Velvet

Chapter 2-2

When my father was killed by an out of control carriage, King Killian called me to court.

“I am much saddened by the death of your father, Virago. His loyalty and friendship will be missed, but never forgotten.”

I bowed before him, tears stinging my eyes. “My Lord, my brother Sylvain and I are most appreciative of your kindness during this difficult time.”

“His rare talent shall live on in the work he left behind.” He rose from the throne and came to me, putting his hand on my bowed shoulder. “Rise.”

“Forgive me, My Lord.” I began to wipe at my face, but he stopped me.

“Your tears are not in vain. I, myself cried at his death. But now I must ask you to take his place.”

Before I could grasp Killian’s request, Duir came into the room.

“My son, come closer. I am asking your friend, Virago, to take his father’s place at court as Royal Tailor.”

Duir strode towards us, and instead of standing by Killian, came and threw his arms around me.

“I am sorry for the loss of your father.”

“Thank you, my Prince. You are kind to say so.”

“Kind nothing!” Duir released me from his embrace. “I’ve long thought of him as a second father and you a brother. You must come to court as Royal Tailor.”

King Killian interrupted. “Virago, you’ve apprenticed with your father since you were a child. Your talents are worthy of this position.”

Although my father apprenticed me in the hopes of such a possibility, I’d never thought the chance would come, and certainly not as unexpectedly.

“You were always a thinker, Virago.” King Killian broke in on my thoughts. “But there are rumblings of war in the north, and I shall answer their call. It would give me some comfort to know you were at court to serve the Prince.” His eyes found his son. “For he will rule in my stead and you know him well.”

“Too well,” I answered before I could stop myself. I immediately began to apologize, but both men burst into laughter.

I accepted the position as royal tailor and in doing so, ensured monies necessary for Sylvain’s and my survival.

The following spring, war, as The King predicted, came to the north. King Killian being their ally, answered their pleas for aid. I remember the day he departed. Duir stood by Killian’s side while the Privy Council advised, argued, and pleaded with King Killian to stay behind the walls of the castle; leave the battles of the north to the north, and tend the matters of his own realm.

“You forget, my Lords, the Lord of the North came to our aid directly when we battled the savages of these lands. He did not send some underling, but came himself to fight alongside me, and now I must do the same!”

With heavy hearts and many misgivings behind him, King Killian rode forth from his gates.

News of the war came fast and furious to our lands and along with it, many messages from Killian to his son. When these messages stopped, Duir feared his father met his end.

A month after Killian’s last message arrived, I returned home to find my brother waiting for me at the door. He wore a strange expression on his face.

“What is it?” I asked, hoping I’d misread his dour countenance.

“I’ve heard talk of the war,” he answered with cold certainty.

“There is always talk these days, Sylvain. You mustn’t listen to every rogue piece of gossip.”

“Killian is believed to be dead. Killed on the fields of the north.”

His words struck me as though I’d been hit. I had no reply, for even as I longed to deny his news, something struck the timber of my soul with chilling realization.

“From whom have you heard this?” I asked, only after I’d found respite in a chair and a draught of bitter ale.

“From Maura, wife to Aran,” he replied.

“No, it cannot be true. She must have misunderstood. Maura is always half-hearing things. Do you remember last spring when she thought…” I couldn’t go on. I wanted desperately to fill the space in my heart that was filling with dread, but couldn’t.

“Virago, Killian is dead.”

I shook my head violently. “Lies!”

“Feckless as Maura may be, you would question Aran’s word? He is Killian’s most trusted field marshal.”

“You must go to court and tell Duir of this,” I said. “If this is true, Duir must be prepared.” When I saw Sylvain tense under my request, I added, “Why has Maura remained quiet?”

“Aran bid her to stay silent. A royal envoy from the north has been sent with the news.”

I shook my head in incredulous disbelief. “Duir must remain ignorant while his beloved father lies dead?”

“Virago, if I go to Duir—”

“It is not a matter of if,” I shouted. “It is a matter of when, Sylvain! You must go now!”

Sylvain did go to court and sought an audience with Duir. I stood by his side and even now, I remember the exchange as if it were only the day before. Duir had gathered his three closest men and council: Auberon, Briar, and Cale. They all were sitting around a long table engaged in games of strategy when we entered.

“My Prince.” I bowed low to Duir. “My Lords.” I bowed to the three men. “My brother wishes to have a word. He has heard urgent news of King Killian.”

There were many times after this meeting I’d wished I’d thought better of sending Sylvain to tell Duir of what he’d learned. I saw not only shock and disbelief cross the faces of Duir and his men, but also disdain and disgust for my blind brother.

“Until I see my father’s body, I will believe in what is before me,” Duir replied, darkly. “While neither Lady Maura nor you are familiar with war and the treachery it brings, my men and I are. You forget letters may be written by any hand, and it has happened before when false letters of death have been sent to dishearten and encourage despair!”

After his outrage, we were dismissed.

Several days later, the expected envoy arrived bearing King Killian’s sword and confirmation of his death.

Duir was twenty and I twenty-two when King Killian died in battle. At Killian’s funeral, Duir embraced and beseeched me. “You must continue to serve as my tailor.” He insisted and stared intently at my face. “I demand your fingers be the only ones to weave my garments and those of my court. Your brother,” he continued and cast a malignant eye in Sylvain’s direction. “May sew the horse’s blankets.”

In the days following his father’s death, Duir retreated into depression and fits of cruel brutality. He beat servants for spilling wine and rumors swelled within the castle walls when one of Duir’s favored attendants disappeared.

“Killed the poor man, Duir did, the monster.”

“Ain’t never been the same since his sainted father died.”

“No surprise. Always a bit of a brute even as a lad.”

These were only a few of the phrases bandied about by those in his service.

He rarely left his private rooms. On the occasion when he sat at court, his decrees were bizarre and conflicted. This led to many of those who sat on King Killian’s Privy Council to raise objection. When Duir grew bored with these protests, he would simply dismiss those who opposed him.

“Sir, if you dislike the court, I bid you leave it.”

If further protest were raised, force would be employed. Depending on Duir’s mood, this could range from being escorted from the room or removed to the dungeons with accusations of treason following behind.

One night while attending a dinner in his private chambers, I witnessed Duir’s irrational behavior. Beautiful women were always in his company and that night proved no different. The local brothel owner, a woman called Therese, sat by Duir.

He raised his goblet in a toast. “When I wear the crown, I will make you a Lady,” Duir slurred, loudly.

Therese laughed. “Oh aye, Lady Therese, the w***e mother! Fancy that everyone! Our Prince can turn whores into ladies!”

Duir did not laugh.

I saw his eyes grow wide in rage. Sensing trouble, I sprung forward. “Duir!”

He did not hear me. The wine filled goblet he’d raised came down upon Therese with such force that its contents splashed across the table and soaked Therese and the woman who sat at her side. Therese crumpled from where she sat.

When I rushed to her side, Duir raised his hand threateningly.

“Touch the slut and I will slit your throat, tailor!” He shook with rage. The goblet fell from his hand. The sound of it hitting the floor echoed in the candle lit room. No one moved. Duir faced the table.

“I am King of this realm!”

The women Therese brought were whimpering and shaking so violently I thought they would faint. It must have been sheer terror that held them upright.

“I will not be laughed at in my own chambers!” His voice shook the windows.

Everyone in attendance stood, except Cale.

Cale sat unmoved by the scene. His massive hands reached across the table, jerked a drumstick from a roasted swan, brought it to his mouth, and tore at it like a hungry beast.

Auberon went to Duir’s side. “My Prince.”

Duir spun on him, but Auberon amended swiftly. “Pardon, My King. Come. Let us leave these fools.”

Briar came to Duir’s other side and between their powerful frames, they led Duir from the room.

Once they departed, I focused my attentions on Therese. Her women were by her side attending to her. The haunting sound of her painful cries, the women’s hysterics and finally Cale’s malevolent laughter, filled the room.

I glared at him. “How can you laugh?”

Cale stopped laughing and belched. He tossed the stripped bone onto his plate. “Because I enjoy watching a dog scratch its fleas.”

I shook my head. “He cannot mean it. Duir is tormented by Killian’s death, that is all. This is not who he truly is.”

“Oh, but it is.” Cale sneered.

* * * *

The following morning I sat at breakfast with my brother. I now faced the task of telling Sylvain of Duir’s request for me to remain at court.

Sylvain knew Duir cast an evil eye his way. “It is because I brought news of Killian’s death to him. Perhaps he thinks himself a fool for not believing a blind man, or maybe he did believe, but his pride blinded him. There is no love lost between us and I worry not at all of Duir. I brought news of the death to him and I will always be remembered as such.”

What Sylvain lacked in sight he made up for with his other senses. His affinity with wild creatures and skill as an animal trainer were renowned. He also understood the ways of healing wounds and sickness, and had a deft hand in ministering salves and ointments made from the plants and trees growing wild in the nearby woods. While his gifts in tailoring were less than mine, he proved able, in the busiest of times, to work alongside me in competency.

Duir’s dislike of Sylvain persisted. He swore he could tell when Sylvain and not I stitched a buttonhole or had pieced together a vest.

“It is his way,” Sylvain acknowledged while we ate, and I told him of Duir’s demands. “Besides, I am glad to stitch the horses’ blankets. They are much more appreciative of a blind man’s work.”

I couldn’t help but smile at Sylvain’s reply. Both of us knew Duir’s mention of stitching horse blankets was merely his way of saying, “Your brother can go to the devil,” and I envied Sylvain’s ability to not take this insult personally.

“Will you continue at court?” my brother asked as he spread butter on a crust of bread. “I hear it is a dangerous place to be these days.”

“I don’t think I have a choice. I am beholden by my own words and Father’s legacy,” I answered carefully.

Sylvain scoffed. “You are beholden to only that which you decide. You must be careful. It is not King Killian’s court anymore.”

“Duir is grieving, and is acting strangely because of it. He will grow calm in time.”

Sylvain remained thoughtfully silent.

“His coronation will take place immediately. He will want a vest.”

“A vest?” Sylvain jeered over his bread. “Duir will want vestments beyond heaven for his crowning! You underestimate him.”

I shook my head and stared into my bowl. “I underestimate him because I am hopeful his demands will be tempered by our friendly history. I am only one man.”

Sylvain sighed resignedly, finished his meal, made as if to stand, but stopped and c****d his head towards the window beside him. A pigeon had come and landed on the window ledge.

I watched in silent amazement as he leaned over and offered it a scrap of bread, which sent the bird into an excited flurry of wings.

“Ah well, you shall have me to assist you, and maybe I am wrong.” As Sylvain finished, the pigeon took flight and we were silent.