Chapter 6: Priesticide in Brenham

Harold was slightly happier, his tame priest had been sufficiently cowed to obey his orders and the guard was wise enough not to let him have too much space. The kitchen was being restocked with food from the outlying farms, and an ox was being prepared for a celebratory meal tonight.

He was checking out the bustling workers and keeping an eye on the more comely women — selecting which one would grace his chamber later that night — so he wasn't watching where he was stepping.

Harold was walking out when his foot slipped on the mess made by a few eggs that had dropped on the top step leading down to the kitchen area unnoticed. He fell forward, striking his jaw. In getting up, his hands also slipped in the mess, and his fall was stopped when his chest fell against the floor, but then he began to slide down the steps, bringing more pain to his chest and chin as his hit each step. Luckily, his travel was stopped by a quick-thinking guard, but not until he had slithered halfway down.

Harold was taken to his chamber, and the physician was called and soon attended. He set his bag down and began working. He checked Harold's jaw and smiled, "Well, your majesty, apart from some bruising and swelling there is little I can do."

Harold tried to frown but the pain in his face stopped him, "But what about the pain, can't you give me anything for that?"

"Well, I can make up a potion. All it will need are a few herbs and plants ... I'll have to go and get them now."

Harold shook his head. "Don't you have any laid by? I'm in pain now!" he cried.

The physician looked embarrassed. "Err ... unfortunately the supply I had has vanished. I've looked everywhere for it. No matter; it should only take a couple of hours. I would normally go to the town — the wise woman there would have been able to help — but you've arrested her for witchcraft." The physician gave Harold a piercing look as he said that.

"Then go, but be quick," Harold said, ignoring the physician's words, caring only that delaying the man, would make the wait for relief longer.

The physician picked up his bag and made his way out of the castle. He quickly found the spot where the herbs he needed grew ... only to find there had been a flood in the area and all the plants were sodden and useless.

Shaking his head, he went to another field where he'd seen the same plants before, but a farmer had taken his sheep into the field, so all the plants had been eaten down to the roots.

"Strange, it's almost as if the land wants him to suffer," he thought.

He returned to his quarters and looked through some dried ingredients. They were not as powerful as freshly-picked plants and some had subtle side effects when mixed, but they did finally ease pain.

Distracted by a mouse darting over his feet while he was mixing the potion, he didn't notice when some leaves from a nearby plant fell into the mix. If he had, then things may have been different.

"Here, your majesty I have a potion ... I must warn you that it might not-"

"I don't care what it might do! I need to be rid of this pain," Harold almost screamed at the physician taking the flask from his hands. Then he hesitated, looking at the glass vessel in his hands. He glanced at the physician. "You mixed this yourself? Nobody else has touched this potion?" he asked suspiciously.

At first the physician wasn't aware of what he was being asked, but then he understood "Oh no your majesty. Only I have worked on this potion. I'll take a part of it if you require?" He said.

Harold smiled. "Since you asked so nicely ... here." He handed the vial to the physician, who sipped from it before handing it back to Harold.

"You see, Your Majesty; I have confidence in my work. You may drink without fear."

Harold frowned, "You think I am afraid of any potion? You belittle me." His eyes flashed with repressed rage.

The physician shook his head, holding up his hands. "Oh, no, Your Majesty. Everyone knows about your bravery. I just spoke without thinking. Forgive me."

Harold waved the man away and then drank deeply from the vial and waited for his pain to subside.

The physician licked his lips as left. Tasting the potion that he'd sipped, he frowned as a tang made itself known to his taste-buds. "Strange ... my potion shouldn't be like that ... it's almost as if..." he quickly made his way to his rooms and checked the residue of the potion. In the bottom of the mortar, he found part of a leaf, and looked to the plant near the table. His face dropped as he realised what had happened.

Then he was a blur of movement. Taking vials and other items from his bag, he quickly loaded it with his important books. What cash he had hidden around, he stuffed into his pockets, and then he was walking out of the castle, leaving the words, "Just finding more ingredients for the potions," hanging in the air.

The noise from the King's chamber brought guards from nearby. As they looked into the room, they found the King, clutching his head; his skin was green with large blotches showing.

"FIND THAT PHYSICIAN. I WANT HIS HEAD!" Harold screamed.

But the man was nowhere to be found.

The evening meal — which was undercooked — was held without the king being present, a fact that was remarked on by all at the high table. Brother Charles (he couldn't think of himself as being a father, not this way) felt that he should go and offer support.

As he approached the king's chambers he was stopped by the guards. "I wouldn't go in there, Father; he's still in a foul mood. But his colour's changed — he's only light green now." The guard gave a small snigger, which Charles ignored.

He knocked on the door to Harold's chamber.

"GO AWAY! I DON'T WANT TO SEE ANYONE." Harold's voice seemed to echo outside in the corridor.

Brother Charles swallowed and opened the door. "It is I, your priest. I want to help you." He tried to look around the room but it was dark. The only light came from a few candles, and their puddles of light failed to illuminate Harold.

"I don't need help. The poison that the physician gave me failed to kill me." Harold's voice was bitter.

"Please, Sire, let me read some verses from the holy book. Maybe it can supply insight and help to you in this troubled time." Charles opened his copy at random. "Let not your vanities stop you from helping your brother, for it ... no, that does not seem appropriate, let me try again." Charles quickly turned over a few pages and began again. "If you raise a hand against your brother or sister you will..."

Harold had shuddered when Charles had begun reading, and then at the second passage he picked up a dagger. "You're with them, aren't you?" He hissed at the frightened priest, who now saw the king in his fury. His skin was light green with purple blotches on his face and hands. In some places blood was oozing from scrapes where he had been scratching at the blotches in an attempt to remove them.

"My Lord! You must be in agony," Charles said in his shock.

"Oh, no, I'm not in any pain now ... but you will be. I have a way for traitors such as you," Harold said as he lunged forward with the knife, sinking it deep into Charles's chest. "Die, traitor, die!" He stabbed again into Charles

Charles gave a grunt as the hilt and hand of Harold struck him, but for some reason he was unpierced by the blade. Knowing the wisdom of letting the king think he'd succeeded in dealing a fatal blow, he fell to the ground as the second blow was dealt, feigning death.

Harold gave a high-pitched laugh as he dropped the dagger and returned to his chair. "Guards, remove that body from my sight," he said, but his voice was so low it didn't carry far.

Charles opened his eyes and picked up the dagger, and giving thanks to the Supreme One for his life, he quietly got up and walked out of the chamber.