“I am not mistaken. Answer my question!” she demanded, almost shrilly.
“No, my lady. The teachings you speak of are for those who are . . . wellborn. I have not been taught them.”
At each of my denials, she had appeared more troubled. Her mouth grew straighter, and her hazel eyes clouded. “This is not to be tolerated,” she declared, and turning in a flurry of skirts, she hastened off down the hallway. After a moment I went into my room, changed my shirt, and put on the longest pair of leggings I owned. I dismissed the lady from my thoughts and threw myself into my chores and lessons for the day.
It was raining that afternoon when Burrich returned. I met him outside the stables, taking his horse’s head as he swung stiffly down from the saddle. “You’ve grown, Fitz,” he observed, and looked me over with a critical eye, as if I were a horse or hound that was showing unexpected potential. He opened his mouth as if to say something more, then shook his head and gave a half snort. “Well?” he asked, and I began my report.
He had been gone scarcely more than a month, but Burrich liked to know things down to the smallest detail. He walked beside me, listening, as I led his horse to stall and proceeded to care for her.
Sometimes it surprised me how much like Chade he could be. They were very alike in the way they expected me to recall exact details, and to be able to relate the doings of last week or last month in correct order. Learning to report for Chade had not been that difficult; he had merely formalized the requirements that Burrich had long expected of me. Years later I was to realize how similar it was to the reporting of a man-at-arms to his superior.
Another man would have gone off to the kitchens or the baths after hearing my summarized version of everything that had gone on in his absence. But Burrich insisted on walking through his stables, stopping here to chat with a groom and there to speak softly to a horse. When he came to the lady’s old palfrey, he stopped. He looked at the horse for a few minutes in silence.
“I trained this beast,” he said abruptly, and at his voice the horse turned in the stall to face him and whickered softly. “Silk,” he said softly, and stroked the soft nose. He sighed suddenly. “So the Lady Patience is here. Has she seen you yet?”
Now there was a question difficult to answer. A thousand thoughts collided in my head at once. The Lady Patience, my father’s wife, and by many accounts, the one most responsible for my father’s withdrawal from the court and from me. That was who I had been chatting with in the kitchen, and drunkenly saluting. That was who had quizzed me this morning on my education. To Burrich I muttered, “Not formally. But we’ve met.”
He surprised me by laughing. “Your face is a picture, Fitz. I can see she hasn’t changed much, just by your reaction. The first time I met her was in her father’s orchard. She was sitting up in a tree. She demanded that I remove a splinter from her foot, and took her shoe and stocking off right there so I could do it. Right there in front of me. And she had no idea at all of who I was. Nor I, her. I thought she was a lady’s maid. That was years ago, of course, and even a few years before my prince met her. I suppose I wasn’t much older than you are now.” He paused, and his face softened. “And she had a wretched little dog she always carried about with her in a basket. It was always wheezing and retching up wads of its own fur. Its name was Featherduster.” He paused a moment, and smiled almost fondly. “What a thing to remember, after all these years.”
“Did she like you when she first met you?” I asked tactlessly.
Burrich looked at me and his eyes became opaque, the man disappearing behind the gaze. “Better than she does now,” he said abruptly. “But that’s of small import. Let’s hear it, Fitz. What does she think of you?”
Now there was another question. I plunged into an accounting of our meetings, glossing over details as much as I dared. I was halfway through my garden encounter when Burrich held up a hand.
“Stop,” he said quietly.
I fell silent.
“When you cut pieces out of the truth to avoid looking like a fool, you end up sounding like a moron instead. Let’s start again.”
So I did, and spared him nothing, of either my behavior or the lady’s comments. When I was finished, I waited for his judgment. Instead, he reached out and stroked the palfrey’s nose. “Some things are changed by time,” he said at last. “And others are not.” He sighed. “Well, Fitz, you have a way of presenting yourself to the very people you should most ardently avoid. I am sure there will be consequences from this, but I have not the slightest idea what they will be. That being so, there’s no point to worrying. Let’s see the rat dog’s pups. You say she had six?”