“Stop!” Gregory shouted. “Let him go!” He was taller than Ardwin, but skinnier. He cowered in a corner.
Bulge, the boy who viced Ardwin’s head in the crook of his arm, laughed. His fat belly rubbed Ardwin’s scalp, mussing his hair. He stunk. “The little baby shouldn’t be so weak,” Bulge said. “And if you keep running your mouth, you’ll be next, Bird Brains!”
Ardwin let loose a flurry of fists. If they hurt Bulge, he didn’t show it.
“Gregory!” Ardwin shouted. “Go get Father Calum!”
Gregory stood frozen in fear. His wide eyes found Bulge’s glare. “I will kill you!” the big bully threatened. Gregory glanced from one boy to the other.
Bulge tightened his grip, cutting off Ardwin’s breath. His face grew hot. “Gregory!” he managed.
The scrawny boy spirited away.
Thank God! Ardwin confined. I must survive!
Ardwin punched at Bulge’s ribs, stomped his toes, and thrashed about wildly. Bulge released Ardwin’s neck and shoved him to the floor. Ardwin crawled across the floor, but a fat hand grabbed the collar of his robe, tugging him backward. “Your bird keeper might peck me a time or two, but, until he gets here, you’re mine!”
“One!” Father Calum counted. The rod whooshed through the air. It smacked against Ardwin’s flesh. His back erupted in pain. “Two!” The second hit crossed the path of the first. Calum was accurate with his rod of discipline.
“Ow!” Ardwin shouted. He danced on his toes, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth.
“Hold still!” Father Calum hissed.
Ardwin did his best to steady himself. He closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. The last strike was always the worst. Father Calum liked to make you wait for it. Anticipating the pain was almost as bad as the pain itself–almost. “Three!” Calum shouted. The rod whizzed and smacked. The flash of pain across his back forced him to his knees. Gregory stood in a corner, his hands folded in front of him, his eyes cast to the floor. Father Calum coughed. “Bring me some wine,” he demanded. Gregory moved across the room, never lifting his eyes, finding the bottle and wineglass where they always were. “My little birds…” He shook his head.
The stinging pain in Ardwin’s back eased into a pulsating throb. He wiped away the tears streaking his cheeks, then carefully pulled his shirt back over his head. He stood, spinning to face the Father.
“You think you got the worst of it?” Calum asked. Gregory filled the wineglass for the old man, who grabbed it up with a gnarled hand. His fingers clutched the glass like talons around a scroll. “Bulge got twenty-five lashes from Father Talleyrand. And the stablemaster uses a horsewhip to straighten out his disciples.” He took a sip of his wine and sat the glass down. “Gregory, you were right to find me. You will get a day of rest to pray, meditate, and relax.”
“I told him to find you!” Ardwin blurted out.
The old priest pinned him down with beady, black eyes. Ardwin felt a shiver of fear shoot down his spine. His back ached. “You should’ve never found yourself in that situation.” Under his glare, Ardwin was helpless–even more so than under Bulge’s weight. The old man’s eyes and words carried a different weight. They were more menacing and crueler than anything that dolt could have imagined. Peerless eyes. Ancient eyes. “The Holy Order does not raise brawlers and brutes,” Calum explained. “We mold boys into men.” He took another drink of his wine. “Leave us, Gregory.” Calum waved his bony hand. The wrinkles and liver spots made them appear monstrous.
Gregory shot Ardwin a look, saying, “I’m sorry, but I’m glad I’m not you,” then marched out of the bird keeper’s chamber.
Calum sipped his wine, staring into the hearth at the far end of the chamber. Ardwin stared at the old man, waiting for him to speak. The wood crackled and popped. Father Calum slurped his wine, drawing in a swift draft. He sat the glass down with a loud clank, then wiped his wine-stained lips with the cuff of his brown woolen robe.
“Be more careful, son,” Calum said. “Look at you!” Sweat beads glistened on his bald head. The deep set of his wrinkles deepened with shadows, making him look older than ancient. “Let the pain in your back be a reminder of your foolishness. As the pain in your bruised face is proof of your failure. Gregory told me what happened. You protected him from Bulge, and Bulge didn’t like you standing up to him. You did a righteous thing.”
Ardwin’s cheeks flushed with rage. His stomach twisted with betrayal. “Then why did you punish me?”
“Because.” The old man’s black eyes bore a hole through him, tearing out what heart his anger had lent him. “It was also a foolish thing to do. Bulge is too big, and you don’t have the skills or the tools to beat him. You wouldn’t go hunting a wolf without a bow or a spear, would you?” Calum scoffed. “If you are going to hunt monsters, you better go prepared, or it’s no better than suicide.”
“I didn’t think–”
“No!” Calum cut him off. “That much is clear. I’ve taught you to read and to write, but, apparently, I have failed to teach you how to think.” He nodded. “Imagine, if you will, that Gregory was too slow. That we found Bulge standing over your strangled corpse. What if he drew a knife and stabbed you to death?” Calum lifted his glass with a trembling hand and gulped the dark liquid. He sat the glass down, spilling wine on the little table beside his chair. Ardwin moved to grab a rag, but Calum cried: “I am not done! Stand at attention!”
Ardwin snapped to attention–folding his hands in front of him and bowing his head.
Calum coughed. “You have extra duties for the next two weeks.”
Darn! Ardwin thought. I pulled double duties last week!
“You’re lucky it’s not a month!” Calum waved a crooked finger. “Tomorrow, after you finish my assignments, you will report to Father Abbot in the library. And, don’t forget, you are still bound to your Godly duties! I expect you to be at Communion every day! Do you understand me?”
“Of course, Father.” Ardwin felt a great weight lifted from his shoulders. Library duty isn’t so bad. I’d rather dust books than work the stables with Bulge and Father Talleyrand again.
Calum ground the few teeth left to him. Ardwin knew he wanted to say more, but the weight of his words forced him to consider every single one. Sometimes, the burden was too much for the ancient man to bear. His preferred method of communication was silence. Just as Ardwin thought he had outlasted the old man, Calum shifted in his seat. “I suppose you wish to be dismissed now?”
“I serve your will, Father,” Ardwin offered.
“If you win, you may leave.” Calum pointed at a large table across the room. On top of the table sat a marble chess board, accompanied by game pieces carved from ivory and obsidian. It was the only thing on the table.
Ardwin sighed. “I never win. Not even against Gregory.”
Calum’s arms trembled as he lifted himself from his seat. Ardwin rushed to the man’s side, offering his shoulder to lean on. Calum took it. “You can lie to yourself but you can’t lie to me. You allow Gregory to win because he’s a coward and you feel sorry for him. It is good to be merciful, my boy, but sometimes it may do more harm than good. Our losses are life’s greatest lessons.” They sat down at the table across from one another. Ardwin played white, and Calum always played black. “Your move.” He waved his gnarled hand.
Ardwin moved a pawn forward. “Simple little pawns.” Calum mused. The old man mirrored Ardwin’s move. “Much like Bulge. Simple tasks for a simple soldier.”
Ardwin moved his knight next.
“Sworn to protect the weak and the innocent, yet so often drawn into conquests of glory,” Calum remarked. He slid his bishop across the game board. “Let the fear of God stay his eager sword.”
Ardwin must move his knight or lose it. He considered his retreat. Calum sat silent. After Ardwin moved, the old man plopped a pawn down two spaces from its starting point. “Actions and reactions.” the old priest posed. “You are the guiding hand, but where do you lead your men?” Ardwin shook his head. Calum had trapped his pawn between a knight and a black bishop. The old man smiled. “Sacrifice is necessary. Don’t let the fear of loss cloud your judgment.”
Ardwin took the knight with a bishop, losing his pawn.
Calum moved his queen across the board, trumping Ardwin’s knight. “Royalty can move in ways that soldiers can not. Beautiful and terrible, gracious and powerful. We are few, Ardwin, and we are not expendable. We are not pawns.” Ardwin looked up from the game board and met the old man’s eyes. “That’s why you must be smarter than the rest,” Calum said. “Our blood makes us different from the others.” Calum pinched his king’s crown and lifted it from the table. He held the piece out toward Ardwin. “If the king is lost, you lose everything.” He set the piece back in its proper place. “You have king’s blood, boy. And I won’t watch my great nephew squander his life as so many royal bastards have.”
Ardwin felt an odd lightness of the head. He often did when they spoke of his heritage. It was just too much to wrap his mind around–too big.
Calum waved his hand over the board. “Now, make your move.”
Ardwin sat in a lonely cubby, surrounded by bookshelves and dusty tomes. He sat at a desk, staring at a scroll, struggling to focus on the words:
“King Edgar Pendragon inherited many enemies and created many more. When the war began, they fell upon his kingdom like a pack of wolves. Alexandria stood alone and was pulled apart by the jowls of her enemies. Thus ended the Pendragon reign.”
Ardwin dipped his quill in a little copper inkwell, then copied the words to a fresh piece of parchment. No doubt Calum conspired with Father Abbot to teach me a lesson. I get it–stop making enemies! But that wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Trouble had a way of attaching itself to him. Ardwin set the scroll aside. He leaned back in his chair. Only three more to copy!
Footsteps echoed from behind. Ardwin looked over his shoulder. Gregory approached. Ardwin sat his quill to the side. “What are you doing here?”
“Father Calum sent food,” Gregory said. He plopped a small basket of fruit down on Ardwin’s writing desk. “A gift from a local merchant. He gave it to Father Jerod, who gave it to Calum, who’s giving it to you and me.”
Ardwin smiled. His mouth watered as he eyed a plump red grape. He reached for it. Wait! The parchment! Gus lifted the basket. Beneath, his stack of parchment bore a circular crease. Thankfully, the juices didn’t stain anything. Ardwin stood up and shoved the basket into Gregory’s chest. “You almost ruined them!”
Gregory winced, crumbling under the weight of the fruit basket. “Sorry! It’s just so heavy!”
“That little thing?” Ardwin pointed at the woven basket, no wider than a man’s boot, and no deeper than a stew bowl. Ardwin laughed. He took the basket and sat it in his seat. “You need to toughen up, Gregory!”
Gregory rubbed his arms. “You try packing it up a hundred flights of steps!”
Ardwin picked up a shiny red apple and tossed it to Gregory. The boy flinched but caught it. “You must’ve worked up an appetite.”
Gregory shrugged. He took a bite of the apple. Then he stalked over to the writing desk and looked over Ardwin’s work. “‘The Fall of the Dragon’’ again?”
Ardwin nodded.
“How many copies do they need?” Gregory asked.
“Enough to make sure it’s never forgotten, I guess,” Ardwin said.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“Are you almost done?” Gregory eyed him.
“Three more,” Ardwin informed.
Gregory nodded slowly, munching on bits of apple. “I’ll help.”
“What?” Ardwin cocked his head.
“I’m bored,” Gregory admitted. “If you ever stop pulling double duties, you might know what that’s like.” He smiled. Gregory’s smiles were never bright, nor toothy. A subtle turn of the lips. A slight slant of the eyes.
“All right.” Ardwin plucked a handful of grapes. “But first, we feast!”
The boys gorged on sugary fruit, then sped through the last three copies of the scroll. They placed the original scroll back in its proper place and cleaned off the desk. Afterward, they brought Ardwin’s work to Father Abby, who excused him for the day. “We still have an hour until Communion!” Ardwin pointed out. “Do you want to go to the gardens and play?”
“Okay!” Gregory smiled.
The boys wound their way down countless stairs, hurled through the halls, and hurried themselves outside to the gardens, racing for every moment they could steal for themselves. When they reached the gardens, the game was on. Chase. It was simple and fun.
The gardens offered a maze of bushes and shrubberies and well-kept trees. The sweet smells of spring filled the air with thick aromas. Flowers bloomed yellow, blue, red, and white, and too many colors to name. Back and forth they went, one chasing the other. They laughed and smiled and forgot their Godly duties. For a brief time, they were just children.
The pair sat in a circle of grass. A large tree with hand-shaped leaves sprung from the center of the circle. The boys shaded themselves beneath its boughs. Ardwin laid on his back. “Why can’t Bulge have fun like this?”
“Because he’s an ass,” Gregory said. The boys shared a laugh. Gregory stared off into the distance with a little smile dancing across his lips. “I wish we could do something about him. I wish we could make him leave us alone.”
Alone? “The Fall of the Dragon!” Ardwin sat up. Gregory’s eyes met his. “Do you remember how it ended? “Alexandria stood alone and was pulled apart by the jowls of her enemies.”
“What about it?” Gregory eyed him.
Ardwin scratched his shaggy head. “Bulge is too big for one of us, but together we might stand a chance.”
Gregory shook his head. “Bulge is three times our size!”
“Then we need to even the odds,” Ardwin concluded. “Bulge has plenty of enemies.”
“This is foolish, Ardwin!” Gregory pleaded. “Do you want to be disciplined again? Leave it alone. Bulge will leave us alone–eventually.”
Ardwin stood up. “Bulge is planning his revenge as we speak. You know I’m right. So long as he is Bulge, and we are us, he’s never going to leave us alone. He’s a bully. And, as long as we keep letting him bully us, he will not stop.”
“I don’t know, Ardwin.” Gregory cast his eyes to the grass. Ardwin walked over to Gregory. He shoved the sitting boy over. “Woah!” Gregory cried. “Why’d you do that?”
“I will not feel sorry for you anymore,” Ardwin said. “If Bulge comes for you, you’re on your own.”
Gregory stared in horror. The color in his cheeks paled. His eyes darted around, searching for something safe to latch onto, avoiding Ardwin’s gaze. Gregory sighed, stood up, and dusted the grass off his robe. “Fine! We’ll fight Bulge–together.”
“Good,” Ardwin nodded. “And sorry about the grass on your robe. You had best clean it off before we go to Communion–” The boys locked eyes. “What time is it?”
They sat in the back row of a long line of benches, whispering to each other. They didn’t get there soon enough to take a seat near the front. Father Calum would be upset.
While the Fathers and his brethren prayer demanded silence, Ardwin plotted in his mind. He hoped Gregory did, too, for he was the better strategist. Despite what Calum said, Gregory was the better chess player of the two.
After communion, the boys hurried to the dining hall, where everyone gathered to share a daily feast. Tables stretched across the massive chamber in four runs. A platform of stone looked over the chamber from the back of the hall, running the length of the wall. At the foot of the platform sat four tables, two to each side of a stone stair, bearing bowls of bread, fruit, and meat. The boys joined a line of hungry, anxious disciples and monks.
They spotted Bulge near the front of the line. He stacked his plate high with hog meat. Ardwin forced Gregory to laugh by snorting like a pig.
Closer and closer, they inched toward the vanishing food. Bulge sat at a table with two other stable boys. He pinched off a hunk of bread, dipped it in his water, and then tossed it at a bald boy sitting across the table from him. The bald little boy wiped away the soggy bread and hid his face in his hands. Bulge laughed.
Ardwin elbowed Gregory and nodded in Bulge’s direction. “I think we’ve found an ally.” He smiled.
“Murph?” Gregory questioned. “He doesn’t exactly even the odds.”
“There’s one thing you keep forgetting about our equation,” Ardwin said.
Gregory cocked his head. “What’s that?”
“We’re a lot smarter than Bulge,” Ardwin assured. “We don’t need to match his muscles.”
“It sounds like you already have a plan,” Gregory stated. “Are you planning on sharing it anytime soon?”
“Murph, consider the consequences of not helping us.” A fleet of footsteps passed overhead. The air within the little closet filled with dust, shaken loose by the trampling. When the footsteps faded, Gregory continued: “Bulge will only grow bolder with time. With no one to stop him, his teasing and bullying will get worse.”
Ardwin placed his hands on the scrawny boy’s shoulders. “You don’t deserve to be treated that way. You’re not a fool! Aren’t you tired of Bulge and his band of bullies treating you like one?”
Murph crossed two twig-thin arms, refusing to meet Ardwin’s eyes. “You’re crazy.”
“No,” Ardwin said. “We’re tired of Bulge thinking that he owns this place.”
Murph shook his head, wearing a big smile. He chuckled. “You’re both crazy! And you’re forgetting the Fathers. They’ll straighten him out!”
“When?” Ardwin asked. “Bulge got twenty-five lashes yesterday. Today, he’s bullying you. Tomorrow, it’ll be someone else, or you, or whoever he damned well pleases. He doesn’t care about discipline. He only cares about the pain he can inflict on us!” Ardwin peered into Murph’s eyes. “You know I’m telling the truth!”
Murph sighed. He closed his eyes and stayed that way for many moments. Gregory and Ardwin shared a look of concern. Then Murph opened his eyes. He bobbed his bald head. “I have prayed about it. When God gives me an answer, I will give you mine.”
The pair shared another glance, then studied Murph. “Okay,” Ardwin said. “But let us know by tomorrow!”
Murph agreed, then left the closet. Ardwin and Gregory followed. They split up at a large stone stairwell. Murph returned to the stables. The other two ascended, seeking the bird keeper’s chambers on the top floor. After tending to their evening chores, the boys spent their twilight hours writing notes to their brethren. Murph was only the beginning. Bulge made many enemies during his reign of terror. By midnight, their hands and eyes ached. They retired to their beds and drifted off to sleep.
They distributed their notes during morning duties and then met in the gardens an hour before communion. Ardwin sat beneath a tall tree, enjoying the shade, while Gregory paced about. “Where are they? We must have handed out a hundred notes!”
“Give them time,” Ardwin assured.
The pair waited, watching the shadow of the tree stretch across the ground.
Gregory finally stopped pacing. “That’s it!” He threw his hands up. “The cowards! All of them!” His face grew red. “I can’t believe not a single one showed up! Not one!”
Ardwin rolled over onto his belly. He rested his head on folded arms. “Wake me up when they get here.”
“I’m here!” a voice cried. Ardwin lifted his head. He rolled over onto his back, rising up on his elbows. Bulge walked out of a line of shrubs. “This is the right spot, isn’t it?” He smiled.
Ardwin’s heart sank in his chest.
Bulge walked toward them. “Well, what’s this meeting about?” He held up a strip of parchment. “I can’t read this thing, but I think it says something about me!” He wadded up the parchment and threw it at Gregory. Then he spat at Gregory’s feet. “I know you don’t have the balls to do something like this.” Bulge glared at Gregory. “Leave now, and I might let you live!”
Gregory looked at Ardwin, who shook his head. Gregory stood his ground. He met Bulge’s glare with defiance. Bulge didn’t like that. He threw a fat fist at Gregory and hit him square in the chin. Gregory crumpled like the parchment, falling to the ground. He didn’t move.
Is he dead?
Ardwin heard himself growling. Before he knew it, he had launched himself at Bulge, wrapping his arms around the big boy’s waist. Bulge laughed. “You’re so stupid, bird brains! You thought I wouldn’t find out about your little meeting?” Ardwin felt a fist dig into his back. He lost his breath. Another blow followed, hitting the same spot.
“Ah!” Ardwin cried as he pushed against the bully’s weight, trying to keep himself from being pinned to the ground.
“I’m gonna beat your brains out, bird boy!” Bulge shouted.
Then, a loud crack cut the air. “Ow!” the bully cried. Bulge’s weight lessened. He let go of Ardwin.
Ardwin searched his surroundings, dazed. Murph stood at hand, holding a gardening hoe that was far too big for him. “Leave him alone!” Murph shouted.
Bulge’s eyes bulged from his head, and the veins of his neck strained with rage. Spittle frothed from his mouth like a mad bull. “I’m going to kill you all!” He charged them.
Murph dropped his staff and ran.
Ardwin ran in a different direction. Bulge looked left after Murph, then turned on Ardwin. Ardwin stopped. “Come on, you big ass! I’m the one you really want!”
To Ardwin’s dismay, his taunt worked. Bulge charged him. Ardwin spirited away, weaving through a maze of bushes and shrubs. He heard Bulge’s heavy footfalls behind, breaths heaved like a great bellow, but he’d lost sight of the big bully. Ardwin ducked behind a bush full of yellow flowers. Bulge passed him by.
Ardwin sat, panting, trying to regain his breath. Well, we really did it this time! Now, we’ve got poor little Murph wrapped up in this mess!
Feet stomped behind a line of thick-leaved bushes. They were short enough for someone as tall as Bulge to look over. Ardwin scrambled closer and pressed himself against the row of greenery. “Not so brave now, huh?” Bulge called. “Come on, why are you hiding, hero?”
Bulge was close, but his feet carried him away. Ardwin drew in a deep breath and released it. I need to find Gregory. I need to make sure he’s okay. He steeled his nerves. Sneaking low to the ground, Ardwin retraced his steps. If there was one advantage he had, it was his knowledge of the gardens and their winding paths. He crept along, listening intently for Bulge’s boots or breath.
A twig snapped.
Ardwin’s head twisted toward the right. He spotted Murph curled up beneath a rosebush. It was one of many in a ringed array of red, white, and yellow flowers guarded by barbs. Not a bad hiding spot, if your gray robe didn’t stand out. He worked his way over to the boy. With a great muster of courage, he whispered: “Murph!”
The boy didn’t move.
“Murph!” he called again. Murph turned and looked at him. He shook his bald head, then covered it with his hands. Ardwin watched the little boy be ripped out of his hiding spot. He yelped like a kicked pup. “Murph!” Ardwin shouted. He dashed through an opening, then battled through the briars of the roses, crashing into a clearing between the colorful bushes. Bulge held Murph by the collar of his robe. “Put him down!” he demanded.
“Or what?” Bulge asked.
“Or we’ll beat you into a pulp!” A familiar voice cried. Ardwin looked over his shoulder. Gregory stood, leaning against Murph’s abandoned weapon. Blood dripped from his nose, had dried on his upper lip, which was swollen and blue. Four other boys stood beside him, dawning their godly gray garb. They glared at Bulge, hungry for vengeance.
They came! Ardwin turned his attention back to the bully. For the first time in his life, he saw fear in Bulge’s eyes as they flickered from one face to another. “Well, Bulge?” Ardwin asked. “I know you’re not stupid enough to fight all of us.”
Bulge looked from Ardwin to the other boys. “And if I let Murph go? What then?”
Ardwin hadn’t really thought that far ahead. He looked at Gregory, who split his attention between Ardwin and Bulge. His eyes finally settled on the big bully. “If you promise to leave us alone, then we’ll leave you alone. If not, then we’ll just beat you into a pulp.” Gregory looked eager to do just that.
What about Murph? Ardwin pondered his friend’s ultimatum.
Bulge’s face grew beet red. “You listen to me, you little–”
“No, you listen, you big fat oaf!” Gregory roared. “We’re tired of you! All of us! You can beat us up one by one, but we’ll always come back for you–together. Every day, until your last days, we will come for you!”
Bulge snorted like a pig. Tears streaked his face. Ardwin watched the bully struggle with his newfound weakness. Bulge didn’t like being told what to do by someone smaller than him–someone weaker than him. He shivered with rage but dared not lash out lest he be set upon by a pack of wolves of his own creation. Slowly, Bulge released his grasp on Murph. Murph pulled away and ran to Ardwin’s side.
“Come on, let’s get him!” Murph cried. The others advanced, but not Gregory, nor Ardwin.
Ardwin put a hand on Murph’s shoulder. “Wait!” They all looked at him. “Let him go.”
“What?” Murph asked.
“Let him go,” Ardwin said. He approached Bulge. “You let Murph go, so we’re going to let you go. But don’t forget the other part of our bargain.” He put a finger on the bully’s meaty chest. “If you mess with one of us, you mess with all of us! Do you understand?”
Bulge nodded. The bully wiped away his tears, shook his head, and stomped his way toward the stables with his head hung low. Murph and the others erupted in celebration and cries of joy. They called after Bulge, throwing every bad name and word they could think of in his direction.
Ardwin’s heart swelled with pride.
Gregory stalked over to him. “This is great, but we’re going to be late for Communion,” he spoke with a lisp.
Ardwin dreaded Calum’s rod of discipline, but the elation of victory smeared his fear with courage. At that moment, he felt like he could overcome anything–with the help of a few friends. He smiled, then clapped Gregory’s back. “You worry too much, Brother.”
They joined the other boys in their victory celebration.
None of them celebrated when the Fathers found them sneaking around the garden. Dragged back to the old bird keeper’s lofty chamber, Callum gave Gregory ten licks of his rod, then confined him to quarters without food for the rest of the day.
Ardwin was given five lashes and ordered to scrub the floors. He pushed, scraping the tough bristles of the brush across the stone. His arms ached with every thrust, as did the whelks on his back. It hurt, but the sweet savor of victory blunted the pain. He remembered how the other boys shook his hand and promised to always be his friend. And how they laughed and played until the Fathers wrangled them in.
Some pain is worth it, he contemplated. I guess that’s the trick to life–finding the pain you can tolerate. He stopped and surveyed the dirty stones all around him. Crusty pigeon droppings littered the floor, carried in on the bird keeper’s robes. Ardwin’s knees already ached beneath his weight.
Father Calum slapped his rod against his writing desk. “Tired already? Need a little motivation? Would another ten lashes do?”
Ardwin sighed, then returned to his scrubbing. Can I tolerate the pain of servitude? I have king’s blood, after all. Is this all I was born for?