Volume One: The Forest Knight Chapter 68: The Wayward Earl

Just as Drew believed he was about to lose his life, a sudden furious shout rang out. The four men who had been attacking him were knocked to the ground, groaning in pain. Drew hurriedly opened his eyes and saw it was Berion and Bran who had arrived; with three punches and two kicks, the two of them had dispatched the assailants.

Berion stepped forward and hauled him up. He was about to speak when the whistle of the City Guard patrol sounded nearby; Berion and Bran exchanged glances and quickly dragged Drew away.

Though he was a lord and a county official, this was Count Gris's territory. Getting into trouble here was never a good thing, especially with such a powerful count—if he took a dislike to Drew, the consequences would be dire.

The three wound through streets and alleys, only stopping once they were certain the danger had passed. Drew, having narrowly escaped, was utterly exhausted; he bent over, hands pressed to his knees, gasping for breath, and only after a long moment did he recover.

Once he had caught his breath, he immediately bowed deeply to Berion. "Lord Berion, I will never forget your kindness in saving my life. I will surely find a way to repay you."

Berion waved him to stand. "You shouldn't thank me, but rather my squire here. If it hadn't been for him relieving himself in the corner and overhearing those four plotting, we wouldn't have come in time to rescue you."

Drew turned to Bran, placing his right hand on his chest and bowing. "Thank you, young man."

Bran was momentarily at a loss, never before having an adult salute him so formally. He stammered, "Brother Drew, you… you don't have to be so formal. This… this is just what I ought to do."

Berion, amused by Bran's discomfort, helped Drew up and said, "Drew, those local thugs are certainly well-acquainted with the City Guard. The patrol won't arrest them, and we didn't strike to kill—they aren't badly hurt. I imagine they'll be out looking for you again tomorrow."

Drew frowned, unsure of what to do next. He looked at Berion, wanting to say something, but the words caught in his throat. He was embarrassed to trouble this knight any further, especially after Berion had not only generously rewarded him, but saved his life.

Berion could see Drew's inner turmoil. He patted Drew’s shoulder. "In a moment, we'll accompany you to your lodgings to fetch your belongings. You can stay with us.

Those thugs won't dare challenge a lord with more than twenty guards. When it's time to leave the city, just come with us. Don't worry—so long as you don't return to Yanwick Shire, do you think they'll pursue you forever?"

Drew was astonished by Berion’s offer. He couldn’t imagine what he had done to earn such care from this lord—it must be the blessing of the Fire God.

Yet Drew had truly reached a dead end. Without Berion's protection, he’d likely be found dead in the streets by tomorrow; those four would never let him be so lucky again.

After much consideration, Drew nodded, agreeing to Berion's suggestion. The three went to Drew’s lodgings—a mule stable, a grass-roofed hut next to a rank-smelling stall, with no bed and over twenty people sprawled everywhere, leaving no space to step.

Drew was embarrassed. He hurried in to gather his belongings: a tattered wool blanket and a cloth bag stuffed with miscellaneous items. After collecting these, he went to the front desk, retrieved his small money box from the proprietor, and followed Berion away.

Arriving at Berion's small manor, Drew saw more than twenty waiting guards, a spacious courtyard, and tidy rooms. Joy and excitement overwhelmed him—he had never dreamed of living in such a place.

Since childhood, he had wandered with his master, sleeping outdoors or in farmers’ haylofts. Only on rare, prosperous occasions could he stay a few days in an inn. Now, an urge to become Berion’s servant welled up within him—though only a fleeting impulse. After all, as a wandering bard, he had no idea what value he could offer Berion if he pledged himself.

Berion arranged for Drew to stay in the room beside his own, together with Bran. This not only showed his regard for Drew but also allowed Bran to keep an eye on him. Though Berion wished to win him over, that did not mean he would trust Drew easily; blind trust was a dangerous folly for any man—it could cost him his life.

Two days later, the knight’s tournament began. As expected, the place was packed: the tiered stands teemed with onlookers, vendors selling ale and snacks wove through the crowds, their cries and quarrels echoing everywhere.

Thanks to Gamgee’s arrangements and Berion’s noble status, they went straight to the area reserved for nobility, guarded by soldiers. There, Gamgee had reserved a rather decent private box.

Inside were soft sofas and tables, wooden stools for the attendants, and everything was comfortably arranged. Berion entered, flopped onto a sofa, and laughed, "You certainly know how to enjoy yourself!"

Gamgee smiled mysteriously, waved his hand, and his caravan manager went out, returning shortly with a jug of wine, some food, and seasonal fruit.

Gamgee sat, grabbed an apple and bit into it, speaking as he ate: "Berion, my brother, you see—this is the power of the dinar. If you have the money, even the box beside Count Gris can be yours.

Though I bear the title of apprentice knight, I know that with my build, if I entered the tournament, I’d wet myself before even stepping onto the field."

Berion teased, "Ha! If you took your trousers off right now, nobody would care."

Gamgee chuckled, "If I had your skill, I’d certainly compete—not for the money. That ten thousand dinars means nothing to us. What I’d value is the honor of winning.

You may not know this, but though I’ve earned the family a great deal, the uncles and cousins who lead troops hardly respect me—only outward politeness."

Hearing Gamgee’s complaint, Berion was about to offer comfort when Gamgee quickly smiled again. "Berion, my brother, sit here for a while. I need to greet a few people in the neighboring boxes; they're all major clients, and I must attend to them carefully."

Seeing the crafty glint in Gamgee’s eyes, Berion realized he had just buried his true feelings again. He said nothing more, merely resolved to share a proper drink with him soon—once Gamgee was tipsy, perhaps he would finally unburden himself.

Gamgee wandered off for quite some time, returning with sweat streaming down his face, despite the crisp autumn air—a sign of how hard he’d worked.

Berion handed him a handkerchief to wipe his brow, but Gamgee waved it away, instead pulling out a handkerchief embroidered with wild daisies.

Berion joked, "That handkerchief looks nice—is it from your wife?"

Gamgee smiled slyly and whispered, "You could call her that, but she’s actually my mistress in Yanwick Shire."

Berion’s eyes grew wide in surprise but quickly returned to normal. For a northern merchant of Gamgee’s background and wealth, keeping a woman in the city was hardly remarkable.

Gamgee, full of amusement, slapped Berion’s shoulder with his large hand. "You’re young yet and don’t understand these things. When a man has power and wealth, he should have several women—otherwise, what’s the point of living? Do you know who’s sitting in the box to our left? Care to guess?"

Berion inwardly disagreed with Gamgee’s old-fashioned notion that powerful men must keep many women, but he didn’t argue, instead guessing, "Perhaps a prominent viscount who could aid your business?"

Gamgee shook his head and smiled mysteriously. "Here’s a hint: it’s a woman connected to a powerful figure."

"A woman? Who could it be?" Berion pondered, watching Gamgee’s enigmatic smile, then suddenly his eyes widened in excitement. "Could it be Dame Andy?"

Gamgee’s face darkened. "Of course not! Berion, I think you’re infatuated with that beautiful lady knight. From my experience, you’ve fallen in love."

Berion rolled his eyes. "Stop teasing—just tell me, who is it?"

Gamgee took a sip of wine and whispered, "It’s Count Gris’s favorite mistress, Lady Mirabeau."

"Count Gris’s mistress?" Berion was astonished—this woman must be Dame Andy’s mother’s rival. He felt a bit foolish; despite the time that had passed since that encounter, he still reacted strongly whenever someone connected to Dame Andy was mentioned.

"Yes. Let me tell you some secrets, things most people don’t know." Gamgee became animated, eager to share Count Gris’s scandalous stories. "Before marrying, Count Gris had women, but he was no libertine—he was quite restrained.

But after his marriage, especially following the birth of his daughter, he changed completely, pursuing women with abandon. You must know, the countess is our lord, the Duke of Carolin’s sister. If anyone else behaved so, the countess could easily ruin them, but strangely, she never intervenes."

"That is odd—not normal, not logical," Berion remarked.

Gamgee nodded, "I agree. I’ve heard bits from Count Gris’s steward, but the details elude me.

To uncover the secrets of powerful men’s bedrooms, you must consult the women they’ve slept with. My mistress happens to know Lady Mirabeau—Mirabeau is a major client at her family’s tailor shop, so my mistress often interacts with her. Over time, she learned the secret from Lady Mirabeau’s maid."

At this point, Gamgee paused, glancing around as if wary of eavesdroppers, then continued, "After the countess bore a daughter, she could never have another child. The Gris family has produced only one heir for four generations. If they cannot produce a son, the title must pass to the daughter.

Though both Valendi and Bax have countesses, we’ve never had one in Brick.

Count Gris deeply resents the prospect of a female heir, fearing the family’s hard-won lands will fall under her husband’s control, so he sought other women, hoping for a son.

The countess has suffered in silence, letting Count Gris indulge himself. Yet despite all the mistresses, none have conceived, so it seems the fault lies with him, not the countess.

A man who cannot father children cannot hold his head high before his wife. Lady Mirabeau is not only strikingly beautiful but exceptionally gentle and attentive, so she has become Count Gris’s favorite. He has built her a lavish city mansion and spends several days with her every week—she is truly cherished."