Duke Talbot hovered over Arthur; three times servants had to change the page sheets, and already the fourth sheet was turning into a puddle of sweat.
"No change?" Talbot asked, stroking his beard, which had come to be almost entirely white with age.
"None, or at least no change for the better," Julian answered, "He hasn't woken in two days, he's still alive, but his heartbeat is weak."
Edwin sat beside Arthur on a stool; he had barely left his side these last few days except to change his friend's bedding or to retrieve water or food to try to feed him. Luckily, the Duke had accepted this without issue. "He is his uncle," Edwin recalled that day in the cellar of Sonder keep when Hugh had mocked him for being a bastard. Children born out of wedlock were naturally viewed as a major scandal. The Talbot household had been spared from most of the political backlash because Arthur's mother, the duke's sister, had died during childbirth. According to Arthur, the Duke held no ill will against Otho, Arthur's father. John Talbot even seemed to care much for his sister's son; Edwin had been surprised when he found the duke making constant visits to their room.
Edwin anxiously traced the metal folds of his brooch in his hand; the bull-like pin had been remade before he left for Blychester. A white bull on a black field had been the flag of his house for generations. Edwin enjoyed having something to remember his home by. He knew it was unlikely he would see his home or his family for many years.
"Edwin," John Talbot called out, "You've done well being by his side these last few days."
His words were reassuring to Edwin, who smiled at him before continuing to rub the bull broach.
"Julian, will he survive?" John Asked
Julian thought for a moment, "It's not impossible, I'd give it a fifty-fifty chance he lives, he is a strong young man."
"Fifty-fifty," John repeated to himself grimly, "What type of illness can have such a sudden effect like this?"
"Well, there are a number of things that have the potential to do this." Julian started, "I've heard of deadly plagues that kill a thousand people in a day in the far east. A spider could've bitten him so small he could not have even felt it. A bad meal, perhaps, food poisoning."
John crossed his arms, "And?"
"And what?" Julian asked
John frowned, "What has afflicted Arthur?"
"I don't know," Julian stated plainly.
"You don't know?" John questioned, his voice rising in anger, "How do you not know? What is it that I pay you for, Julian? You give me possibilities, educated guesses, yet you can't definitely give me an answer."
Julian took a step back, frightened at the sudden change of tone, "There were no warning signs, nothing to indicate a specific cause. All I can suggest is prayer, my lord, call a priest and make preparations in case the worst happens."
John, aware of his sudden change of attitude, took a deep breath, "Just keep an eye on him, tell me if his situation changes in any way." He spoke calmly. "Edwin, there is nothing more that can be done for Arthur; it's time you resumed your duties. I am sorry for your friend, pray that he gets well."
Edwin sank his shoulders in defeat but quickly raised them, regaining his composure, "What would you have me do, my lord?"
"Attend me for the day, I have some meetings with local notables, it would do you well to see how I interact with my people." John offered a hand to Edwin, "Eventually you'll be Baron of Sonder, best to teach you how to rule young."
"Yes, my lord," Edwin agreed, taking John's hand.
Before Edwin left, he turned and gave one last look to Arthur, "Whatever god exists in this world, heal my friend, he has much to offer you." The prayer felt odd in his head, like a warm fullness had grown inside his soul.
John brought him to the ducal throne room, a large octagonal room located on the second floor of the inner keep. Six banners hung high on the walls, four of the Talbots, a black raven on a field of yellow, and two of the great banners with three red lions on a field of Gold, the banners of the ruling dynasty, the house of Norlandie.
Upon a platform raised by three steps was a throne leaning against the back wall. The throne did not display the wealth of House Talbot. Where a more extravagant lord may have sat in a gilded chair lined with gold, embedded with gems, and dancing with sculpted art. Instead, John Talbot sat upon a small wooden throne with furs covering his back and bottom. There was not a great display of wealth or power, just a chair to sit in.
Smaller than John's, a second wooden chair was situated to his left; this one was also wooden. Though, unlike the main throne, Edwin could tell more effort had been put into making it look like more than a hunk of wood. Sashes of expensive cloth of gold, purple, and red wrapped around the back of the chair. Instead of furs, pillows covered with expensive Eastern silk had been placed. Lady Talbot was not in her chair this day. Edwin had learned on his first days in Blychester that Elizabeth Talbot had little appetite for administration and ruling.
Edwin stood at the base of the stairs, but off to the right so that he was not in the way of any person who had come to speak to the duke.
Six men-at-arms stood along the walls; each wore high-quality chain mail with a coat of arms bearing the Talbot flag. Two of them wore a plate chest piece as well, marking them as slightly wealthier than the others. Five of them had the common kettle helms on them; the sixth man had a Bascinet helm instead. Each held long polearms taller than they were, poleaxes, pole hammers, and most had halberds. At their waists were their secondary weapons: small battle axes, knives, short swords, and bludgeons. All in all, Edwin felt the six made for a formidable sight; he knew there were hundreds of other men-at-arms garrisoning the castle.
Sir cripple walked up to the base of the throne. Like the men-at-arms he commanded, he was also armored; however, he carried only a short sword.
"Finchley, who is on the list for today?" John Talbot asked from his throne.
Finchley raised his one arm in greeting, "We have five for today, Lord. The first is a sheep herder from your village of Oxshire. He claims his wife's brother has been stealing his sheep for years and wants them back."
"Sheep, how fun." John joked, "Alright, send him in."
Finchley nodded to the guard standing by the door. The guard left through the door and returned a moment later with the sheep herder.
The guard brought the sheep herder to the base of the platform. The man was of average height; he wore dirty brown clothes; his head was topped with a wide-brimmed straw hat well beyond its prime. His face was a battlefield of pockmarks, blisters, and pimples; any handsomeness that man could have claimed to have was hidden behind all the blemishes.
John led forward, faking interest in the man, "What is your name?"
"Comyn," The sheep herder answered, "My name is Comyn Macdonell." Comyn gave a slight, unprofessional bow.
"My Castellon, Sir Finchley tells me you have been having troubles with your brother-in-law," John stated
Comyn's mouth grew tight, "Troubles? The man is a good-for-nothing cheat; he is nothing but a thief. This past month, he has stolen two sheep. Two!"
"Explain how you came to the conclusion that your brother-in-law... what is his name?
"Connal," Comyn answered
"Explain," John continued, "How you came to believe that Connal is stealing from you."
Comyn looked surprised to have been called on to go into further detail. Edwin could tell he had not come prepared. "Well, you see, my lord, I am a sheep herder, the best this side of the Rust River. There is no herd larger than mine, no sheep with better wool."
"Comyn, enough self-flattery, tell me your evidence," John interrupted
Comyn bowed, "Well, I had forty sheep at the start of spring, Connal had half that amount. Yet, when I counted my sheep last week, I counted only thirty-eight. At first, I thought a wolf had gotten to them when they were grazing, or maybe a Dunvarrian stole one, such is common in these parts. But then, five days ago, after a long day of work, I went to the tavern with my hired hands to drink and celebrate the coming of spring. Oxshire is a small village; only a single tavern is located there, so while I don't like Connel, I see him there often. I was drinking with my hired hands when I overheard Connel talking at the table behind me. "The god has blessed me, I have two new sheep to add to my herd, these sheep are the greatest in the whole Village." That is what I overheard him saying. So, I confronted him about stealing my sheep, and he denied it. He even punched me because he knew I was in the wrong. Look, he knocked out my tooth." Comyn bared his teeth, showing that one of his upper front teeth was missing and the other was chipped. "I went to the village elder, but he is Connell's uncle, so of course they conspired against me and called me a liar, ME, can you believe that?"
John listened intently to Connell, his face was like a stone wall, cold and calculating. Edwin couldn't tell what he was thinking, which he supposed was probably the point.
"Edwin," John said, turning his body towards him, "What do you think?"
Edwin was shocked; he had not thought he would be asked about the situation.