From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [13]
Love was sacrifice.
Achan and Shung returned to the castle and entered his chamber to find Sir Caleb and a boy standing beside his bed, which was now covered in all types of armor and weapons.
“Ah, here he is, Matthias.” Sir Caleb set his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Look who has arrived, Your Majesty. I’m sorry Master Ricks didn’t stay to speak with you, but he was eager to return to Tsaftown.” Probably feared we’ d go back on our word and refuse the boy, he added silently.
Matthias? The lad’s head barely reached Sir Caleb’s belt. Big brown eyes peeked out from a shaggy thatch of hair the color of hay.
It all came rushing back. A man had given his youngest son to Achan at a celebration in Tsaftown weeks ago. Achan had refused the idea of taking a slave, but Sir Caleb had explained that a poor man with many children often sent his youngest to work in a noble household. Little Matthias could do no better than to serve his future king.
The boy wore a thin tunic that might have once been pale blue. A frayed hemp belt cinched his waist, accentuating his thin frame. His leggings were the kind Achan used to wear, brown and sagging in the knees. His face was dirty, his fingertips blackened. Odd that Sir Caleb had not yet bathed and redressed the lad. Appearance and decorum were Sir Caleb’s specialties, if not obsession.
“Matthias will train to be your valet, Your Majesty,” Sir Caleb said. “He will learn to choose your clothing and help you dress. When he is older, we’ll teach him to groom you. For now, he can also serve as your page.”
Achan should say something. Greet the boy, at least. “How old are you?”
“Seven, sir.”
The soft voice melted Achan’s heart. How could any man give up such a child, especially one of his own blood?
And seven. So young, yet it was the age most pages began training. Achan wanted to argue—he didn’t need anyone to dress or groom him—but little Matthias looked him over with those wide brown eyes and rewarded Achan’s silence with a trembling smile. So Achan swallowed his complaints. He was to have a valet.
“We are going to ready the prince for a meeting of the war council, Matthias,” Sir Caleb said. “Tomorrow, you and I will have a clothes press and armoire brought up, and I’ll show you how to store everything for our journey.”
Achan glanced at Shung. What do you make of all this?
Shung likes the mouse. His eyes learn much.
A mouse. Did the man have an animal nickname for everyone?
If I am a cham, Sparrow is a fox, and Matthias is a mouse, what is Sir Caleb?
A lion.
Achan chuckled. Sir Caleb did have a mane of shaggy blond hair. But his wild, penetrating eyes looked more like an owl’s.
Sir Caleb waved Achan over. “Your Highness, come take off those clothes—which everyone knows you wore yesterday. Matthias and I will see you ready for dinner.”
Achan sighed and began to unlace his doublet. He inched toward Sir Caleb, hoping to get the shirt off by himself, at least. With every other step, his left thigh cried out.
“It’s imperative, Matthias, that the Crown Prince not wear the same ensemble in the same week. You must see that his clothing alternates and is clean and pressed, so that he always looks his best.”
Achan snorted. “Even on the battlefield?” He envisioned men dying while he was busy changing into a fresh shirt.
“On the battlefield as well.” Sir Caleb pushed Achan’s hands away and finished unlacing the doublet. “As crown prince, and later, king, your presence must instill consistency and order. If you appear bedraggled, your men will feel all the more bedraggled. If you look sharp and rested, you will boost their spirits.” Sir Caleb slid the doublet off Achan’s shoulders and laid it on the table.
Achan rolled his sore shoulder. He wasn’t sure he agreed with this logic. If he were a soldier, he’d want to fight alongside his king. And if his king looked like he’d been eating grapes all day, Achan wouldn’t feel much like risking his life. Sometimes Sir Caleb’s obsessions were just that.
Achan started to unlace his shirt