The wagon was quickly moved. Next, the guide approached and told Edward he wished to rest the animals for a full day before continuing the trip. It also meant an additional day of wages for himself and everyone while they did nothing, and it slowed him on a mission ordered by the sheriff. “We will travel tomorrow if it means every animal and half the men die.”
“But, sir.”
“Quiet! We travel, or I will have you whipped by the King’s Punisher, upon our return.” Edward saw the fear in him. Edward had often seen the sheriff use similar tactics, and it occurred to him that the sheriff would have had him whipped for disobedience if he didn’t obey the man—and so would he if forced. He had always been a follower, too nice to upset people by asserting his will. The sheriff was not nice, although his manners gave that false appearance. The difference seemed to be in the willingness to make a threat, and carry it out.
The caravan traveled the following morning as he’d ordered, with a change of attitude in many of them. When his stomach told him to eat, a meadow in a small valley appeared with a stream passing through it for drinking. The guide had turned and rode his horse in Edward’s direction. Edward spoke first, “I wish to stop here for our meal. Do you have any objections?”
“Well, no. I was going to suggest the same.”
Edward twitched the corner of his mouth as the sheriff might do. In a disbelieving tone, he said, “Of course you were.”
The guide spun his horse and galloped to the lead of the procession. For nearly five days Edward had made decisions instead of doing what was suggested. However, he did ask opinions several times before making choices. He saw far fewer smirks, grins, and less laughter directed at him. Still, it was not about giving orders or whipping people. He would not become like the sheriff, but like his father who accomplished even more with his stern attitude. He led instead of followed.
But he also depended on others for good advice. The answer seemed as simple as seeking out the best people and asking them for help.
The Red Dog Inn had a massive front door made of thick oak planks strapped in iron that swung open as easily as if it entered the King’s wing of the castle. He stepped inside like he owned the building, which was not true, but not exactly a lie either. When he was crowned as the Earl at some future date, this land, and all the buildings, would be under his rule. Edward paused and allowed his eyes to fall on each of the men inside. Only one woman, a young serving wench, moved through the room balancing a tray of mugs.
Nobody would know him. He took a table to himself and tossed a small silver coin on the table.
The serving girl appeared at his side. “Sir, is there something I can get for you?”
“Your best room for the night and may I see your wine list?”
“Wine list?”
“Yes, yes. What wines do you have on hand?”
“Well, we have a red one, sir. And there is another that is deeper red, almost purple colored, but I think it’s too bitter, so I suggest the first.”
Edward had to smile. The young girl was trying to be as helpful as possible, and he found he enjoyed the sweetness in her attitude. “The red, then. Tell me about your food.”
“We have some chicken legs patrons eat for snacks. They’re free. And we have stew for a copper snit. I’d take the stew if I were you. Lots of lamb and beef, and chunks of carrots. Onions and turnips, too.”
“Stew it is,” he indicated the small silver on the table. “Will that be enough?”
Her laughter tinkled as she placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. “That will buy food and drink for a hundred men. If you don’t mind me saying so, the owner is going to be upset because he won’t have the coppers to return to you for change. Do you have any copper coins? Maybe some iron snits?”
“This coin will feed and buy wine and ale for a hundred?”
“And pay for your room, sir.”
The thought of how the sheriff would handle this situation solved the problem. He came to seek information from the villagers. Food, wine and ale loosened tongues. Edward stood and stepped up on the chair next to him. All eyes turned to him. He smiled and raised his voice. “Good evening, people. I am Edward, son of the Earl of Witten, and someday I will rule this land. But for now, I am a just a traveler and wish to know everything about Nettleton and the good people here.”
Nobody moved and none whispered a word. The inn was as still and quiet as an empty church. Edward realized he had forgotten the most important item. “So, I have paid for this night in silver. You may all eat and drink what you want. As much as you want. Invite your friends to join us. I pay the piper this night if you have one to play a tune for us, but I want to know and understand everything about Nettleton this night.”
The innkeeper rushed to Edward’s table and scooped up the silver coin. He examined it and smiled as he raised it high. “Do as the man says! Drink up. Eat.”
A cheer erupted, and two men sprinted out the door, presumably to locate and invite others. Edward found a mug of red wine had appeared on his table while he spoke. He stepped down from the chair, scooped up the mug, walking to the nearest table. He asked for introductions and the names of each man. A smile, then a toast or two, and tongues started wagging.
The wine tasted like swill left over from the bottom of the vat of a poor vintage year. He drained half the mug and saluted the room. The sheriff had treated him much the same in the palace when he offered rare meats and wines. Yes, he’d also learned that lesson from the sheriff. It’s better to provide the manner for people to give you what you want freely, than to force them. He intended to make it a night to remember for the people of Nettleton, with free wine, ale, and loose conversation. In the conversations at the different tables the subject of homeless boys would naturally come up, innocently he hoped, and perhaps with careful prompting. Before he found his way to his room tonight he planned to know all about any wildlings living in, or near the village.
The front door burst open, and six more villagers entered, all looking thirsty and talkative. Edward nodded to the innkeeper and smiled. To the men at his table, he asked, “As your future Earl I’m interested in many things so that I can rule this land better. For instance, is there any crime in Nettleton?”
“No more’n Caleb charging too much for hay,” one man stated, trying to withhold a smile.
“I do not.” The man across the table countered.
Edward let them continue their friendly bickering. Later there would be more questions, but first, let the wine flow. He moved on to another table. And another.
When he woke the sun already reached high into the sky. The room he lay in looked no larger than his smallest closet at the palace. His hand went to his forehead. It had been a night to remember. Most of the villagers had never laid eyes on royalty, let alone drank with one. They seemed to accept his statements about wanting to know about them and the village so he could better rule when the time came.
The small room seemed to spin, but he drew a deep breath, and it settled down. Flashes of the evening played in his mind. While there had been no music, he remembered dancing. And singing. People laughed and joked. Yes, he had been one of them, and he had enjoyed himself. He would remember Nettleton fondly for years to come.
A headache diminished as he remembered snippets of conversation about the wildling boy who stole from the villagers with their knowledge. Most respected him. He took only what he needed when he did steal, and that seemed precious little. In return, he provided help to the villagers in the form of chasing a pack of wolves away from some lambs and helping a calf stuck in mud at the stream’s edge. He had helped search for a missing child until she was safely found and returned home.