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When the Lords of Leipa are summoned to treat, there are rumors flickering in the halls concerning the young swordsman accompanying Lord Capon. He’s a popular fellow. Many of the nobility toast him as the savior of Suchdol, and some offer him thanks for his hand in their own personal good fortune. He waves off their compliments with the affable grace one would expect from a man of peasant stock. But in the serving quarters below the banquet hall, those who pay attention find reason to be wary.
They keep their voices hushed as they collect around the table, bowls of stew held close and prayers whispered before daring to take a bite. The chambermaid is the first to speak and she swears Lord Capon’s page hasn't touched his bed since arriving at the castle.
“Of course, he hasn’t. When you all sleep, he mounts his horse and sets off God knows where.” The stableboy hisses. “There wasn’t a sliver of moon last night, but he rode torchless, like hell itself was on his heels.”
“I’ve talked to him a fair bit.” The laundress stares blankly into her supper. “He’s kind enough not to haggle and even supplies his own soap, but it's the same thing every day. A pair of hose, a gambeson and a black waffenrock.”
“They’re soaked in blood each time.” The broth slips from her spoon, thin and murky rivulets dribbling back into her bowl. “And his eyes…they were blown black each morning, it almost looked like they were bleeding into the whites.
“Aye,” The head cook rubs at the backs of her crossed arms. “It’s like he looks right through ya in the morning. When I tried to serve ‘em breakfast, he just sat there for hours staring on ahead. Gave me the shivers.”
A huntsman leaning against the wall takes a long swig from his wineskin. “I want to believe I was seeing things, but the other night I stumbled on him dressing a deer in the Lord’s woods. When he was done he threw some of the meat to his hound and then took a handful for himself…I swear to the Blessed Virgin I saw him eat it raw.”
More than a few at the table cross themselves, mutters of “God protect us” rising into the air to mingle with the kitchen smoke.
“Henry seems like a fine man to me.” A serving girl fumbles with the hem of her sleeve. “He brewed fever tonic for Ludmilla’s brother and wouldn't accept a groschen for it.”
“Did you see him make it, though?!” The huntsman barks. “The man was plucking belladonna and nettle barehanded. It’s devilry.”
“You don’t think Lord Capon would really have a demon in his service?” She frowns. “Besides, Henry prays in front of the wayside shrine each morning, and a demon could never do that.”
“The devil quoteth scripture to suit his needs.” The farrier presses his tongue into his cheek, arms folded over his chest, and several at the table nod in solemn agreement.
“Devils is right.” The nightwatchman says. “You should hear the wailing that comes from his room after midnight.”
“So he beds a lass or two.” She shrugs. “Hardly unusual for a handsome lad like that.”
“Weren’t no lass in his quarters. Them were the moans of the damned I swear.”
“True enough.” The stableboy pipes up. “I bet that's why he rides all night. He’s out collecting souls for the Devil and then throws them into the flames for his master to feast on.”
The nightwatchman goes pale. “The voice in the fire kept demanding ‘more, more, more.’ Lord protect us, I don’t think his master will be satisfied until he brings him every soul in this castle.”
“That’s nonsense!” The serving girl huffs. “The only master that man is interested in serving is Lord Capon.”
“But you see that’s the crux of it.” The stableboy leans in, voice low. “Don’t you find Lord Capon’s good fortune a little…suspicious?”
“Good fortune? The man’s been caged more times than a songbird!”
“Shhh shhhh, yes, but he’s been freed each time and his uncle hasn’t had to ransom a single groschen for him.” He flicks his eyes between them, waiting for the realization to dawn, but the serving girl is stone-faced and the rest are slow with wine or fear.
“Capon sold his soul.” He concludes and the serving girl’s face instantly curdles.
“Blasphemy.”
“No, it’s the truth. Do you really believe a no-name peasant who’s held a sword for less than a year could rescue a lord half a dozen times?”
“That’s divine providence. Not devilry”
“You think God favors some bratty lord from Sasau over our poor King locked in Vienna?” The huntsman quirks an eyebrow. “And after talking to our new bathmaiden from Rattay I don’t think God wants anything to do with that man.”
The stableboy slaps the table in agreement. “The rescues are one thing, but the marriage? Getting old Kunstadt to agree to that union had to take some bewitchment.”
She snorts. “You think the devil has Master Henry playing matchmaker?”
“If he is what I believe him to be, there’s no telling what the limits to his powers might be.”
“This is all such foolishness.” She pushes back against the table as she moves to stand. “It’s plain as day you’re just jealous of a man who’s risen far above his station and has earned the friendship and admiration of the man he serves.”
“Careful how you speak, wench.” The stableboy hisses, teeth grit and finger punching at the air above her heart. “Or you’ll be dragged to Hell with Capon and his curr.”
“What’s that?” A new voice cuts through the air, deep and cold. They all turn to see a man standing in the doorway, the kitchen fire glints off the buttons of his black gambeson and combs bronze streaks through his chestnut hair. But the eyes that find the stableboy are icy.
“Did I mishear?” Henry takes a slow stride toward their table, gaze flitting from one face to the next. “It sounded as if you were speaking ill of my master.”
The stableboy feels the blood chill beneath his skin from this devil’s stare. God, he must be a devil. He’s seen more floggings than Christmases but his heart’s never hammered this hard from a man who’s yet to even raise a hand to him.
“O-of course not, m’lord.” He offers, throat clicking.
“Not a lord.” He closes the distance between them, face inches from his own. “Certainly not yours.”
“I can’t have you thrown into the stocks or horsewhipped, but know that if I ever learn that you’ve spoken another unkind word about Sir Capon, I will have you begging for a Lord’s idea of justice.” He doesn’t lay a finger on him, but the stableboy can hear the joints in the other man’s fist groaning at his sides. “Are we clear?”
He nods frantically, eyes pressed shut.
“Good.” He eases back just enough to allow the fool to bolt, and like that, the tension seems to lessen. A smile warms the swordsman’s face as he turns to the cookpot. The others at the table watch as he takes a heaping spoonful for himself before he turns to the serving girl.
“Ahhhh Anna, is this your work? It’s delicious.”
“It’s got that venison you brought me.” She smiles, handing him a bowl. “Tried to dress it up a bit with some of Ludmilla’s spices.”
“You have a gift,” He grins around a mouthful while he fumbles with the pouch at his belt. “Oh, and before I forget here’s that wine you asked for.”
“Oh, Henry, you are an angel. How did you manage it? I thought Peter would laugh in your face?”
“I have my ways.” He winks. “Just maybe don’t mention to Peter where you got it until after we’ve left.”
She smiles and runs a finger over her mouth to seal it. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“Atta girl.” He beams before drawing a little nearer, voice low. “And about our other arrangement?”
She flutters her lashes and gives the other servants a wicked smile before she pulls him into the larder with her.
“Don’t worry.” She sighs as the door closes behind them and turns back to the knight. “Yara swore up and down she’d have the bath ready for you and your ‘lady love.’”
Henry wrinkles his nose a bit at the title, but he shakes his head with a relieved grin. “And…”
She gives him a knowing smile as she folds her hands behind her back. “And…no one will disturb you till morning.”
“I could kiss you.” He sighs, shoulders unbunching.
“I’d prefer if you didn't.” She raises her hands. “No offense.” She's spent enough time chatting with the bathmaidens to take a guess where that mouth has been.
“None taken.” He nods and turns for the door, but Anna stops him with a quiet hand on his shoulder.
“I am sorry, though, about all the gossip. I did my best, but it’s hard to shake people from ideas once they’ve got it in their minds someone’s strange.”
Henry smiles softly and takes her hand in his, giving it a small squeeze. They’re such strong hands, they’ve carried sacks, folded steel, and killed who knows how many, but they wrap around Anna’s fingers as gently as one would handle a dove. “As long as I’m the one they’re chattering about, let them.”
“Alright, God be with you, Henry.”
“Don’t worry, He is.” He winks at her before slipping out of the larder.
Cheeky bastard, she snorts.
As she ducks back outside, it seems that a new guest has come to join them while she and Henry were indisposed. A tall fair fair-haired man clad in a nauseating amount of brocade stands over the table, foot tapping impatiently as the farrier points an insistent finger toward the larder.
Lord Capon turns to Henry and throws his head back with a sigh.“Oh, there you are! Christ, my own squire abandons me to the Moravians. What is the world coming to?”
“Apologies, my lord,” Henry drops into a sloppy bow, a grin still twitching on his lips when he rises. “Had a bit of peasant business to attend to down here…you know how it is.”
Lord Capon peers around him to raise an eyebrow at the serving girl meekly stepping out of the larder. “Nothing untoward, I hope.”
“And blemish your good name? Wouldn’t dream of it, Sir!”
“Good to hear.” He nods and turns to leave. “Now, if that’s all, I’d like to be off before our host tries to tell me about his vineyards for the third time tonight.”
Henry happily trots along after his master. “Don’t worry. I’ve gone ahead and had a bath prepared for you this evening, and even took the liberty of arranging a particularly eager bathmaiden.”
“You always know precisely what I need, don’t you?”
“Of course, anything for you, my lord.” Henry swivels his head back to level the table of servants with a wide grin. As he retreats into the corridor, the candlelight silvers his blue eyes, maybe a bit too much for a good Christian.