The Redoubt

By Devorah Fox

Voted one of 50 Self-Published Books Worth Reading 2016. Having bested beast, man, and even his own failings, King Bewilliam has regained his throne, reunited with his sons, and restored his embattled kingdom, yet something is lacking. When a crippling famine threatens the Chalklands’ very survival, his vassals propose a risky plan to seek aid from a distant ruler. King Bewilliam strikes off on a perilous journey to the island empire of Sea Gate accompanied by a cadre of loyal knights and nobles who are unaware that the plan will reunite the king with a spurned lover.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Devorah Fox
• Release date: Feb 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311640321

Devorah Fox

"What if?" Those two words all too easily send Devorah Fox spinning into flights of fancy. Author of best-selling The Bewildering Adventures of King Bewilliam literary fantasy series including The Lost King, awarded the All Authors Certificate of Excellence 2016 and The Redoubt, voted #35 of 50 Self-Published Books Worth Reading 2016, she also wrote the mystery minis, Murder by the Book and One Bad Apple, and the Fantasy/Sci Fi Mini, Lady Blackwing. She co-authored the contemporary thriller, Naked Came the Sharks with Jed Donellie and contributed to Masters of Time and Magic Unveiled, SciFi/Fantasy anthologies. Her novel, Detour, finished in the Top Ten Thrillers in the 2017 Preditors and Editors Readers’ Poll and The Zen Detective, a mystery, was named a finalist for the Golden Book Award Contest 2017. Born in Brooklyn, New York, she now lives on the Texas Gulf Coast with rescued tabby cats ... and a dragon named Inky. Visit the “Dee-Scoveries” blog at http://www.devorahfox.com.

Book preview

This is a work of fiction. Therefore, names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of my imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

THANKS TO

Barbara Sanchez and Alice Marks for having my back. How could I have gotten to this point without you?

John Rojas for holding down the fort.

Beta readers Sally Ember and Alesha Escobar. I’m so grateful for your time, attention, and comments. (Sally and Alesha are authors in their own right. Check out their work at sallyember.com and aleshaescobar.com.)

Eagle-eyed Mike Green, Orville Ballard, and Andrea Dobson for ferreting out even the teeniest flaws.

My Street Team: Chip Cooper, Alan White, Ellie Killian, Joyce Walters, Theresa Guettler, Orville Ballard, Diana Knowlton Vondra, and Andrea Dobson, ever ready with helpful comments and encouragement.

The Rockport Writers Group, South Texas Scribes, and Masters of Time time-masters, all astounding writers.

Poets Ruth Asher and Rebecah Hall.

Nicole Ely (who can spin a tale herself) for the sage advice about herbs.

Skoot Larson and Karen Decker for creative sparks.

Kenneth Scott, Mike Daigle, the Art Center of Port Aransas, the Estelle Stair Gallery, and the Family Center IGA for your support.

and Mike Byrnes, always.

CHAPTER ONE

A knock came at the door to King Bewilliam’s bedchamber and his page hastened to answer it.

Sire, the physician.

Admit him, the king said although he was due in the great hall with a full slate of audiences.

The physician hurried in and gave a hasty bow. Apologies, Sire, for my lateness. I was some distance away answering many calls for help some of which took longer than expected. How may I be of service?

King Bewilliam pulled back his sleeve and showed the physician a thick red scar on his upper arm. This old injury no longer bleeds nor does it pain us, but the skin has not knit completely. It tugs and itches sometimes. Should it not have healed by now?

Please, Your Majesty, let’s move closer to the light.

King Bewilliam edged over to the brazier so that the glow from the fire shined on his arm. The physician gave the laceration a close examination. I remember this injury. I had to make a deep cut, slice through many layers of flesh to remove an arrowhead.

Deep cut indeed. That incision had begun to heal only to be reopened by the blade of an enemy’s sword. He shuddered at the memory. That King Bewilliam kept his arm not to mention his life owed to his fighting skills and, some would say, a little divine intervention.

I see no pus, no sign of infection. The skin is still reddened though, so indeed it has not yet completely healed. Your Majesty needs to give it more time. Some wounds are simply slow to mend. As well, as we age ... The physician cleared his throat. That is, some injuries and even some individuals take longer to mend.

Do you not have a balm or a salve that can speed the process? The angry magenta welt worried him as if any minute the skin would split and the wound reopen.

I will consult my references. If I determine that something can be of help I will send word immediately.

Thank you.

The physician bowed and backed towards the door.

Just a moment, the king said.

Yes, sire?

You said that you attended a great many patients. That sounds ominous. Does the kingdom suffer a health crisis of which we should be aware?

One could call this infernal weather a health crisis. It has taken a toll on the very young, the aged, the infirm, and the underfed who otherwise might have the strength to fight off an infection.

Underfed? In our domain?

Yes, Sire, underfed. There are some far-flung communities where the incessant rain washed out crops and soaked stores which then rotted. These small settlements lacked the adequate means with which to buy grain from communities not quite so hard hit. The weakest of their numbers have suffered.

Have they not been able to get aid from the Church?

For some, their remoteness has put them out of reach of that aid.

Yet you found a way to attend them.

The physician shrugged. I assumed that Your Majesty would want me to make every effort.

You assumed correctly. King Bewilliam frowned. If the Church cannot help them, we will. They should not be punished for bad weather over which they have no control.

Not that they haven’t tried, Your Majesty.

Tried? To affect the weather? In what way?

Some are so desperate that they are turning to old pagan ways, casting spells and making sacrifices to stop the rain.

The king felt a sudden chill. His strong dislike of magic bordered on fear and he endeavored to keep his castle if not his entire domain free of sorcerers. Advise the steward of the names of these beleaguered communities so that we may get aid to them.

I will, Your Majesty. And I will look into a remedy for that injury.

The king dismissed the physician. Now he was truly late. He popped two grapes in his mouth, thereby polishing off his breakfast tray. He had a lengthy agenda ahead and dinner would be hours away.

A drop of water struck the tray, then another. The king looked up. Water beaded along the ceiling beam. He watched as one drop swelled, detached, and fell to join the puddle on the tray.

King Bewilliam sighed. The seemingly ceaseless rain had found every leak in Bell Castle’s roofs.

Sire, his page said, we’ll attend to that right away. The carpenters—

Are repairing the barracks’ roofs, are they not?

Yes, Sire.

Do not disrupt them. Allow them to finish. Put a bowl under the drip here. We can certainly live with it a little while longer.

Yes, Sire.

The king smoothed his sleeve back into place while his page settled the heavy red velvet cloak across the monarch’s shoulders. The great hall wasn’t that far from the keep that housed the royal bedchambers but the early hour and the damp would make the walk brisk. Servants would have lit braziers that would eventually warm the great hall but until then the room would be chilly.

The king straightened his crown atop his curls. Those curls weren’t quite as coppery as they had been in his youth, he knew. Still, he did have a full head of hair, a broad chest, and sturdy shoulders, attributes that women seemed to find attractive.

As if being king wasn’t attractive enough.

He had fought hard for his throne and crown. Yet King Bewilliam still thought of himself as Robin, a scrappy, hands-on man of action ready to rise to any challenge and who could rely on his intellect and sword arm to best any opponent, man or beast. That was who King Bewilliam had become not that many years ago when he was lost, his nobility no more real than a vaguely remembered dream.

Meeyoo? he called.

Curled up on a pillow at the head of the king’s commodious bed, the cat’s eyes remained firmly shut although Robin thought that he detected a twitch of her ear.

It’s time to go, Meeyoo. Are you coming?

The cat did not budge.

Fine, then. We’ll manage on our own, he said, but as he crossed the bedchamber threshold, Meeyoo leaped from the bed and trotted down the corridor toward the staircase.

Robin pulled his cloak closer as much to better display the embroidered imperial crest centered on the back as to keep out the clammy chill. He warmed not simply from the coziness afforded by the heavy fabric but also with pride from gazing on the emblem. He hadn’t forgotten once having to pluck the embroidery out stitch by painful stitch to hide his royal identity.

His boots skidded on damp and frosty grass and Meeyoo picked her way gingerly over the cold ground. The smells of wet wood and wet smoke hung over the bailey. Servants went about their tasks without delay, not lingering for idle chat but hurrying back to the shelter of workshops, kitchen, and stables, their windows aglow with soft yellow light hinting at the dry warmth within. Groundskeepers bundled in scarves and gloves trimmed tender plants whose leaves had been turned brown by the uncharacteristically harsh weather.

At the king’s approach, the officers at arms bowed and threw open the great hall’s huge oak doors. A page handed him a tankard of fresh ale. Robin stood for a moment at the threshold to appreciate the throne room’s splendor. Golden candelabra and gilt threads in the tapestries, draperies, and upholstery glowed in the light of candles, lanterns, and braziers, struggling against the wintery gloom that darkened the corners.

Meeyoo scampered ahead and took her customary seat atop a cushion tucked into a quarter of a barrel stowed slightly behind the king’s throne. Anyone with the effrontery to insinuate that pampering an insignificant creature like a cat was a folly in which only a monarch could indulge would be shouted down by those charmed by Meeyoo’s personality. Few knew that the cat had saved the king’s life more than once.

A movement behind the throne caught Robin’s eye, a dark line snaking down the stone wall. Water trickled from a leak somewhere above the alcove.

Add the great hall to the list of Bell Castle edifices needing repair, he thought.

Petitioners already crowded the hall. The earliest arrivals had snagged seats on the few benches arrayed before the throne dais. Others prepared for a long wait to be heard by bringing their own chair. The remaining supplicants stood clustered in small groups. Robin’s officers, seers, and ministers occupied their customary places near the throne to be available for impromptu consultation or to give the king the high sign if they had an urgent comment.

At a small table with her writing desk perched on top, the scribe sat with her back straight, inkwell and quill at hand, ready to record the proceedings. Robin knew that many found the presence of a female in court in such a vaunted official position startling if not shocking but Bekka was an exceptional young woman. It was at the behest of his sole female knight that he gave Bekka a chance to demonstrate her worth. Her two-timing husband abandoned her for another woman, left her penniless, Deidre had told him. I shudder to think what she might have to do to survive. Deidre’s forthright expression was more challenge than plea and put that way, Robin could hardly refuse.

Though self-taught, Bekka proved to be as skilled with words as her friend Dame Deidre was with a sword.

Some of the nobles brought their own scribes, the better to have a ready accounting of the day’s transactions without having to wait for a copy to be made of Bekka’s notes.

The trumpeter heralded the king’s arrival. Robin’s stride shortened as he crossed the hall to the dais. Petitioners parted to make way for the king and bowed. As he passed, Robin acknowledged his subjects with a nod but gave no further recognition. To do so might appear to indicate favoritism or a decision already made before hearing the facts.

He was mildly surprised to see Lord Ferree of White Castle in attendance and wondered what the man wanted. Whatever it was Robin would have been happy to grant the valued vassal a private audience.

Robin sighed to see Princess Dale too in court. Born the king’s youngest son, Prince Zachary had announced his true identity was that of a woman and that he intended to live that way. Tall and slender with long mahogany hair, Princess Dale was not unattractive yet Robin could not help but see Zachary’s face under the powder, cheek and lip stain. Dale worked hard with the kingdom’s best tailors to craft flattering gowns which nevertheless failed to narrow a young man’s broad shoulders and back or widen slim hips. Today’s robe of deep purple draped Dale’s form with all the elegance of a counterpane. Princess Dale’s feminine appearance put Robin off balance. He felt like leaving the hall and coming in again to reorient himself but it wouldn’t do any good. Prince Zachary would still be Princess Dale.

To their credit the servants served Princess Dale without complaint or at least none that ever made it to the king’s ears. While their bows and curtsies could be deeper they did not deny the princess her due homage. Perhaps over time they had gotten used to a prince who wanted to be a princess, although Robin hadn’t.

Some of his counselors regarded Dale with sour expressions and took their seat at a distance. Robin sighed. He had done everything but command them to engage Dale and it might come to that. Otherwise Dale would gripe about being shunned. It was annoying and unfortunate. Dale often had insightful comments about the day’s proceedings from which they could all benefit and which the king found encouraging since Dale would someday assume the throne. Before that day came, Robin hoped to persuade Dale to eschew gowns in favor of a tunic and trousers.

Robin gauged the reactions of the subjects gathered today, especially those appearing in court for the first time. Some glanced at Dale and dismissed him. Others glanced and then glanced again, as if perplexed.

The ones that the king worried about were those who fixed Dale with glares, scowls, and whispered comments poorly muffled behind a hand held alongside the mouth. Today it seemed that the critics had the majority.

Had Dale done something to invite disapproval?

Robin summoned an officer at arms. Is there anything we should know? Has something happened here this morning to make our subjects ill at ease?

No, Sire, not that I’m aware of.

Perhaps Dale had said something to offend the visitors. Robin approached Dale whom, try as he might, he could not think of as his daughter.

Dale’s curtsy still evidenced practiced effort. Good morning, Your Majesty.

And you. Has no one brought a chair? Robin summoned a page.

We didn’t request one. We hoped—

To sit on the throne? We discussed this. Your Highness is not the monarch, not yet.

Dale’s painted lips tightened in a hint of a pout. Yes, Your Majesty. He placed a hand on the back of the proffered seat, the manicured and polished nails incongruous with a young man’s tanned and sturdy fingers.

Brother Leo stood near the dais, ready to bless the day’s session. An unimposing figure with tonsured hair the same shade as his brown robe, Brother Leo wore a beseeching expression.

Good morning, Brother Leo. It would appear that something bothers you.

Oh, not at all, Sire. I have news about Brother Thaddeus. I would like leave to announce it.

Brother Thaddeus. Robin could no more think of his firstborn son, Conrad, as a monk than he could think of Zachary as a woman.

And that would be?

The day that Brother Thaddeus will be a Brother no longer is coming.

CHAPTER TWO

"Is that so?" Robin tried to contain his joy. Conrad would be leaving Mathus Abbey? There could not be better news. Robin envisioned welcoming him back to the castle. They would have a great feast. Robin would devote himself to bringing Conrad up to date with the kingdom’s current state of affairs, introduce him to the newest knights, award him a domain of his own until he assumed the throne.

He means to become a priest and when that day comes we will call him Brother no more but Father Thaddeus, said Brother Leo. He is committing himself fully to the religious life and will be given minor orders. He will be able to be of even greater service to the abbey and to all whom we serve.

Robin’s soaring spirits plummeted like a dove shot out of the sky. But we thought he was a member of the order. Why else had Conrad spent the past few years on church business? The heir apparent had refurbished and enlarged the chapel at Bell Castle, pored over holy books to create a concordance, traveled to foreign lands to protect religious pilgrims, eschewed life at Bell Castle in favor of sleeping on a hard pallet in a cold dark cell with only a rough robe and a pair of sandals to his name, lived on food not much more plentiful or palatable than what Robin ate as a penniless vagabond.

He is, but this is the initial step in conferring minor orders, the first of which is porter, or doorman.

A doorman? The kingdom’s prince was to be a doorman?

Brother Leo tipped up his chin and squared his shoulders. "Our porters open and close the doors to the sacristy, ensure that no unbaptized people will enter during Eucharist. That would be highly inappropriate since Our Lord is present during the taking of communion. While porters may not administer sacraments it’s an important responsibility, a necessary step toward a major order of subdeacon, deacon, and ultimately priest.

After he serves as porter he will be charged as a reader. While this is also considered a minor order it is no small thing. As you are well aware, not everyone can read. Brother Thaddeus is already greatly valued for his literacy.

Which he came by as a prince, the better to help serve a kingdom and eventually take the throne, not to serve the Church.

Brother Thaddeus will next serve as exorcist, able to cast out the Devil or other demons.

We’ve battled any number of demons but always relied on our sword.

Last, Brother Thaddeus will be an acolyte. This is the highest of the minor orders. Your Majesty can see how all these orders will prepare Brother Thaddeus for the priesthood and he must serve in them for prescribed intervals before he can take on additional responsibilities.

Has he not already been performing many of these roles? We would say he served all of them at Bell Castle’s chapel.

He did, and well from what I have learned but he wishes to formalize his commitment to the Church, to make known his intention to seek the priesthood.

What would be the difference? It sounds to us that in executing these minor orders Conrad—Brother Thaddeus—will be priestly enough.

Indeed, much of the service and obligation is the same. As a priest he would make his strongest commitment. He would pledge not only to live a life of service, poverty, and obedience but also chastity.

You mean, until he becomes a priest he could still marry? As if someone had lit a candle Robin’s despair flared with renewed hope.

Well, yes, if he chose to although I honestly don’t think that taking a wife is of any interest to him.

Conrad, Robin’s mind shouted, why not? Why not choose that route? Brother Thaddeus could marry, produce an heir, ensure the continuation of the monarchy.

The shuffling of feet, scraping of chairs against the marble floor, and dry coughing suggested that the crowd grew restless. We can discuss this later. Meanwhile, we should get today’s session underway.

Yes, Your Majesty. Brother Leo moved to face the assembly.

Robin remained standing until after the invocation. While Brother Leo’s news about Brother Thaddeus drew warm applause, cheers, and praise, Robin barely heard a word for the blood pounding in his ears.

Princess Dale perked up at the news as noticeably as a castle hound at feeding time. Doubtless he saw Conrad’s deepening commitment to the Church improving his own position in the line of succession and he was right. Out of the corner of his eye, Robin regarded Dale. Was he indeed looking at the kingdom’s next monarch? Dale insisted he would rule as a woman, an ambition Robin believed was doomed to failure. Regardless, he would have to make an even more concerted effort to involve Dale in the running of the kingdom. Perhaps over time Dale would come to see the folly of his aspiration.

When Brother Leo was done, Robin invited those with chairs to sit, took his own seat on the throne, and instructed the clerk to invite the first petitioner. The clerk unrolled a scroll but before he could speak, Meeyoo sprang from her cushion, scampered down the dais, and into the crowd. She sat on her haunches at Lord Ferree’s feet and sent up a cry.

Robin chuckled. We think Meeyoo has identified our first petitioner.

Begging Your Majesty’s pardon but Lord Ferree is not the first on the list.

We wager that he will be brief and succinct.

As you wish, of course, Sire, the clerk said and called the noble forward.

The middle-aged man approached the dais, doffed his floppy velvet cap, and bowed.

It’s good to see you, Lord, Robin said.

Lord Ferree looked about him as if unsure as to whom Robin spoke. He hadn’t been a noble for very long. Even his woolen cloak looked fairly new. Robin wondered if he was still adjusting to his recently elevated status. Yes, Sire, thank you for giving us an audience. We’re certain the concerns of the kingdom keep Your Majesty busy and we see that Your Majesty’s plate is indeed full.

Not so full that we can’t spare time for one of our most cherished vassals. We would have been happy to grant you a more convenient hearing.

Lord Ferree bowed his head in acknowledgment of the compliment. I seek no favors that any other of the kingdom’s subjects wouldn’t enjoy.

Well, then, like any other of our subjects, your concerns are our concerns. Tell us what brings you here today.

I won’t waste any of Your Majesty’s time but will get right to the point. I request a loan.

Robin’s expression must have disclosed his surprise because Lord Ferree said, Lest you assume the worst allow me to explain. Your Majesty might think that because Lady Alice and I came recently from a humble background that we have been unable to manage our increased holdings or have been profligate with our new wealth.

We would assume nothing of the sort, said Robin although who could blame them if they had? Robin might chastise himself for settling weighty responsibilities on a couple untrained and ill-equipped to manage without guidance or assistance.

Nor have we invested too heavily in the animal sanctuary. Lord Ferree’s face brightened. "No, Sire. That has succeeded beyond our expectations and we are most pleased because that is due largely to the help that we have gotten. People from all walks of life contributed to its operations. We received donations of goods and services from those who have little to spare. Children came to spend a day bathing animals or cleaning their kennels. A religious order whose mission is to promote kindness to animals lent us support.

"Of course, that has fallen off; supporters have not the discretionary money or time to give that they once did which is unfortunate as the demand for our services is greater than ever. People unable to care for their animals leave them with us and we have rescued many other malnourished animals. But that’s not why we need the loan.

This extreme weather has aggravated a different situation and outstripped our ability to respond. Food production and animal husbandry in Dulcimer has never been an easy proposition. Doubtless Your Majesty knows more about that than Lady Alice and I do.

Situated at the northernmost reaches of the Chalklands, Dulcimer did have a short growing season. Farming never was Dulcimer’s main industry.

No, Sire, that would be lumber and we have seen a brisk demand for building supplies especially as the population of Dulcimer has grown in recent years.

Robin thought he saw Huebald, the forestry and mining minister, perk up.

Lord Ferree continued. Our new residents need homes and furnishings, workshops, a meeting hall, a permanent marketplace, a church. All this new construction has in turn required many hands, and people have immigrated to the area in hopes of finding work and pay in construction and timbering.

Minister Huebald smiled and nodded.

While the growth is encouraging it creates something of vicious cycle. More industry means more employment which means more workers which creates more demand for goods which means—

Yes, we get the picture, Robin said.

Lord Ferree wrung his hands. The additional mouths to feed have put pressure on our farmers. This foul weather has shortened our already brief growing cycle. We can’t make the days longer so to increase our crop yield we need more arable land and bigger pastures to feed larger herds. We do have the acreage and we have the manpower. What we need is money to buy tools and supplies and food to sell to our citizens. The failure of crops this year means there is very little food in Dulcimer for anyone to buy. Vendors’ shelves are empty and they come to White Castle to buy, but our stores are quite depleted. That’s why we have come to you for a loan, Your Majesty. It’s just for a short term, until such time as we can get the lumber to market. Then we will promptly pay it back.

We don’t see any problem with that. That White Castle’s own stock was dwindling was disturbing news. Castles were the last line of defense where subjects took refuge should the domain come under attack. One that could not defend and support its citizens became a weak link in the kingdom’s security. Please remain after court and we will discuss the details.

Lord Ferree bowed and retreated back into the crowd of petitioners.

The clerk called, Next, Hugh of Stitch.

A man wearing rough clothes and a weary expression took a few steps forward while a small group of his comrades hung behind and bowed. Sire, I come to speak not just for myself but on behalf of these people also. I am Hugh, my lord. Our little hamlet is named Stitch for our burgess who sews garments. Your Majesty has just heard a report of shrinking supplies of food and fodder in Dulcimer. We are somewhat isolated in Stitch and rarely hear news from other parts of the kingdom. We were unaware that others were suffering as we have. We thought perhaps that somehow we had brought our predicament upon ourselves. While we feel for the others who experience deprivation we are glad to know that we are not alone—

A member of his group elbowed him in the side. Apologies, Sire. I will get to the point without further delay. We seek justice. Our lord has had his tax collector confiscate what little grain and fodder we have. We suspect that he is using it to feed his own household and soldiers. We have polled ourselves and no one is in default for taxes or boon work. Is it fair, then, that our lord should take what little we have left?

Robin leaned forward. If the soldiers are weak, they cannot provide the defense that you have worked for, earned, and deserve. Your lord must maintain adequate supplies to provide sanctuary should you need it. Your lord may be privy to a looming threat for which he seeks to prepare. Perhaps, like Lord Ferree, Stitch’s lord endeavored to bolster shrinking stores.

The peasant looked down and ground his toe against the floor. Perhaps, Sire, but—

Your Majesty, if I may? came a