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 whore 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
