The Count

If only his in-laws, living across the border, were as easy to “fix” as his own problems…

As soon as the twins were born, the Earl and His Lady (don’t ever forget the capital letters!) demanded the new couple return for a visit. For a month.

Now that he knew and understood his responsibilities to his people, he couldn't just hare off. Nasty creatures would occasionally creep out of the Marchwoods. There was planting to do, fields to prepare. Just-born babies to cuddle, and a lady-wife to earn her rest. Stephen knew he couldn't just up and leave for that long. He sent his regrets on behalf of he and his lady, still recovering from labor.

What followed was a flurry of couriers. Sent individually. Through the Marchwoods. Some on the same day, with extra notes, as the pleading or guilt trips struck them: What about the Naming Day celebration? What about the Ceremonial Crowning? What about the Baby Investiture? What about the Official Painting? What about the Official Gift Bestowing?

Stephen stared at the avalanche of scribbled notes on his desk, and contemplated the exhausted (and terrified) couriers (and horses) being attended to by his own servants. He decided to write one letter, detailing all the ways he could say There Will Be No Such Waste, Neither Here Nor There. He could send the couriers back together, with an escort of his own men, to save them from the Marchwood monsters. And who made the decision to put them on fast horses through tangled woodland, where a horse could easily break a log? Why not use steady draft horses, that would survive?

And, the horrid thought: how many didn’t make it through the woods, just because my in-laws can’t comprehend the word No?

Apparently a delayed answer wasn’t good enough, because within a few days, his in-laws were on his doorstep. For a month. With no warning. With a large....retinue.

“Quick! John, run and tell my wife that her parents are here! Warn the servants! Lock the doors they shouldn't pry into! Guard the kitchen! Grab more pillows! Quick, boy, run!”

*******

“Where are my couriers? Why didn’t you return them?”

“They are in the infirmary, and they will stay put until our doctor releases them. And since she is attending my wife, and our babies, that will be a while.”

“She? What madness is this?”

“Doctor Ariana studied at the school at the Count’s castle. She is quite adept at physicking, and made sure your daughter delivered our children as safely as she could. There were some tense moments, but Ariana is amazing. She is still tending her charges, and they are Not to Be Disturbed. Surely you read my initial letter, detailing all the reasons why we couldn’t come to visit.”

“Of course we did, that’s why we’re here!”

“Then you obviously didn’t read it, because you came at the worst time of year. We’re still eating last year’s grain and preserves. We just started planting, and that means guarding the fields from creatures who are just as hungry. And the monsters in the Marchwoods are waking from winter sleep, and famished. For human. For horse. And you send a single courier, alone, into the Marchwoods? Many times? Are you mad?”

“Why do you care? It’s just a courier!”

“You were complaining about our doctor being a female, but demoted your couriers to the being an ‘it,’ therefore inhuman, unworthy of concern? Bringing gifts and ceremonies that are not needed for even an Earl, much less a Viscount? Of a foreign country?”

“Well, one of the twins will sit on the throne of our Earldom!”

“Oh, really? Which girl?”

That shut them up.

“I see. So, you brought rich gifts. Did you bring food along, to supplement our meager stores? Horse fodder? To feed the massive amount of people and horses we must now house, depleting our wood piles as well? Including extra for the twenty or so couriers in our infirmary, plus equipping our search parties going out in the woods to hunt for the lost ones?”

More silence.

“I see. Well. There will be no nonsense parties and fetes and galas, or whatever else you expected. You can hand over the expensive gifts, and I will send a delegation to the castle to buy stocks and supplies to feed you while you’re here. Unless you want to change clothing and help up in the fields? No? Thought not. James, please show them to the three guest rooms in the western wing, they’ll have to do. Sorry you’ll be crammed, but that’s all we have available to open up after the winter. We weren’t expecting visitors till we could pitch tents outside the gates. Isaac, collect the gifts, and assemble an entourage to go the castle.”

*******

They still tried to take over the manor.

Fort, really. The Marchwoods were not kind.

Within the first few days, he’d had to stop sowing with the farmers so many times to return to the manor, that he sullenly removed himself from the work rotation. His own servants knew better than to follow their insane orders, but their servants actually tried to interfere. It only took three or four “countermanding of orders” for new methods to be created. Now, when his servants found their servants poking where they shouldn’t belong, they were conscripted, given scrubby clothing, and forced into the fields.

It got much worse when a cluster of their guards were found trying to slaughter some of the Count’s share of chickens, goats, and cattle. For “proper meals.” They were given dunny buckets and trowels, and became the fertilizer brigade. The carters were quite delighted to delegate the icky tasks, reserving their right to drive the wagons to the fields.

Even with “being punished,” most of the servants realized that the work was hard, but the taskmasters weren’t. Before long, the crowded guest rooms thinned out, as more and more of the servants found more satisfying jobs in the Viscount’s lands.

The Earlish demands got more and more ridiculous. Fresh flowers? At each table for meals? The flowers, that the bees need to survive? Something besides gruel with dried fruit and meat for meals? Not till the entourage returns with the new supplies, and thank you for your kind donation to their purchase.

His lovely lady-wife, on her first day off of bed rest, exercised her lungs by screaming full-throat at her own parents – for trying to replace their perfectly serviceable pottery and pewter services, with crystal and silver they could scarce afford. Her voice had returned, and its screech was melody to his ears. Everyone was impressed on how she out-screamed her own children, who gazed at her in adoring wonder. Likely taking notes for their next duet.

The delegation returning with grain and fodder and dried supplies did little to stop the whining, because it was more of the same food. What did they expect, this early in the season?

Stephen began to wonder how he ever looked up to these selfish people, growing up in their castle.

*******

Viscount Stephen of Marchwood suddenly appeared in the courtyard. Most of the time, he didn't give a rip about being a Viscount or what that really meant, but when he heard the first whip crack from the courtyard, the servants later swore he flew, from the third floor level down to the hard-packed ground level. The second lash never fell, and when his father-in-law looked over his shoulder to see what the holdup was, he saw the end of the whip wrapped around the fist of the angriest man he'd ever encountered in his life.

The words were soft. The fury behind them was not. "You are leaving. Now."

Stephen’s lady appeared in a doorway, took in the situation. Calmly walked over to the tableau, and picked up the hurt servant. Ignored her father entirely. "Michael, are you okay? Stephen, Markus, please help me get him to the infirmary?" As they scurried off and she turned to follow, she finally took what was obviously a last look. "You heard my husband. You and Mother are out the door in five minutes. Do not bother to pack, we will hurl your belongings over the border for you to retrieve later. If the servants wish to stay, all are welcome, and you Will Not Bar Them. I would never treat even a mangy dog the way you just treated one of my people, and you'll never have that luxury again. Ariana, please attend me, we have just the right salve-" and they were off into the cool darkness.

The former servants wasted no time. A double handful had the foresight to collect themselves on some fast horses - Stephan's, sturdy stock, with volunteer guards, so they couldn't be accused of theft - and took off to warn everyone between here and home what had happened. And get their friends and family out.

Stephan had already quietly offered sanctuary to the servants, but now he anticipated a flood of refugees from the Earldom to the Viscounty. He’d better warn the Count of the sudden influx.

Two of Stephan’s servants had saddled their graces' horses and were waiting by the halters, but did not offer to help mount. Their faces showed their approval of their leader.

His father-in-law finally found his voice, or his bluster, it was hard to tell. "But...but...but.... it was just a servant!"

"You forget your place. MY servant. In MY house, on MY lands, which are held by MY Count. Did you even think of chain of command, or the Count's reputation? If you were so vexed by one of MY people, you are to come to ME, and I would have dealt with it. Instead, you chose to be a petty bully." Calm, cold, and very deadly. The older set of servants were suddenly remembered of his father, in his prime. "So, since you can't control yourself, you will never have to deal with these people again. Good luck telling your wife why she will never see her grandbabies ever again." More servants had dragged grandmama out of the boudoir, squawking loudly. She was bundled rather hastily on the fatter horse. "Goodbye, and if this is your attitude towards my people's hospitality, then good riddance. You'd better ride, you know what can come out of the Marchwoods after dark." He smacked her horse rather forcefully, and it bolted for the only opening it could find, the front gate. The Earl cursed loudly as he hastily mounted and galloped after his mate.

They tried to protest - officially, this time. Ooooh, father-in-law had a king's representative go swanning out to the Count's castle, all frills and panoply and entourage and all, to lodge a formal complaint.

What was left of said entourage dragged themselves back home. Over half had elected to stay under the better conditions the Count offered. The rest were already thinking of abandoning the return trip, especially when they met with kindness along the way. The rumors that returning servants whispered about, were true. Familiar faces smiled at them along the way. And they beckoned...

The Count's return message was brief. "You dare bother me with trivia? My servant, my men, and your two-bit bully abused them. Your pissant earl entered my realm, knew the rules, and flauted them. Too bad. Get over it."

The king was furious, but his advisors pointed to all the other hot bloods who'd gone up against the Count, and what had happened to them. Or rather, pointed to the absence in living memory of such a thing. He's right, they insisted, you should have whipped your earl for bringing this to you because of his wounded pride. Give it up, it's a war you won't win....

The king was too old to notice that when the earl died with no heirs, the lands fell to the daughter. The king's son, who was much more levelheaded than most, wisely heeded his council, and redrew the lines on the map to reflect the new reality - like it or not, the Count owned the Earldom now. But he counted it a win. Those woods were downright uncanny, and the creatures knew and liked the taste of human blood. If the Count wanted to take them on, welcome to it! And he concerned himself with more civilized lands, and the joys and beauties that he could find there.