Prince Chadwyck

Prince Chadwyck Metmornos Viriili sat in his own muck, straw, and sick, trying to remember his old life. He waved at it in his mind, watching it pass him by. He knew that he wouldn’t leave his cell alive, but for the first time since he got there, he didn’t care.

His nose still hurt from where his jailers had kicked him, breaking it. His face was smeared with the blood from the injury, and dirt from his ratty bedding. He thought he must look even worse than the peasants who toiled outside his castle. Well, her castle now.

Chadwyck held his face in his hands, mulling how he got here once more in his head. It all started with her, Duchess Constantia Giorgioana Liberad Volopora. She cooked up her “rescue” from bandits, where some poor schmuck bloodily fought his way through her “captors”. When Chadwyck reached the top, she was still drunk surrounded by corpses. He had always thought it was a stupid idea, he never needed to rescue a damsel to impress a father before. But she convinced him that he needed to this time.

Being young, drunk and horny isn’t an excuse, but it is what he had. He wouldn’t take the same deal today. Even with those working against him, agreeing to a fake rescue and kidnapping had to have been such a lapse of judgment that left Chadwyck wondering why nobody had stopped him.

Even worse, when she demanded a ring for Chadwyck to partake in her flower, one that he then suspected and now knew, had been trampled by all sorts of highborn and lowborn men alike, he agreed to that. What kind of power did she have? He didn’t suffer from a dearth of women chasing him. He didn’t need this one. But he watched himself repeat those fateful words, after he said them wrong. Apparently you had to be on one knee. The words of his father, “Kings don’t kneel.” faded from memory under the shrill demands of Constantia.

Its not like it got better after the wedding. Not only did she drain the fun out of the things he liked to do before meeting her, but she flaunted her utter domination of all aspects of his life. A parade of suitors entered her chambers, his advisors talked with her first, and his correspondence she intercepted.

Food lost its flavor, the hunt became a boring drag, drink stopping making merry, and he found his own body betrayed him with the wenches. He spent much of his time either slouching in his chair in the study, or looking over his lands from the battlements.

Chadwyck didn’t know how long that would have gone on for. Then two things happened that seemed unrelated gave him hope. Word from his father spoke of a grave illness. Constantia for once was supportive, and offering to travel to the king to nurse him. She also would prepare for Chadwyck’s potential move to the palace.

After a vigorous evening, she poured honey into his ear, saying that she wanted a place for herself outside of the palace, a place she could call her own. And there was only one place that Chadwyck could give her. And so he did.

The next day, the ink still drying on the parchment, a messenger heralded a rebellion from Lord Gavi. He was one of Chadwyck’s most distant bannermen and least important vassal. He originally was going to let Sir Flora lead the expedition, but Constantia’s grating words in front of the entire court, the judgment and stares from his courtiers, and the voice of his father in the back of his head forced him to move. He ignored that little voice in the back of his head that said, wait, don’t go.

He proclaimed that as the lord of these lands and the future king, he would put down the rebellion himself. Loudly. Chadwyck stormed out, sword held high, to the cheers and adoration of the crowd.

That glorious memory couldn’t fade fast enough. Not two weeks into their quest, disaster befell them. Unwashed hordes descended out of the Forest of Albin, wiping out Chadwyck’s column, and taking him prisoner.

He had once hoped that word of the massacre would have gotten back to his wife, or his father, but no more. He, at the beginning, had dreams and plans of escape, but no more. He could recall the faces of his friends, some twisted in death from the butchery, but no more.

He remained here, in this dank cell since then. Chadwyck had lost sense of time, it could have been weeks, months or years. The lone window led to a chimney, which let in a small amount of light but with the bars he couldn’t look out and see the sky. He started when he first arrived to scratch lines in the bricks, to mark the time. He stopped sometime ago. It didn’t seem to matter.

Chadwyck’s entire world consisted of these four walls, and what was contained within them. He named the emaciated rat who shared this oubliette with him Edgar, who was a surprisingly kind room mate. Edgar didn’t eat all of the rotten food that their jailers threw in, leaving a portion for Chadwyck to consume, and then more often than not expel back out in to the course straw that loosely covered the stone grey flagstone floor. Edgar would gorge himself on the vomit of course.

Between the gastronomical incidents, Edgar would perch on the splintery bed post as Chadwyck spoke, sometimes directly to the rat, sometimes not. He would never judge, never shame him, always listening quietly, until Chadwyck would ask for affirmation, to which Edgar would squeak cheerfully.

The only other faces he saw were Topsy and Scab. Chadwyck was certain that wasn’t the names the bitches who birthed them provided, but it should have been. Topsy was a rotund, greasy piggy, whose beady eyes peered out from red cheeks covered in the remains of whatever animal he ate last. He had flabby arms, and paradoxically thin legs which gave the impression of a fat bird on stilts.

Those skinny legs belied a vicious strength, as when Topsy came in to Chadwyck’s cell, he started kicking and didn’t stop until he slammed the door closed. Chadwyck tried to fight back when he first got here, but now just tried to reduce the number of kicks to particular body parts.

His more frequent visitor was Scab. A long scar ran down his hair line, over his cheekbone and twisted around his mouth to end in the middle of his long neck. If Chadwyck ever found out who came so close to ending Scab’s life but failed Chadwyck would have that man executed at once.

It was Scab who brought food to the chamber, crackling a broken laugh as he dumped kitchen refuse directly onto the floor, while picking at his scar, which was encrusted with his namesake due to that nervous habit. He rarely spoke, and when he did Chadwyck wished he hadn’t. His voice sounded like a falsetto with a gizzard of stones.

Chadwyck never knew which one was coming until the door opened. He heard footsteps outside, and he looked over at Edgar. “I actually hope for the beating Edgar. Maybe this time he will just kill me, and I can get out of here.”

Edgar sniffed the air, and ran under Chadwyck’s “pillow”. The sounds of the key in the lock filled the room, and Chadwyck only looked up with one eye. The door swung open, and Scab came in. He held a quantity of various kitchen castoffs, depositing onto a pile of rat droppings just out of Chadwyck’s reach.

Something inside Chadwyck bubbled up, “Has my father sent word of ransom? He will pay any price.” The words surprised Chadwyck, the level of pleading and groveling would have gotten himself cuffed by his father had the king ever heard them.

Scab paused, and threw a tomato at Edgar who dodged it and then began to feast on its entrails. He chuckled to himself, and then turned to leave.

“Please sir, I beg you. Have you no mercy?” Chadwyck climbed up to his knees, and folded his hands in prayer. “Any word? Just one? I know my father will enrich you beyond your wildest dreams to grant me this small kindness.”

Scab faced him, scratched the red angry flesh on around his mouth. “No ransom.” He laughed loudly, opening his maw to expose the black and decaying teeth that filled it. Each reverberation hit harder that Topsy’s kicks, and Chadwyck collapsed onto the floor, his sobs straining his exhausted stomach muscles. The door closed and locked, but the laughter echoed, taunting him. Perhaps Chadwyck cared after all.

***

At some point after Chadwyck passed out, Edgar had curled up next to him, providing a small bit of warmth. He scratched his ears, and this faithful friend squeaked in pleasure. “What shall we do today Edgar? Tour the gardens? Go on a stag hunt? Feast our courtiers?”

Edgar squeaked at the last suggestion, so Chadwyck gathered the bits and scraps of food decaying around the cell. He arranged them neatly on the rough table, prompting Edgar to position himself at the head of the table. “Well, normally my father would put you below the salt, but I think when I get out my first official act will be to grant you land and title. You have served me far better than many of them anyway.”

Edgar sniffed the closest course gingerly, and then his ears picked up. “What is it Edgar?” He then scurried under the bed, and then Chadwyck heard a muffled scream through the door. He remained seated on the bed, hands on the table, not knowing what to expect.

A key jiggled in the lock, and then the door opened. An armored knight stood there, covered in blood and brains, sword unsheathed. “Prince Chadwyck, are you here?”

Chadwyck tried to speak, but his mouth had gone dry, and his words, brittle as dry paper rasped out of his mouth, “Yes, it is me.”

The stranger took three steps into the cell, his iron shod boots clinking on the stone. He removed his helm, exposing his face. “My name is Sir Uomo d’Ingara.” He bowed as a veteran on a campaign would. His visage was unpleasant to look upon. At one time in his life he would have cared, but Chadwyck didn’t think that naive man existed anymore.

“Have you come to kill me, Sir d’Ingara? I will not resist you, and I can say that you do me a favor in doing so.” A single tear rolled down Chadwyck’s face. He was ready.

A slight grin cracked d’Ingara’s face. “Of course not Prince. I am here to take you out of this place. We can leave at any time, as there is no one left to oppose us.”

“Oh. Please allow me a few moment to collect my baggage before we depart. Edgar? Edgar? We are leaving. Gather your knapsack,” the tears flowed faster now.

D’Ingara sat on the other end of the bed. “My lord, you probably don’t remember, but we have met once before.”

Chadwyck had never seen this man before in his life. “Forgive me sir, but I cannot recall your face.”

D’Ingara laughed openly, “No I don’t think you would. We were both different people then. Both times. I accompanied you in your rescue party to save the then Duchess Constantia on that snowy mountain. I was the young and foolish squire who…”

“It was you who charged up the mountain. That cost me dearly in paying for those men you killed. I remember that I would have had you killed for that.”

“And now?”

“I wish I had disappeared just like you did. I think you found out who and what she is before I did.”

D’Ingara’s face turned grave. “I fear you still don’t know who and what she is still. She is the reason you are here. There never was a rebellion. She rules over your lands, having you declared dead. I suspect that she bought the services of the men who captured you. Your father has proclaimed her the heir, as his dead son’s beloved wife. She has born two children, twins, who she says are yours.”

Edgar chose that moment to crawl into Chadwyck’s lap, providing some small measure of support. “Did they ever try to come for me?”

“No. It seems that your correspondence with your father strained your relationship. Your death meant he could move on, and did so.”

He had never written his father. Chadwyck mumbled his next words, “Then why am I still alive?”

“I think that the bandit lord over this castle thought to use you as leverage over the future queen when his moment came. He isn’t thinking much anymore.”

“Good knight, how have you come to know this?”

“We met along time ago my lord. I have gone near and far, seeking glory and riches. I have found them, and once where I would be shunned, doors are open and tongues wag. There are none who are more skilled in the arts of war and swordplay, and my lance has won favors from high and low.”

“And you have come to serve me now? What have I done to deserve this?” Chadwyck petted Edgar, his filthy fur sliding through his fingers.

“Nothing, you have done nothing to deserve this. And I don’t serve you. But I owe you, owe you for besting me in the pursuit of Constantia. If my heroic charge to her rescue had been successful, it would have been me ruined and broken after her machinations. I hated you for but a moment, our second meeting drying that enmity to a pity. You placed a necklace of flowers around my neck, in celebration of her successful rescue. I watched while you both rode down the street, a curious look on your face.”

Chadwyck didn’t remember any of this. “And what was that look? That was many years ago, and my mind is foggy.”

“It was a look of horror. I think there was a part of you that knew what you were getting into, but you didn’t listen to it. That look set me free. You gave me my life, and you didn’t even know it. When I heard your fate, I knew it was my duty to find out the truth about it. I owed you nothing less.”

“I don’t know what to say good sir. I can’t repay you, nor can I try to reclaim what is mine in this state. I fear all that I own are the rags on my back, and the friendship of my little friend here.”

D’Ingara smiled. “You are welcome in my walls for as long as you need them. I have a mount outside for you. Its saddlebags are filled with real food, and a canteen of fresh water and a wine skin of good drink. It is several days ride, and there is no reason to dawdle.”

“I have been here for so long, I think I forgot what the sky looks like.”

“You will remember. Now follow me, Prince. Watch your step. The floors are slick with the blood of those who kept you here for three years.”

Three years. It had been that long since he had been captured? He gathered up Edgar, who perched himself on Chadwyck’s shoulder, and followed.

They reached the courtyard, and even overcast the sun hurt his eyes. He walked over to a trough and gazed into the water. A stranger looked back at him. His once beautiful blond hair was dirty and stringy. A ragged and long beard covered most of his face, which was good. There was no mirth or joy in his eyes anymore. The skin loosely hung off his skull, and he saw that it was bruised and scarred. The man who entered this place was truly dead.

Edgar squeaked. “Yep, that's me. Maybe I am a walking corpse, sure look like it,” but underneath it all a bit of steel started to emerge in his timbre, “but I’m not dead. I’m not done. I’m just down, but I promise you Edgar, we will get it all back.”

“I’m glad you aren’t gone Prince. Perhaps there will be justice in this world after all,” d’Ingara offered a hand up to Chadwyck so he could mount his own horse.

They both turned their horses to the gate, departing from the castle without looking back. Chadwyck wouldn’t say goodbye. It was too soon.