do to me. It wounds me no less if it is done where I cannot see it.”The cold of the dungeon seemed suddenly to penetrate Oscar’s bones, a horror of shock to hear again how separate her children were in her mind, while knowing how much those words would have meant had she spoken them about Wamba instead. He was not the only one. Farren stepped close at Wamba’s shoulder, a stalwart force that seemed to feed strength into Wamba’s posture by his mere presence, and Oscar wondered what Thomas might have told him about what he had overheard, or if perhaps Ivanhoe had sent the captain in his stead.The first retort was sudden, and made them all turn. Andrew screamed as a bloody slash appeared on his back, the writhing of his body and futile tugging at his manacles sickening to watch. Oscar looked at Wamba instead, watching for any warning that he had begun to retreat inside himself. Throughout all of it, his expression never shifted.By the time it was over, Andrew’s howls had weakened into a steady sobbing. Thomas had only just reached up to unlock the manacles when Diana broke from her stony pose and shoved past Wamba and into the cell. She rushed to Andrew to take his face in her hands as he stood on shaking legs, wiping his cheeks and kissing his brow as he clung to her. She wrapped the cloak she carried carefully about his shoulders and took his arm to lead him from the cell.“You should allow the physician to clean the lashes,” Wamba said quietly as they emerged into the corridor.“He’ll be seen to by someone of our choosing. Not one of your lackeys,” she snarled, and there before all of them spit at his feet.Farren stepped forward at once, thunder in his expression, but Wamba laid a hand on his arm. “It’s alright, Farren. She is entitled to her anger.”The captain’s glower settled on Wamba. “And you are entitled to respect.”“It’s alright,” Wamba said again. He turned his face to the bloodied walls and floor of the cell, and did not watch Diana and Andrew leave.“Wamba,” Oscar said, soft so that it traveled no farther than his lover’s ears.“Don’t.” Wamba whispered. “Please don’t.”“You did everything you could,” Oscar said.“It is done. I cannot undo it now, even if I wished to.”“Do you wish to?” Oscar asked, though he was not certain he wanted to hear the answer.“No. I don’t.” Wamba finally looked at him, and though there was still grief there, his eyes were clear. “And we still have work to do.”It was an obvious attempt to end the conversation, but Oscar had heard enough, at least for now. “To the archives, then?”“Yes. To the archives.”
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They discovered Nicholas engaged in a pitched battle with a mound of tattered manuscripts.It was not an uncommon sight, but Oscar was unfamiliar with these particular coils of parchment, which had sprouted in his absence to sprawl across the table and engulf his chair. He bit back his sigh and asked, “What is all of this?”Nicholas unfurled one moldering scroll across the face of the others, stretching to flatten it down. “As ever, Oscar, if you bothered to dedicate any time at all to the study of language, you would easily discover the answer for yourself.”“I barely have a grasp of English, according to you, so what good would it do me to try another?”Nicholas barked a laugh. “For once, I must concede your logic. For your information, these happen to be the original circuit records used to produce the Domesday Book. You are familiar with that, at least?”Oscar exchanged a glance with Wamba, who had so far gone unnoticed by the preoccupied archivist. Wamba shrugged, so Oscar turned back to Nicholas and asked, “The what?”“Really, Oscar?” Nicholas shook his head, though he still did not look up from the table. “The Domesday Book is the very foundation of Norman society in England. It is the origin of everything in this archive, and your own occupation as a result.”“Sounds very important,” Oscar said. “What are you doing with them?”Nicholas continued shuffling the scrolls as he explained. “I have, after much persuading, finally convinced the Bishop of Durham that a patrimony of such profound significance is best preserved under the custody of the crown.”That was a genuine surprise to Oscar. “How did you manage that?”“I traded him a set of very fine engraved biblical illuminations," Nicholas smirked. "The Bishop is a man of great intellectual curiosity. We have had a regular correspondence since I was first committed to the abbey. There are not so many who are sufficiently versed in the study of ancient texts to hold a worthwhile conversation about them. I must keep the ones I can find.”“What about York?” Wamba spoke. “Might you happen to have any associates there?”Nicholas’s hands stilled, and his head popped up. “Cedric,” he chirped. “What an unexpected surprise.”The corner of Wamba’s mouth tipped up. “Not an unwelcome one, I hope.”“No, no,” Nicholas sifted through the chaos on the table until he unearthed a quill and a scrap of blank parchment. “York, you say?”“Someone in service to the archbishop, to be precise.”Nicholas was suddenly intent, the scrolls forgotten as his gray gaze narrowed on Wamba.“Now, that is an interesting question.” He settled slowly in his chair, calculation swirling behind his eyes and the quill spinning slowly between his fingers. “What is it you wish to know about our dear, ambitious archbishop?”Wamba was unruffled by the scrutiny. “We wish to learn what connection he might have to a man called Wells. I understand the family is of some consequence in that city.”“Is this an official inquiry?”“It is sanctioned,” Wamba said, “but it would best if it were kept discreet.”“Will you give me no clues?”“I believe this man might have some part in advancing the archbishop’s political ambitions.”“A very mysterious and potentially scandalous inquiry.” Nicholas said slowly. Then he shrugged. “I know the abbot there. A dedicated scholar, and a friend. A friend who owes me a favor, in fact. I could send a discreet letter, if you wish.”“If you will not earn yourself any undue attention by it.”“Hardly.” Nicholas leaned back in his chair, and he was once more the insouciant young noble. “As long as I remain in His Majesty’s good graces, those stuffy old robes cannot hope to touch me. I will see what I can discover, but it will likely be several weeks before I receive a reply.”“That cannot be helped,” Wamba said, “but perhaps we can learn something from the records here in the meantime.”Nicholas scratched a quick note on his parchment, then tapped the tip of the quill against it. “Who is this Wells? What is his house?”“None that I know of,” Wamba said. “He’s a merchant, and he made his own fortune.”“A merchant?” Nicholas waved the tail of his quill about at vast expanse of shelves and shook his head. “Then his personal property will not be recorded here.”Oscar’s shoulders began to slump, but Nicholas was not done.“The customs books are what you want.”“Customs books?” Oscar asked. “What do they record?“The cargo of ships leaving and arriving in England, of course,” Nicholas said with exaggerated patience. “At each port of entry.”“That is an interesting idea,” Wamba said.“It’s a shot in the dark,” Nicholas corrected him, “but it might turn up something.”“Are they here in the tower?” Oscar asked.“Of course not. For those, we must decamp to the exchequer.”“Where is that?”“Last I checked, it was down by the merchant harbor.”“Well, then,” Wamba said to Oscar, “it seems we’ll be going out.”Nicholas stood. “I’ll just fetch my cloak.”“That’s quite alright, Nicholas,” Wamba said. “We wouldn’t want to delay your important work further.”“These?” Nicholas waved a hand at the scrolls. “They have survived two hundred years to arrive here. They’ll keep for another few days. Besides, you lost little lambs wouldn’t have the first idea of where to start without me.”Oscar kept his opinion on that to himself, and so their company was three, swiftly growing to four when Thomas came out to meet them at the gate. Nicholas smiled at the sight of him. It was the sort of smile that revealed more than he perhaps intended, and Thomas returned it with equal warmth if somewhat more restraint. “Going out?”“We’re on the hunt,” Nicholas leaned close to confide. He was in high spirits despite the dreary weather, energized either by the mystery or perhaps by the sight of Thomas.Thomas’s brows jumped at the declaration. “Where?”“Down to the docks, to pay a visit to the exchequer,” Wamba explained. “Our quarry is the customs books.”Thomas’s mouth twitched in amusement, but he said only, “I’ll summon the guard.”“Nonsense.” Nicholas swept past Thomas toward the gate, calling back over his shoulder, “No one would dare attack us with such a fearsome escort as you at our backs.”Prudence dictated that they take at least one more guard. Wamba and Nicholas both stood out on the city streets, and together they made an appealing target for any who might harbor an ill will toward the crown, but the lure of liberty proved too great. Buoyed by Nicholas’s animation, they were soon out among the people. Nicholas walked ahead with Thomas, chattering away about something Oscar paid no mind, while Thomas listened and looked at him as though Nicholas had hung the sun itself. Oscar remembered what it was like to be caught up in that first blush of romance, how everything was light and heat and exhilaration.He glanced at Wamba, who noticed him looking and offered him a smile, sharing his thoughts. The feeling was different now, passions tempered by time but not dulled. They had transformed instead to something deeper, a solid foundation upon which devotion was built, and the understanding that could pass between them without words. Oscar hoped that Thomas and Nicholas could one day boast the same.The exchequer was a squat stone building perched just at the edge of the harbor, so close to the wharf as to be nearly on top of it. Two royal guards saluted Thomas and opened the door to grant them entry into what appeared to be a small but functional chancery. It was damp and permeated by the fetid scent of the river, the two small windows providing a view out to the vessels that bobbed and jostled upon the water nearby.A small man clad in the uniform of a royal official and tight leather cap stood from the table with a start, looking from one of them to the other with bald astonishment on his plump face. Nicholas planted both hands on his hips as he surveyed the room like a general planning his attack.His eyes finally settled on the dumbfounded official as he declared imperiously, “We require your resources.”The man opened and closed his mouth, stuttered something unintelligible, and finally asked, “Who are you?”Nicholas drew himself up, but before he could unleash his affronted reply, Wamba had stepped forward. The smile he wore was his most disarming one, humble and polite with just a hint of apology.“I hope you will forgive the sudden interruption. I am Cedric. I serve the king as his magistrate. This is Nicholas, the royal archivist, and Oscar, his assistant. Might we have your name?”If anything, the official was even more astonished to learn the quality of visitor he was confronted with, entirely without warning. He stared back and forth between them a few times before hiccupping out, “Keith.”“Well met, Keith,” Wamba said easily. “We’ve come hoping to have a look at the customs books. They are kept here, are they not?”“They’re back there,” Keith pointed over his shoulder at the only door apart from the one through which they had entered. “I can show you.”“Most kind of you,” Wamba said.Keith stared at them a while longer, while they waited, and Nicholas finally burst out, “Now, if you please!”“Oh!” Keith startled, jostling his writing table and sending a cup tumbling off to clatter on the floor. Oscar snatched it up and placed it back on the table, trying very hard not to laugh at the poor man.Keith fumbled an iron ring of keys from his belt and unlocked the door. He pushed it open and stepped back, waving them in with a clumsy bow. “After you, my lords.”The records room was small and close, the air thick with the smell of rot. The books stacked in rows along the walls were deformed and spotted from the conditions in which they were used, battered from the journey to London. Wamba walked to the nearest shelf to peruse the stained spines.Meanwhile, Nicholas’s nose had wrinkled, his handsome features pinched in disgust. “What disgraceful conditions for the preservation of parchment. You dare to call yourself a record keeper?”“I’m just an inspector, my lord,” Keith stuttered meekly, wilting beneath Nicholas’s scorn.“How are they arranged?” Wamba asked, catching Keith’s attention back to him.“By city, my lord. Then by date.”Wamba finished his survey and turned to look at Keith. “Is there any way to easily trace the comings and goings of one ship in particular?”“Do you know when the vessel traveled?”“Unfortunately not,” Wamba said. “We do not even know its name.”“Do you know the name of its master?” Keith asked.“That we do. He is a merchant called Wells.”“Oh!” Keith brightened. “I know that name.”“Do you?”“Merchant Wells has a goodly sized fleet,” Keith said, growing more comfortable as he warmed to his topic. “They do not often travel all together. Though they all dock at York, they often make port in other cities, including this one.”“I see,” Wamba said. “Do you have a list of his vessels?”“We do not keep that here, my lord,” Keith said with a sorrowful shake of his head. “The harbor master at York would know best.”“What else do you know about Wells?” Oscar asked. “What is his trade?”“Wool to the continent, mainly.”“Could he really have become so wealthy on the trade of wool alone?” Oscar wondered.“He also imports different sorts of luxuries, at the request of his wealthy patrons,” Keith offered.“Perhaps our friend in York is one of them?” Nicholas said to Wamba, then turned to Keith. “Do you not tax the man? Can you not find his sum of accounts?”“Duties are levied upon inspection of the cargo,” Keith explained. “By law, no ship can sail nor dock unpaid.”“What an absurd system. Who is responsible for these records?”“The chancellor, my lord,” Keith squeaked.“You mean Eustace?” Nicholas scoffed. “No wonder they’re in such a state. That man wouldn’t know a proper register if it fell off the battlements and brained him.”“It serves its purpose,” Wamba said, “which to ensure that the crown receives its fair custom on exported and imported goods.”“I meant the conditions, not the taxation.”“Keith,” Wamba said, “if you wanted to know the history of one particular vessel, where would you begin?”“You would have to go through them one by one,” Keith said. “For Merchant Wells, I would start at York. That’s where his ships are most often to be found.”He pulled a heavy tome from the end of a shelf and opened it upon the room’s small table. Wamba and Nicholas converged to peer over his shoulders as he traced one fingertip down a long list.“Here’s one,” Keith said, tapping the page. “The Trinity docked last week.”“How does one read this?” Wamba asked, head cocked.“The owner’s name is first, then the name of the ship, then the crew.” Keith pointed to each column as he explained it. “Then the cargo by weight and duty charged.”Nicholas leaned down to peer at the parchment below Keith’s finger. “So our friend was transporting wine, spices, silks and, oh!" He chuckled. "A peacock.”“Wealthy patrons, indeed,” Wamba said thoughtfully. He pointed at the page. “This is the date the ship arrived?”“Yes, my lord,” Keith said. “The date and the time.”“This says the Trinity docked in the evening,” Wamba noted. “Ships come in after dark?”“They can dock, but they won’t be inspected until morning. No cargo can be unloaded at night.”“What of their crews?”“The men are free to leave.”“Sounds like the sort of strategy a clever smuggler might employ,” Nicholas observed.“Quite,” Wamba agreed. He looked from the book to the overflowing shelves. “This is going to take some time. I don’t suppose we could carry some of the books back with us.”“For the number we need, we’d have to fetch a cart,” Oscar told him.“Better than making a nuisance of ourselves every day until we find what we need,” Wamba decided. “Keith, do you think you can part with the last year or so of records? You have my word that all will be returned to you unharmed.”“No worse than they already are,” Nicholas sniffed.“You want all of them?” Keith gaped at them.“Why don’t we start with York,” Wamba said, “and if we need to look further, we will request those later. Is that acceptable?”“Yes, my lord.”“Thank you,” Wamba said with a smile. “Someone will be by to fetch them.”He looked to Thomas, whose hair brushed the low ceiling as he nodded. “They will be transported under guard.”Nicholas grabbed Wamba and pulled him into a hushed conference as they walked back toward the door. Oscar alone looked back over his shoulder, and knew he had not imagined the relief on Keith’s face as they left.
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They began with York, then moved on to Buckland, Leith and Hull.The normal rhythms of their days continued apace. The tribunal still occupied Oscar’s mornings, the archives his afternoons, but in the times between they combed through the customs books, carefully copying out every reference to a ship belonging to Wells. It was a painstaking process, poring through hundreds of sheets of haphazardly scrawled records, the parchment weathered and the ink marred by exposure to the water and wind of the far-flung provincial ports from which they were collected.Oscar had watched the ships coming and going upon the river for as long as he could remember, one ever constant piece of the backdrop of the city, but he had never before appreciated the vast scale of that trade and the sheer volume of goods that passed through England’s borders. Nicholas had taken on the London records as his share, arguably the greatest burden, his other projects put aside in favor of unraveling the new mystery.Wells himself made no further appearance, nor did any member of his family, though Oscar felt as though he had come to know the man despite never having exchanged a single word with him, so familiar had he become with the affairs of the merchant’s livelihood. They made no further mention of the other, more personal connection between his family and that, and Wamba’s melancholy seemed to ease as the days passed, even as frustration grew steadily in its place.It was two weeks into the investigation when he laid his quill down and sat back with a heavy sigh. He closed his eyes, two fingers pinched to the bridge of his nose, and grumbled, “Nicholas had the right of it. This is no proper way to keep records.”Oscar looked up from his own hunch over the miserable customs records and squinted at him critically. “Do you need your medicine?”Wamba nodded, eyes still firmly closed. “If you don’t mind.”Oscar stood, relieved for an excuse to liberate himself from the records for even that short errand. He stood and stretched out his back, casting a quick glance to Eral, who had long ago lost interest in the moldering books that had stolen all of their attention. The boy brandished a wooden practice sword, sparring clumsily with the air above the hearth.Oscar shook his head as he went to fetch the jar that he needed from the chest in the bedchamber. He dosed a cup of watered wine with the powder, swirling the cup to melt the fine grains and set it down at Wamba’s elbow, to murmured thanks.“We’ll figure it out,” Oscar assured him.He reached out to take Wamba’s face between his hands and press his thumbs very gently to Wamba’s temples, caressing slow circles into twin patches of delicate skin. Wamba drooped slowly as his pain eased, and his eyes opened again. “It’s been weeks already.”“Then we’re closer than ever.”Wamba’s mouth curved, and he reached up to catch one of Oscar’s hands in his, drawing it down to press a kiss to his palm. “Remarkable. Has fatherhood transformed you into an optimist?”Oscar laughed, drawing back to press the cup into Wamba’s hands instead. “I’ve always believed that you were capable of nearly anything.”“I daresay that in this instance you might be disappointed.” Wamba frowned at the parchment before him, as though the force of his disappointment alone might compel it to divulge its secrets. “There’s something going on here. I just cannot catch the thread of it.”There was a sudden crash from the direction of the hearth, and Wamba winced. Oscar’s eyes snapped over in time to catch Eral’s grimace, the stand that held the fire irons toppled at his feet and the poker and tongs scattered across the flagstones.“You shouldn’t be playing with that inside,” Oscar scolded him, his voice stern but low in deference to Wamba’s aching head.Eral had the decency to look sheepish as he put the wooden sword down to right the frame and gather the irons.“Where did he get that thing in the first place?” Oscar asked Wamba.“A gift, as I understand it, from the incomparable Ralph.”Oscar was about to make comment on that, when the outer door burst open without warning. Nicholas swept into the room, a trio of scrolls tucked under one arm and a folded sheet of parchment clutched in his fist. Eral froze, sword in hand, and watched with wide eyes as Nicholas stormed past him.“It’s gold!”Wamba drained his cup in one long swallow and set the cup aside to push himself to his feet. “What’s gold?”Thomas had joined them now, silently closing the door that Nicholas had left agape. He was dressed simply in a plain shirt and trousers, and Oscar could see a vivid red bruise blooming on his neck. He paused at the hearth and dropped his broad palm atop Eral’s head, ruffling the boy’s hair. Eral grinned up at him.Nicholas, meanwhile, had arrived at the table and brandished his parchment toward Wamba with a flourish. “What Langton is shipping off to the continent. It is gold, and quite shocking amounts of it. Ostensibly, it is sent as tribute to Rome, though my friend the abbot informs me that it is unusual in both its quantity and the timing at which it is dispatched.”Wamba took the letter from his hand, unfolding it to peruse even as he asked, “How so?”Nicholas scooped the scrolls under his arm into his hand and proffered them to Oscar. “The standing tribute agreed upon between the crown and the pope is one thousand marks per year, approximately seven hundred pounds. This is what Langton is entrusted to remit, along with the expected tithe upon the church’s own income in England.”“He has been sending more?”“Much more.” Nicholas reached over the top of parchment to tap at the words on its face. “Nearly two thousand pounds in excess of what could be expected, and all since the beginning of the year. Tribute is usually sent only once per year, following the autumn harvest.”Oscar unfurled Nicholas’s scrolls upon the table, adding London to the collection of cities already spread upon its surface. “There is none of that in the customs records.”“Tribute to Rome is not subject to taxation by the crown,” Nicholas said. “There would be no reason for the port inspectors to report it, nor even question it.”“Even when the timing is so strange?” Oscar asked.“You can hardly expect petty officials to understand the inner workings of the church,” Nicholas said.“Even if they did find cause to question the amount, they would surely hesitate to challenge the church, particularly in those cities where Langton has such a hold.” “So,” Nicholas said. “There is gold going out. Quite a lot of it. The question is, what comes in return?”Oscar looked back and forth between his scrolls and Nicholas’s, quite a bit easier to read than the stained scrawl of the record books themselves. There was something not quite right in the numbers. It itched at the back of his brain, and he tilted his head and squinted at the parchment, trying to force it into focus.“That amount of gold could buy a tidy sum of favor among the houses of the king’s enemies,” Wamba said.“Or sway the allegiance of his allies,” Nicholas added, “but for what purpose?”That was when Oscar saw it. His eyes popped open and he cried, “The crew!”Wamba and Nicholas both turned to look at him. He shuffled two scrolls around to face them, bunching the parchment awkwardly in his excitement. He pointed at one line on each. “Look at the crew. The Constance left Hull on the first of March with a crew of fourteen men. It docked at London two weeks later with twenty-six. Nearly twice as many as on the voyage out.”Nicholas snatched both scrolls up, comparing back and forth as Wamba leaned in to peer over his arm. “Is there any reason why they might have needed more men? Were they transporting livestock? Some particular treasure?”“Wool to France and linen to England,” Nicholas replied.“Nothing that would require more hands, or even a heavy guard,” Oscar noted.“The Trinity, too!” Nicholas crowed, a manic grin beginning on his face. “She returned with eight more men than sailed out on her.”“What was it that Keith told us?” Wamba said. “No cargo can be moved at night, but the crew are free to leave.”“By God, Oscar,” Nicholas said, dropping the scrolls. “You’ve solved it.”“No need to sound quite so surprised about it,” Oscar said with a smirk.The discovery had energized all of them. Six hands shuffled and sorted the blizzard of parchment that had at last surrendered its patterns to them.“So men are their secret cargo,” Nicholas said, “but to what end?”“Could they be trading in slaves?” Oscar asked.Slavery had been outlawed in England for years, but as Oscar had discovered, the secret trade in human flesh still persisted beneath the notice of the crown.“Perhaps,” Wamba said thoughtfully, “but slaves chained or collared would be difficult to pass as crew. Whoever these men are, they must blend in with all of the others. What if…”“Men,” Thomas’s voice rumbled from across the room. “Soldiers.”They all looked to where Thomas knelt beside Eral, guiding him by a wrist and an ankle into the proper stance to wield his wooden sword.“Soldiers.” Nicholas knocked the heel of his palm against his forehead, even as he grinned madly at Thomas. “Of course.”Thomas returned the smile, then pushed the tip of Eral’s sword higher.“Could they be forming an army?” Wamba wondered.Oscar slipped the first scroll from Nicholas’s lax grip and flattened it on the table. He looked down the long column of numbers, quickly tallying them in his head.“An army? Ten men at a time? Is that even possible?”“Why wouldn’t it be?” Wamba asked.“Where would they house them, for one thing? How would they feed them, for another?”“Perhaps they are disguised as pilgrims,” Wamba suggested, “or refugees. The church controls at least half as much land as the crown. In the north, that balance is tipped even further. They could be secreted in any number of remote monasteries, ready to assemble when called.”“For what purpose would they be called?”Wamba settled back into his seat, resting his chin on his hands as he thought. “What is it that the archbishop wants that he has thus far been unable to win?”“He has everything a man could possibly want,” Nicholas said, adding tartly, “including many things that he swore to relinquish when he took his vows.”“Everything but control of the throne.” Wamba’s voiced was hushed now. “The king has repeatedly refused him status as an equal. Status that the See enjoyed while John was king.”Nicholas crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head with a frown. “A coup? How many men could he possibly have gathered?”Oscar looked up. “Four hundred.”Nicholas and Wamba both stared at him. “What?”Oscar shrugged. “More or less.”“How can you know that?” Nicholas demanded.“Wells has eight vessels,” Oscar explained. “All have sailed to the continent and back half a dozen times since the beginning of the year. If they bring on average ten extra men on every voyage…”“Four hundred men,” Wamba echoed softly.Nicholas’s face had paled. “How can such a thing have gone unnoticed?”“Wells was clever,” Wamba said, tracing one finger down a long list of ship names. “He hid it by having the ships sail and dock at different ports on each journey.”“With perhaps a bribe for an officer here or there to the look the other way,” Oscar added.“Whatever the means,” Wamba said, “the result is the same. Four hundred new enemies of the crown upon our shores.”“He cannot hope to take London with four hundred men, can he?” Nicholas said.“Not London.” Thomas approached to stand beside him. “But they are enough to take a single castle. Even one that is well fortified.”“Torquilstone fell to less than five hundred,” Wamba noted.Nicholas considered that. “But what worth could a single castle have to him?”“If chosen wisely, even a single target could cripple the king’s power,” Thomas said.Wamba jolted up in his seat, eyes wide and a gasp in his throat. “The prince.”A shock went through all of them, horrified silence falling in the wake of the revelation. Even Eral was quiet, sensing the weight that had fallen over the library.It was Wamba who found his voice first. “We must speak to the king. At once.”
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Richard had not yet retired for the evening, and by some manner of luck Ivanhoe was already with him. The page who loitered in the corridor outside the royal wing announced them, and they were ushered in to find king and champion lingering over their cups, reclined in their chairs in the private dining chamber.Richard looked them over with a twinkle of humor in his eye. “What a remarkable company to come calling at such an hour.”“Apologies for disturbing your meal, sire,” Wamba said with a bow, “but our inquiry into the dealings of the Merchant Wells have at last borne something of note.”“You undertook this task all together?” Ivanhoe asked, casting a curious glance past Wamba at Thomas. The soldier had taken up a regimented pose beside the door, as though he had no greater purpose than to guard against lurking assassins.“Thomas’s contributions to our efforts have been indispensable.” Wamba smiled at him, then turned back to Ivanhoe. “It is thanks to his insight, in fact, that we believe we have unearthed a pattern of some significance to his majesty.”“An ominous choice of words,” Richard noted, rolling his goblet back and forth between his palms. “What have you found?”“We have reason to believe that there may be an imminent threat against your family, sire,” Wamba said.The last of the rosy humor faded from the king’s expression. “What manner of threat?”As Wamba began to explain, aided frequently by Nicholas, Ivanhoe’s feet dropped from the table and he sat straighter in his chair, his brow drawing down. “You managed to learn all of this from the customs records alone?”“The pattern is in the records,” Wamba said, “but it is Nicholas’s contact at York that provided us one clue that we would not otherwise have had means to discover.”Richard’s thoughtful frown turned upon the archivist. “You believe that this information is true?”“Undoubtedly,” Nicholas said at once. “The abbot and I have had a personal acquaintance since my earliest days with the church. He is a scholar at heart, with precious little interest for the intrigues and plots of the archbishop and his cronies. They treat him as little more than a servant, but he is uniquely situated to observe their comings and goings.”“This timing is truly unparalleled.” The king said. “It is less than a week, in fact, since I received an unexpected missive from an old compatriot of mine. He informs me that there are whispers in France that my brother has begun to rally support against me.”“He hopes to retake the throne?” Wamba asked.“If the rumors are to be believed.”“Why did you not tell me of this sooner?” Ivanhoe demanded.Richard’s raised brow was his only comment on the knight’s presumptions upon his king’s confidences. “There will always be plots against me, Wilfred. You cannot leap at every shadow. You’re too old for it, for one thing.”Ivanhoe’s face pinched a mask of pure exasperation, but Wamba spoke before he could ready a reply. “This compatriot of yours, sire,” he said thoughtfully, “you are certain he can be trusted?”“I am,” Richard said. “He is a longstanding retainer of my mother’s family, and my personal ally. He was indispensable in orchestrating my return to England under a veil of secrecy, in fact.”“Is he your agent in France, then?” Nicholas asked.“That was never our arrangement,” Richard said, “but even if he was not charged to defend my interests, I have no doubt of his true loyalties.”There was a moment of silence, as a long look passed between Richard and Ivanhoe.“Enough talk of that.” Richard said at last, waving a hand between Wamba and Nicholas. “What do these things together tell us?”“That Simon Langton means to see that the English throne will be bought with English coin,” Nicholas said.“Should we assume that his brother Stephen is embroiled in the plot?”“It was Stephen who sent Theobald to sue for mercy on behalf of Andrew Wells,” Wamba said, “so there is some manner of solidarity between them. Whether Stephen is aware of the extent of his brother’s conspiracies is unclear.”“We should err on the side of caution, and assume that any higher official of the church who has not openly declared his loyalty to the crown must be suspect,” Nicholas said, “though I daresay you will be hard pressed to unearth any firm proof of it.”“So Simon sends gold to fill the coffers of my enemies,” Richard said, “whose number is as of yet unknown.”“Why now?” Wamba wondered. “What has changed that Prince John would risk a move upon the throne?”“We are weakened by the poor harvest and long winter,” Richard said, “and doubtless my marriage has been an impetus as well. Until my son was born, John was still the presumed heir. He had no reason to do any more than wait before Henry.”“You would have done well to execute him when you had the chance,” Ivanhoe said darkly.“Yes,” Richard drawled, “more fool I for being unwilling to put my last remaining family to death, traitor though he be.”“Have you any assurance that the allegiance of King Phillip has not been swayed, sire?” Nicholas asked Richard.“We are allied by marriage,” Richard said, “but that does not mean he would not throw his support behind an opponent he believed would take a more favorable stance toward him in negotiations.”“He has recently supplied us with generous aid to see us through the winter,” Wamba said.“True,” Richard conceded, “but you know as well as I that one hand can offer gifts while the other draws a blade.”“Would we not be better served by sending forces to address this threat than exhausting ourselves with idle suppositions?” Ivanhoe asked.“How do you propose to find them?” Richard asked.“You make a fair point, sire,” Wamba said. “Precious little of what we have told you is certain.”“We cannot know where or when this enemy will strike,” Nicholas interjected, “but we can be confident of their existence.”“Which allows us to plan,” Richard agreed. “They could lay in wait for quite some time, perhaps even allowing more to join them, before my brother put his plots into action. Do we have any evidence at all that this force might be preparing to mobilize?”“I think we might,” Oscar spoke up for the first time.The king’s penetrating gaze flew to him at once. “Say more.”Oscar swallowed down the sudden burst of nerves that the king’s sudden attention provoked. “The men have stopped coming,” he explained. “The last few ships returned with only as many crew as they sailed with.”“Promising,” Ivanhoe said, “but how do we know that Wells is the only one performing this service for the archbishop? There may well be others who have done as much or more at Langton’s command.”“You found Wells,” Richard said to Wamba. “Can you find others?”Wamba’s nod was slow but decisive. “I believe we can, sire, now that we know what to look for. At least as far as ferrying forces into England.”Oscar’s spirits wilted at the thought of returning to the repetitive slog through the moldering customs books, but perhaps it would not be quite such a trial now that they had deciphered the patterns.“Bring Wells in as well,” Richard said.“Are you certain that now is the right moment, sire?” Wamba tilted his head. “This is a poor body of evidence to justify detaining him, and it could alert his allies to your awareness of their plot.”“I am aware,” Richard said, “and have no qualms letting them know it. Confront him with what you have learned. See how he behaves.”“Yes, sire,” Wamba said.“In the meantime, Wilfred,” Richard said, “I would be obliged if you would journey north on my behalf.”Ivanhoe’s sudden grin was predatory. “Where shall I start?”“Sheffield,” Richard said. “It was a sensible choice when distance from the fever was of greatest import, but it lacks much in the way of defensibility. I think it is time that my wife and son returned to London.”“Of course, sire,” Ivanhoe said.“Take all the men you need,” Richard told him, “and proceed with caution.”“If I recall correctly, sire, you are the one who charges into battles without a second thought for your own neck.”“This is why I keep trusted men at my back,” Richard said with a satisfied smile, “to ensure that all of my limbs remain properly attached to my person. I trust this arrangement still stands.”He looked around at all of them, and received five solemn nods.“To think,” the king said to Wamba, “we might have known nothing of this but for the folly of one drunken boy.”“Your suspicions about the archbishop’s uncommon investment in the Wells family were well founded, sire.”“Hardly mine alone,” Richard said. “Langton and his lackeys overplayed their hand when they sought to extract an indefensible pardon.”“It seems that Theobald is not quite as clever as the rumors make him out,” Oscar said.“Do not be so certain,” Richard cautioned him. “Something tells me that we have not yet quite grasped the fullness of his designs.”Wamba hummed a thoughtful sound. “Even if we cannot see the tapestry in its entirety, we might still unravel it if we are lucky enough to tug at the right threads.”“Then let that be our aim.” Richard nodded at them. “My thanks to all of you. You may go. Send a scribe in to me on your way out. I must send a message to Sheffield.”“What will you tell them?” Ivanhoe asked as they began to shuffle out.“To be wary of any unexpected visitors,” Richard said, “and to await your arrival.”“You will not accompany us?”“Not I.” Richard said grimly. “I must away to France, to call upon my dear brother.”That was the last Oscar heard, as Thomas closed the door behind them. They stopped there, while Nicholas popped his head into the small antechamber. A moment later, the attendant scribe went scurrying past and Nicholas joined them in the corridor. “You do manage to find the most interesting puzzles to solve,” he said to Wamba with a grin. “I assume you will be requiring my continued assistance? Or merely my assistant?”Oscar rolled his eyes.“You have my thanks for both, Nicholas,” Wamba smiled. “If you might find reason to continue your correspondence with your friend at York, that would be most appreciated.”“Very well, then,” Nicholas brushed his hands together. “I will inform you if any more news is forthcoming from York.”“And I will pay a visit to Merchant Wells,” Wamba said, his smile falling away as quickly as it had appeared. Oscar wondered if the king remembered, or even cared, that his request would put Wamba face to face once more with the family whose contempt had so wounded him.He only just contained his snarl as he asked, “Is he even still in London?”“That is an excellent question,” Wamba said. “Thomas, do you think you might be able to locate him?”“Yes.”Wamba’s eyes swept from him to Nicholas to Oscar. “Then we all know what we must do.”“We do,” Nicholas agreed.“Then I bid you goodnight," Wamba said, and with one final nod they went their separate ways.
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It took Thomas less than a day to find Wells.“He’s taken residence in a house near Newgate,” the soldier reported, standing beside the table where Oscar and Wamba continued their hunt through the customs books.“Did you speak to him?” Wamba asked.“Only his steward,” Thomas replied. “He refused your summons.”“On what grounds?”“He claimed that Merchant Wells was otherwise occupied.”“That is unsurprising,” Wamba said, “though disappointing all the same.”“You can force him to come,” Oscar reminded him. “You have the king’s authority.”“But not enough evidence to actually arrest the man.” Wamba tapped at his lip with one thumb, a distant look on his face.“What are you thinking?”“We sent a soldier to summon him. It is no wonder he would be on his guard.” He looked up at Thomas, offering an apologetic smile. “No offense to you, Thomas.”Thomas acknowledged this with good grace.“Perhaps a lighter touch will do the trick.” Wamba reached across the table for a spare sheet of parchment and Oscar’s quill. “What say we send a formal invitation to speak with us and see how he responds?”Oscar had his doubts, but he kept them to himself, even when a messenger arrived the following evening with a letter of polite but unequivocal refusal.He read it over quickly, and handed it back to Wamba with a snort. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a nicer invitation to go and boil my head.”“Then you simply haven’t spent enough time at court.” Wamba’s smile was small and wry.Oscar shook his head. “So what now?”“Well,” Wamba said, “none can fault our courtesy, but I do have orders. If the eminent Merchant Wells will not come to me, I suppose I shall just have to call upon him.”“Do you really want to risk putting yourself in hostile territory?” Oscar asked, an uneasiness creeping over him as he could not help but recall similar risks taken in the past, and their outcomes.Wamba’s smile softened.“This is not Blackburn,” he said quietly, proving once again his uncanny ability to read Oscar’s thoughts as if they were his own. “London is the king’s city, and I will not go unprepared.”“Alright,” Oscar grudgingly agreed, “but I’m going with you.”“I wouldn’t dream of going without you.”“And we’re taking Thomas.”The following day, they arrived at the lodging occupied by the Wells family with a retinue of half a dozen men strong at their backs. The steward greeted them with the expression of a man confronted with a sudden and unpleasant aroma, but no matter his distaste, he could hardly refuse the king’s own magistrate to his face.They were ushered through the arched gateway and into a small courtyard at the center of the manor. A single tree grew at its heart, and it was surrounded on all sides by the half-timber heights of the house itself. Oscar turned to take it all in, his errand forgotten and something approaching wonder growing as he was enveloped in the airy privacy of the house. He looked up at the small, unblemished patch of open sky above the cozy yard, and knew immediately that this was what he wanted for their own home.His short-lived search had been put aside in favor of the more pressing investigation, but the irresistible charm of the manor house resolved Oscar then and there to rededicate himself to the effort. The only blemish upon it was the presence of the Wells family themselves. He spied one familiar face in particular, scowling down at them from the second story window of the nearest garret room.“What is he doing here?” Andrew Wells sneered, his narrowed gaze fixed squarely upon Wamba.He appeared fully recovered from his imprisonment and subsequent punishment, haughty arrogance in every line of his posture. Oscar returned the scowl, the glow of fascination dissolved and mood darkening as Diana Wells appeared beside her son and clasped his shoulders in her hands.“Come away from there, Andrew,” she said, her eyes hard as they fell upon the visitors.Wamba kept his own face forward, following the steward, but Oscar saw the way he stiffened at the sound of her voice.“You won’t be laughing long!” Andrew called after them. “My father will see to that!”Thomas looked up then, eyes narrowed at the threat. The force of his glower was enough to cow Andrew, who proved himself once again a coward as he finally allowed his mother to pull him away from the window.They were led on into a small but well-appointed receiving hall. The steward tried to stop the soldiers entering, but Thomas shouldered past him without a word, standing close and alert at Wamba’s back even after they were left alone to wait.“Merchant Wells is a man of greater wealth than I expected, to keep such a lodging as this,” Wamba said offhand to Oscar.“Do you like it?” Oscar asked him.Wamba shot him a surprised look, one pale brow lifting and one corner of his lip tilting up as he grasped the thrust of Oscar’s question. “Do you?”Oscar smiled, but his reply was cut short as the door opened and Wells himself came striding into the room. Oscar had not realized, on the one prior occasion they had occupied the same space, how remarkably tall Wells was. He stood nearly of a height with Thomas, though he was not nearly as powerfully built. There was a rangy sharpness to his features and a brisk alertness to his movements that put Oscar in mind of the lean-bodied hounds that stalked at the king’s heels when he rode out on a hunt.Diana appeared behind him, her features pinched with fierce displeasure, and a wooden cast that Oscar read at once as fear. It was remarkable how closely her expressions mirrored Wamba’s, the same tightening of the eyes and set of the jaw telling Oscar all he needed to know of her emotions. She stood behind her husband, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she waited to see whether Wamba would break his promise and reveal their kinship.Wamba did not acknowledge her, all his attention on Wells, who stared down at him unblinking.He offered no greeting. His voice was low and deep, more than a hint of menace in his tone as he said, “You dare to enter my home after what you have done to my son?”Wamba’s hands were tucked into his sleeves, his expression serene. “I would not have had need to darken your door but that you declined my invitation to speak elsewhere.” He paused, then added, “Twice.”“I have no business with you,” Wells growled, “and whatever the root of your strange preoccupation with my family, I have no patience to entertain it.”Wamba took a slow breath, his eyes darting to Diana and back, but he said only, “If you have earned the attention of the royal council, Merchant Wells, you might do well to wonder what of your actions has brought it about.”“There is no mystery to your motives,” was the immediate reply. “My wife has shared with me your underling’s unnatural interest in her. That you entertain such depraved behavior, would attempt to ransom a godly woman’s virtue against the mutilation of her son, speaks to how thoroughly corrupt the officials of the court have become.”Diana stared silent daggers into Wamba, daring him to challenge her version of the truth.He made no rebuttal, noting simply, “You take a dismal view of the king’s judgment.”“When the tribes of men are corrupted by evil, that is when the almighty will send a river of cleansing flame to wash the earth clean again. Only the righteous will be preserved.”Oscar’s brows rose, quite without his consent, but Wamba was unperturbed as he replied, “You see yourself as an agent of that divine plan, I take it? One of the righteous few?”“I am but one among the many servants of God,” Wells intoned, the fervor of belief revealing the whites of his eyes and giving his words a manic edge. “Together we form an army that no earthly power can stand against.”His words alone were treason, thinly veiled, and Thomas shifted subtly at Wamba’s back, but Wamba only tilted his head in a show of curiosity. “Army. An interesting thought. It is just such an army, in fact, about which I have come to inquire.”Some of the fervor faded from Wells’s face, a guarded suspicion creeping in as he said darkly, “I do not take your meaning.”“Then allow me to speak plainly,” Wamba said, and there was a new solidity to his stance, a resolve to the set of his shoulders. “An interesting pattern has come to my attention. You have many vessels at your command. It appears that all that journey to France return to England unusually well manned.”“On what do you base this claim?”“Upon a careful examination of the customs books,” Wamba explained, “which record the comings and goings of all merchant vessels, yours included.”Wells waved a dismissive hand, sweeping the accusation aside. “You look at books and presume to find fault with how I conduct my affairs? What know you of the merchant’s trade? Of how many men are needed to see a vessel and its cargo safely from one shore to the other? My very livelihood depends upon the preservation of this balance. You are little better than a clerk, reading the scratchings of other officials as dull witted as yourself and presuming that they mean any more than that.”“I lack your experience, I agree,” Wamba conceded, “but it takes no particular wit nor skill to grasp that no ship is required to double its complement to cross the same stretch of water it has just traversed, nor that shuffling ships and ports about in a game of thimblerig is meant to conceal this very thing.”Wells stared down at him. “What is it you mean to say?”“My conclusion is this,” Wamba said. “You have been ferrying men into England, and taken pains to disguise their arrival from the notice of the crown’s officials. In such a number and so concealed, the only logical conclusion is that a force is assembled to challenge the king’s authority.”Wells paled, for just an instant, before a flush of fiery rage flooded his cheeks.Wamba continued, “Now, you are a man of evident wealth, but I do not believe you have the means to fund a rebellion, nor the vision. I would know upon whose orders this was done, and what your patron seeks to accomplish by it.”“You would accuse me of treason?” Wells bellowed.“Your own words condemn you more surely than mine,” Wamba said. “A cleansing river of divine fire was your prediction, I believe. A force that not even a king can stand against. I believe you mean to be its agent.”“You brazen cur!” The roar tore from Wells’s throat as his fist rose, swinging toward Wamba’s face.Thomas was between them faster than Oscar could react, his broad hand slamming into Wells’s chest to shove him back and a forbidding glower on his face. Oscar seized Wamba by one arm, prepared to pull him clear of danger.Wells stumbled back, and it was only Diana’s hands that preventing him falling. He stood to his full height, shaking with rage though he made no move to repeat the attack. “Get out,” he spat instead. “Do not dare to show your face here again. There is no resisting the events that divine wisdom have set in motion. You will have what you deserve soon enough.”Wamba extracted his arm from Oscar’s grasp and bowed, unruffled. “As you wish. Good day to you, Merchant Wells.”Thomas was watchful as they made their way back to the gate, but Wells did not pursue them. They were seen from the manor by the silent guards, the gate barred at their backs. It was only once they were out in the street that Wamba paused and cast a thoughtful glance back at the manor.“That was illuminating.”“He’s a zealot,” Oscar said sourly.“Indeed,” Wamba said. “I had not considered the possibility that he acted on the archbishop’s orders for any reason other than greed, but it appears he does truly believe in the cause.”“That was hardly your usual degree of subtlety,” Oscar observed. “You provoked him on purpose, didn’t you?”Wamba’s smirked. “His majesty did charge me to see what he would do if confronted.”“So you confronted him,” Oscar said. “What now?”“Now we wait,” Wamba said. “Thomas, please have a watch set on the house. Discreetly.”Thomas nodded.“What do you think he’ll do?” Oscar asked.“With luck, he’ll feel compelled to send word to his conspirators that their plot is exposed.”“If our suppositions are even correct,” Oscar noted. “He didn’t exactly confirm it.”“He did,” Wamba said. “If I had said anything remotely incorrect, he would have called it out. A man like that would not have been able to help himself.”They returned to the castle, and Oscar resolved himself to a long and tedious wait, but it was less than two hours before Thomas was knocking at the library door.“You have news?” Wamba asked.“Two messengers,” Thomas said. “One riding north.”“And the other?” Oscar demanded, impatient.“To the abbey.”The fierce satisfaction of the revelation set Oscar’s blood racing, but Wamba looked away.“We should speak to the king,” he said, “and advise him to delay his journey to France.”“Ivanhoe is already gone,” Oscar reminded him.“Which is a lucky thing for us,” Wamba said, “for if they were not already, they will be moving soon.”
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Messengers were sent in pursuit of Ivanhoe, and then there was nothing to do but wait.Wamba occupied himself in his spare hours working steadily through the remainder of the customs books, as the king had requested, but that took only a few more days, and nothing promising came of it. It seemed, at least as far as they could tell, that Wells was the sole conspirator among the ranks of the merchants. Oscar set aside the records that held the most damning evidence against Wells, and saw that the rest were returned safely to the exchequer.With nothing left to occupy him, Wamba grew more anxious and drawn with each day that went by without news. His agitation was subtle, and he was oddly hesitant to explain it. He performed his duties without fail, and kept his habit of sharing stories with Eral each evening, but he slept poorly, and Oscar was woken on more than one occasion by his restless shifting in the night.“What is it?” he grumbled, voice harsh with sleep, when the edge of a sharp heel jolted him from sleep for the third night in a row. “What are you fretting over?”Wamba instantly stilled, his body falling limp beneath the drape of Oscar’s arm. “It’s nothing,” his soft rasp echoed in the dark chamber. “I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.”Oscar had a vague thought that he should say something more, but the notion was quickly swallowed up by the accumulated weariness of days that rose up to claim him. It was only when he woke to an empty bed some hours later that he began to regret his impatient words. He sat up, rubbing at his roughened jaw with one rueful hand, and looked around for any sign of Wamba in the sallow light of early dawn that filtered through the leaded glass windows. There was none in the bedchamber, nor in the library when Oscar eased open the door and poked his head into the room, only Eral sprawled undisturbed in his cot, snoring softly beside the dark hearth.Oscar turned to go in search of proper clothing, and caught sight of the drawbar on the door that led from the bedchamber out into the corridor. It had been slid out from its arms, and laid to rest against the wall. Oscar muttered a curse as he snatched his tunic over his head and stepped into his boots, tugging them even up as he stepped out into the corridor. It was only then, looking left and right, that he stopped to consider where he should look first. The castle was large, but unless Wamba had chosen to wander the tower aimlessly, there were only so many places that he might seek refuge.Ivanhoe’s chamber was Oscar’s first notion. It was only two short flights of stairs from theirs, but proved just as disappointingly empty. The small garden adjoining the kitchen was next, where Wamba would occasionally take Eral when the boy grew too restless in the library to concentrate on his lessons. It was deserted but for one apathetic orange mouser who flicked her tail at him. Quickly losing heart, he passed by the great hall, where a pair of scullions with arms overburdened with dishes blinked owlishly at him, and finally decided to try the garrison.He did not make it that far. He rounded the heavy main door of the keep and swung out into the yard, only to nearly collide with Farren coming the opposite way. Oscar reeled back just in time, catching himself on the doorframe.“Farren,” he gasped. “Have you seen…?”Farren turned his head and, without a word, nodded up toward the top of the gate. Oscar followed his glance, squinting up in the direction of the battlements, and was just able to make out a lone form framed by the glowing corona of the dawn.Relief washed over Oscar, draining his strength for a moment before it was a restored by a rush of pure vexation, his frustration with Wamba’s reticence and his own powerlessness getting the better of him. “What’s he doing up there?”His words were sharper than he intended, and Farren leveled a stare at him that was a steely reminder of why it was always best to tread carefully about the guard captain where Wamba was concerned.“He is keeping watch,” Farren said, his voice a forbidding rumble to match the glare.“Why?” Oscar asked, careful to modulate his tone. “There’s been no news for weeks.”“That is why.”Oscar took a deep breath, then released it in a sigh. “I don’t understand. I know he’s worried about Ivanhoe, but he’s never been like this about it before.”Farren crossed his arms over his massive chest and turned to face back to the gate, his eyes on Wamba in the distance. “Lord Wilfred has not fought a true battle since the war to reclaim the throne.”“He goes about fighting Scots and bandits all the time,” Oscar pointed out.“Skirmishes,” Farren said, “and even those are fewer of late.”“He has more than enough men with him. Why would a soldier be any more likely to land a lucky shot than a bandit?”“It is not that he is more likely to die,” Farren said, “but that if he does it will have been Wamba who put him there.”Oscar gaped at him, closed his mouth, opened it again, and finally burst out, “You mean he would think it was his fault?”Farren’s nod was slow and thoughtful. “Lord Athelstane died in a battle he might never have fought but that Wamba put him there, and he has never forgiven himself for it.”“Even if every person who knows him, even Athelstane’s own mother, tells him he should,” Oscar noted.“He watched Lord Cedric die,” Farren continued, “which was not his doing, not as Athelstane was, but he saw Rotherwood mourn. He knows what it means for such a people to lose a beloved lord. Imagine if Rotherwood lost hers in a battle fought by his doing.”“He would never be able to face to them again,” Oscar breathed, the words forming along with understanding, and the crushing shame of once again needing someone else to point out the obvious about his own lover. It was not only a friend and brother that Wamba feared he might lose, but all the family he had left, so soon after he had sacrificed the rest in their favor.“No, he wouldn’t,” Farren agreed.“But it’s not his fault,” Oscar protested, his heart leaden with regret over his woeful impatience. “He didn’t devise the plot or hire the soldiers.”“I know,” Farren said. The rest of the heavy truth was unspoken, that Wamba would take the blame upon himself whether he deserved it or not.“Alright.” Oscar took another calming breath. “Alright.”He set off across the yard toward the stairs that would take him to the top of the battlements, intent upon rectifying his mistake and treating Wamba’s worry with the sympathy it deserved. He approached Wamba slowly where he stood between two of the smooth crenellations of the parapet. His hands were tucked into his sleeves and his eyes distant as he gazed out over the slowly waking city.“Nothing yet?” Oscar asked him.Wamba cast him a hesitant glance, already a remorseful tilt to his brows, but Oscar cut off the burgeoning apology.“You’re worried about Ivanhoe.”“I am,” Wamba admitted at last.“He’ll be fine,” Oscar said gently. “He’s seen more battles than you’ve seen winters, against more terrible enemies than a few hired soldiers. He survived all of them.”“We know nothing of the men he fights but what we have guessed,” Wamba said, his hands beginning to pinch and pluck at the edges of his sleeves.Oscar almost argued that point, but kept his mouth closed instead, choosing to listen as Wamba shared his troubled thoughts for the first time.“He is not as young as he once was, and I suspect that he might not know it. Age does not always bring caution to those whose reputations are as celebrated as his.”“He would never allow himself to die in a place like Sheffield,” Oscar said, forcing lightness into his voice. “I promise you he’ll be back, if for no other reason than to aggravate me.”That won him a huff of a laugh. “No doubt he takes that obligation seriously.”“This isn’t your fault, you know,” Oscar said, as calmly as he could manage. “You only uncovered the plot.”“Yet somehow it seems I am at the crux of all of it. If any harm comes to him, it will be my family that is the cause of it. Brothers of my blood who would take the closes thing to a true brother I have known.”“If any family is to blame, it is the king’s,” Oscar said. “He and his brother have been battling for decades over a chair, and not a particularly comfortable looking one at that.”Wamba humored him with a small smile, quickly faded. “This is about more than the throne. The man who sits upon it decides the fates of the people of all England.”He did not say it, but Oscar knew that Wamba had suffered more than most in that old world, sacrificed more than most for the sake of the new. “Life was different when John was king, wasn’t it?”“In so many ways,” Wamba agreed. “I know you are too young to remember most of them.”“I remember enough,” Oscar said. “I remember that in desperate times, hungry times, there was precious little help to be had from the crown. In the end that’s what we fight for, isn’t it? A better life for those who cannot fight for themselves?”Wamba’s face softened, his eyes warm on Oscar in a way that made Oscar wish they were not posed atop the battlements for all of London to see. “Even if our victories are few,” he said, “I think it is worth the fight.”In the next moment, the smile fell from his face, and his head turned sharply to stare out beyond the wall.“What’s that?”Oscar cocked his head, but heard nothing at first, until a distant clatter wormed its way into his ears, and his eyes caught a flicker between the dark silhouettes of the buildings. It was a torch, growing brighter, approaching fast through the barren dawn streets.He leaned down over the parapet beside Wamba, tracking its progress until a horse broke suddenly from between the nearest houses. It rode at a canter, its stride heavy with exhaustion and an equally weary rider bent lower over its neck.Wamba’s hand closed painfully tight on Oscar’s arm. “That’s one of Wilfred’s men.”“How can you tell?”“The colors,” Wamba said. “He wears Rotherwood’s colors.”The figure was little more than a blur of black and gray in the early morning light, but Oscar had no time to share his doubts. Wamba was already hurrying down the steps, and Oscar shoved himself back from the wall with both hands to follow.By the time he reached the portcullis, the rider had arrived and Wamba stood beside him. He was a young man, little more than a rangy boy, and Oscar could see now that he did indeed wear the familiar white and green of Rotherwood, the device of the Greenwood on his tabard.He was breathing as hard as his shuddering mount, on his feet only by the grace of the hands of the guardsmen.“I have a message for the king,” he wheezed out, “from Lord Ivanhoe.”“I’ll take it,” Wamba said, extending one impatient hand.A flicker of confusion crossed the boy’s face, followed quickly by recognition as he looked at Wamba. He groped about in his satchel and emerged with a single slim scroll. He handed it to Wamba, who clutched it tight in a white knuckled fist.“What happened?” Oscar demanded, unable to wait until they could reach the king to learn what Ivanhoe had written.“French soldiers,” the boy said. “Nearly three hundred of them.”“Defeated?”“Soundly.” The boy’s grin was unsteady but fierce. “We routed them twenty miles east of Sheffield. Lord Ivanhoe knew exactly where they would be camped. They didn’t even have a chance to reach their mounts.”“Did they not set scouts?” Wamba asked.“The must not have been expecting an attack. We practically caught them sleeping.”“And Lord Wilfred,” Wamba said, voice unsteady as though it were he who had ridden day and night to reach the tower, “he is unharmed?”“Unharmed and in excellent spirits, when I saw him last. He makes his way to Rotherwood with the queen and prince, then returns to London.”The fear wound tight in Wamba finally released, and he breathed a sigh. “That is welcome news.”Richard agreed, when they interrupted his breakfast to share the news a short while later.“Three hundred,” he said, reading over the scroll. “Fewer than your estimation.”Wamba was slumped in one of the chairs at the king’s table, much less decorous than Oscar had come to expect of him, but it seemed he had not quite yet recovered from the prostrating effect of his relief. “Or their mobilization was as hasty as ours,” he offered, “and they were unable to muster their full force in time, and we have several score more to worry about.”“They had enough to do what they meant,” Richard said, “but after a defeat such as this, I doubt they will venture another foray any time soon.”“They could not have predicted that Wilfred would know the terrain as he does,” Wamba said, his eyes warm with his affection for Ivanhoe.“Nor that you would be able to piece together the plot from so little information,” Richard observed.“Hardly I alone, sire,” Wamba said, a flush stealing into his cheeks.A thoughtful hum was Richard’s only reply, and his smile was satisfied. “So the coup is foiled, and what remains is only to deal with the traitors.”“Wilfred’s prisoners confessed to making passage on a ship owned by Wells,” Wamba said, “but he did not command it.”“It was his ship,” Richard said, “and the responsibility for it is also his.”A knock on the door interrupted Wamba’s reply.“Come,” the king called.”The door opened, and Thomas appeared. “Beg pardon, sire.”“I know we’re late, Thomas,” Wamba said. “We’ll be down shortly.”Thomas shook his head. “It’s not that. I have a message.”“I trust the news is urgent,” Richard said, “for you to bring it directly here?”“The man I set to watch Wells has just returned. He is preparing to leave London.”Wamba sat straight in his chair, his hands clasped on the polished arms. “You know that for certain?”“We intercepted a message he sent north,” Thomas explained.“Which read?”Thomas pulled a folded square of parchment from the pouch on his belt. Oscar took it from him and handed it to Wamba.Wamba unfolded it, clumsy in his haste, and read it over with darting eyes.“Well?” Richard asked.“It is to his eldest son Robert. Wells bids him prepare for his family’s arrival, and cease all trade until his father’s return.”“So the son is as guilty as his father,” Richard said, “and both their lives are forfeit.”Wamba laid the note down upon the table, his throat moving in a heavy swallow. “We have not yet heard what Wilfred’s prisoners have to say. The lad might know nothing of his father’s plot.”“Then we will ask,” Richard said, “but I am satisfied with the evidence. We will take Wells now.”“Without a witness to speak to the plot, we still have only the customs records upon which to base our suspicions,” Wamba said.“Customs records, Wilfred’s testimony, and that note,” Richard corrected him. “Would you rather let him leave London and attempt to retrieve him afterward? Give him time to muster whatever resources are available to him and risk yet another battle?”“No, sire,” Wamba conceded. “You are correct, of course.”“Glad that you can admit it once in a while,” Richard smirked at him.“Thomas,” Wamba said, “please have Merchant Wells detained. We will question him here.”Thomas nodded, taking his leave quietly. Oscar looked at Wamba, who looked to the king, though he already knew what it meant. There would be no further reprieve. It was time to learn what fate awaited Wamba’s traitorous family.
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Ivanhoe returned triumphant three weeks later.They had no warning, but walked back from the tribunal to find the castle yard bustling with an array of servants and the steward barking commands at them from the door of the keep. Farren was at the gate to meet them, a quick nod passed between him and Thomas.“Wilfred?” Wamba asked him, light with sudden eagerness.Farren nodded. “We received word an hour ago that he had entered the city.”“He’s taking his time about getting here, then,” Oscar noted. An hour was enough time to make the journey from the walls to the tower twice over.“He is not alone,” Farren said. He had no time to explain further, as a shout went up atop the gate and the captain moved off in the direction of the portcullis.It began to creak into motion, the steward’s harried shouting reaching a crescendo, before a clatter of hooves heralded Ivanhoe’s arrival. The knight appeared in a flash of gleaming white cloth and steel, blinding in the summer sun, as behind him an equally impressive company began to filter into the yardOscar recognized the first string of carriages as those belonging to the queen. The pale faces of her maids and ladies could be spied peeking from the narrow windows, surrounded by the guard which had accompanied her departure. Behind them followed a much more somber company of men on foot, all in the same red and blue colors and chained at the wrists. These must be the French prisoners, quickly herded away from the royal train by guards who drove them off toward the training yard. The queen’s carriage came to a stop just before the stables, and Ivanhoe swung down from his charger to open the door and offer his hand to Agnes. She took it, though from the glance Oscar was able to steal, she looked as though it repulsed her to do so. She had the bearing more of a hostage returned to her cage than a woman rescued from mortal danger. She alighted stiffly on the dusty earth of the yard, face expressionless as her eyes scanned the gathered faces.If it was the king she sought, she was quickly disappointed, for he had not chosen to come out to meet her, but there were many others to take his place. Her carriage and those that followed were quickly swarmed over by servants eager to usher her with all speed into the embrace of her usual comforts. Oscar assumed that the young prince must be among that company as well, but he could no longer see through the throng to be sure.Then his attention was caught instead by Ivanhoe, who approached them where they stood to one side with a wide grin upon his face. He went first to Wamba, who happily allowed himself to be drawn into an embrace.“Wilfred,” he said warmly as he was released. “You look well.”“I feel it!” Ivanhoe declared. “A good victory was just what I needed.”“From what your messenger told us, they did not put up much of a fight.”“They should never have let down their guard in hostile territory,” Ivanhoe said with a shrug. “It was almost too easy.”“So I see, from the number you were able to capture.” Wamba looked over the long procession of prisoners, nearly a hundred by Oscar’s quick estimation.“See what bountiful gifts I bring you?” Ivanhoe teased him.Wamba echoed his laugh, his earnest joy at Ivanhoe’s safe return nearly enough to melt even Oscar’s immediate irritation. “Your generosity is truly without measure, my lord.”“Now, now,” Ivanhoe said, narrowing his eyes in mock censure, “none of that, or I might not give you the rest.”“What more could there possibly be?”Ivanhoe slung an arm about his shoulders and drew him toward a second set of carriages, which had just cleared the portcullis. Oscar followed as they rounded the back of the first, just in time to see the door open and a slim young woman jump down, skirts swinging and a wide smile on her face.Though it seemed hardly possible, Wamba lit even more brightly at the sight of her. “Anna!”She laughed, light and clear like a bell, and leapt into his arms. Her long chestnut braid flew as she hugged him tightly about the neck, and Oscar recalled Ivanhoe’s promise to bring her to London, though he had not expected to see her quite so soon.“Now you can keep a proper house,” the knight said.Anna was smiling at Wamba, who seemed dangerously close to tears with the overwhelming joy of so much affection poured upon him all at once, but Ivanhoe smirked like he had a secret and tugged Wamba away from Anna and over to the door of the carriage.“And one more thing no respectable royal official should be without.”He pulled off his gauntlet and reached into the carriage to extract a squirming bundle of gray fluff. He deposited it without explanation in Wamba’s arms. Wamba juggled the sudden burden awkwardly for a moment before it righted itself, then stood stunned with a disheveled hound pup sprawled gracelessly over his arms. It stared up at him with adoring golden eyes and lolling tongue aflutter.Wamba stared back at it, falling helplessly in love even as they watched, and breathed, “Oh, Wilfred.”Ivanhoe clapped him on the shoulder, his grin so wide it threatened to split his face in two. “I thought you might like him.”Anna was bouncing with excitement, her hands clapping before her. “What will you call him?”“Fangs,” Wamba said dreamily. “His name is Fangs.”Ivanhoe’s booming laugh ricocheted about the yard, making Oscar wince, as he declared, “A good and noble name.”Fangs seemed to agree. He squirmed about Wamba’s arms and craned his head up to lap at Wamba’s face, showering him in guileless affection.Oscar warily observed the size of the pup’s paws. “He’s going to be enormous.”“He is,” Wamba agreed, clearly delighted by the prospect. He finally broke free of the spell Fangs had cast upon him to look at Oscar. “Do you think Eral will like him?”His smile was irresistibly sweet, and Oscar melted in spite of himself, unable to resist how charming he looked with the eager pup cradled in his arms. “I think he’ll be ecstatic.”Wamba bent to let Fangs down gently on the ground, where he gamboled about on his gawkish legs. He pranced and bowed, enticing them to play. Wamba smiled and bent to rub him gently behind the ears. The pup immediately flopped over onto his back, batting playfully at Wamba’s hand with his forepaws.“Now you have everything you need for your new home,” Ivanhoe said.“All but the home itself.” Wamba stood straight, meeting Ivanhoe’s eyes though his own were somewhat misty still. “Thank you, Wilfred.”“Say no more of it,” Ivanhoe waved off the solemnity of the words. “What will you do with the rest of your gifts?”Wamba turned to look at the prisoners, who were seated now in a long line against the wall of the practice yard under watchful guard. “We must learn what they know of the plot.”“Wells is in custody?” Ivanhoe asked.“He is,” Wamba said, “and his son in York has also been detained.”“What does he have to say for himself?”“I have not spoken to him,” Wamba admitted. It was a decision Oscar had wondered at but chosen not to question, after his rather stark reminder that his grasp upon the workings of Wamba’s mind was far from perfect. “I thought it best to hear what your prisoners have to say first. It will be easier to counter his lies if we have testimony with which to confront him.”“The common soldiers know little if anything about why they are here,” Ivanhoe said, “but we captured their commander. I’ve had him locked in one of the carriages to prevent him instructing the rest what to say.”He pointed to the last carriage in the train, one that was indeed endowed with an especially heavy guard.“What does he say of the plot?”“That remains to be seen.”“You did not question him?”Ivanhoe shook his head. “He speaks no English, or pretends not to, and my French is only just passable for asking the way to the tavern.”“We will need someone who can speak to him.”“Someone you can trust,” Ivanhoe agreed, “and if possible one who is close enough to this already that we will not be creating more mouths to spread rumors.”“Is that why you didn’t ask one of the queen’s attendants?” Wamba asked curiously.“That, and the fact that a handmaiden makes for a rather poor interrogator.”“You might be surprised at the effectiveness of their methods when there is something they wish to know,” Wamba said with a small smile, “but in this case I agree with your caution.”“So who can you ask?”Wamba turned to Oscar, and lifted one brow.Oscar sighed. “Fine. I’ll go and get him.”Nicholas was as smug as Oscar had expected as Oscar led him down into the cells. “I hear you have need of me yet again.”Wamba offered him a small if somewhat sardonic bow. “Your kind assistance in this matter would be most appreciated. There is really no other man for the job.”Nicholas’s smile grew wider at that, and he preened in what Oscar suspected was a largely unconscious gesture. “Where is this man you would have me question?”“This way.” Wamba led them back to the farthest cell, where Ivanhoe and Thomas had bound their prisoner to one of the wooden chairs from the table in the entryway. He was a man of middle years, with a distinct paunch and a moustache that must have been very diligently tended before his capture. Now, it hung limp below sallow cheeks.Nicholas stopped in front of him and crossed his arms over his chest. He said something, perhaps a greeting. The prisoner’s lip curled as he looked Nicholas over with a critical eye, and he spat something that was clearly an insult.Nicholas’s eyes widened for one instant before they narrowed, and he made a rejoinder in a tone that was well familiar to Oscar, and no less scathing for being delivered in a foreign tongue.The soldier scoffed but looked away, a clear concession. Nicholas smirked, dark and satisfied.“What was that?” Oscar asked.“He merely expressed his doubts as to my credentials as an interrogator. I corrected his assumption.”There was undoubtedly more to it than that, but Oscar kept quiet as Thomas came to stand at Nicholas’s back, alert and watchful.“What would you have me ask him?” Nicholas looked from Ivanhoe to Wamba.“Perhaps we can begin with how he and his men came to be in Sheffield,” Wamba said.Nicholas asked, and the prisoner replied with a long string of nasal words punctuated by sharp shrugs of his shoulders that might have been deflection, or an attempt to free himself from his bonds.“He claims that they were accompanying a merchant ship to Constantinople when they were blown off course and ran aground,” Nicholas reported.“They chose a curious route if Constantinople was their aim,” Wamba said.“Not to mention that Sheffield is nearly a week’s march from the coast for an army of that size,” Ivanhoe agreed.Nicholas was already speaking, translating their words effortlessly as they expressed their doubts.The prisoner sniffed, a contemptuous little gesture that made Oscar instinctively bristle, and he said something else.“He insists that his version of events is true,” Nicholas said, “and claims that he and his men approached Sheffield seeking assistance, as it was the first stronghold of any size they had come across since their stranding.”“His men have already told Wilfred that they arrived on English merchant ships disguised as sailors,” Wamba said.“And all had English gold in their pockets,” Ivanhoe added.“They did?” Wamba shot him a startled glance.“They did. When I sent my last report, we had not yet discovered it.” Ivanhoe looked to Nicholas. “Can he explain this?”Nicholas launched into a furious back and forth with the prisoner in French. It carried on for much longer this time, punctuated by a series of exaggerated gestures and facial contortions that conveyed their attitudes well enough, if not their meaning.“Well?” Ivanhoe asked, when at last there was a pause.“He admits that they were ferried by Wells,” Nicholas said, “but will not say why.”“Who is their lord?” Wamba asked.Nicholas exchanged a few more words with the prisoner.“He says that they are mercenaries. Sellswords with no lord to speak of.”“Do you believe him?” Ivanhoe asked Nicholas.“Someone provided them their equipment,” Nicholas said, “and I doubt even a wealthy merchant would be able to procure armor and weapons in such ample supply without the backing of at least one member of the nobility.”“Is it possible he does not know,” Wamba said. “These conspirators are clever, and they may have hired their forces through indirect means.”Ivanhoe rubbed a thoughtful hand over his chin, then asked, “Can you press him?”“As you wish,” Nicholas nodded. He said something that made the prisoner startle in his chair. The response was long and vociferous, ending with an exclamation of such ferocity that the legs of his chair shrieked across the floor and Thomas took a step forward.Nicholas stood for a moment, a little moue of distaste on his face, before he turned his back on the prisoner, dismissing him with a contemptuous little wave of his hand. “I do not think you will learn anything more from him, unless you are prepared to employ more forceful means than words.”Ivanhoe looked to Wamba. “What say you?”Wamba thought this over, regarding the prisoner slowly, then decided, “I say we must confront Theobald with what we already have, and hope that it is enough.”“On that count,” Nicholas said, “I was meaning to speak with you. I received another letter from my friend in the north just yesterday.”“What news?” Wamba asked.“He shared that a rider arrived recently, and the message he brought has them quite astir. They have been instructed to cease all trade with the continent, sending or receiving, and to speak to no one outside the order.”“Is that not proof enough?” Oscar crowed. “Why would they close themselves off unless they had something to hide?”“Enough for you and me,” Wamba agreed, “but hardly a confession.”“In that case,” Oscar said, “I suggest we go and extract one.”“Where will you start?” Ivanhoe asked.“Theobald,” Wamba said. “We will start with Theobald.”
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Over Ivanhoe’s objections, Wamba decided to go and speak to Theobald alone. Alone, that was, except for Oscar, who was more tenacious than even Ivanhoe when it came to Wamba’s safety. He also, despite what Ivanhoe might think, knew how to keep his mouth closed when it best served him to do so, and his presence was hardly worthy of remark, compared to the king’s own champion.Thomas accompanied them as far as the abbey, but waited at the gate with the horses while they were admitted into the closeness of solemn stone corridors. Their guide was a black cloaked brother of the order, but perhaps it was his sharpened sense of threat that caused Oscar to note for the first time the presence of the church’s soldiers, who donned a livery distinct from the crown’s and were no less regimented in their stance than the royal guard.“Are you certain you don’t want to go back for Thomas?” Oscar asked, uneasy under the eyes that followed them as they passed.“It would hardly do to give the appearance that we perceive ourselves under threat,” Wamba said, seemingly untroubled by the bald scrutiny. “We have come only for a simple conversation, after all.”“And to accuse a member of the archbishop’s inner circle of plotting to overthrow the king,” Oscar hissed, leaning in close to Wamba’s ear. “What if he decides that it’s in his best interest that we never see the outside of these walls again?”“Then Wilfred will have all the cause he needs for a closer examination of Brother Theobald’s affairs.”“You’ll forgive me if I’m not so keen on dying for his benefit,” Oscar scowled. Wamba shot him a sidelong smile, huffing out a soft laugh, though his face returned to its neutral mask as their guide stopped before a simple wooden door.Despite his apprehensions, Oscar had hardly expected to be shown straight to the dungeon, but they appeared to be deep within the bowels of the abbey now, with nary a window to be seen along the long corridor. The chamber where Theobald waited was similarly stifling, small and windowless, with a roaring fire in the grate despite the warmth of the weather outside. Oscar immediately began to sweat in the heat, and wondered if this was a deliberate tactic to throw them off balance, or simple deference to Theobald’s origins in warmer climes.“Please, sit.” He enjoined them, appearing perfectly at ease in the overwarm chamber. “Will you take wine?”Wamba was equally unperturbed, and returned Theobald’s florid bow with a more modest one of his own. “No, thank you.”He took the offered seat, but Oscar did not follow, standing back against the wall instead, where he could keep something of a distance between himself and the oppressive heat of the flames. It was a good vantage from which to observe the room, which itself was austerely appointed, with a hewn cross set into the far wall and a prayer bench before it. The furnishings were of plain wood and dark iron, though there were hints of a taste for finer luxuries on display as well. The sideboard held a pair of delicate bottles of ruby wine, and curving goblets of elegantly spun glass pigmented in patterns of blue and gold.Theobald himself was a similarly curious mix, the humility of his simple black robe belied by the ornate arrangement of his whiskers and the elaborate bow he offered them as they entered. Yet despite being so at odds with one another, both seemed somehow to suit him, such that Oscar could not decide which was the veneer and which the truth of the man. The table where he worked was strewn with papers, which reminded Oscar of Nicholas for a moment before he realized the difference.Where Nicholas hoarded ancient tomes and crumbling manuscripts, there was nothing to hint that Theobald was a man with any appreciation for scholarly works. His table was occupied instead by vast reams of parchment, scraps and scrolls of all sizes and descriptions, and the tools to produce such. He clearly spent an unusual amount of time in correspondence, and Oscar recalled the king’s words about him, wondering how many secrets might lurk within the folds of those letters.“To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of your company?” Theobald inquired in his heavily accented English, though his eyes were as flat and unfriendly as they had been that day in the king’s audience chamber.“It occurred to me that we had not spoken since you first came to call,” Wamba said, “and I fear our meeting was rather fraught over our minor difference of opinion.”A piercing laugh in his ear startled Oscar. He leapt away from the wall, spinning to face the source of the raucous noise. It took his eyes a moment to make sense of what they saw, a stain of darker black amid the gathered shadows in the corner, shifting in a ruffle of inky feathers. The bird was large, easily the size of a fox. It fixed him with an unnervingly assessing stare, no songbird charm in its unblinking orange eye.“Pay no mind to little Saya,” Theobald said, his flat eyes on Oscar reminiscent of the bird’s, and the hint of a smirk lifting the corner of his moustache. “He has never had a gift for delicate conversation.”Oscar stepped carefully back toward the door, giving the bird a wide berth where he shifted from foot to yellow foot upon his perch, talons flexing and gaze never leaving Oscar. The bird opened its amber beak wide and let forth another otherworldly laugh.“An unusual creature,” Wamba remarked.“And rare,” Theobald agreed, eyes returning to Wamba, “but not what you came here to discuss, I think.”“Indeed not,” Wamba agreed. “I thought we might seek to settle our differences on the matter of Andrew Wells. A matter no doubt resolved unsatisfactorily, to your mind.”“Ah, yes!” Theobald’s palm struck his own knee, as though the memory had only just returned to him. “It is good that you have come. I wished to speak to you about Wells. The father, not the son. It seems you had the right of things from the start.”“Is that so?” Wamba asked, betraying no surprise at this abrupt shift.Theobald’s expression twisted to one of exaggerated regret, giving him the appearance of a mummer’s mask. “Such sadness it caused me, to learn of his terrible deceptions. His Holiness in Rome sent his personal courier to inform us that the tribute entrusted to Merchant Wells had not reached its destination.”“A troubling development,” Wamba agreed.Theobald nodded, his hands weaving shapes through the air as he spun his tale. “I have investigated this matter on behalf of His Excellency, and discovered that it was none other than Wells, in whom we had such trust as to place the responsibility to deliver England’s due to our most holy father, has instead fallen prey to foul temptation and used those riches for his own ends. Can you believe such a thing?”Oscar only just stopped his mouth falling open, as he listened to Theobald effortlessly explain away his guilt, and that of the church, before any accusation had even been leveled.“It does rather beggar belief,” Wamba said, his voice perfectly even.“Our most noble archbishop is desperately sick over it. That one he took under his wing, whose family he has provided personal guidance and counsel, would so gravely betray the trust placed in him. It is a blow straight to his heart.”“It is in his grief, no doubt, that he has ordered that all trade with laymen cease in York?” Wamba asked.Oscar was surprised to hear him choose to reveal that knowledge, but it was worth it to watch Theobald’s mask fall, just for a moment. His lip curled and his eyes narrowed in a flash of rage, before the bland smile returned.“You are remarkably well informed,” he said, a hint of venom in the words. A bead of sweat itched down the side of Oscar’s neck, and he hoped that they had not just inspired a witch hunt. “This incident has given us cause to reexamine the faithful with whom we conduct holy business. We act ever in the service of God and Rome, and those such as Wells would make play of our faith to create advantage of their own.”“Quite a trust it was indeed,” Wamba remarked. “Nearly twice the normal tribute, from what I understand. Tell me, what is it that gives Rome need for such excess?”Theobald waved a hand, easily dismissing this concern. “His Holiness seeks to restore the coffers depleted by the campaigns in the Holy Land.”“To my knowledge, it is nearly fifteen years since the last crusade ended. Does Rome prepare for a fourth?”“The church must stand ever vigilant against the threat of the barbarians that wait upon our very doorstep, ready to march in the name of God wherever it is called to do so, in lands near or far.”“It is the near that are of greatest concern to me.”Theobald paused, regarding Wamba silently for a moment. Then he sat back in his chair and smiled, slow and cold. “So we come at last to the question that you mean to ask.”“We do.”“Ask it then,” Theobald said, “and it will be answered.”“You are a man of great intelligence, Brother Theobald,” Wamba said. “I would not insult you by pretending otherwise. I would hope that you would offer me the same courtesy.”“Of course,” Theobald said, with an abbreviated bow, though his stare never wavered.“Then I will not ask, but tell you what I know,” Wamba said.Theobald gestured for him to continue, his eyes sharp.“I know that His Excellency Stephen Langton desires to establish himself as a power equal or greater to the throne. This has been his aim since long before he came to London. He has secured his power in the north, and installed his brother Simon to the See of York to ensure that his interests there are well defended. He believed that his ascension to the seat of archbishop here would secure his power, but King Richard has proven less malleable than his predecessor.”His voice was measured as he spoke.“So His Excellency devised a plot to replace King Richard with a king of his choosing. To do this without a full scale war, he would need to remove not only the king, but his young son as well. Merchant Wells was chosen for his loyalty, and also for the ease with which his belief could be bent against a ruler he had never met. He was charged to bring forces borrowed from allies in France to English shores.”Oscar could not see Wamba’s face, but he could observe Theobald’s, which was fixed in a mien of polite attention, revealing nothing.“You, Brother Theobald, have been sent as an agent of those allies, who would benefit by the king’s removal. You had not planned to move so soon, I think, but after the winter and the fever weakened and divided the crown’s forces, and caused the royal family to flee, you decided to take your chance and stage an attack to capture the king’s heir. In that, clearly, you overreached. Now you will place the blame upon Wells, and let him swing alone for your failures.”Theobald smiled like a serpent. “That is what you know,” he said slowly, “but can you prove it?”“I cannot,” Wamba admitted with a small shrug.“Tell me, Cedric,” Theobald said the name meaningfully, with a knowing glint like a cold steel blade. “Would you like to hear what I know?”A chill raced through Oscar, despite the suffocating heat of the chamber.“I would,” Wamba said, “but I suspect you will not tell me.”“You are correct.”“Then as such, I believe our business is concluded.”“For now,” Theobald said.“Yes,” Wamba agreed, “for now.”Theobald stood to see them out, as impeccably mannered as ever. Oscar could hardly keep himself from running through the corridors to escape the stifling air of the abbey.It was only when they were outside again, in blessed sunlight and fresh air, that he turned to Wamba and demanded, “Why did you tell him all of that?”Wamba stood still beside him, looking up at the towering peaks of the church spires. “I cannot stop him scheming,” he said, “but he should know that the crown is not an adversary to be taken lightly.”“Neither is he,” Oscar insisted. “He’s going to come for you. That was as good as a threat.”“I do not doubt it.” Wamba turned and began to tug at the girth of his saddle. “Better the knife you see coming than the one you don’t.”“What now?” Oscar asked.“Now we wait to discover his next move, and thwart him again.”“We won’t be able to tie him to this, or the church.”“Not now. I do not know the means, but I am certain he has already ensured that Wells will not speak.”“So that’s the end of it?”“For Merchant Wells, at least,” Wamba said quietly. His jaw clenched tight for a moment, and he said, “Let us go and conclude our business with him.”After everything that had led to it, the trial of Wells was, in the end, almost disappointingly brief. The rangy merchant ranted and spat as he was dragged before the court in chains, forced to his knees before the king.Richard looked down at the ragged figure he cut, a faint flicker of pity crossing his features before his expression grew stern. “Robert Wells,” he said, “you stand accused of high treason against the crown.”Wells muttered something to himself, his eyes rolling wildly across the faces of the many courtiers gathered in the great hall.“The charges,” Richard commanded.Wamba stepped forward, a writ in his hand though he did not read it as he listed the crimes. “Your majesty, this man has confessed to carrying foreign soldiers to our shores, a force which attempted to take hostage your own royal family. He has stated openly to myself and other witnesses his belief that another man should sit upon England’s throne.”“Your guilt is undeniable,” Richard said to Wells, “but there are questions that remain. You are a man of means, but not so many as to raise an army. Tell me of the others embroiled in this plot, and my judgment may yet be merciful.”“I beg no mercy of you, false king,” Wells growled, his eyes settling at last on Richard, two burning coals of zealotry. “Rot festers in the England you have built, the tainted souls with which you surround yourself. I would rather perish pure in faith than allow my soul soiled by the corruption you call mercy. The toppling of tyrants is no crime in the eyes of Heaven. Even if I am made martyr, the will of the Lord will be done. You and all who serve you will be consumed by the flames of almighty justice.”Richard was silent for a long moment, contemplating the man before him. When he spoke, it was without rancor, his sternness that of a patient father. “I do not know if it was dislike of me or simple greed that cause you to choose such an ill-advised course, but if martyrdom is your wish, that can certainly be granted.”“No!” The cry came from the far side of the hall, where Diana Wells and her sons stood under guard. At the king’s gesture the soldiers released her, and she went to her husband’s side to turn beseeching eyes upon the king. “Please, sire, my husband knows not what he speaks.”“His words condemn him as well as his actions,” Richard said. “Your husband’s life is forfeit, madam. The only question that remains to be answered is whether your son is also a traitor. For your family’s sake if not your own, will you not tell me who else was involved?”Diana’s face went pale as bone, and she lowered herself to her knees before the dais. “Sire,” she gasped, “Upon my honor, Robert is a dutiful son, who did as he was told. Nothing more.”“The honor of your family is hardly beyond reproach,” Richard said, “but let us see what my magistrate has to say. Cedric?”Diana’s eyes flew to Wamba, who flinched under the sudden force of her gaze. It was so small that it must have gone unnoticed to any but Oscar, and perhaps Ivanhoe, who took a single step closer to Wamba on the dais.Wamba stood straight at the king’s side, and met his mother’s eyes. “I find it difficult to believe that he knew nothing, sire.”“So you would see us ruined!” Tears of rage welled in Diana’s eyes, fury twisting her beautiful features as she screamed at Wamba, “This is all your doing!”Ivanhoe moved again, but it was Richard who spoke first, his expression grim and voice thunderous. “No, madam,” he intoned. “It is yours.”Diana drew up short, her eruption stalled by the force of the king’s authority.“Perhaps if you had chosen to treasure the gift God had given you, instead of forsaking it in search of better, you might have met a different fate.”It was an unusual betrayal of his thoughts, the anger on behalf of Wamba that Oscar had rarely witnessed. Diana was cowed for a moment, but her glare returned quickly to Wamba, and had she possessed the power to smite him where he stood, Oscar had no doubt she would have done so. Even now, she could not see him as anything but an enemy.Wamba looked away, turning his eyes to the king. “We have no evidence of his involvement in the plot, and to remove both father and son would leave the family without a head to lead it. Let the loss of the father be lesson enough. Let his sons work for your benefit, sire.”Richard nodded. “So be it.”Wamba bowed, deep with gratitude, and did not watch as Wells and his family were led from the hall. There was no hope there that this final mercy would win him any warmth of feeling, only sadness at knowing that that path was closed to him forever now. Oscar approached him as the court began to depart, chattering excitedly at the prospect of the impending execution. “That’s done,” he said, from his place by Wamba’s elbow.“Yes,” Wamba agreed, distant. “It is done.”“Good.” Oscar reached out, laid a gentle hand on Wamba’s back. “Now let’s go find a home.”
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The manor they found was just west of the tower, not far from the river’s edge.Oscar had made a few subtle inquiries about the home once used by Wells, but in the end decided against recommending it to Wamba. He would agree to it, if he believed it was what Oscar wanted, but Oscar thought it best that they seek another place, free from bitter memories. The past dwelt in their new home also, to be sure, imbued as it was with the stains and scars of other lives lived there, but none that had ever touched theirs. It was a little smaller, a little closer, and as such suited them better.They departed the tower with the king’s blessing, as well as a decent number of his soldiers. His rank entitled Wamba to an official guard, and Oscar was pleasantly surprised to learn that Farren had given his old friend and sparring partner Dunstan charge of their protection. It was Dunstan’s first real command, for which he and two green but earnest recruits would take up residence in the guard house above the manor gate.The house itself stood two stories tall, sturdy walls of wattle and daub facing upon a central yard. An herb garden had been allowed to grow untamed below the wide kitchen windows, and a trio of charmingly gnarled apple trees were tucked into the far corner beside their private well. Opposite the kitchen was the empty stable, where Fangs had unearthed a number of unsavory relics. Directly opposite the gate was the main hall for receiving guests. It boasted a collection of carved sconces and a table large enough to seat the entire royal council, though Oscar could not envision them making much use of it when the kitchens were so much more comfortable.Emma and Anna had private rooms tucked behind. The two women had become fast friends in the span of only a few weeks, to Oscar’s lasting chagrin. United they were a formidable force and he had ceded the preparation of their new home to them, recognizing both their superior understanding of all that was needed to equip a successful household and the fact that his own feeble attempts to direct the planning were a source of great amusement for them.Above the main hall, at the head of the stairs, was the more comfortable study. Oscar had insisted on outfitting it to resemble their old library, down to the vast couch and patchwork of colorful rugs. It had only one true advantage over the library, which was that it did not need serve double duty as bedchamber for a messy little boy. Eral was near bursting with excitement over a chamber all his own, in the far corner above the kitchens. He insisted that Fangs would share it, despite Oscar’s impatient explanations that the pup would soon be far too large for that to be practical.Next to Eral’s chamber was another, Oscar’s in name only. It was Emma’s idea, and a sensible precaution, but he regretted the need for it. It was contrived to house only as many of his belongings as were needed to make a convincing show that he lived there, if someone should ever care to investigate. The rest of his possessions made their home, as he did, in the larger chamber that stretched the length of the opposite wing of the house. It was generous but not extravagant, a quiet and comfortable space tucked beneath the sloped eave of the roof. It boasted a wide bed and two tall windows, now thrown open to the view of the yard below.Wamba leaned on his hands on the sill of one, peering down to watch as a wagon was unloaded before the gate. The room was a shambles with all the scattered bits and pieces they had carried with them, waiting to find their new places. Oscar set the chest in his arms down beside the bed and went the window, sliding a half empty satchel aside with his foot so that he could step close to Wamba. Oscar closed both arms around his lover and rested his chin on the sharp peak of his shoulder.Wamba chuckled and laid one hand over Oscar’s where it rested on his waist. “Oscar.”“How does it feel?” Oscar pressed a kiss to his neck, a smile curling his lips. “Master of the house. Lord of all you survey.”Wamba turned his head to look at Oscar, a gleam of sweet mischief in his eyes that had been too long absent. One pale brow tilted up in challenge. "All I survey?"Oscar laughed and gave Wamba a rough squeeze. "Would you have a fealty of me?” He stepped back, releasing Wamba to drop instead to one knee, a hand over his heart. “I will give it. Gladly."That caught Wamba off guard. He turned more fully toward Oscar, his eyes gone soft and his smile as gentle as the fingers that carded slowly through Oscar’s hair. "Stand up, you ridiculous man."Oscar just smirked at him, letting his eyes trail slowly down Wamba’s body to settle pointedly just below his belt. He licked his lips and hummed as he reached out to lay his hand over Wamba’s sex, giving him a gentle rub through his trousers. "What if I'm exactly where I want to be?"Wamba laughed at that, clear and happy as a bright summer morning. He bent down to take Oscar’s face in his hands and tilt it up to his own. He pressed his lips to Oscar’s, quick and soft, and murmured, "And what if I wish for kisses?"Oscar lunged at once to his feet. "Then kisses you shall have, until you can bear to be kissed no more!"He made good on the promise at once, catching Wamba’s mouth and pressing his tongue in to slide against Wamba’s. Wamba’s arms came up around his shoulders, keeping them steady, while Oscar let his hands settle on narrow hips. The bed was just behind, and he was grievously tempted to throw Wamba upon it and get to work christening it as their own, but there was still work to be done.He settled for another kiss instead, letting his hand trail up the plane of Wamba’s chest to curve around his neck, thumb brushing a gentle touch to his jaw. “Are you happy?”“I am.” Wamba tugged him close to lay his cheek against Oscar’s and released a slow sigh. “Thank you, Oscar. For all of it. You saved me.”Oscar pressed his nose to Wamba’s neck, ignoring the sudden sting behind his eyes. “You saved me first.”Wamba’s laugh was softer, sadder than the last. “But I never thought I would truly get to keep you.”A tapping at the door stalled Oscar’s reply. He looked up to find Dunstan standing awkwardly on the threshold, his eyes jumping from Oscar’s face to the floor and back, though he seemed more apologetic than bothered by their embrace. He had known about them for years, after all.“There’s someone here to see you, my lord,” he said to the far wall.Wamba turned, freeing himself from Oscar’s arms to smile at Dunstan. “There’s no need to stand on formality here, Dunstan. Cedric is fine.”“Of course, my lord,” Dunstan said, then coughed and quickly corrected himself. “Cedric.”Oscar made no comment as he followed Wamba out, though his expression must have spoken for him, for Dunstan scowled at him and knocked his shoulder hard into Oscar’s as he passed. Oscar dealt him a solid punch to the arm in retaliation before he bounded down the stairs to catch up to Wamba.He spied the newcomer from a distance, a slim figure in a long robe. He stood beneath the guard house with hands clasped behind his back, but it was only when he turned, and Wamba gasped, that Oscar recognized him. A bit taller now, and much paler, but undeniably, “Colin!”Wamba dashed toward him, catching him in a fierce hug before he quickly pulled away, an apology on his face. Colin only laughed and stepped back into his arms, returning the embrace without hesitation. His sandy hair had grown in his time away, brushing the collar of his robe and giving him a startling resemblance to his mentor.Wamba hugged him for a long moment, and when he finally released Colin his eyes were shining. “What are you doing here?”“I went to find you in the castle, but they told me you had gone.” He saw Oscar then, and gave him the same boyish grin Oscar remembered. “Oscar.”“Come here,” Oscar caught him around the neck by one arm and gave him a rough squeeze. “What do you mean disappearing off without any word for months? Don’t you know how worried we’ve been?”“Oscar,” Wamba scolded him. He looked Colin over head to toe and asked more gently, “Are you well, Colin?”“I’m sorry I didn’t write, sir.” Colin’s expression turned sheepish, and he swallowed as he held out his hands. They were visibly trembling, though the rest of him seemed perfectly at ease. “They’ve been like this since the fever. I might need a bit of practice before I can join you in the tribunal again. I hope you don’t mind.”“Of course not,” Wamba said at once, clasping Colin’s shaking hands between his own. “You will have all the time and care you need. I know someone who can help. All that matters is that you are well.”Colin’s smile was blinding, so overflowing with the enduring admiration he bore Wamba that Oscar’s own throat was tight with it.“Fangs! Eral!”The shout came from the direction of the kitchens, quickly chased by the beast and boy, who tussled over a stretch of filthy linen. Eral leapt after Fangs and caught the hound around the middle, quickly tackling him to the ground. They tumbled across the yard in a tangle until the pup wriggled free, his ears flopping wildly. He turned to face Eral with a playful growl, hindquarters dancing in his excitement. Eral grasped the cloth in both hands and they commenced a fierce tug of war, as Anna came scurrying after them with a broom in her hand.“Drop that at once!” She swatted at Fangs’s muzzle with the brush end of the broom and he quickly relinquished his prize, sitting back on his haunches to give her a wide grin, his pink tongue lolling in a joyful pant. Eral was panting just as hard as he flopped down beside the pup. They were both thoroughly caked in dirt, and Oscar could not decide if he wanted to laugh or despair at the sight.Anna brushed tendrils of brown hair from her face and bent to pick up the linen cloth. She grimaced, though a laugh twitched at the corner of her mouth. “No cheese tonight, I’m afraid,” she said to Wamba. “The little glutton ate it all.”“I’m sure we can make do,” Wamba said, clearly struggling to hide his own amusement, “and perhaps we should consider a more secure latch on the larder.”“Oh,” Anna said, suddenly noticing Colin. “Do we have a visitor?”“This is Colin,” Wamba introduced him.“Hello, Colin.” She smiled. “I’m Anna.”From Colin there was no reply. He stood speechless, his eyes wide as he stared at her with his mouth hanging open. Oscar could not stop his grin, for it seemed Claire was well and truly forgotten.Anna’s head tilted. “Are you alright?”“Yes,” Colin burst out at last, his cheeks flushing red. “Yes, I’m fine.”“Will you be staying for dinner?” Anna asked.“I…” Colin stuttered. He looked from Anna to Fangs, to Eral and then quickly to Oscar, and there were so many questions on his face though not one managed to emerge from his mouth.Oscar smirked at him. “I hope you did not have your heart set on cheese.”Wamba’s exasperated laugh was warm. He took pity on Colin and reached out to take him lightly by the elbow. “Why don’t you come inside? There is much to tell you.”
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Oscar floated weightless, one hand braced on a smooth stone to let his legs trail free in cool water. The stream rushed in his ears, drowning out all other sound as he stared up at splinters of blue sky beyond the canopy of leaves.An icy wave dashed him suddenly in the face. Oscar spluttered, floundering up to snort water from his nose and narrow a glare at Eral. The boy hooted and grinned, his blue eyes laughing as he hovered just out of reach of Oscar’s hands. Oscar lunged for him, but Eral darted away into deeper water before his father could catch him, and Oscar quickly abandoned the chase. With his tenth birthday approaching, Eral was quickly growing into his body, swift and agile even if his appetite for childish mischief had yet to mature.Their long summer at Rotherwood had finally given Eral a chance to learn the arts of the knights he had admired since the day he first met Ivanhoe. He had proven himself adept at horsemanship as well as swordplay in a way that Oscar would never have predicted, given his own complete lack of talent in those pursuits. Regardless, Oscar was proud of the strides Eral had made in such a short time. Every spare moment was devoted to training, often in the company of Ivanhoe’s son. Ward was a few years older than Eral and privileged with a great deal more experience, but in dedication they were perfectly matched. Oscar had grown accustomed to finding them together in the training yard long after the squires retreated and the sun began to set.At least until August arrived and a spell of unusual heat beset the Greenwood. As one blistering day dragged on into the next, Rotherwood’s people had been forced to take shelter within the castle walls, though even the deepest chambers within that aged stone fortress could not fend off the weather forever. When their room at last became too stifling to bear, it was Wamba who suggested that they venture out in search of the secluded glade where they found themselves now.The moment he saw it, Oscar was glad they did. The stream sprang from the rocks just above the falls, fresh from its source beneath the earth where the scorching eye of the sun could not touch it. It spilled down to gather in a deep pool at the base of the cliff before flowing off between the trees, cool water a gift from the forest to bodies and spirits taxed too long by the seemingly endless swelter.Eral and Ward whooped with the exhilaration of it, darting about like tadpoles as they batted water at one another. Ward was on the whole a serious lad, but it seemed the thrill of their discovery had brought out streaks of his father’s more lighthearted nature. Oscar watched the boys paddle up behind Thomas, who had relinquished his guard for once in favor of dousing his head beneath the falls. They leapt upon him as one, bellowing a battle cry and grappling for a hold as they sought to wrestle the soldier beneath the water. Thomas went under, but roared up again at once, water cascading down his broad frame as he caught a boy in each arm. He spun and hefted Eral from his shoulder one handed, tossing him into the deepest part of the pool where he landed with a shriek and a hearty splash. Ward put up a better fight, but he too was soon flying after Eral in a flail of pale limbs.The boys thrashed up again, bobbing like corks as they laughed and shouted insults at Thomas. He only grinned back at them. Wamba was smiling too, though he was the only one of their company who had not leapt into the water. He sat with legs crossed upon a flat stone that jutted out over the surface of the stream, watching Ward and Eral play. Despite the shade of the wooded grove, he was visibly wilting in the thick summer air. His hair was caught back in a ragged knot at his nape, though bedraggled strands had escaped to cling to his neck. Oscar’s gaze drew his attention, and he offered a soft if weary smile.Oscar’s heart gave a twinge at the sight. He turned his back on the battle in the pool to swim across to Wamba’s perch, where he heaved himself half out of the water, ribs braced on the stone while his legs still floated free.“You should join us.”Wamba shook his head. “I can’t.”It was no mystery why Wamba might hesitate to add his own clothing to the collection strewn along the shore, though Oscar hated that it meant he would deny himself the very comfort he had offered all of them. He leaned in close to Wamba, steadying himself on one elbow so he could reach up and lay a wet hand on his lover’s flushed cheek. Even that single cool touch made Wamba’s breath hitch, his eyelids drooping for a moment.“I have scars,” Oscar said gently. “So does Thomas. Eral won’t care.”“Perhaps,” Wamba replied, sliding his hand along the back of Oscar’s, “but he might have questions. And he is too young yet for the answers.”For that, Oscar had no rebuttal. Eral’s curiosity had always been insatiable, and he had yet to develop a sense for when he should indulge it and when certain things were better left unasked. It was for Wamba to decide when he was ready to share the truths of his past with Eral, if he ever did. Oscar would not press him, so he stretched up instead to place a damp kiss on Wamba’s lips.Wamba returned it briefly, before his eyes shifted to something over Oscar’s shoulder and the corner of his mouth tilted up in a smirk. “Besides,” he said, much louder than before, “someone needs to see that the horses don’t wander off.”He laid the palm of his hand on Oscar’s brow, sparing him a moment of warning before he gave Oscar a shove and two wiry arms closed about his neck. Oscar toppled back into the pool with a curse, reaching behind him to grab Eral by one leg and drag him around where Oscar could attack his ribs with squirming fingers. Eral gasped and giggled, writhing in his grip until Oscar allowed him to wriggle free. He fled to where Ward was attempting to scale the bare rock of the short cliff, with Thomas poised below to catch him when he inevitably slipped. Wamba was laughing behind him, and it was good to hear his mirth, even if Oscar could do nothing for his discomfort.They spent another hour there, swimming and enjoying the cool dappled shade, until the sun was well past its peak and they were at risk of missing the evening meal if they lingered any longer. It was only the promise of food that convinced the boys it was time to depart, their bellies grumbling as they pulled on their clothes and went to water the horses. Oscar righted his tunic and walked over to where Wamba still sat, offering a hand to help him to his feet. Wamba took it, but quickly reached for Oscar’s shoulder as he swayed.Oscar caught him by both elbows, alarmed at his sudden weakness. “Are you alright?”“Yes,” Wamba assured him, a slow bead of sweat slipping down his neck. “Just got a bit lightheaded standing so fast.”Oscar kept hold of him as they climbed up the bank to where Thomas and the boys waited. Wamba gently brushed him away once they reached the horses, though he allowed Oscar to press a waterskin into his hands and drained it before he swung himself up onto his mount. Eral and Ward chattered about taking their swords out to the practice yard after supper, reinvigorated by their adventure, though the respite proved to be brief. The forest crowded close around the disused path that led to the pool. The air was heavy, sticking to the skin and making each breath a labor. While the trees offered some protection from the sun, the greenery also stifled any notion of a breeze before it could begin.They were hardly ten minutes into the journey, and an hour or more still ahead of them, when Wamba swayed in his saddle. He quickly righted himself, but Oscar had already seen it. His fist clenched to keep from reaching out, his frustration as torturous as the summer heat. Then a thought struck him.He let out a curse, slapping a hand down against his belt.Wamba turned to look at him. His face was pallid beneath the heated flush in his cheeks. “What’s the matter?”“My purse is missing,” Oscar said. “I must have dropped it when I was getting dressed.”Thomas pulled his mount to a stop, halting their little train. “There’s still time to go back.”“Only just,” Oscar glanced up at the angle of the light. “I don’t want the boys to miss their supper. Thomas, why don’t you take them on ahead?”Thomas frowned. “You shouldn’t go back alone.”“I’ll be fine." Oscar shot Thomas a lightning fast wink. “I’ll take Wamba with me. He knows the way back.”The soldier’s scarred brow jumped at that. A knowing look softened his stern face, and he nodded. “Be careful. There may be others about and you are unarmed.”“I’m sure it’s too hot even for the bandits.” Oscar smiled at him. “Don’t worry. We’ll only be a few minutes behind you.”Wamba made no comment, only breathed a sigh as he guided his horse to turn back the way they had come.
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They rode in silence until they reached the stream. Wamba slipped from his horse and tossed his reins over a nearby branch, turning to pick his way carefully down the bank. He paced slowly along the edge of the pool, peering into the brush as he went. “Where do you think you dropped it?”Oscar smiled, though Wamba could not see it, and sidled up behind him to wrap an arm around his waist. “I wasn’t wearing it today.”“What?” Wamba turned, his pale brows drawing down in a rare moment of true vexation. “Then what are we…”The question faded as Oscar began to pull open the laces on Wamba’s tunic. His other hand deftly undid the buckle on Wamba’s belt, letting it fall to the forest floor.“Oscar,” Wamba said, the beginning of a protest. Oscar swooped in and covered his mouth to stall it, brushing his tongue against Wamba’s lips until they parted for him on a short gasp. He wrapped his arms around Wamba’s hips and leaned into the kiss, pulling his lover against his own body despite the uncomfortable heat of his skin.“You’ve been so generous with us today,” Oscar said. “Now it’s your turn.”“This really isn’t necessary.”“It is,” Oscar assured him. “Don’t worry. We won’t stay long, and you’ll feel so much better. Please, just trust me.”Wamba was still reluctant, but he swallowed his objections and let Oscar pull his damp shirt over his head. Oscar dropped gentle kisses along his bare shoulders, sparing a moment to study the scars that Wamba took such pains to hide. Those on his back had faded considerably even in the time since Oscar first discovered them, so much so that he might not have noticed them at all had he not known to look. Other marks were similarly mended, time and peace allowing the oldest hurts to dim in his body’s memory. Only the lash marks on his chest still drew the eye, largely for how they stood in contrast to the smooth skin that surrounded them.Wamba’s half of their coin was stuck fast to that skin in the swelter, reminding Oscar of his purpose in undressing his lover in the first place. He helped Wamba remove his boots and hose, then made quick work of his own clothing. He took Wamba’s hand to lead him back to the same wide stone perch where he had spent the afternoon. Oscar pressed a quick kiss to his fingers, grinning as he leapt from the ledge and plunged into the depths of the pool once more.He shook his head, letting the water soak his hair and cool his crown before he kicked his way back to the surface and turned. To his surprise, Wamba had not followed. He crouched instead on the edge of the overhang, his pale legs tucked up close to his body.Oscar swam back to him, reaching up to catch the edge of the rock. “Come on. It’s only cold at first.”“It’s not that, Oscar.” Wamba peered at him over his knees, his eyes a shade darker than usual. “It’s just a bit deeper than I thought.”“It’s not so bad.” Oscar stretched his own legs down to prove it. With his feet braced on the sandy bed, his head and the tops of his shoulders easily cleared the surface. “And the current is only strong at the far end.”Wamba still hesitated, wrestling with his unspoken misgivings, and Oscar was struck by a sudden suspicion.“You do know how to swim, don’t you?”Wamba flushed at that, the change noticeable even on his heated skin. Quietly, he confessed, “I never had reason to learn.”Oscar swayed with the water, feeling suddenly very foolish that he had not thought to ask. It was such a natural thing to him, he had never given it a second thought. Every child in London was taught to swim before they were ever let out of their parents’ sight, the great river too much a part of life to live in fear of it.“If you never learned to swim, how did you know where to find this pool?”Wamba’s shoulders rolled in a shrug. “I remembered hearing the squires speak of it, back before Wilfred left Rotherwood. I had not seen it myself until today.”“You never took a chance to sneak away for a little fun?”The corner of Wamba’s mouth quirked up at that. “Stealing time was a sure way to earn a drubbing from the master of the guard. I hardly needed to bring any more trouble on myself.”It was a harsh reminder, once again, of how very different Wamba’s childhood had been to Oscar’s. It was easy to forget now, when Wamba was free and welcomed as family at Rotherwood, that his beginnings there were much more humble.His dismay must have shown on his face, for Wamba added lightly, “Gurth and I always found our own amusement. At least until he won his freedom.”Oscar noted his choice of words. Not once had he heard Wamba acknowledge his own role in Gurth’s liberation, though every other person who knew them would credit him without hesitation. Oscar’s heart swelled with his exasperated affection, and the ever present urge to give Wamba every comfort and pleasure he had once been denied.“No time like the present, then.” He reached his free hand up to Wamba with a smile. “Come on. I won’t let you fall.”Wamba returned the smile, soft and fond, and finally moved. He unfurled his legs to let them dangle in the water, sliding his hips forward until they too relinquished the safety of the ledge and his body stretched toward Oscar.Oscar caught him, his hands cradling the curve of Wamba’s ribs to guide the lithe form down into his arms. Wamba’s legs closed around him, his ankles locked behind Oscar’s back. He released his hold on the stone to grasp Oscar’s shoulders instead, clinging tight as the water rose to surround him. His whole body shuddered, a soft moan teasing Oscar’s ear as the tension in Wamba’s limbs finally began to ease and the flush on his skin to recede.“There,” Oscar said. “Isn’t that better?”Wamba’s answered him with a kiss, his mouth soft with relief and gratitude. “Thank you, Oscar.”Oscar pressed his wet cheek to Wamba’s, taking a tighter hold on his hips though the water made him seem nearly weightless in Oscar’s arms. “So long as you refuse to look after yourself, you leave me no choice but to do it for you.”“I know, love,” Wamba murmured. “I’m sorry.”“No need to apologize,” Oscar said with a grin. “This labor is hardly without its rewards.”He slid one hand up Wamba’s back, kneading at the taut muscles of his shoulders and neck until his fingers caught in the leather thong that bound Wamba’s hair back in its lank knot. He carefully teased it free, tossing it up onto the stone above them to be retrieved later, and returned his hand to Wamba’s nape.“Hold your breath.”Wamba’s eyes widened for a moment, but he did as Oscar asked, drawing in a breath just as Oscar bent his knees and both of their heads slipped beneath the water. He carded his fingers through Wamba’s hair, loosening the matted strands to let cool water wash through them and scratching soft caresses to his lover’s scalp as he went.Wamba melted in his arms, the last of his nerves easing away to let his body mold to Oscar’s, loose like the flow of the stream around them, and Oscar’s desire woke within him like a bear from winter slumber. Their intimacy had become yet another casualty of the incessant heat, a simple touch unbearable, much less anything more. Seduction had not been Oscar’s intent in bringing them back to the glade, but with the water to shelter them and his husband’s body twined so perfectly around his, the impulse quickly grew irresistible.He pressed his mouth to Wamba’s throat as they rose back above the surface, licking away the chilled metal flavor of the stream before he brought his teeth to bear and set to work worrying a bruise just where Wamba’s pulse fluttered beneath his skin. It would be noticed at Rotherwood, where Wamba eschewed his formal robes regardless of the weather, but none there had ever reproached them for their affections. So Oscar marked his lover as his hunger demanded and delighted in the shuddering moan he earned in response.If Wamba was surprised by this sudden shift in mood, he did not show it. Gentle hands settled on Oscar’s neck, bracing him there against the push and pull of the eddies that swirled around them. Oscar smiled against his skin, sliding his tongue along the rising bruise on Wamba’s throat before he followed the stretch of a tendon up to nip at Wamba’s chin and his lower lip. He scraped his teeth along its tender length until Wamba grew impatient and grasped him by the hair to bring their mouths together in a deep, true kiss.His mouth burned hot as summer still, and Oscar chased that heat, passion sparking like the shards of light that shimmered along the restless surface of the stream. With one hand he palmed Wamba’s flank, sliding down his lean thigh and back to tease a caress along the sensitive crux of his legs. Wamba’s hips jerked against him, soft sounds urging Oscar on.So he carefully shifted his hold, hooking his arm beneath Wamba’s knee and around his back to lift him up and brace him open at the same time. His other hand continued to stroke his lover gently, fingers sliding the whole length of that delicate valley over and over before he finally let just one breach Wamba’s body. Wamba gasped as the cold touched him there, breaking the kiss. It was worlds apart from the warm cradle of the bath, wild and just a little raw, but all the more thrilling for it. The brush of Wamba’s rising cock against his belly was all the assurance Oscar needed that he felt the same.He took himself in hand and aligned them. Wamba stretched one arm up over his shoulder to find a grip on the lip of stone above them, bracing against it so Oscar could dig his toes into the bed of the stream and press up and up until his hips met Wamba’s beneath the water.The soft heat of his lover’s body around him was perfection, a pleasure into which Oscar was prepared to sink for eternity, save that he knew their strength would not endure forever. The water resisted as he began to move, holding them together so that Oscar rocked more than thrust into Wamba, taking on the rhythm dictated by their forest sanctuary. This pace suited them both, their mouths coming together again to drink deep of one another as they coupled.Oscar did not know how long it lasted. His sense of time, of place, of everything that was not his lover fell away, as though he had been enchanted by whatever spirits dwelt in the wood. Pleasure coiled in his belly and twined along his limbs, and Wamba’s voice whispered in his ear, his fingers tight in Oscar’s hair as his body began to shudder. Oscar had no hand to spare him without risking his grip, but he hitched Wamba’s leg higher and tilted his hips to take aim at the places he knew would drive him to that blissful edge.It was over quickly after that. Wamba said his name once, and then again as his head fell back and his muscles seized tight. The grip of his body carried Oscar with him, his thoughts floating away on the chattering stream as he spilled into his lover.When the spell broke, Oscar found his teeth set in the join of Wamba’s shoulder and neck, a second mark to complement the first. He kissed the bite and tilted his head to rest on Wamba’s shoulder instead, the two of them panting against one another as the water washed away the aftermath of their tryst.When he was sure of his footing, Oscar shifted to let Wamba’s leg fall, sliding free of his body as it did. Wamba released his hold on the rock to circle both arms around Oscar’s neck again, his legs floating free. Oscar stroked a gentle hand down his spine, pleased that his fear of the water seemed to have been effectively conquered.“Alright?” he asked.“Yes,” Wamba said, soft against his throat, “though I’m afraid I have some unfortunate news.”Oscar’s heart lurched at the words. “What is it?”Wamba lifted his head to smile at Oscar, his lopsided grin warm.“We are definitely going to be late for supper.”
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They did not arrive too late for supper, though their tardy appearance earned them a number of shrewd looks when they entered the great hall. The hearth fires that usually burned merrily at each end of the hall were banked low in deference to the unyielding warmth of the season, leaving only the scattered sconces and the pale glow from high windows to light the evening meal. The unusual darkness did nothing to conceal Ivanhoe’s smirk as he watched them slip behind the rank of tables that lined one half of the room to approach the dais.“There you are!” he greeted them, his good humor undimmed by the heat. Oscar wondered idly if his time in the deserts of the Holy Land had somehow inured him to it.“I pray you will forgive our late return, Wilfred.” Wamba dipped his head in a short but respectful bow as he slipped into the chair to Ivanhoe’s left. Oscar settled just beside him, offering a much more casual wave before his eyes were drawn to the platters of cold meats and fruit laid out on the table before them.Ivanhoe waved off the apology. “Ward tells me your quest was fruitful. You found the spring?”“We did,” Wamba said with a smile. “It was just where we thought it to be, though the path through the gorge is a touch uncertain.”“We will have to send men out to clear the way so that others can enjoy it again.” Ivanhoe clapped a hand down on Wamba’s shoulder, as free with his touch as he had ever been. Oscar swallowed down the instinctive spark of irritation and busied himself piling the most appetizing morsels he could find on Wamba’s trencher.“It is worth the journey, I think.” Wamba darted a sweet smile at Oscar that soothed his jealousy even as it made his cock twitch.“I still can’t believe you remembered it,” Ivanhoe said, “much less how to find it. That was a particular bit of brilliance. I had forgotten about it entirely.”“As ever, husband, it falls to others to know your affairs better than you do.” Rowena spoke from the seat at Wilfred’s right hand. She nodded to Wamba and tilted her cup to him in a sympathetic salute. Though her tone was stern, a smile fluttered at the corner of her mouth.The lady was dressed in a simple shift of gauzy green cotton, a precious fabric imported from lands more accustomed to fierce heat. She wore no veil, and her shining auburn locks were done up in an elegant arrangement of interwoven braids. This was no doubt another concession to the summer, keeping her hair up and away from her shoulders, but the overall effect made her appear much younger than Oscar knew her to be.“Yet perhaps we should be glad, my lady,” Wamba said with an answering smile, “for his inattentiveness leaves much gainful work for the rest of us.”Looking between them, Oscar was struck again by the fascination that had gripped him all summer. Though he did his best not to stare, he could not help studying Rowena and Wamba in an attempt to discover all similarities between them. True to his word, Wamba had never spoken of the truths revealed by Diana Wells regarding his parentage and his relation to Rowena. Their kinship could never be proven beyond the word of Wamba’s mother, but more than one resemblance had revealed itself under close observation. They shared a similar narrow frame and elegant bearing, a nobility that made Oscar feel a little less foolish for how long it had taken him to suspect that Wamba was not what he claimed to be at court.Ivanhoe barked a hearty laugh, giving Wamba a little shake with the hand still on his shoulder. “Just so, Wamba. My servants should rejoice at the trust I place in them.”“And what of the rest of us?” Oscar remarked drily. Wamba was not bound to Ivanhoe any longer, neither his servant nor his slave, though he might have been if not for Oscar’s impulsive intervention.To Ivanhoe’s credit, he had made abundant amends for his past thoughtlessness where Wamba was concerned. Wamba did not resent him, and there was no doubt that they shared a genuine affection and pleasure in one another’s company, but Oscar could not let the entitled words pass without comment.Wamba shook his head, but Rowena spoke before he could. “Indeed, Oscar. Let us hope that Hereward will learn better manners from King Richard.”“I’m sure he will do very well in London, my lady,” Wamba said, with a chiding glance at Oscar.Oscar shrugged and set to his meal, wondering again at the strange habits of the nobility. He had been surprised to learn that Ward would be returning with them to London to join the royal household as a squire, though it did much to explain the fervor with which the boy threw himself into his training, eager to make an impression on the king. As Wamba explained it, it was a great honor to be chosen, though Oscar did not think he would ever understand fathers who sent their sons off to the far flung reaches of the realm, no matter the future prospects that might come of it.He said as much again to Wamba as they made their way back to their chamber that evening.“Why does he have to go and learn to fight from someone else when his father is one of the best?” For all that Oscar found Ivanhoe’s presence grating, he could not deny that the knight was fully deserving of his reputation.“To be the king’s squire is more than sword training,” Wamba said in his most patient tone. “It is only the most influential houses who are invited to send their scions there. Those boys will grow into the men who govern the kingdom, and the allegiances they form now may well be the foundation of England’s future.”When he put it that way, Oscar found it difficult to argue, though he still could not imagine doing the same. Perhaps because he had met his own son so late, and missed so much of his life already, he wished only to keep Eral as close as possible.“So there was never any doubt that Ward would go to Richard eventually?”“It was assumed,” Wamba said, “though he has worked hard to be ready for it. He no doubt hopes to equal his father one day, perhaps even surpass him, and that is not a thing lightly done.”There was a soft pride to the words, the same affection all of Rotherwood shared for their young heir, though Oscar suspected that Wamba might take a particular joy in watching Wilfred’s children grow. He reached for his lover’s hand, twining their fingers together as they turned the corner and found Thomas standing just outside their door.“Thomas,” Wamba greeted him with a smile. “You did not need to wait for us.”“Eral has just gone to bed,” Thomas reported. “I wanted to be sure you made it back.”“They were too tired for training, then?” Wamba chuckled. “I cannot say I’m surprised.”“Almost too tired for eating,” Thomas replied.“It’s good they will have a few days to rest before we leave.”“We depart as planned?” Thomas asked.“Yes,” Wamba said. “At the end of the week.”“I still think we should wait for the weather to break a little first,” Oscar said.“Wilfred wants to be sure we return to London before the king,” Wamba said. “If we delay any longer, we may not be there to meet him.”Richard had departed London the very same day they did, though his travels took him much farther than theirs. “What has he been doing in France all this time anyway?”“My understanding is that the last attempt on Prince Henry’s life prompted him to attend more closely to his alliances there,” Wamba explained. “And to oversee the management of his estates now that Prince John is no longer in a position to do so.”That was the result of Richard and Ivanhoe’s first trip to France, nearly four years past. Richard had chosen once again to spare his brother, though he was now imprisoned much as Richard had once been when John arranged to have him waylaid on his return from Jerusalem.“I suppose we’d better start packing, then,” Oscar said with a sigh.Thomas only smiled.“You don’t mind traveling a week in this?”“I am looking forward to our return,” Thomas replied, leaving the rest unsaid.“That reminds me,” Wamba said. “Did the steward speak to you about that box?”“He did. I will see that it is packed with care.”“Wilfred was happy to part with it once I explained your intentions.”Thomas nodded. “Thank you.”“Of course.” Wamba smiled, his eyes warm. “I’m sure your gift will be well received.”“And I’m sure that Nicholas has let the archives fall to ruin while I was away,” Oscar sighed. “It’s going to take weeks to get everything in order.”With a soft laugh, Wamba reached up to ruffle his hair. “As ever, Oscar, there’s only one way to find out.”
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The heat finally eased as they made their way south. As though a spell had broken, they emerged from the Greenwood on the first cool breath of fall. Across the wide plains, serfs were already at work harvesting the waving fields of wheat and barley beneath a clear blue sky. The journey took a week, laden with carts and donkeys as they were, but London waited patient at the end of that unhurried trail.As ever, Oscar held the greatest fondness for the city after he had been away from it, the muddy streets and teeming crowds enfolding him back into the world he knew best. Ward was more cautious in unfamiliar surroundings, but Eral’s elation gradually infected him as they made their way deeper into the heart of London. The chattering of the boys provided a lively backdrop to familiar scenes as they passed through the market and turned to follow the riverbank, the king’s tower looming ahead of them. They bid farewell to Ivanhoe, Ward, and most of the donkeys at the barbican there, then carried on toward the quiet lane where they had made their home.The house appeared unremarkable at first, to judge by its humble gate. Stepping inside betrayed that for the illusion it was. The courtyard was clean and edged with neatly laid cobbles, but it was life that gave the house its splendor. The gnarled apple trees beside the well had been joined by squat sprays of quince and the trailing vines of strawberries. The herb garden beneath the kitchen window burst with a riot of delicious scents, sage and chamomile, lavender and creeping thyme all tended by a cheerful company of bees.Anna and Colin sat on the stone bench at the heart of this unlikely bower, their hands clasped and heads bent close together. Fangs lay beside them, his chin resting upon his paws, though he came quickly to attention and turned his yellow gaze toward the gate as Dunstan opened one half of the double doors to let them passed beneath the guardhouse.“Fangs!” Eral called, scrambling down from his horse. The lean gray hound leapt eagerly to his feet, his tail waving as his long legs covered the span to the gate in a mere two strides. Oscar dodged to one side just in time to let Fangs lope past and leap upon Eral, snatching up his son’s abandoned reins as he did.Colin was close behind, the young scribe smiling as he approached. Oscar grinned back at him. “I see you’ve finally worked up the courage to hold Anna’s hand out in the open.”Colin blushed at that, though his smile was undimmed. “Now that I’ve done so before God, a few strange eyes are not such a concern.”“You know I told him over and over I didn’t care what anyone else thought of us in the first place,” Anna said, though she took Colin’s arm and leaned up to kiss his cheek. His flush went a shade darker.Theirs had been a remarkably slow courtship, prolonged first by Colin’s gradual recovery from the fever that nearly took his life, then later by his bashful insistence on treating Anna with all the honor and ceremony one might owe a lady of royal blood. No matter how much Anna sighed or rolled her eyes, they all knew she secretly delighted in each awkward gesture of devotion. By the time Colin finally asked for her hand, the king himself could not doubt the sincerity of his affections, and they proceeded swiftly to the altar after that. Wamba, of course, offered them whatever they might need to start a household of their own, but Anna refused to cede her position as his cook, so they agreed that Colin should move into the manor instead.“You’re here!” Emma appeared suddenly from the door to the receiving hall. “I thought you would be another day at least.”“We had better weather than expected,” Oscar replied.“It’s a good thing we aired out the rooms yesterday.”“Yes,” Anna said, “though we had planned to restock the larder tomorrow. There’s not much fit supper to speak of at the moment.”“Perhaps I can help with that,” Wamba said. He led a little donkey into the yard, trailed by the cart carrying the many gifts Rotherwood had showered on them as they prepared to depart.Anna lit at the sight of him and ran to greet him with a warm hug. He returned it with one arm, tugging open a linen sack with the other to reveal a whole smoked leg of ham. “Nora thought you might know what to do with this.”“Oh, that’s perfect!” Anna laughed, clapping her hands.“There’s plenty more here. Cheese and cider. Mushrooms. Some honey, too, I think.”“I knew Grandmother wouldn’t let you leave empty handed.”Thomas was last through the gate, leading the rest of the horses. He tied them to the back of the cart and began pulling down the trunks and boxes without a word. Oscar stepped in to sort those that were for the kitchen from those that held their personal belongings.“Thank you, Thomas,” Wamba said, when the cart was finally empty. “Would you like to stay for supper?”Thomas shook his head. “I should get the horses back to the castle.”“Of course,” Oscar smirked. “You wouldn’t want to keep the horses waiting any longer.”Thomas made no comment, but he could not quite contain the eager spring in his step as he collected the donkey and horses, all borrowed from the royal stables, and led them back through the gate.“Your brother came by a few days ago,” Dunstan told Oscar. “I think he was hoping to settle accounts.”“I’ll send someone to let him know we’ve returned.”“Why don’t you invite them all for supper?” Wamba said, a lumpy sack cradled in his arms. “It’s early enough, and we have more plums than we can likely manage on our own.”So Dunstan sent one of the soldiers from their little garrison to deliver a message to Emmett while he and Oscar set about carrying the trunks and satchels not bound for the kitchens up the stairs. Anna enlisted Colin’s help gathering the food for the larder while Eral and Fangs chased about the yard and Wamba looked on. Oscar threw open the windows in the bedchamber, letting their voices float up to fill the space, and felt his heart rise into his throat with the happy commotion of it, the whole lively lot of them sheltered within this little world, the home and family they had built.By the time Oscar unpacked their trunks and returned to the yard, the gate had opened again and more merry voices were added to the chorus. Emmett immediately seized his brother in a rough hug, his affection as forceful as Oscar remembered. Behind him, Mary laughed at her husband’s enthusiasm. Last came Peter and Mark, pushing a stout keg ahead of them to roll drunkenly along on its side.“What’s that?” Oscar asked by way of greeting.Emmett winked at Oscar and released him to help the boys right the cask. “Just a nip of small ale from the Bow and Scythe.”Oscar lifted a brow. “That’s more than a nip.”“It’s nothing. I have more work than I can keep up with, and it’s all thanks to your Cedric.”Wamba appeared in the kitchen door then, his simple tunic scattered with flour and just in time to overhear Emmett’s words.“That is generous of you, Emmett,” he said, “but really not necessary.”“Consider it our contribution to the meal,” Emmett countered with a grin.Wamba laughed, acceding to his reasoning with a gracious nod. “Very well. I suppose that is only fair.”“And this if for you, my lord, before I forget.” Emmett pulled a pouch from his belt and held it out toward Wamba. Wamba’s hands were caked in wet dough, so Oscar took it instead. It settled in his palm with the heavy clink of coins.“I’ll take it up and count it out for the ledger,” Oscar told Wamba.“Thank you, Oscar,” Wamba said, content as ever to let others handle his affairs.It had taken years, but he had finally discovered a purpose for the wealth Ivanhoe had foisted upon him after he granted Wamba his freedom. In the time since they left the tower, he had built a reputation among the people of the city as a patron for those who held ambitions but lacked the means to pursue them. They came to him asking for aid, and he was happy to grant it if he judged them sincere. Though coin was still largely a mystery to him, his instincts for honesty among those who came asking had so far proved impeccable. Now Emmett finally had his new workshop, Morris a fledgling apothecary of his own, Mary a little school where she taught girls to embroider and knot lace, and many others besides.Wamba was careful of any appearance of usury. Those he lent his coin repaid only what they had borrowed and no more, but most came bearing the fruits of their successful enterprises. Bread and ale, flowers and eggs, and once, memorably, a barrowful of cabbages that had stretched even Anna’s ingenuity in the kitchen. Other gifts were the work of their hands, iron sconces and woven blankets and other meaningful reminders that decorated the manor and surrounded them as they gathered around the large table in the receiving hall.Anna handed out mugs while Mary herded the three boys into their chairs and Emma dropped platters of bread, cheese, and fresh sliced plums along the length of the table. Colin toted in a steaming kettle that filled the room with the delicious scent of stewed pork. Wamba followed last, carrying a dark golden pudding carefully balanced in both hands. He set it down and took a seat beside Colin, gratefully accepting his cup from Anna. He rarely sat in the ornate chair at the head of the table. Oscar suspected this was chiefly because it had never occurred to him that he should do so, but they all followed his lead and took the seats they pleased, leaving Dunstan at the head for the evening.“How was your summer, Emmett?” Wamba asked. “Did London suffer the same heat we did in the north?”“It was hot, no doubt of that,” Emmett replied, “but that’s good news for coopers. The hotter it gets, the more people cry for good ale to cool them.”Wamba chuckled at that, taking up his cup again. “So long as the drink doesn’t land them in any trouble.”“Especially with Gilbert in charge,” Oscar said with a shudder, recalling the mirthless face of the magistrate chosen to replace Wamba while they were away.“Actually,” Colin said from Wamba’s other side. “Gilbert retired. A month ago.”“He did?” Wamba blinked at him. “Who has been overseeing the tribunal?”“Oh, um…” Colin was blushing again, the embarrassed bloom of red reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. “Me, actually.”He glanced at Wamba, who was staring at his apprentice with a bemused expression on his face.“It’s only for the petty disputes,” Colin rushed to add, “none of the serious crimes. Those were all saved for you to hear. I didn’t sentence anyone to anything or…”“Colin!” Wamba interrupted him with a laugh and fond clasp to his arm. “That’s wonderful.”Anna poked Colin with her elbow. “See? I told you he wouldn’t be angry.”“Of course not,” Wamba shook his head. “I argued it should be you to start with. I’m pleased the council finally came to the same conclusion.”“What a fine thing it is to see the student become the master,” Emmett said with a grin.“Your own apprentices are a credit to you,” Wamba replied.“I have so much work, I’ve taken on two more.”“What about Peter and Mark?” Oscar asked. “Don’t they help?”“We were blessed with two hardworking boys,” Mary replied, “but Peter has just been accepted for an apprenticeship of his own. With the carpenter.”“Oh?” Oscar leaned down to look past her to his nephew. “You don’t want to carry on the family trade?”Peter shrugged and swallowed his mouthful of stew. “I like working with wood. I want to learn what I can make from it besides barrels.”Oscar nodded and turned back to his brother. “He has a fair point.”“And what about you, Eral?” Mary asked. “Where do you think you’d like to apprentice?”“Maybe a blacksmith,” Emma suggested, “with your love of swords?”“You’re clever enough to train as a scribe if you want to,” Anna added.“No.” Eral brandished his spoon like a weapon and declared, “I’m going to be a knight!”A hush settled over the table. Then Mark scoffed. “You can’t be a knight.”“Of course I can!” Eral frowned at his cousin.“No you can’t,” Mark said. “Only nobles can become knights. Everyone knows that.”Eral looked at Oscar, then Wamba, no doubt hoping one of them would refute Mark’s words.Wamba’s smile and voice were gentle as he said, “I’m sorry, Eral, but he’s right. Only the sons of noble houses can formally seek the investiture.”Eral’s face fell, his sorrowful expression tearing at something in Oscar’s own heart. “But I want to be like Ward and Ralph! It’s not fair!”“It’s not,” Oscar agreed, “but you will get to do one thing Ward and Ralph won’t. You’re going to join Prince Henry to learn history and politics and all sorts of other interesting things.”“Maybe you’ll become a royal advisor,” Mary said, wrapping her arm around his slumped shoulders.“I don’t want to be an advisor and I don’t want to learn about history.” Eral poked his spoon into the remains of his stew with an air of utter dejection. “That’s boring.”“It may be more interesting than you think,” Wamba said. “Imagine all the great battles you’ll learn about. All the great heroes.”That made Eral perk up again. “Like Sir Ivanhoe?”Oscar groaned, earning himself an amused glance from Wamba before he smiled at Eral.“Yes, like Sir Ivanhoe,” he said, “and King Richard. And many other brave men. There have been three whole crusades, after all.”This seemed to cheer Eral, who finally returned to his meal. Oscar stretched his foot out beneath the table until his boot touched Wamba’s, a small gesture of gratitude that earned him a warm smile.“When do Prince Henry’s lessons start?"“Soon, I think. I’ll ask Nicholas.”It was one of many tasks that awaited now that they had returned. Oscar pushed them all away. Long light from the windows burnished the lacquered table with the glow of approaching dusk, a warmth that reflected in the smiling faces gathered there. There would be time for everything else tomorrow. For now, Oscar lifted his cup and savored the last few moments of summer.
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Eral’s lessons began a few days later.Oscar had set foot in the royal wing of the keep only twice before, once to interrupt the king’s supper with news of the plot against his family and once for an ill-fated evening that he had done his best to forget every day since. Eral was much more familiar with the opulent corridors, having walked them often as a page, so Oscar accompanied him more out of a sense of ceremony than any real need to see him safely to his destination.The study attached to Prince Henry’s chambers was to be the site of their daily instruction. It was grander than the comfortable library Oscar had once called home, dripping with tapestries and ornamented with gold at every corner. Nicholas was there already, looking as refreshed as Thomas had been when he came to fetch Wamba that morning. The archivist wore a robe Oscar had not seen before, deep blue and lined with panels of embroidered silver. The costly thread glittered in the sunlight pouring through leaded windows, the same shade as the cool gray eyes that greeted Oscar over a familiar smirk.“I was beginning to think we might have to start without you.”Oscar only smiled and nudged Eral forward with a hand between his shoulders. “There was no chance I would miss this. To think I’ll have a whole morning without you pestering me with errands.”“Don’t think you can shirk your duties just because I won’t be there to mind you,” Nicholas said. “I will check your work thoroughly when I return.”“If anything, I’ll get more done without you underfoot.”“Underfoot?” Nicholas echoed, indignant. “Shall I remind you which of us is the royal official and which the mere assistant?”Eral was well accustomed to their bickering, and ignored them in favor of sizing up the prince with an unimpressed look on his face. Henry returned the other boy’s blank stare with a scornful glance of his own.The prince said something to Nicholas in the muddled sounds Oscar recognized as French.Nicholas clicked his tongue. “Now now, my lord, you know your father wants you to accustom yourself to speaking English. So we will conduct ourselves as proper Britons while we are here for lessons.”“But I am not a Briton,” Henry said in precise, perfect English. “I am Norman.”Oscar silently concurred. The prince was rarely to be seen outside the company of his mother and her ladies, and never likely to be mistaken for any of the dozens of English children who ranged about the tower on a daily basis. Today he had been dressed in clothing even more peculiar than Oscar had grown accustomed to seeing at court, his frilled shirt bedecked with red and blue tassels beneath a short cloak of patterned silk edged with ermine. His fair hair was cut to precise length just above his shoulders, with a short fringe floating high above his brows. Yet despite the clothes, and even at just seven years old, he was already showing signs of his father’s powerful build.“Norman you are, my lord,” Nicholas agreed, “but this land you will one day rule is made up of many peoples, and their common tongue is English. So that is the language in which we will discuss them. Fear not, your lady mother has ensured that you will also receive a proper education in the history and arts of her home country. That will be for another lesson.”Oscar’s brow lifted at that. “Are you planning to teach Eral French, too?”“I don’t see why not,” Nicholas said. “He is still young and his mind eager for nourishment. It is only as we age that we tend to petrify into dullards without wit or appetite to learn. It is a true irony that the old and rigid are the ones to command all the power.”“Why must I have lessons with servants?” Henry interrupted them, eyeing Eral and his uniform with obvious disdain.“I’m not a servant,” Eral snapped at him, “and I don’t want to have lessons with you either.”“Gentlemen,” Nicholas chided them, “it will not do to begin on such quarrelsome terms. Your highness, it has already been agreed that you will benefit from a companion in your studies. Eral will be a mark against which to gauge your progress.”Henry only glared at Eral. Eral returned it, his fists clenched at his sides, and Oscar began to doubt the wisdom of this odd pairing. He tapped Nicholas on the elbow and tilted his head toward the corridor.“You two introduce yourselves properly now,” Nicholas said to Henry and Eral before he turned to follow Oscar just outside the door.“Do you think this is a good idea?” Oscar asked him, keeping his voice hushed. “They’re already fighting and they’ve only just met.”“That is exactly the point, Oscar,” Nicholas said. “They have only just met. It will take time before they can begin to learn from one another.”“I thought they were here to learn from you. What are you expecting them to teach each other? They couldn’t possibly be more different.”“As ever, Oscar, the answer is obvious if you would stop to give it more than a the barest fleeting moment of thought,” Nicholas sighed. “The heir to England’s throne knows next to nothing of his countrymen. What future might we expect him to craft if his loyalties lie ever with a court beyond her shores? King Richard did not agree to this merely out of his abiding affection for you.”Oscar scoffed at the jibe, but considered the truth of what Nicholas was saying. “It’s hardly going to help Prince Henry’s love for England if they come to blows.”“That is a risk I am willing to take.” Nicholas grinned, a flash of white teeth. “Surely you don’t think a pair of young boys have it in them to best me. I was a far greater terror to my tutors than either of them could ever hope to be.”Oscar laughed at that, though it brought to mind a comment Nicholas had made long ago, about the nature of his education at the monastery. “As long as you aren’t planning to beat them into obedience.”“You object the more traditional methods of education?” Nicholas cocked a brow at him.Oscar blinked. Nicholas held his silence just long enough for Oscar to begin to doubt, then smirked and waved a dismissive hand.“Even if I did have authority to lay hands on the royal brat, I have no need of such unimaginative punishments. Your son will be safe from such treatment here. Though I might be open to changing my mind should he prove a less than attentive pupil.”Oscar’s reply was stalled by the sound of a door swinging open on aged hinges. He turned, looking toward the far end of the corridor just as Queen Agnes appeared. Her dark hair was gathered beneath a round toque, wrapped in white silk and studded with pearls. The airy veil trailed elegantly past her shoulders to drape against a dress of gold brocade. She would have cut a stunning figure, but that her features were set in their customary expression of intense displeasure.Oscar could remember witnessing her smile, once or twice, but the years had worn away what little affection and pleasure she found in London. It was no secret in the tower that she loathed her adopted land. Though gifted in languages, she refused to speak any tongue but French and surrounded herself with a coterie of imported handmaidens from noble families that swore allegiance to her cousin King Philip rather than her husband. This fluttering bevy trailed along in her wake, a dozen ladies adorned in finery of every color and description.All but one. Oscar frowned as he recognized the streak of stark black walking just at Agnes’s shoulder. That sharp face and pointed goatee were unmistakable, even as the man turned away from them.“What’s he doing here?” he hissed at Nicholas.“Brother Theobald?” Nicholas asked, his distaste clear in each bitter syllable. “He is often to be found in her majesty’s company of late. I believe he offered his services as her spiritual advisor.”“The king allowed that? Theobald is the one who tried to have her and Henry killed.”“Ah, but we never found proof of his connection to the plot,” Nicholas reminded him, “and to forbid him from the tower on suspicion alone would foster yet more enmity between the crown and the church.”“Then why don’t you warn her?” Oscar countered. “She’s always liked you.”The corner of Nicholas’s mouth ticked down at that. “Once, perhaps, but I suspect I may have been replaced in her majesty’s favor.”“So Theobald already has a hold over her.”“He does,” Nicholas admitted, “though I do not yet grasp what he hopes to accomplish by it. Queen Agnes hardly has his majesty’s ear on any matters of note.”The queen and her train had disappeared around a corner by then. Oscar resisted the urge to follow them. He left Nicholas and the boys to their lessons, but a growing unease gnawed at him as he went about the daily business of maintaining the archives. They might not yet know his intentions, but a snake in the heart of the king’s household could mean only one thing. There must be fresh trouble ahead.
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Oscar did not tell Wamba what he had learned until later that evening, once supper was eaten and they were settled in the manor’s small study.Wamba occupied his usual seat at their shared table, reading through his letters while Oscar performed the routine task of balancing the household ledger. He had long ago given up arguing with his lover over his right to Wamba’s coin. Oscar had been acutely conscious, at first, of how others might judge the imbalance in those sums, but his pride was not so great that he would deny Wamba the joy of providing for all of them, nor Eral the benefits that came of it. Now he added his own more modest wage to the same chest and did his part to keep their affairs as tidy as he could manage.Eral had joined them as well, scratching at a sheet of parchment on the low table before the cheerful fire. Fangs lay on the hearth beside him, sleeping with his long legs outstretched so his foreclaws just touched Eral’s knees.Oscar finished his tally, glancing up at Wamba before he said quietly, “I saw Theobald in the tower today. Walking with the queen.”Wamba looked up from the letter in his hand, his eyes meeting Oscar’s over its edge. “Are you certain it was Theobald?”“Completely certain,” Oscar replied. “Nicholas confirmed it. Apparently, Theobald has been serving as the queen’s spiritual advisor.”“I had not heard that.” Wamba’s hand fell to rest on the tabletop, the letter caught in his loose grasp. “I presume this began after his majesty departed for France.”“I can’t see the king giving his permission,” Oscar said, “and it would be just like Theobald to slither his way in while everyone’s back was turned.”“And yet, he is surely under no illusion that such an association will remain undiscovered.” Wamba turned his eyes to the hearth with a thoughtful frown. “If he is willing to risk such an open provocation, it must mean his plans are well in motion.”“Or he thinks the queen will help him with whatever his new plot might be.” Oscar swept the pile of coins on the tabletop into their pouch and set it aside. “You haven’t heard anything?”Wamba shook his head. “Not since we returned. I feared it might be a mistake for all of us to leave London at once. Wilfred will have no more information than I, and Theobald has had months to lay whatever traps he has devised. It seems I should have obeyed my first instinct to remain here while King Richard was in France.”“It wasn’t your fault,” Oscar said, flipping the ledger closed. “We were all tempted by the chance to spend time away, and it’s been years since we last heard a peep from Theobald anyway.”“Exactly,” Wamba said. “Years without so much as a rumor, when we always knew he would not be so easily bested. His last words to us were as good as a threat. I let the long silence put me off my guard.”Oscar knew he held precious little chance of convincing Wamba not to shoulder that blame, so he aimed for a distraction instead. “What do you think he wants with the queen?”“That is indeed the first puzzle we must solve, if we are to pick apart his scheme.” Wamba looked back to Oscar, his dark gaze intent. “What else did you see?”“I only saw them for a moment,” Oscar shrugged. “They were walking together in the royal wing, along with the queen’s ladies.”“At least you had the sense not to try to spy on them,” Wamba said, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a quick smile. “Time was that would have been your first impulse.”“I did consider it,” Oscar admitted wryly, “but I wouldn’t have been able to understand them anyway. I still can’t make heads or tails of French.”“A notable disadvantage,” Wamba agreed.Oscar’s next thought was interrupted by a furious growl from Eral’s direction. He turned in his seat, just in time to witness the boy fling his quill down upon the table with venom. Disturbed by the sudden fuss, Fangs lifted his head to stare at Eral with drowsy yellow eyes.“What’s the matter?” Oscar asked.Eral waved his ink-stained hands at the parchment before him, irritation in every line of his bearing. “I don’t know what any of this means.”Wamba stood, leaving his letters to cross the room and peer down over Eral’s shoulder at the target of his ire. Fangs’s long tail thumped the flagstones as he approached. Wamba hummed a thoughtful sound. “This is French, isn’t it?” he said to Eral. “A very useful language in the king's circles. You might not know what it means at the moment, but you soon will, if you keep at it.”Eral scowled at him. Wamba laughed softly and reached down to ruffle his unruly hair.“How do you find Prince Henry as a study partner?” he asked. “Are you becoming friends?”Eral snorted. “I don’t want to be friends. He’s stuck up and he insults me all the time, even when I’m right and he’s wrong.”“That sounds quite unfair,” Wamba said gently, “but do try to remember that the prince is a little younger than you are. You’re bound to catch on more readily to new things. As his elder, it falls to you to set a good example for him.”Eral puffed up a bit at Wamba’s words, then quickly deflated. “But Henry already knows how to speak French, and I don’t know what any of this means.”“Did Nicholas not explain it to you?”“He did,” Eral admitted in a sullen mumble, “but I forgot.”Oscar suspected he had not so much forgotten as completely ignored the instruction in favor of nursing his grudge against the prince. He suffered a brief twinge of amused guilt for how many of his own faults of personality his son seemed to have inherited.“Can’t you teach me?” Eral asked Wamba.“I cannot help you with French, unfortunately,” Wamba said, “but I believe Colin might have studied a word or two not that long ago. Perhaps you should ask him.”Colin had indeed studied French, back when his young heart was set on one of the queen’s maids and long before he met Anna. Oscar secretly doubted he would remember much of what he learned, so many years later, but Colin was still more knowledgeable than anyone else in their little household.His spirits revived, Eral snatched up his parchment and went scampering out of the study, waving it in hand like a pennant. He left the door swinging open as he bounded down the stairs, yelling for Colin. Fangs heaved himself to his feet, but did not follow Eral. Instead, he trailed after Wamba as he went to close the door, then returned to the table. Oscar reached for the jug of sweet cider at his elbow and refilled both of their mugs.“Maybe I’ll train Eral up to be our spy, once he learns a bit of French,” he said, handing one to Wamba.Wamba huffed a laugh into his cup as he settled back into his chair. Fangs ambled close to rest his great head on Wamba’s knees, peering up at him with adoring eyes. “I don’t think we need him following entirely in your footsteps, Oscar.”Oscar grinned. “I suppose you’re right.”“It may take longer than we have, at any rate,” Wamba said, his free hand stroking absently at Fangs’s shaggy ears.Reminded again of Theobald, Oscar sobered. “What are we going to do about him?”“There is little we can do until we know something more of his plans.” Wamba sighed. “I will speak to the king when he returns. He has his own spies who might have learned something already.”“When will he be back?”“Soon,” Wamba said. “Very soon.”In fact it was late the next morning when the tower bells began to toll without pause, announcing to all London that the sovereign had returned. Alone in the archives, Oscar set his work aside to answer that summons. He locked the door behind him as he made his way out to the bailey, where the entire castle was turned out to greet Richard’s party. He found Wamba and Eral standing with Ivanhoe not far from the door to the keep, and jostled his way through a gaggle of chambermaids to join them.He greeted Wamba with a brief touch to his arm, and received a warm smile. Oscar returned it and said lightly, “Even sooner than we thought.”“His majesty did ever have an impeccable sense of timing,” Wamba agreed.Ward ran up to them then, from the direction of the training yard. His hair and tunic were coated with dust and he held a wooden training sword clutched in his hand. Ivanhoe laughed and shook his head, taking the weapon from his son to turn it around and tuck it into the boy’s belt instead. “We do not greet the king with blades drawn.”His levity echoed the general mood of the bailey, light with eager expectation. The flawless sky and pleasant breeze formed a perfect backdrop as the portcullis began to creak and the royal train appeared. Richard rode at its head, and seemed from afar to be of an equally good humor, throwing his visor back as his great black charger pranced across the drawbridge with all the exuberance of a spirited colt. He spurred his horse toward the keep, while the rest of his party quickly began to fill the yard.He swung down from the saddle as though his armor weighed nothing, handing off his horse as he doffed his helm and turned to greet his queen. Agnes offered him a curtsy, mirrored at once by all of her ladies in unison. Oscar studied them from his distant vantage, but it seemed Theobald was nowhere to be seen. However boldly he had wormed his way into the queen’s graces, it seemed he was not so brazen as to appear at her side before the king.Agnes stood stiff to accept Richard’s kiss to her cheek, stepping back in open relief as he moved on to receive Henry’s much warmer welcome. Richard lifted the boy into his arms, leaning close to ask him something. Whatever Henry replied, it prompted the king to turn to where Ivanhoe and Wamba stood. He set Henry back on his feet, leaving him with a pat to his shoulder before he made his way over to the knight.“Wilfred!” Richard offered his hand. “You were missed at Gaillard.”“Your majesty.” Wilfred’s head dipped as he clasped the king’s arm in friendly greeting. “With respect to the distinguished people of Normandy, even the pleasure of their company is not always worth the seasickness.”Richard smiled, something sharp and satisfied in the quick flash of teeth. “On that, Wilfred, I must heartily disagree.”He looked down at Ward then, standing just before Ivanhoe with his father’s hand resting on his shoulder.“So this is young Hereward. We have waited a long time to welcome you in London, lad.”“Your majesty.” Ward’s bow was hurried and awkward, his excitement betrayed in the sudden crack of his voice. “I am honored to be here.”“How have you found your training so far? I understand it is a week since you arrived?”“Master Felix is wonderful, sire.” Ward's eyes shone, his nerves fading as he warmed to the subject. “He has been teaching me how to fight in the Norman style.”“It’s a little different to what your father has taught you, no doubt,” Richard said, “but both styles will serve you well. If you are half as adept as Wilfred, I’m sure you will make a fine fighter. We may even see you knighted before seventeen.”Wilfred and Ward both beamed at this pronouncement. Eral meanwhile, half hidden behind Wamba, shot jealous glances at the other boy from the corner of his eye. Oscar nudged him with an elbow, but only succeeded in pulling Eral’s sullen frown in his direction instead, so decided to allow his son his sulk.Richard looked next to Wamba, who offered a much smoother bow than Ward had managed. “Your majesty.”“Wamba,” Richard said. “You appear much revived by your time away.”“As do you, sire,” Wamba said with a smile, “although I have reason to believe that not all was tranquil in your city this summer.”“Is that so?” Richard’s eyes narrowed. He glanced around the bailey, where the servants were busy unloading carts and leading the horses away toward the stables. “I also have news to share. Let us assemble the council. We will dine together once I have been freed of this armor. There is much to discuss.”Ivanhoe and Wamba followed the king as he made his way into the keep. Effectively dismissed, Oscar ushered Eral back to his duties, then stood for a moment to watch Gregory oversee the neatly organized chaos in the yard before he turned to make his way back to the archives. It was a surprise to find a strange man waiting for him there, standing with his arms crossed across his chest and the toe of one leather boot tapping an impatient rhythm against the floor. He wore a fine quilted doublet of pale blue velvet and a matching hat adorned with two long feathers. A short, tawny beard bristled along the edges of his jaw.Oscar glanced between him and the lone guard, standing still at attention. “Alright there, Malcolm?”“You have a visitor, Oscar,” Malcolm said, his tone dry as dust.“He can see that, of course,” said the man in the feathered hat. “I come bearing a message, and this soldier has kept me waiting in the corridor.”“That’s not his fault,” Oscar replied. “He doesn’t have the key.”The man’s sour face grew somehow even more indignant. “He could have said that. I have business here, and this rudeness has delayed me long enough.”Oscar turned toward the door as he pulled the key from his belt so the stranger would not see him roll his eyes. He slid the key into its hole and turned it, throwing the door open with a one arm.“Then I suppose you had better come inside.”
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The visitor did not wait for Oscar to lead the way, but swept past him into the archives and strode on briskly through the labyrinth of shelves. Oscar exchanged a longsuffering glance with Malcolm before he followed, and left the door hanging open just an inch in case he needed to call for the guard’s assistance.He caught up with the stranger at the center of the round chamber. He had come to a halt beside the large table, looking about it with growing impatience. “Nicholas is not here.”“He’s not,” Oscar said, calmly confirming the obvious. “I’m his assistant. I can help with whatever it is you need.”The stranger turned to look him up and down, palpable disdain in his long, measuring glance. “I doubt that.”Oscar bit back a sigh, forcing his features into the wooden mask of politeness he had grudgingly perfected after so many years in the tower. “You said you had a message?”A folded letter appeared in the man’s hand, the parchment thick and clearly expensive. A broad seal of dark blue wax held it closed, pressed with a crest that Oscar could not immediately identify.“You can leave that with me. I’ll be sure that he gets it.” Oscar held out his hand for the letter.Rather than relinquish it, the visitor stepped back, tucking it into a pocket within his doublet. “I was ordered to deliver it personally.”Oscar finally released his exasperated sigh. He let his hand drop, walking past the man to settle in his chair and retrieve the quill he had left standing in the ink pot. “If you’re planning to wait for Nicholas, you might be here a while.”“Can he not be summoned?”“Summoned from the royal council?” Oscar snorted. “Unlikely. Didn’t you say you had somewhere to be?”“My business is here,” the stranger said, “and I will not leave until I have discharged my duty.”Oscar tapped the tip of his quill against the rim of the pot, considering whether he should call Malcolm to remove his unwanted guest. He decided it was not worth the trouble, at least so long as the man did not disrupt him.“Suit yourself.” He shrugged, and went back to work.The hour that followed was far from the most uncomfortable Oscar had passed in the archives, but it was perhaps the oddest. He did his best to ignore the stranger as he moved about retrieving and replacing the records he needed. The other man said nothing, eventually taking a seat in Nicholas’s usual chair, where he occasionally drummed his fingers against the arm to remind Oscar of his urgency.It was a relief to hear motion at the far side of the room at last, the quick rhythm of Nicholas’s steps punctuated by the sharp retort of the door slamming closed.“Oscar!” The archivist was scolding him before he even appeared. “What earthly reason do you have to leave the door hanging open to all and sundry?”“Nicholas, there’s…” That was as far as Oscar’s warning went before Nicholas swept into view, and immediately spied the visitor sitting at his table.He stopped dead between two shelves, his eyes narrowing in an expression that Oscar could only describe as fury. The man in the feathered hat stood, ignoring the warning in Nicholas’s gaze to take two steps toward him. They stayed that way, staring one another down, while Oscar glanced warily between them and the tension stretched tight as a bowstring. Oscar shifted in his seat, drawing breath to call for Malcolm, when Nicholas finally spoke.“Eugene.” The word was a curse, spat with enough venom that he might have been addressing the devil himself.“Nicholas,” Eugene replied, his tone equally cold but lacking the same depth of wrath.He pulled the letter from his doublet and thrust it at Nicholas, brandishing it like the opening gambit of an armed duel. It might as well have been a weapon for how Nicholas reacted, recoiling back with a sneer.“Leave it and go.”Eugene took another step toward him, pressing the letter forcefully against Nicholas’s chest with an open palm. “My orders are to wait and return with your reply.”“Then you will be waiting until Christ returns,” Nicholas hissed, “for I have no intention of dignifying this drivel with any more of my time.”He stepped around Eugene, letting the letter fall to the flagstones, and quickly reclaimed his chair.“So you’re not even man enough to open it?” Eugene asked, scorn dripping from every word. He bent to retrieve the letter and placed it on the table instead, the wax seal turned to face Nicholas.Nicholas’s eyes flicked down to it then back to Eugene, pale grey turned stormy with rage. “Begone, sycophant, before I call the guard to remove you.”“I’ll go,” Eugene conceded at last, “but do not think is the last you will hear of it.”He turned on his heel and stalked back toward the door, a second bang announcing his departure. Oscar stared at Nicholas across the table, wary of the flush still high in his cheeks. As expected, it was only moments before the archivist’s temper turned on him.“What were you thinking letting him in here?”“I didn’t have any reason not to,” Oscar told him. “He said he had business with you personally. Who is he anyway?”Nicholas took a slow breath, visibly mastering his anger, and pinched two fingers against the bridge of his nose. “My father’s favorite lackey.”“Really?” Oscar gave him a doubtful look. “I didn’t think you’d let a servant speak to you like that.”“You are correct, of course.” Nicholas sat up straight again, meeting Oscar’s eyes across the table. “Under normal circumstances, you are the only one who dares speak to me as though you have any right to an opinion on my affairs. In this instance, however, he also happens to be my cousin.”“Your cousin?” Oscar echoed, his brow rising higher.“Yes,” Nicholas said. “Spawn of my father’s sister and a thorn in my side since he was tall enough to peep at keyholes.”“Does that make him someone important?” Oscar set his quill down and settled back in his chair, trying to recall the details of the Cornwall estate.“Hardly.” Nicholas scoffed. “He does my father’s bidding because his own father’s fortunes were ruined when John lost the throne. His only hope of securing lands now is to imagine that my father might consider him a worthy substitute should he disinherit me completely.”“You mean he hasn’t done that yet?” Oscar asked, feigning shock in an attempt to lighten Nicholas’s mood.It won a smirk from the archivist, accompanied by the weary wave of a hand. “He has not, but only because it was expressly against my grandmother’s wishes.”Oscar puzzled at that. “Why does your father care what your grandmother thinks?”“You clearly need to study those records you keep more carefully if you cannot answer that for yourself. My grandmother is the Duchess of Brittany and my mother was her eldest child. My father has ambitions to secure a patrimony there, but he can only do so if he remains in my grandmother’s good graces.”Oscar noted that Nicholas spoke of his lady relatives without any of the rancor that so often accompanied talk of his family. “It sounds like you’re fond of her.”“She is a woman of great shrewdness and erudition,” Nicholas agreed. “The summers I spent at her estate are some of the only pleasant memories I have of childhood.”“Why didn’t you just stay with her, then? Instead of going back to your father?”“As with anything concerning the nobility, it was not so simple as that.”Nicholas reached out cautiously toward the letter Eugene had left on the table, hesitating a moment before he picked it up. He turned it thoughtfully in his hand, tapping one corner against the tabletop.“My mother was supposed to marry Louis. Did you know that?”Oscar blinked, genuinely startled.“Instead, the king refused the match and my mother was sentenced to live in ignominy in Cornwall until she could no longer bear the shame.” Nicholas’s smile was a small, sour thing. “I suppose you assumed the daughter of one of the greatest houses of England was simply a natural mate for a coarse country earl?”“I never thought about it,” Oscar admitted.“Nor need you do so now.” Nicholas turned the letter again, picking at the seal with the edge of his thumb. “Suffice to say that the Duchess of Brittany adopting her grandson would have been taken as a flagrant attempt to circumvent the proper succession, and though it would have been a happier life for me, it would also have been decidedly short.”“Someone would have tried to have you killed?”“More than one innocent child has died for no greater crime than being born to the wrong parents at the wrong time. My grandmother cared more for my life than my inheritance, and sent me back to England. I have not seen nor spoken to her since my tenth birthday. I decided long ago that it is better for me to commit myself to my role here and leave the squabbling over titles to those who actually desire them.”Oscar considered everything Nicholas had shared, and found himself coming to an unexpected conclusion. “Does that mean you’re royalty?”Nicholas finally laughed at that, genuine amusement breaking through his melancholic humor. “Of course not, Oscar. I am a distant relation at best. Close enough to have my affairs thoroughly meddled in, but not close enough to muddy the succession.”“Still,” Oscar shrugged. “I suppose I can see why you might worry about falling in love with a soldier.”Nicholas’s eyes shot toward the door, cautious on instinct though they had both heard it close behind Eugene. “Finally, you understand.”“So what’s in the letter?” Oscar asked, nodding toward the fold of parchment that Nicholas had yet to open.Nicholas held it up, scowling at the blue seal for a moment before he tossed it to the floor. It slid beneath one of the shelves and out of sight. “My father has decided that the next best torment he can concoct is attempting to sell me off into marriage.”“Marriage?” Oscar’s eyes widened.“I have no intention of entertaining him, of course,” Nicholas said, “and he has no authority to compel me. The only threat he can make is to disown me. While Eugene doubtless hopes for such an outcome, we have already established that it is not in my father’s interest.”“What are you going to do?”“I will ignore him until he turns his attention to some other fancy to occupy him in his dotage.”“Does the king know?” Oscar asked. “He would have a say in the match, wouldn’t he?”“I supposed he would.” Nicholas smirked at Oscar across the table. “Although he is hardly of a mind to force anyone into an unhappy union, given the state of his own marriage.”“He seemed to be in a good humor today,” Oscar noted. “The air of France must agree with him.”“Its air,” Nicholas nodded, “or perhaps its particular comforts.”He stared at Oscar, clearly expecting him to interpret some unsaid meaning in the words.“Comforts,” he said slowly, considering what France might offer that England did not that would explain Richard’s increasingly lengthy visits in recent years. The solution, when it came to him, sent his brows shooting up again. “A mistress?”Nicholas nodded, satisfied. “If the rumors are to be believed.”Oscar’s mind immediately began to race with the implications of that. “Does the queen know? Do you think he’s planning to bring his lover here?”“I do not think this particular lover would be fit to introduce as such before the court.”“Why not?” Oscar asked. “There’s clearly no love lost between him and the queen. Plenty of nobles have mistresses here. Why not the king, too?”Nicholas folded his hands across his belly and smiled, his eyes bright with the delight of sharing a secret. “Do you remember me telling you I attempted to seduce his majesty once?”“You didn’t tell me,” Oscar reminded him. “I guessed.”“Then you remember also that I rarely judge the character of a man incorrectly in this matter?”To his humiliation, Oscar squeaked. “His lover is a man?”“That is what the court is saying.” Nicholas shrugged. “Of course, I have no proof and neither do they. Only rumors that they whisper so they can play at being offended.”Oscar held onto the revelation late into the evening, turning the new knowledge over and over in his head and struggling to fit it into his image of the king. He cast his memory back over hours spent in Richard’s presence, but where Nicholas had read some unknown sign, Oscar could only recall a stern visage, offering little clue as to the man of flesh and blood behind the crown. Not once had he betrayed a hint at this secret except, perhaps, in the decision to bring both Wamba and Nicholas in amongst his closest advisors. They were the two he had chosen for their skill rather than their family names, when he was fully aware of their shared nature and by his own law should have condemned them both.He was still mulling this over as he lay in bed that night, waiting for Wamba and staring up at the beams of the roof. A candle burned at the bedside, little more than a nub by the time the door finally opened and Wamba returned from whatever late audience Ivanhoe or Richard had required of him.“Hello, Oscar,” he said softly, setting his candle down on the bed table with a tired smile. He opened the wardrobe with one hand, the other already working at the stays of his robe.Oscar turned on his side to face him, tucking one arm beneath his head. “Did you know the king has a male lover?”Wamba’s hands paused on his stays, then resumed their work more slowly. He did not look at Oscar. “Wilfred may have mentioned a particular ally his majesty has in France.”Oscar watched him shed his clothing, folding each piece neatly away before he reached for his nightshirt, and wondered why the quiet admission stung so sharply.“Why didn’t you tell me?”Wamba pulled the nightshirt over his head, letting it fall as he turned to Oscar at last. “What I have told you is all I know.”“You didn’t ask Ivanhoe anything more?”“Even the king is entitled to a little discretion where his private affairs are concerned.” Wamba closed the wardrobe and pulled the blankets back on the bed. “Does it make such a difference?”Oscar shifted back, allowing Wamba to settle into the warmth he left. “It’s just that I never knew he was…”“What?” Wamba’s face was close to Oscar’s now, dark eyes studying his carefully.“Like us.”Wamba huffed a soft laugh, reaching out to stroke Oscar’s hair back from his brow. “As with all things concerning royalty, it is not so simple as that. How did you hear about it?”“Nicholas said there are rumors at court.”Wamba’s eyes darkened at that, his smile falling away. “That is concerning, and not only because of what it might mean for the king personally. I’m surprised Nicholas heard these rumors when I did not.”“Someone must have started them while we were away at Rotherwood,” Oscar said. “No one mentioned it to the council?”Wamba shook his head, his hair whispering against the pillow. “It is no secret that there are discontented voices among the nobility, but I had not thought to doubt the council. Not yet.”“What does it matter if it’s just rumors?”“Who else wishes to see the king deposed?” Wamba asked him. “Or at least defanged?”The answer came to Oscar immediately. “Stephen Langton.”“Exactly,” Wamba said. “The archbishop could easily use this knowledge to force the king to concede to his demands, if he had sufficient proof.”Oscar’s heart clenched, a sorrowful knot in his chest. “All because of who he loves?”Wamba pressed a soft kiss to Oscar’s lips, then settled back with a sad smile. “Now you see why it is not a thing to be shared lightly.”Oscar thought suddenly of the chamber at the far end of the corridor, the small bedroom beside Eral’s that was home to a small but meaningful collection of Oscar’s possessions. It was a precaution made necessary by the rumors that had dogged him since the day he first met Wamba, long before there was any truth to them. It suddenly seemed far too fragile a protection against all that they stood to lose.A new worry heavy in his gut, Oscar leaned over Wamba and blew his candle out.