ETHAN
Ethan walked into the horse stalls on the far end of Mr. Howinger’s horse pasture. He hoisted a one hundred pound bag of oats upon his shoulder and carried it to the area where he kept equipment and feedbags for the horses. He loaded each of twenty sacks with enough grain to satisfy his hungry equine diners, then he placed them all on a wooden cart in order to distribute them to Mr. Howinger’s beautiful horses.
Ethan fed the other horses then stopped at the stall of a beautiful brown stallion and placed a bag on his muzzle. He stroked the horse’s head and neck as it began chomping away at the oats. “How are you, Whistler?”
The horse inclined its head toward Ethan. “Don’t worry, boy, Horace won’t sell you if I have anything to say about it.”
Ethan stroked the sleek, muscular neck and shoulder. “Still, you should let him ride you when he wants to. Just because we’re friends doesn’t mean I’m the only one who can ride you.”
Whistler snuffed through his oats. “Well, you’re only going to make it worse on yourself. Howinger won’t listen to me. He told Elspeth I was lazy. Can you imagine? And me doing the work of three of his hired men for no pay, except for his constant fussing.”
Whistler shook his head and pulled away from Ethan’s hand. “Are you taking his side too?” Ethan said, stepping closer. “Elspeth told me to watch my temper. I only wish I could take her away from all this. If the militia does come to Grandee, then I can join. And you and I can ride into battle against Mordred and his Wraith Riders.” Ethan turned his back to the horse. “Or, if you’re still put out with me, I could take one of the others for my mount.”
The horse brushed Ethan’s shoulder. Ethan turned and patted Whistler again. “Don’t worry, I was only fooling. No other horse is half as magnificent as you are.” He walked away, then turned to wag a finger at the stallion. “I’ll see you later, but if I have to put up with Horace so do you.”
Ethan started the cart back toward the prep area. The sound of whinnying, outside of the horse barn, caught his attention. He wheeled the cart faster, then left it and ran to the barn door. Ethan saw several men from the town council approaching where Mr. Howinger stood, talking with some of his hired hands.
A field of green corn, nearly ready for harvesting, lay between Ethan and the men riding toward Mr. Howinger. Ethan slipped away from the horse barn and into the corn. He crept through the stalks, moving quickly, but trying not to disturb the tops. Neither Mr. Howinger nor his men seemed to take notice of Ethan, now that the riders had come near.
Horace removed a blue rag from his pocket and stopped digging the hole for his fencepost long enough to wipe the sweat from his brow. As the horses approached, one of Horace’s men asked, “Now who do you suppose this is riding in like they were going to the ball?”
“Tom Grandee, by the looks of him,” Horace said in a mocking tone. “He always was a snappy dresser.”
“Aye and his daddy and Grand-pappy too,” one of Horace’s field hands said.
“Watch it now, lads,” Horace warned. “Their family founded this fair town.”
His men chuckled under their breath as the riders came to a stop before them.
“Good morning, Howinger, how are you today,” Tom Grandee said.
“I would do fine if it weren’t for all of the taxes I have to pay to our illustrious Lord Mordred,” Horace said sharply. Mr. Howinger was dressed in common work clothes despite his wealth. Only his age and the dignified manner in which he carried himself would have hinted to anyone that he was anything more than a common laborer.
“That’s just the subject we came to discuss with you, Horace,” Tom said. He and his men wore colorful waistcoats with knee length breeches and hose. Their garments held gold buttons and shiny buckles sat atop their shoes. Horace sneered at their attire and their soft, uncalloused hands.
“What about it?” Horace asked.
“There’s a council meeting tonight. Some of the council members from Ridgeton and Baylon are going to be there as well.”
“Aren’t they organizing a militia to join Stephen?” Horace asked suspiciously.
“Aye, that they are and they’ve come to seek our allegiance to their cause,” Tom said. Adventure and intrigue sparkled in his eyes like a child with his first toy.
“You mean their rebellion, don’t you, Tom?”
Tom looked insulted by the comment. “Is it rebellion to side against tyranny?”
“That depends,” Horace said.
“On what, pray tell?”
“On whether you’re the tyrant, boy,” Horace said flatly. “Have you thought about the consequences of going up against the Wraith Riders, Tom?”
Tom and the four men with him looked uncomfortable now. Even their horses fidgeted beneath them.
“Mordred overthrew a more experienced man of war in our own King Wenceslas,” Horace warned. “How do you suppose King Stephen of Wayland will ever defeat him now that Mordred’s power has grown so much more over these nine years?”
Neither Tom nor the other men had any answers for Mr. Howinger’s questions. Finally, Tom Grandee managed to say, “You’re entitled to your opinions, old man, but don’t forget your obligation to be at the council meeting. You might be willing to bow to the Wraith Riders, but the majority of the people in this town are ready to live out from under Mordred’s yoke.”
“Oh, I’ll be there, whelp,” Horace spat. “Now get off of my land.”
Tom and the others turned their well-groomed horses, trotting back the way they had come.
“What do you think, Mr. Howinger? Will Grandee join King Stephen’s militia?” asked one of his men.
“Only if the council wants to get us all killed,” Horace said, watching the horses go. “Let’s get these posts dug. I want to finish before I’m forced to watch Tom Grandee use his family’s influence to turn this town upside down.”
Horace turned back to his work, grumbling under his breath about his misfortune at living in a town of fools.
Ethan watched and listened to the exchange from within the forest of green corn stalks. It appeared the militia might actually happen. Grandee would go to war alongside King Stephen of Wayland. Ethan smiled as he listened to Mr. Grandee’s comments.
I’ll avenge you, Father-both of you, he thought. Ethan watched the five young men ride away. I must go to that meeting. As Mr. Howinger’s hammer began to strike posts into the earth, Ethan backed out of the stalks, until only the bright green corn remained.
MANIPULATION UNAWARES
Ethan watched Horace Howinger eat his dinner quickly that evening. Normally he ate very slowly, but tonight he had unpleasant business to attend to in town. No one spoke at the table. Ethan fidgeted and didn’t eat much-bursting at the seams to ask about the militia, but knowing it would only set Horace off on a tirade.
When he had finished eating, Horace left the dirty dishes sitting in their place on the table and got up to leave. For once, he did not comment. Perhaps, Ethan wondered, Horace is so accepting of tyranny because he promotes it in his own house toward Elspeth and me.
Horace put on his coat and boots, then stepped toward the door. He glared at Ethan and Elspeth-not an uncommon occurrence-then opened the door and went out into the yard where Ethan had tied up one of the horses for him.
Dusk approached as Howinger set off for the council meeting. Ethan watched Mr. Howinger disappear down the road, then he helped Elspeth do the dishes and clean up the house a bit. All the while, Ethan counted down the time in his head. When it was almost dark, Ethan said, “I’ve left something undone in the barn.”