Leda

Chapter Twenty-Five: Arec

"C'mon, now lad. There's no use in moping around." Arec delivered a consolatory slap to Edæc's shoulder. "I've got work for you if you want it. Keep your mind off it all."

"But they should be back by now!" Edæc poked with a spoon at the gristle in his soup. "I haven't heard a word from Leda. She promised to write. Something's gone wrong. I can feel it!"

With a sigh, Arec dropped down onto the bench opposite Edæc and polished his balding head with his cap. The great hall was quiet today, save for a handful of tenant's children who sat at the far end playing with a kitten ˗ teasing it with lumps of cheese. "Oy!" he yelled at them. They turned frightened faces towards him. "Leave the poor creature be. And go and make yourselves useful ˗ the lot of you. There's still food from Pæga's larders that wants shifting."

"Yes, Master Arec." The children ran in a volley of arms, legs and laughter from the hall, leaving the two men alone.

"As I was saying," Arec turned back. "They'll all be back any moment. You know how it is with Hal ˗ probably enjoying city life for a change."

"Hal hates Colvé." Edæc speared a potato with vicious energy and loaded it whole into his mouth. Arec rolled his eyes. Whatever he said was wrong. These young men ˗ spent all their time in love or out of it or thinking about it when there was real work to be done.

"You'll not help her by worrying, is all I'm saying," Arec said, surveying Edæc critically. The younger man returned his look with haunted eyes and Arec experienced a stab of pity. Edæc was one of their best after all. And Arec had watched over him as he'd grown from that lost, frightened orphan into a warm, gentle, honourable young man: a man who'd wield a sword well, but only in defence of those he loved. A man whose childhood devotion to Leda had transformed into genuine love. And how happy Arec had secretly been, almost as happy as a father might be, on seeing Leda return that love. It was not easy for Edæc, he knew that. Jealous eyes had followed his rise from crofter to consort of Dal Reniac. But Edæc merely shrugged off those malicious whispers with his usual good humour and walked on at Leda's side ˗ as calm and steady as she was wild.

But now, with that good humour lost to worry, his eyes ringed with shadow and his face pale and strained, Edæc seemed half the man he was with her.

"I should have gone with them," Edæc muttered.

"Aye, well. Perhaps you should. But now you're here...and we need a pair of capable hands like yours, Edæc, so let's get to work." He stood, clasped Edæc's arm and hauled him to his feet. The younger man groaned.

"Come on."

Out in the courtyard, a break in the clouds meant the first dry day for a week. The tenants' children stamped in puddles. Showers of dirty water cascaded over the cobbles.

"Oy!" Arec yelled at them again. "What did I tell you?"

They ran off screaming in the direction of storerooms stacked against the fortress walls. "Let's give them a hand," Arec grinned, but Edæc didn't return the smile. Instead he walked towards the sheds head down, his thought clearly elsewhere.

Inside, two carts remained loaded with grain, meat and preserves from Pæga's supplies. As the children lifted and carried pots and jars to the Hannac cellars, Edæc seized a sack of grain and flung it over his shoulder, following them wordlessly. Arec shook his head and dragged another sack, staggering beneath its weight. He rested against the wall for a moment to recover his balance and then pressed on out. There was no shame in getting old ˗ that's what his own father had told him. Look at Master Hannac, Da had said once. One day, he'll be an old, frail grey beard like myself. It seemed incredible. Franc Hannac ˗ so lithe and athletic. As skilled with a sword as his daughter would be. And when Franc died, shot down by a stray arrow on the Hannac battlements, Arec had silently whispered to his father's ghost. You're wrong, Da. Men like Franc Hannac never grow old. He groaned inwardly now, reliving that moment. "Not like me, anyway."