In the Days of Lourde William

By Mark R. Brewer

In the Days of Lourde William is a sequel to Squire Williams Lucky Day. It follows the former Squire William in his new role as Lourde William of Glenne Loch. There are blood and guts and murder and stuff . And water. And romance as well.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524509972

Mark R. Brewer

MARK R. BREWER has an MA in US history from Temple University in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He taught history in New Jersey for nearly a hundred years. He is really old.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Calculating

The Lourde dipped his quill into the bottle of ink and began his computations. The pen scratched across the parchment. Now 483 minus 227 is—let’s see—borrow one, now that’s a seven—and thirteen minus seven is … six! Seven minus two is five, and four minus two is two. Two hundred fifty-six! That’s it! He dipped his quill and continued.

He loved being the Lourde, make no mistake. There was a time when he doubted his ability to serve in this capacity. He thought it was above him, that he was not good enough. But that was years ago. He had come to learn that being the Lourde was not all that difficult. Indeed, it was far easier than being a squire. The only really unpleasant part about being the Lourde of Glenne Loch was that he sometimes had to make decisions, and once in a while these decisions were actually important. On those occasions, he would seek the counsel of his wife, and she would tell him what to do. But most of the time, if he had anything to do (which wasn’t often), it was to appear somewhere and wave and smile and greet the people. This was the part of being Lourde that he enjoyed best, for he found he liked the people. He enjoyed meeting with them and chatting with them and kissing their babies. The other thing he really liked about being the Lourde was that it gave him plenty of free time. This allowed him to focus on other things, such as what he was working on now.

Ninety-nine plus eleven is … carry the one … 110. And 110 times twelve is … zero—2—2 … and … zero—1—1—so that’s—let’s see—1,320! Excellent! And his pen scratched across the page.

Lourde William of Glenne Loch was in an upper room of his stately home, which was known as Lochview. The room was not large, but it was very bright. This was due to two windows in the room which allowed the morning sun to enter. One of these windows was just above the desk at which the Lourde sat, and if he cared to (as he often did), William could look out the window and see Glenne Loch a short distance away.

Now 1,320 minus 256 is … hmmm, this involves quite a bit of borrowing … borrow one and that makes this a ten … minus six is—

WILL!!! his Mother bellowed from just behind him.

The Lourde had not heard her enter and come up behind him, so engrossed was he in his ciphers. Her shout caused him to jump, which nudged the desk, which spilled the bottle of ink, which poured out upon the page where his figures were written.

Oh, no! he cried. You’ve ruined all my work! I’ll have to start all over! Ohhhhh! Lourde William crumbled up the paper and tossed it back over his head. Darn it, Mother! Why do you have to shout like that?

But Will knew why. His Mother’s hearing was almost gone. Everyone yelled at her to be heard, and she yelled at everyone so she could hear herself. What? asked his Mother.

You’ve ruined all my work, Mother! the Lourde of Glenne Loch wailed.

You’ve spilled your ink, Will, she helpfully pointed out. A fine mess you’ve made too.

Ohhhh! he whined.

Korky is leaving, Will, said his Mother loudly. Come down and see her off.

Lourde William frowned. I’ve got sooo much work to do, he complained. I’ve got to start all over.

Oh, c’mon, Will, his Mother shouted, and she playfully pulled at the hair on the back of his head. She’s your own wife, and it’ll take but a minute.

Ow! he screamed. He knocked her hand away with his own and stood. Mother!

Lourde William looked somewhat older than he had the last time we saw him, but then, that was five years ago, in the spring of the year 1280. Now he had just turned thirty-four years of age. His once goodly stomach might now be called great, and his face was more fleshy. His hair was thick on the sides and back of his head, though it was greying at the temples. And he had but a tuft of hair at the front of his head, which he grew long and brushed back over his bald pate. The former squire sported a short moustache and goatee, which had come in grey, and which he believed lent him a dignified appearance such as a Lourde of the realm should have. He was now royalty, after all. The lines on his face were deeper and more evident, especially upon his forehead.

As for his Mother (whose name, the reader may recall, was Ruth), she had aged greatly. Her grey hair was more sparse, her face was blotched with red patches, and wrinkles covered it in every direction like the branches of a tree. Her breasts remained large and long, hanging nearly to her waist, and her frame was thinner (though nothing like thin) and more frail. Her vision was not what it had been, so she squinted a good deal, which caused her wrinkled face to wrinkle even more. She was three-and-sixty.

So they went down the winding, stone staircase that led to the bottom floor. They found Korky, the Lourde’s wife (and so the Lady of Glenne Loch) in the parlor. Her cloth traveling bag was packed. Korky had also aged, of course, being at this time seven-and-thirty years of age. Her hair, still long and curly, had turned completely grey, which was attractive in a dull, colourless way. Her face showed her advanced age, as lines ran around her eyes and upper lip.

So you’re going then, said the Lourde who was once a squire.

Why shouldn’t I? answered his wife, who was once (and still remained) a minstrel woman.

What? asked the Lourde’s Mother loudly.

Because I asked you not to, said Lourde William. And I am the Lourde of Glenne Loch, after all.

So? said Korky. That doesn’t mean you’re not wrong.

What? What? shouted the Lourde’s Mother, who could not hear the conversation.

But it looks bad, the Lourde whined. You never listen to me.

But I don’t see why you can’t travel with me today, said Korky.

What? What? What? asked Will’s Mother.

But I have sooo much work to do, Lourde William explained.

You mean all that calculating about the monster? asked Korky.

Yes, Will answered firmly.

What?What?What?What? asked Ruth loudly.

That’s not work. It’s a waste of time, said the Lady of Glenne Loch.

No, it’s NOT! said the Lourde emphatically, indicating that they had traveled this path before. It’s necessary. It’s IMPORTANT!"

What?What?What?What? Ruth shouted rapidly.

Well, I just don’t see why if you’re going to Piedmont tomorrow anyway, that you can’t travel with me today, said Korky, softening her tone slightly. You could bring your work with you.

I told you before, Will replied. I have too many papers I must refer to. It’s too much to take with me.

What?What?What?What? Ruth ranted.

Is it too much to ask you to give up ONE DAY? asked Lady Korky in that guilt-inducing way that only wives and mothers have mastered.

I need time to work, said Lourde William. It’s not like I’ll be lying around doing nothing, or going off to a tavern and drinking or something.

What?What?What?What? Ruth repeated.

Very well, Will, said Korky coldly.

I will see you Saturday night at the Twisted Spoon, said Will in an effort to be cheerful. I’ll be there by nine of the clock.

Korky opened the huge oaken door and stepped outside. A servant sat waiting in a coach. She tossed her cloth bag inside and climbed in.

Will followed her out the door. Goodbye, my dear, he said with a wave, but Korky ignored him. A moment later, the coach pulled away.

Lourde William sighed. She’ll get over it, he assured himself, and he went back into the house and shut the door.

What?What?What?What?What? Ruth ran on.

Alright, Mother, said Lourde William.

What?What?What?What?What? Ruth rambled.

Enough, Mother, said Lourde William, with a hint of irritation in his voice.

What?What?What?Wha—?

Will gave his Mother a firm rap on the head with the knuckles of his right hand. Calm down, Mother! he exclaimed.

Oh! Oh! Ruth hollered, as though suddenly awakened. Thank you, Will.

A few moments later found the Lourde of Glenne Loch back upstairs at his desk. He sighed deeply. Now it’s back to the beginning for me. He retrieved a fresh bottle of ink out of a drawer and took up his quill once more. Let’s see, he said. 100 years times twelve months is … zero, zero, zero …

CHAPTER 2

Investigating

Prince Geoffrey walked quickly along the narrow city lane. It was still early in the day—eight of the clock—but the streets were filled with people. He was in Southside, a seamy, slimy, sleazy, sordid, sinister section of the city of Piedmontowne. There were only two ways into Southside. Either you entered it through the Western Gate of the city, or you crossed into Southside over the Piedmontowne Bridge (often called the Towne Bridge for short), which spanned the Cold River. Southside was where the poor of Piedmontowne lived.

Rows of homes of two and three storeys lined both sides of the dirt lane along which Prince Geoffrey walked. They were old and worn out, and in some cases, broken down. Most of them had been built nearly two hundred years before. Many of these row homes had shoppes on the ground floor, and a goodly number of these shoppes sold fish caught in the Cold River. Thus, the name of the street was Fish Lane.

The people Geoffrey saw were as run-down as the buildings in which they lived, though some lived on the street itself. A few of these nomes (short for no homes) were still sleeping by the sides of the street as Geoffrey passed. The Prince had dressed in common workman’s clothing so as not to draw attention to himself, but he did so anyway. His clothes were neat and clean, his hair was brushed, his teeth were white, and his eyes were bright and clear. Despite his attire, he appeared well-to-do to the residents of Southside. He wasn’t malnourished or drunk or diseased or dirty.

Like Lourde William and his family, Prince Geoffrey had aged. He was now eight-and-twenty. His once blonde hair was darker—a light browne—and he had some slight wrinkles around his eyes. He also had, if the reader recalls, a scar upon his cheek, put there by the Evil King himself. The scar had grown darker and thus more noticeable over time, and it lent Geoffrey a sinister appearance, which was enhanced by his browne moustache. But he remained lithe and slender, his blue eyes maintained a youthful glow, and his face was open and honest.

Geoffrey saw a crowd ahead, standing around in the middle of the road. That must be it, he thought, and he drew a deep breath and prepared himself for what was coming. He had tried this tact before, and it hadn’t succeeded. It didn’t work this time either.

Geoff pushed his way through the crowd and came to a halt inside the circle of people. Dear God, he said softly as he surveyed the scene before him. A woman’s body lay there, on her back in the middle of the lane. She was young, shapely, naked, and headless. Her arms and legs were spread wide, as if she’d been trying to fly away. Where her head had been was a dried pool of blood.

It’s all right, said a short man of medium build (though his stomach was on the large side). I’m here now. I’m in charge. Delfus Dingle was the Sheriff of Piedmontowne and had been for nearly twelve years. He was eight-and-thirty, with long, browne hair and a thin, browne moustache. His dark, beady eyes seemed to be in perpetual motion. Don’t worry. I’m Sheriff Dingle, and I’ll take care of—Oh, hello, Your Grace, he said upon seeing Prince Geoffrey, and he bowed.

Don’t call me that, said Geoffrey in an angry whisper, and he looked around to see if anyone took notice of Dingle’s slip. I want to remain anonymous.

Oh, right, said Sheriff Dingle. I forgot.

Prince Geoffrey’s here! shouted one of the onlookers.

Prince Geoffrey! cried another, and many in the crowd also bowed.

Oh, great, said Geoff.

Sorry, Your Grace, said Dingle.

One of the poorer members of the crowd came forward. He was a sickly, emaciated man, dressed in torn rags and wearing no shoes. His long, thin hair was dirty and disheveled. Can ya spare a penny or two, Ya Grace? asked the man. I ’aven’t etten in three days.

Prince Geoffrey looked with anger on Sheriff Dingle.

Or just a farthin’, if ya could, the man went on. A farthin’ would get me some berries.

Prince Geoffrey turned to look at the man. When he did, several others stepped forward.

Please, Yer Majesty, said an aged old hag of a woman dressed in a burlap sack. If I could ’ave but a schillin’, then I could get me granddaughter the pills what she needs. Just a schillin’, sir.

If you could see your way to loaning me half a crown, I promise to pay you back by spring, said a young man.

I needs a sixpence so’s I can get me dear Mum some food, said another man. I must ’ave it, or she may up ’n die.

And more and more people crowded around and begged.

Prince Geoffrey turned away and looked again at Dingle.

What a selfish man ’ee is, said one in the crowd.

Geoff turned back to the mob. I’ll give you what I have, he said, and he reached into the purse tied at his waist and removed a handful of coins. Then he moved through the crowd dispersing them.

Thank you so much, said one woman.

Bless you, Sire, said another.

Fank you, said one man.

Thanks, said a second.

And so it went until all in the crowd had received a coin. Then they turned, almost as one, and ran (some walked, some limped) up the street a short distance whence they came to a tavern called The Dead Crow. There every single member of the crowd disappeared behind the entrance door.

Geoff shook his head and turned back to Sheriff Dingle.

That was very kind of you, said Dingle.

But it looks as though they’ll drink all that money away, the Prince replied.

Of course they will, Your Grace, said the Sheriff.

Geoff shook his head again and turned to study the corpse. Who found her? he asked as he did so.

The woman who lives in that house, said Dingle, pointing to a nearby row home.

What did she have to say? Geoff asked as he continued to inspect the body.

Dingle shrugged his shoulders. She just said that she opened her door to let the cat in this morning and saw the body a-laying there in the street.

Prince Geoffrey knelt on the ground and studied the area around the corpse’s head—or where the head had once been. And what time was that?

It must have been at around five-of-the-clock, Your Grace, said Dingle. I received word at half past the hour.

Call me ‘sergeant,’ Dingle, said Geoff. That way people will think I work for you.

They’ll think you’re my relation, said Dingle.

Just call me ‘sergeant,’ Geoff repeated.

Very well, said Dingle.

Geoff continued his interrogation of the Sheriff. How long do you think she’s been dead?

I can’t say, Dingle answered. She was stiff when I got here.

I see, said Geoff, and he stood. It appears as though she was killed on this spot. There are scrapes and grooves in the dirt above her neck that seem to have been made by a knife. He wiped his hands against each other to get the dirt from the road off of them.

Or perhaps a axe, said Dingle importantly.

I don’t think so, Geoff answered. An axe wouldn’t make all those long scrapes in the dirt.

Unless, said Dingle, thrusting the index finger of his right hand into the air, the killer is trying to deceive us by making it look like they used a knife when, in fact, they used a axe. Or perhaps the neck was hard to cut, so they had to use the axe like a knife, Your … ahem … sergeant. And Dingle squinted in a serious way. "These criminal types are capable of anything, as I’ve come to know during my many years of sheriffing."

The Prince looked at Dingle with an incredulous expression.

And so, Dingle continued, enthralled by his own wisdom and experience, and certain the Prince was too, we should be searching for a man with a axe, not a knife.

Perhaps we should keep an eye out for both, said Geoffrey.

As you wish, Sergeant Prince, Dingle returned.

Did you inspect the body to see if it had been compromised? Geoff asked.

Yes, said Dingle. The head is missing.

No, no, Dingle, said Geoff. Did you check to see if she had been molested?

Yes, said Dingle. Someone took her clothes. They probably cut them off with a axe.

Geoff drew a deep breath and tried to remain calm. "Was she taken sexually?" he whispered.

How would I know? asked Dingle.

You have to look, said the Prince.

Look where? asked Dingle.

Where do you think? Geoff asked, spreading his arms and facing the palms of his hands towards the sky.

Oh, I can’t do that, said Dingle. I just can’t.

Prince Geoffrey dropped to his knees and then lay flat on the ground between the legs of the corpse. He carefully inspected the privates of the dead woman.

From down the street came a shout. Hey! Leave that body alone! A large man pushing a cart filled with fish came up the lane towards them. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves! he cried. What would your mothers say? You perverted bastards!

No, no, said Sheriff Dingle. You’re mistaken. This man is my deputy.

Oh, so that gives him the right to be a pervert does it? said the man. I don’t think so! Show some respect for the dead!

Prince Geoffrey stood and brushed himself off. It’s impossible to tell if she’s been violated, he said to Dingle.

Ooooh, said the fishy man. Well, why don’t you look closer? Why don’t you prod and poke and prick the poor woman?

Now see here, said Dingle. I’m Sheriff Dingle and this is Sergeant Prince. We’re trying to investigate this murder.

I was attempting to ascertain whether the corpse had been violated by the killer, Prince Geoffrey explained.

You were trying to ass-what? asked the man in disgust.

Just go on about your business and leave us to ours, said Sheriff Dingle, or I’ll have you arrested.

Alright, alright! the man shouted, and he began to walk away. But what’s the world coming to when a couple of perverts try to touch and feel a dead woman’s private parts in broad daylight? What would your wives say? Or your children? You worthless, degraded, pervert bastards! And the man went on in this vein until he was well up the street and they could hear him no more.

Have you noticed, Dingle, asked Prince Geoffrey, that there is no blood leading away from the corpse?

Dingle looked about at the ground. So? What does that mean?

Our killer always takes the head of his victims, Geoff pointed out, but there’s never any sign of blood other than at the wound. He must put the head in a sack or wrap it in a cloth or something. Geoff rubbed the back of his neck. Why would he do that I wonder?

Maybe he doesn’t want anyone to see him carrying a head around, Dingle volunteered.

Yes, Geoff replied. Very good, Dingle. Very good. But why does he want their heads? What does he do with them?

Perhaps he’s a collector of some sort, Dingle answered.

Perhaps, said the Prince, though he didn’t believe it.

They were silent for a moment.

Where does this road go? asked Geoffrey, looking down the lane.

To the river, Dingle answered as he twisted a strand of his long hair around his finger.

Didn’t the road the last victim was found on also lead to the river? asked Geoff.

Yes, said the Sheriff. I believe you are right. Yes.

And were the other victims also found on roads that led to the river? Geoff went on.

Well, I … I don’t know, said Dingle. What are you getting at?

What if all four of his victims were killed on roads that led to the river? Geoff asked, rubbing his chin and speaking almost to himself.

What would it mean? asked Sheriff Dingle.

It may not mean a thing, said the Prince. But then again … Can you show me the locations of the first three murders?

Why, yes, I suppose, Dingle sighed. If you must.

I must, said Prince Geoffrey. I must indeed. Besides, it’s all we have at the moment. Have your men remove the corpse, and then you and I shall take a stroll.

And so the dead woman’s body was taken away. And so Sheriff Dingle led Prince Geoffrey on a tour of that section of Piedmontowne known as Southside.

CHAPTER 3

To Piedmontowne

Slow down, Squire Jacob! shouted Lourde William to his servant, who was driving the open carriage in which the Lourde sat. Two horses pulled the carriage, and they clipped and clopped along rapidly over the stone-paved road that was the King’s Highway. It was a beautiful day in early October: sunny, crisp, clear, and bright. The Forest of Donnelling, through which they passed, was teeming with vibrant colours from the autumn leaves in full bloom. The ride would be a most pleasant one, except that Squire Jacob drove much too fast for Lourde William’s taste.

Will you please SLOW DOWN?! Lourde William shouted a bit louder.

But Squire Jacob either couldn’t hear the Lourde, due to the loud clopping of the horses’ hooves upon the stone, or he chose not to.

Lourde William stood up, holding tightly to the side of the carriage. STOP THIS CARRIAGE!! he screamed. STOP IT RIGHT NOW, I SAY!!

Squire Jacob brought the carriage to a sudden halt. Lourde William pitched forward, almost falling, and then pitched backward, slamming into his seat. Oooff! he exclaimed.

Did you say something, my Lourde? asked Squire Jacob, turning in his seat to look upon his superior. Squire Jacob was a slim young man of twenty years, with bristled red hair and a freckled face. He wore a sort of close-mouthed smile on his face, which appeared decidedly insincere. His greene eyes were neither kind nor mean, but seemed to strive for a look of innocence. His posture and movements all seemed contrived to express this same attitude.

It took Lourde William a moment to collect himself. I asked you to slow down, he huffed. Didn’t you hear me?

On my honour, I did not, said Squire Jacob. I swear on my dead Mother’s grave. His eyes, countenance, and voice were dripping with sincerity. Indeed, if sincerity were a fluid, Squire Jacob’s lap would have been soaked with it.

Well, you are driving too fast, Jacob, the Lourde said, a frown upon his face. Much too fast. You’re likely to get us killed. I cannot possibly enjoy the ride the way you are driving.

Oh, forgive me puh-leese, my Lourde, said Squire Jacob, tilting his head slightly to one side and bowing it humbly.

Why must you go so fast? asked the Lourde, softening a little.

I don’t presume to know better than you, my Lourde, said Jacob, raising his head and looking at Lourde William. After all, I was born but an humble squire, while you, my Lourde, were born a … that is …um … I thought it would be best to move quickly through the forest so that we’re less likely to be robbed.

Robbed? asked Lourde William, carefully examining the thick woods on both sides of the road. What makes you think we’ll be robbed?

I was just taking precautions for your safety, my Lourde, Jacob answered, tilting his head in the other direction. He showed his close-mouthed smile.

I think we’re more likely to die from your driving than to be robbed, said Lourde William, who nonetheless studied the forest on either side of the road.

My good and great Lourde knows best, of course, said Squire Jacob, who tilted his head again and smiled in his unique way.

Suddenly from out of the forest came four men, two from either side of the highway.

Put yer ’ands up, gennelmen, if ya please, said one of the men who wore a browne cloak and a black cape. He had a browne scarf tied around his head, covering from the middle of his forehead to his mouth. Holes were cut in the scarf for his eyes. The other three were similarly dressed. Two of them, including the speaker, held swords, while the other two carried longbows.

What is this? asked Lourde William grumpily.

Why ’tis a borrowin’, me Lud, said the man who spoke before.

A borrowing? asked Lourde William, who had not put his hands up. What on earth is a borrowing?

We plan to borrow yer money off’en ya, me Lud, said the speaking man. But fear not, as we’ll pay ya back fer certain, lest ya should up’n die some’ow afore then. Now put yer ’ands up, if ya please.

A borrowing? said Lourde William. I’ve never heard of such a thing.

Well, we learn somethin’ all the time, don’t we, me Lud? said the talking borrower with a smile. Now ’and over yer valuables, if ya please, gennelmen.

Throughout this conversation, Squire Jacob had sat still and quiet with his hands held high. But now he spoke up. Beware, he said to the speaking man, but he also tossed glimpses at the other three. "My passenger is the famous Lourde William, formerly Squire William of Glenne Loch, the man who killed the Evil King of Crag. Your lives are in danger!" And Jacob smiled and tilted his head.

Squire William of Glenne Loch? asked one of the other men.

The very same! said Jacob. Consider yourselves forewarned.

Lourde William bowed his head and covered his eyes with his hand. Why did Jacob have to tell them that? he thought.

If Squire Jacob was trying to scare the four borrowers, he failed. But if he was endeavoring to get the men to be more interested in Lourde William, and so less interested in Squire Jacob, he succeeded brilliantly.

Well, thank ya, me Lud, fer killin’ the black-’earted King o’ Crag, said the speaking, borrowing man. That were a wondrous thin’, of a surety.

You’re welcome, Lourde William mumbled.

What’s that? asked the talking man.

I said you are welcome! said Lourde William loudly.

C’mon out o’ there, the talking man instructed. C’mout and let us ’ave a look at ya. And the man went and opened the door of the carriage.

Will did as he was told, but he grunted and moaned as he did so. I really don’t—ooh—see why I have to—aah—get out. I’m in quite a hurry and—ow—need to be on my way.

But I want ya to put yer name on this paper so’s I can ’ave a keepsake from the day I met the man what killed the King o’ Crag, the speaking man said respectfully.

I want one, too, said one of the other borrowers.

Aye, me, too, said a third.

Oh, very well, said Lourde William impatiently. There was a time when he would have been flattered by such a request, but that was years ago. Now he found it an intrusion on his time and his privacy. He took the quill and parchment the man proffered and scribbled out his name in three different places. Here, said the Lourde when he’d finished, and he handed the materials back.

Well, now, thank ya very much, me Lud, said the speaking man, studying the paper. Very kind o’ ya.

Yes, yes, said Lourde William with a wave of his hand.

The speaking man looked William up and down. ’Tis hard fer me to believe that a fat little man as yerself could ’ave killed the King o’ Crag. Meanin’ no disrespect, me Lud.

Well … I … the Lourde stammered.

Be careful, said Squire Jacob in a warning way.

Let’s us jest see yer dangerous side, if ya please, me Lud, said the man who spoke, and he pushed William hard in the shoulder.

I—hey! … I was much younger then, said Lourde William, who nearly fell, but managed to keep his feet.

Show me why yer dangerous! said the speaking man, who was now shouting, and he pushed Lourde William hard with both hands, causing Will to fall to the ground.

Now you’ve gone and done it! said Squire Jacob.

Get up! screamed the talking, shouting man.

Lourde William lay on his side in the road, obviously in some pain. Squire Jacob! he cried. Do something!

Squire Jacob gave the reigns a quick snap, and the horses and carriage jolted into motion. But before they could travel more than a step or two, one of the borrowers grabbed the bridle of one of the horses, bringing animals and carriage to a halt.

It seems to me, me Lud, that the man what kills the great Squire William would become famous hisself, said the talking, shouting, screaming man, who had reverted to talking once again. Then he drew his sword (sssccchhhiiinnnggg!).

It was at this particular moment that an arrow came whistling out of the forest, striking the talking man in the wrist, and causing him to drop his sword, which clanged on the stone road. The arrow pierced his wrist and came out the other side. Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! he cried, blood pouring from his wound. And he fell to the ground, where he rolled around in pain. Ow! Ow!

Then from the forest, fifteen men emerged. At their head was a man of some forty years. He had short browne hair flecked with grey, and a matching moustache. He wore a cloak of browne and a tunic of greene, carried a bow in his hand, and wore a quiver of arrows on his back. He appeared to be in exceptional physical condition for a man his age. The men with him were all dressed in the same way. What have we here? he asked. Looks like a robbery.

Actually, they said it was a ‘borrowing’, Squire Jacob interjected.

More like a murder, said Lourde William as he stood and wiped the dirt of the road from his clothes.

"Squire William? asked the leader of the men in browne and greene. Is it you?"

"It’s Lourde William, said Will. But I was a squire many years ago. And thank you—thank you all—for saving my life."

You are quite welcome, answered their leader. But don’t you recognize me? I’m Brother Ed.

Brother Ed? said the Lourde. "Brother …? Oh! Oh, yes! O course! Brother Ed! The man who lived with the Elves!"

That’s right, said Brother Ed, for it was truly he.

Do you still live here in the forest? asked the Lourde of Glenne Loch.

Indeed, I do, Squire, answered Brother Ed. This is my band of Brothers. We practice Elfish ways.

"It’s Lourde William, Will reminded him. I’m Lourde of Glenne Loch now."

One of the other Brothers came forward at this point. Excuse me, Brother Ed, he said, but that wounded man has stopped moving.

What? asked Brother Ed. Oh, yes. Yes, I see. Thank you, Brother Harold. And Brother Ed went to the wounded leader, who was no longer talking, shouting, screaming, or crying. Ed examined him briefly. He’s dead, said Ed. I guess he bled to death while we were chatting.

Oh, said Lourde William.

Brother Ed then turned to his many followers. Hack off the right hand of each of these robbers. Then bandage them up and send them on their way.

This comment caused some consternation among the thieves, but as they were greatly outnumbered, there was nothing they could do but submit, though they all three screamed and cried as their hands were severed.

Brother Ed, meanwhile, turned back to William. So where are you headed, Squire? he asked.

"I’m going to—I’m a Lourde now, Brother Ed—I’m going to Piedmontowne for a reunion, said Lourde William. We have one every year. All of us who were on that journey to Crag so many years ago."

I see, said Brother Ed.

I do enjoy it, said Lourde William. I get to see all of my old friends: King Michael, Lady Anne, Prince Geoffrey, Sir Bryan, Sir Jack, and Sir John. And the food is always excellent.

Very good. Very good, said Brother Ed, nodding his head. I wish you well. But you really must be more careful in the forest, Squire. There are many bad men abroad in the forest since the Elves all died.

Yes, I can certainly see that, said Will. Did I mention that I’m a Lourde now?

Yes, you did, and congratulations, said Brother Ed.

Thank you, and thank you again for saving my life, said Lourde William. I would like to give you a little something for your trouble, if I may. And the Lourde reached for the leather purse tied at his