Chapter V - The Royal Stableboy
The palace was an ideal place for a boy to spend his time, and was even more so for me, who had to get an entire boyhood into three months.
The old castle, upon which the rest was built, was at the south end and it was this part that overlooked the stables. It was very old, made of massive stone, with battlements and slit windows, but it was quite small. It had once had a moat, though very little of that was left, just a small section which had been drained and made into a sunken sporting ground. There upon the smooth green lawn people would play croquet, and often gentlemen would practice fencing.
Behind this, to the east, was the huge square stable. There was room, by my inexpert estimate, for a hundred horses, perhaps less with the carriages.
The main part of the palace extended north from the old castle, and it was very elegant and modern, though the architect had gone to great pains at the north to echo the style of the old part at the south. In the north end were the kitchens, and behind it, echoing the stables, was the kitchen farm. It had milk cows and swine, and poultry, but it also had a wider array of exotic fowl and a fish pond.
Extending eastward from the palace complex was a great park, which went all the way into the countryside. It was meant mostly for riding. The former king was very keen on horses, and the park had a number of paddocks and several long, challenging cross-country trails through its woods, all set up so that spectators could see most of the action.
When I arrived that day, following close on the man I had chosen as my mentor, the marquis, I had only a vague idea of all that. It was simply very large and very magnificent.
A boy ran up and took the marquis’ horse for him. The same stableman whom I had met that morning hurried after him.
“Herr Bloch!” Furlenhaur said. “I want you to meet this young man.”
Bloch glanced at my horse and bowed graciously, taking hold of my bridle.
“How do you do, sir? May I take your horse?” he said, his voice all sweetness. He turned and raised his hand to signal another boy. The marquis began to chuckle.
“No, no, Bloch,” he said. “This is your new stableboy.”
Bloch withdrew his hand hastily and looked at me more closely. “You again,” he said grumpily.
Moments later I was in the stable, the same wing in which I had awakened that morning. My sour-faced employer pointed to a stall.
“You can put your beast in there,” he said. “For half a day’s work, every day, you’ll get room and board for you and your horse. You’ll get paid for any other work you do, but you’ll do it when it needs doing, not when you please.”
“That sounds fine to me, sir,” I said as I came out of the stall, lugging my saddle and pack.
“I don’t care how it sounds to you,” Bloch blurted out furiously. “I don’t like people who don’t stick to their proper places. You made a fool of me out there. I don’t care if you are a nobleman, or an up and coming young rogue. Or a friend of the marquis. You’re a stableboy now and you’ll get no favors. And I’ll take no trouble from you either.”
“Yes, sir,” I said with such servile enthusiasm that it took him aback. He scowled at me. Then he turned and yelled “Hans!” and walked away.
The skinny boy I had seen that morning came running and Herr Bloch jerked his thumb at me and left. Hans just stood and stared at me. I stood where I was and waited, my saddle and pack still in my hands. He seemed at a loss for what to do.
“Hello,” I said. “I’m Albert.”
“I’m Hans?” he said. Suddenly the spell was off him and he dashed over to my side. “You’re the new stableboy?”
“That’s me.”
“Oh, well, glad to meet you?” he said, taking my arm and leading me down the aisle. “You’ll probably be staying in this room down here, then?”
“I know where it is,” I said. The boy was very high strung. He was constantly moving, bobbing, twitching, and everything he said seemed to have a question mark after it. I wondered if Bloch’s bullying would have me in such a state after three months. Of course, it was possible I would drive Bloch to distraction instead.
Hans stood in the doorway as I put my things in the little room.
“Herr Bloch is my uncle,” he said.
“Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry for you.”
“Yeah.” He fidgeted until I was finished.
“What do I do now?” I asked, putting my thumbs in my pockets.
“Muck out stalls,” he said, grinning a little. He had begun to settle down. “That’s mostly what we do around here.”
I was in very good physical shape—Andre’s training and my own nature had seen to that—but I had never cleaned a horse stall in my life. It was not at all the sort of physical exercise I was used to. It was slow, tedious, and heavy. First I had to shovel the manure onto a large piece of sackcloth, then gather the corners and lug the whole bundle out to the manure pile. I had to toss the manure onto the pile, holding on to the corner of the cloth so it would not get lost in the muck. There was quite a trick to getting the muck on the pile and not everywhere else. I goofed up my first attempt and spilled half of it on the brick yard.
“Clean that up!”
I turned to see Bloch pointing a finger at the mess.
“I was just going to,” I said. He stayed while I ran to get the broom, and he watched me as I carefully swept up every trace. I grabbed my muck sack and started to go.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To clean the next stall?” I said, stumbling to an uncertain stop.
“You are not finished here,” he said, pointing to the pile.
“Oh?”
“Stamp on it.”
“Oh,” I said, regarding the pile. Well, my boots were already dirty, so I obediently climbed to the top of the pile, which was not very high, and began stomping. When it was suitably compacted I climbed down again and looked at him. Bloch was not looking at me. He was looking peevishly at the ground. I looked down too and saw a few pieces of manure had fallen off the pile while I was stamping. I went to get the broom.
“Oh, my back,” I groaned as Hans and I made our way across the yards to the kitchen for lunch. We were later than the other boys because, until I came, Hans had worked alone in the forth wing of the stable.
“You’ll get used to it,” said Hans.
“The question is, will I get used to your uncle?” I said. “Boy, he’s a real stinker.”
Hans laughed a quick nervous laugh, a habitual laugh I had learned. “He sure is. Ha ha. A stinker!” He shook his head. “I hate him. Boy do I hate him.”
“Why do you work for him for then?”
“What else can I do?”
I shrugged and he pulled me up to the kitchen door. It was a large double door, divided horizontally, with the bottom closed, and the top lashed back like a shutter. Hans leaned over and gave a yell above the busy clank and clatter inside.
“Halloo! Ingrid,” he called. “We’ve come for our dinner!”
I leaned in too. The door was wide enough for both of us, but I had to jump up on it since it was high. Inside was a very large kitchen with a whole row of stoves along one wall, and an open hearth opposite. There were two long work tables at the center, and about a dozen people working around them. I had seen a bigger kitchen. My father had it at his estate—my parents being the social kinds of beast, they needed a large kitchen—but I had only seen a little of it, and that in the off season when it contained only one cook and a maid.
In response to Hans’ call a maid detached herself from the bustle and came over, grabbing a bundle wrapped in a napkin. She was a big, healthy girl, about my age, with yellow hair and faint freckles.
“What makes you so late all the time, Hans?” she asked, her light tone showing that she already knew the answer.
“Too much work,” said Hans, hopping nervously from foot to foot. “But we won’t b
e so late anymore. This is the new stableboy, Albert.”
“Hello,” she said. “I’m Ingrid.”
“Hello,” I said.
She stood for a minute, arms crossed, appraising me.
“Ingrid?” came a shrill voice from behind her. “You’re going to need another lunch for the new boy.”
“Oh, yes,” said Ingrid, glancing furtively and moving back into the kitchen. “Yes, ma’am.”
A tall robust woman of late middle age walked up, drying her hands. She held her head high and bore herself with such elegant dignity that, had she not been dressed as a cook, a stranger would certainly mistake her for the queen.
“Frail little thing, isn’t he?” she said, looking at me.
“Frail? Ha ha ha.” Hans rattled out a laugh. “You should have seen him handle Sea Sprite!”
“He’s not so hard to handle,” I said. Sea Sprite was a biter, but I had met horses like him before. “All you have to do is know how to hold your elbow so he bumps himself instead of bites. I’ll show you how.”
“Can you show me how to hold my elbow to fend off my Uncle Wil?”
“You must be underfed, then,” said the majestic cook, looking at me as if my thinness were an insult to her personally. “Ingrid,” she called shrilly. “Is there any of that duck left?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Give them some of it. And some extra cheese, or some fruit.” The cook drifted back to the center of the kitchen and began giving cross orders to the staff at large.
Ingrid hurried over with two napkin-wrapped bundles.
“Lucky you,” she said. “She’s decided to fatten you up, and you’d better believe she will.”
“Great,” said Hans. “I never get enough by myself. I’m always hungry. I’m nervous, you know,” he added, as if he were enlightening me on something.
In the park, behind the kitchen barn, we found a large tree on a small hill. Under this we sat and ate our lunch. In the napkins Ingrid had wrapped a small loaf of bread, a very large hunk of moist light cheese, an apple, and a leg of a duck, which was greasy, but flavorful from the sauce it had been cooked in.
We did not say anything while we ate. I was hungry, and I adore food, and I adore eating a lot of it. After a while, though, Hans slowed down and wiped the duck grease off his fingers with a piece of bread.
“I’m afraid of horses,” he announced.
“It’s a fine job you’ve got then,” I said through a mouthful of cheese. I swallowed quickly. “Afraid of horses, and hating your uncle.”
“He’s afraid of horses too.”
“And he’s head stableman?”
“Sure, he just makes others do the work,” said Hans. “My father said that he was always that way. He always takes the credit for what other people do.”
“Why do you work for him then?” I asked again. “I would think you could get some other job.”
“Papa thinks that if I work here long enough I’ll learn enough about training horses so that he can breed ponies and sell them to rich people with children. All I’ve learned so far is how to keep a stall clean, but Papa won’t listen.”
He bit into his apple and stared dismally at the lawn where a small group of riders galloped about.
“What do you want to do?” I asked.
“That’s what Papa keeps asking, but I don’t know. That’s the problem. They say I just like to talk. I also like to listen sometimes, but mostly talk.”
“I don’t mind listening,” I said. “So talk. What do we do around here other than muck out stalls, or is that it?”
“That’s most of it, especially for you, because you only have to work in the morning,” he said. “Later my uncle will want you to work more, because we’ll be busy. Parties and things at the palace, so there’ll be guests. Then we have to hold horses, saddle ‘em, and bridle ‘em, and unsaddle and unbridle, and clean tack, and there’s never enough help to do it all.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“Does it ever,” he said unenthusiastically. “Some people are nice. Like the Marquis of Furlenhaur. He always brings his horses in cool if he can help it, and if he ever makes you go to any extra trouble he pays you for it. His horses are well mannered, too. You know the marquis, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Uncle Wil said you’re friends or something,” he said, looking at me closely. “Are you rich? You don’t have to work here, do you?”
“Well, sort of,” I said, not sure which question I was addressing. “I guess we have enough money, but I’m on my own just now, so I don’t have much. What about Colonel Bartleby?” I asked suddenly, to change the subject. “How is he with the stableboys?”
“We don’t work for him,” said Hans, glancing back at the stable. “He has soldiers take care of his horses, but he gets after us if he sees us doing anything wrong with a horse. He isn’t bad, though. It’s the guests that are the worst. And between you and me, the nobler they are, the worse they are. They come in at a full gallop, frightening all the other horses, and just throw you the reins, expecting you to cool him down for half an hour, even if you are already holding two horses. As often as not the horses bite and kick, and you get in trouble if they hurt each other, or the tack. Personally, I prefer cleaning stalls.”
I got up and dusted the crumbs off my pants and looked down at my boots. “With all this mucking around I’m going to have to get another pair of boots,” I said. Hans bobbed to his feet.
“I’ll show you around,” he said.
“Later. We ought to get back now. I want to get my work done....”
My attention was drawn away by movement along that road that bounded the south side of the park. It was quick movement, blocked from my view by trees, but in a moment the distant figure of a horseman appeared, riding at a full gallop.
“That’s what I mean,” said Hans, looking at him also. “No consideration for us or the horse.”
“Maybe he has an urgent message,” I said.
“I doubt it.”
“Do you know who it is?”
“Not at this distance,” he said as the figure disappeared behind trees again. “I don’t think it was one of the palace people. Maybe he’s not even going to the palace.”
“Come on, let’s go see,” I said, shaking out my napkin and hopping over a tree root. Hans followed, but he seemed to lack enthusiasm.
The horseman had already arrived when we got to the stable. One of the other stableboys, a blond boy whom I had not met, was walking out the blowing horse. The animal’s head hung down to his knees. It’s rider was deep in conversation with Bloch, but almost as quickly as I saw him he turned away and bounded for the palace. He was in grey livery which looked almost like a military uniform.
“Hans,” I said. “Who has grey livery?”
“Prince Hugo,” he said. “Why? Was that what the man was wearing?”
The blond boy led the tired horse near us. He had freckles and a smirk.
“Guess what, Hans,” he said. “Your favorite person and horse are coming for a visit.”
“Who?” stammered Hans. “Not Viscount von Stenbau!”
“Along with the rest of Hugo’s troop,” said the boy, leading the horse on. “We’re going to be busy.”
“Oh, no,” groaned Hans. “Well, you get to start off your job seeing everything. They’re the worst of the lot. Come on.”
He headed into the stable quickly and I followed. He dodged into the tack room and emerged with two green jackets. “You had better put this on. Uncle Wil likes to see us in full livery when the aristocrats are around. I guess the jacket will do until we get you fitted out with a full uniform.”
He slipped into his jacket and I noticed that his pants were a matching green, with silver piping up the side. When he had buttoned up and fastened the collar he looked very smart. He was tall, and the uniform’s cut made him look broader and more su
bstantial.
“Say,” I said. “You don’t think there’s an extra pair of pants in there with the jackets, do you?”
“Well, yes there are, but I doubt they would fit,” he said as I jumped past him to have a look. “Listen, you don’t really have to wear it. My uncle prefers it—in the trunk, silly—but it’s pretty informal out here. People who come out to the stable don’t expect us to be all dressed up what with the work we do. It’s out front that we have to be all spic and span.”
“Is there a cap to go with it?” I asked, rummaging through the trunk. There were several pairs of pants, but most of them were much too big.
“Yeah, there is. It’s kind of a silly one,” he said, wiggling as if his clothes itched him.
“Where?” I asked, pulling out the smallest pair of trousers I could find and holding them up triumphantly. Hans smiled at me in amused disbelief. “Well, everybody else has got a smart looking uniform, why not me too?”
“You won’t look very smart if it doesn’t fit,” he said, pointing across the room to a shelf of caps. He was right. They did look silly. The cap itself was all right, but fastened to the front of the brim were two grey plumes. They stuck straight up in a frilly V with a bouncy curl at the tips.
“Looks like a lady’s riding hat,” I said. Hans giggled.
“Uncle Wil says it adds dignity.”
“Well. I’ll just add a little more dignity,” I said, and I pulled the plumes out. The little knob that was left still looked silly, but not nearly so obvious. “I’ll go and change into these.” I lifted the pants and dashed off.
Safely shut in my room, I stripped and tried on the livery. The trousers were too large, but with the help of a belt it did not look too bad. The jacket was long enough to conceal the worst of it, and the pant cuffs were hidden in my boots. The only trouble was a bit of bagginess around the knees.
I was nervous. I supported the queen, but that did not stop me from being excited about meeting Prince Hugo. He was, after all, the Prince Hugo. I looked in the mirror and carefully adjusted my cap. Hans burst in without knocking. I noticed he had a cap on now, and without the feathers. He did not say anything, but he glanced at me and went to the mirror to adjust his own cap.
“You say it looks smart?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” I said. “Especially on you. Yours fits.”
“Not that it matters,” Hans said, looking back at the mirror. “We can never look too sharp for Uncle Wil, and nobody else will notice.”
“Somebody might. Maybe Hugo.”
“Oh, yeah. Hugo.”
“He’s pretty bad, you say.”
“It’s not really him,” said Hans. “He rides in a carriage usually and doesn’t come back here. It’s the people with him. They won’t really be so bad, though. Not for you. It’s me who it’s rough on. Hugo’s got this nephew, Tybalt von Stenbau....”
“That viscount you were talking about.”
“Yes. He hates me, and his horse hates me too. Every time he comes he seeks me out, because he knows I’m afraid of his horse.”
“Point him out to me and I’ll take the horse first,” I said.
“He won’t let you. He hates me.” Hans gave me a resigned smile.
“We can try,” I said. “Maybe we can shake him up a little.”
“If you really want to,” said Hans. “I won’t complain. The horse is dark grey, kind of unusual because it doesn’t have any dapples. Just solid color, with a black mane and tail.”
“Is it really that awful a horse?”
“No worse that Sea Sprite, probably. But Tybalt makes it hard by giving a lot of instructions, and I guess once I let him run over me the first time, he just plain won’t obey.” Hans shook his head.
From the gateway of the stable yard we could see a number of carriages and horsemen approaching. It was a large group, though at that distance and angle I could not see how many carriages. The whole speeding mass made a lively clot of motion on the roadway, with the carriages trundling and horsemen darting in and out. It was moving very fast, too fast for the people who were beginning to gather along the street. Then it passed from my view as it entered the center of the city.
“That’s all we’ll see,” said Hans. “The carriages will go to the front, and only some of the horsemen will come back here.”
“Quite a show, though,” I said. “So many. They must be coming to stay a while.”
“If you’re courting a queen, you do it in style.” He let out a short laugh and ran a finger around his collar.
“What have you heard about the wedding?” I asked. “Is it certain?”
“Well, there are still only rumors,” he said. “There’s been a lot of visiting back and forth, but as you say, it looks like Hugo, and Sigmond and the rest of their lot are here to stay. I bet there will be an announcement very soon, or none at all.”
“Maybe while I’m here,” I said.
“You’re not staying?” he said, looking around quickly.
“Only for a while,” I began to say. A loud clatter of hooves interrupted me.
“Here they are now,” said Hans. A small group of horses entered the yard, making more clatter than their number seemed to account for. “There. That’s the one.”
I turned in the direction Hans pointed and ran to take the bridle of the tall, slate grey horse, which was the one making most of the noise. I stopped short, however, when I saw the rider. His lean form swung down gracefully, in spite of the animal’s stamping and shying. It was no other than the Gentleman in Black.
My hand took the cheek piece of the bridle, of its own volition, for my mind was too stunned to command it. The rider turned and reached out a gloved hand to snatch it away. The glove was bulky, as if it had a bandage under it.
“Where’s that other boy? I want . . . .” He stopped as he saw my face, his mouth open in surprise. Then he closed it and smiled. “Hello, Pipsqueak.”
“I have a name, sir,” I said. “It’s Albert.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon. Albert. Of course.” He said it with half a grin and half a look of mock seriousness. The horse threw its head up and backed off. I went with him, for it was useless to try to pit my weight against his.
“See here,” said the rider. “I don’t want you snatching at his mouth with the reins. Take him by the cheek piece. Oh, so you have.”
When the horse saw that I was not going to fight with him, he relented to a few gentle tugs and I led him back. The rider rocked back on his heels and played with his riding crop. He was still dressed in black, but now he had on a long grey overcoat with a black fur collar. He wore a cap too, which was pushed too far forward. He nodded thoughtfully as I came back to him.
“See to it that he is well walked out. He’s had a hard ride. Loosen . . . oh.” He paused as I reached back to loosen the girth. “When he’s cool give him plenty of water, but be sure that it isn’t too cold. I want it tepid.” He started to turn away and the horse laid back his ears, baring his teeth at me. I had, at least, control of his head and he could not bite me.
“Sir? What’s his name?” I asked.
“Regis,” he said, turning back again to face me, “because he’s nobler than anyone here.” He shot a glance at the palace. “Excepting me, of course.” He paused to look me up and down. “Somebody get this boy a proper set of clothes,” he said loudly. “His pants are falling down.”
He turned heel and walked briskly away. My pants were not falling down, but I was embarrassed all the same.
I was not sure what to do. I had to report this to the marquis, but I also had this horse to care for, a horse which was ardently trying to follow his master. I pulled gently on him, and after a short battle I had him walking forward at least, though not entirely in the direction I wanted.
Since the culprit already knew I recognized him, and had not yet run away, and as I had his horse, I decided that it w
ould do no harm to finish my work before I sought out the marquis.
Regis was very uncooperative for the first few minutes. He planted his feet suddenly and even gentle coaxing would not budge him. Then he exploded into a stomping fit and while I was occupied with his feet, his head snaked around, teeth bared. He hit me in the hip, but he did not bite because he snapped his head away too quickly. I took a hold of his snaffle rein to get more control. I did not care what my orders were, and I had no intention of snatching at the animal’s mouth. The animal’s mouth, however, had every intention of snatching at me. He bit at me again, at my arm, taking a mouthful of sleeve and tugging. He paused, one ear coming forward.
“You’re all bluff!” I said to him, and he laid back his ears again. I scratched his forehead and called him a silly boy. The ears came up and he started walking. I think he was too tired to play anymore.
We turned in our circuit to walk in the direction of the palace. I looked up at it and saw, on an upper balcony, a slim dark figure leaning on the balustrade. He was watching me. I did not know how long he had been there, and I stopped. In a moment two women came out and spoke to him, and he went in with them. I turned to Regis and felt his chest. He was cool enough, and I felt a sudden urgency to see the marquis.