WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Oblivious

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◈ Prince of Rage ◈

Chapter 7

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A week had passed since the incident at the horse market.

Harald had suffered no serious injury, but the physician had ordered him to rest and recuperate for the time being, just in case. So he was confined to bed.

Of course, Harald was not the sort of child to listen to a physician, but he could not withstand his mother’s fury.

Gidwin and Tommy were confined as punishment. They had failed to protect Harald properly.

Moreover, Gidwin was beaten by his father for failing in his duty, and Tommy was beaten by the knight he served.

Tommy had also been injured, though less seriously than expected. If anything, the beating from his knight might have been more dangerous.

Hakon was made Harald’s page in recognition of his bravery. No, more precisely, he had been chosen because Harald needed someone to ease his boredom, rather than because his bravery had been recognized.

A page was generally a young boy from the age of seven to ten who served a noble or knight and learned basic manners and conduct. From the age of ten, he could become a squire.

Even noble children sometimes served as pages in renowned houses or their lord’s household. Being a page was not some laughable position, and for a commoner, it could be the beginning of a path to advancement.

No punishment was imposed on Valerie. Of course, punishment would have been absurd. He deserved a reward, and he received one.

Valerie was given silk clothes, a cloak, a belt, leather boots, and a sword. Compared to what he had worn before, it was like changing from a pupa into a butterfly. By appearance alone, he was no different from a true noble.

In addition, Snow, the horse Valerie had acquired, would be maintained by the count’s household as though it were a warhorse. The cost of keeping a horse was enormous, so in a way, that was the greatest reward of all.

As an aside, Harald had called it a gift, but Count Aethelred had actually paid for Snow. More accurately, he had paid without spending a single coin.

The horse merchant had come to the count to collect Snow’s price. The count had been in an exceptionally foul mood at the time, so he told the man to choose between taking the money and dying or leaving alive without it.

The horse merchant had no choice but to leave empty-handed.

Yet as he was leaving, he handed Valerie some tack and said,

“You tamed that man-eater and cut down two men while riding without any tack. That was a rare sight indeed. Consider this payment for the show. Unlike that damned count, I make sure to pay what I owe. I apologize for failing to recognize your true worth.”

He looked like the leader of a band of horse bandits, but unexpectedly, he was a decent person.

In any case, the affair at the horse market had stirred up quite a storm in the House of Winslow. Only Hakon and Valerie had emerged unscathed.

That did not mean Valerie had no worries. Perhaps they were trivial, but they were the kind that could weigh heavily on a person.

Valerie opened his eyes. It was dawn.

The firewood in the fireplace had long since gone cold and could no longer give off smoke, but the room remained warm.

His current room was spacious. It could easily have held four beds. With bunk beds, perhaps as many as eight people could have lived there.

The bed, stuffed with horse-tail hair, mane hair, and wool, was incomparably comfortable and fresh as well.

Even so, he had woken early rather than sleeping in, purely out of habit.

Valerie rose and first put his bedding in order, then went to the window. He opened the wooden shutter, propped it up with a rod, and looked outside. The cold dawn air seemed to blow away the residue clinging to his mind.

The window faced southeast. If he turned his head, he could see the distant mountain ridge, where purple, red, and gold dawn light spread across the sky. Without even showing itself, the sun opened the world through its presence alone.

Valerie did not wait for the sun to rise. He turned away, poured water from the pitcher into the basin, and washed his face.

After drying himself with a clean towel, he dampened it and gave his body a simple wash as well.

He put on a shirt, roughly brushed back his hair, and opened a drawer to take out food. There were lumps of ham wrapped in paper, cheese, hard bread, and apples.

He sliced them with his dagger, placed enough for a meal on a plate, then sat down and ate. From time to time, he looked back at the dawn sky beyond the square, picture-frame-like window as its colors shifted toward morning.

Once he had finished eating neatly, he rinsed the plate in the basin as best he could and dried it with the dry part of the towel.

Then he washed his dagger in the basin water, wiped it completely dry with another dry part of the towel, applied camellia oil, and wiped it once more.

Valerie divided one towel into four parts, using it to wash himself, dry the plate, and care for the dagger.

Only after finishing everything did he fold the towel neatly and lay it carefully over the table.

The servants who came to clean later would change the water in the pitcher, dispose of the basin water, and take away the plate and towel before bringing fresh ones.

Considering the clothes he wore, the place where he ate and lived, and the servants who attended him, he was now no different from a true noble.

Yet Valerie’s room was always kept so tidy that it was hard to believe anyone actually lived there.

It was only a small habit, but Valerie believed that small habits accumulated into decisive differences when facing an enemy later.

So in the end, nothing had changed from when he had lived in a cramped room with a straw bed and no fireplace. It had been the same before he returned, when he roamed battlefields, and when he begged in back alleys.

Valerie dressed fully, took the gambeson he had borrowed from Harald for the horse market, and left his room.

In the corridor, he saw servants already busy with their work in the early morning.

When they saw Valerie, they lowered their heads instead of looking uncomfortable around him or subtly dismissing him as they had before.

Some hurried past with quick bows. Others offered him a fairly polite greeting. The young maids giggled among themselves, half greeting him and half trying to hide.

This change in treatment was effectively due to the count’s official recognition. Having received a reward, moved to better quarters, and been dressed smartly, Valerie looked every bit the splendid prince.

Above all, Valerie’s accomplishment had been that of a young hero.

For some reason, however, Valerie did not welcome the change very much. Was he crazy for thinking things had been better before? It was simply uncomfortable. He did not know anymore.

Valerie walked briskly out of the castle. As he crossed the courtyard, he saw Gidwin and Tommy wearing protective gear and training diligently.

They carried heavy stones and raced each other around the training ground, then sparred with practice swords. Then they picked up the stones again, circled the yard, and sparred again.

They looked utterly exhausted, but their eyes were alive. The events at the horse market appeared to have strongly motivated them.

They had been panting heavily from exhaustion when their eyes met Valerie’s. They acknowledged him with a jerk of their chins. Their eyes and cheeks were still swollen from the beatings.

Valerie nodded back in brief greeting, then headed straight for the stables. There, he fitted Snow with tack, led Snow out, mounted, and rode out of the castle.

He galloped down the hill, avoiding the village and heading toward the river. More precisely, toward the washing place.

Before long, he reached the river. As soon as he dismounted, Valerie removed Snow’s bit and bridle.

To control a horse, one put a bit in its mouth, fixed it in place with a bridle, and pulled the reins. Pull left to go left, right to go right, and both at once to stop.

But the bit directly irritated the horse’s gums and tongue, making it painful in itself.

That was why riding required a delicate touch. In an emergency, one might pull hard, but even when pressed for time, it was best to handle the reins gently.

Valerie was very skilled with horses in that regard. Whenever he dismounted, he made sure to remove the bit and bridle.

Usually, one tied up a horse so it could not run away, but Valerie did not.

Stroking Snow’s head, Valerie fed Snow the carrots and apples he had brought.

“Living itself is like a bridle. If you run away in search of freedom, the bridle of survival will be put on you. In the end, you cannot escape it.”

As if agreeing, Snow blew out a sharp huff. A smile touched Valerie’s lips.

Valerie tossed the bridle carelessly onto the ground and headed for the washing place, leaving Snow free to roam. It was early morning, and no one was there.

Crouching down, Valerie examined the gambeson he had borrowed from Harald. It was stained with blood. This was Valerie’s greatest concern at present. He had to return it, but why would the stains not come out...?

Originally, he had meant to return it as soon as he came back from the horse market. But because of the bloodstains, he had decided to wash it first. After washing it, not a single stain had come out, and because it was full of wool padding, it took forever to dry. Then it rained, making the process even slower.

He had struggled with the garment for an entire week. He had tried everything the women told him to use, including lye, vinegar, and urine. He had accidentally faded the color, and scrubbing it hard with a pig-bristle brush had damaged the cloth.

At this point, it seemed better to leave it alone. Still, Valerie carefully dampened only small spots, trying somehow to remove the blood without soaking the wool filling. Naturally, it was useless.

The sole reason Valerie had tried so hard was the countess. His very existence must have caused her pain. How would she feel if the love meant for her son was taken from her?

“Damn it. I should’ve just taken it off and returned it then...”

Valerie sat alone at the washing place, dejected. But keeping it for too long would also be strange, so he resolved to return it today.

No, he tried to make up his mind.

Keeping an energetic son confined to bed was almost impossible. How many times had she scolded, pressed, and coaxed him?

At least after Hakon arrived, Hakon would sometimes teach Harald letters or chess, or drape a cloth over himself and put on little plays, pretending to be legendary heroes. That was how Harald managed to remain in his room.

Only after exhausting all his energy during the day would Harald fall asleep at night.

Countess Sybild spent the day embroidering in Harald’s room, both to keep watch over him and to be near him. When Harald fell asleep, she would return to her bedroom.

Sitting beside the bed, she leaned forward slightly and watched Harald as he slept with soft, even breaths. He was so lovable that the depth of her love was closer to pain than joy.

Then came a knock.

Knock, knock.

“Shh.”

Sybild instinctively turned toward the door and hushed whoever was there. The door had not even opened yet.

But the one who slipped inside was not a maid. To Sybild’s surprise, it was Valerie. Her eyes widened and wavered.

Valerie was trembling inside, but outwardly, he remained as calm and polite as possible. Handing her the gambeson, he said,

“I’m sorry, my lady. I could not remove the bloodstains. I apologize for returning it so late.”

The countess accepted the gambeson with slight bewilderment. It was worn in places and faded, and above all, it was stained with blood here and there.

The urgency of the moment when he had saved Harald seemed to come through it, making her hand tremble slightly.

But as Valerie lowered his head and turned to leave, Sybild spoke.

“...You don’t need to return it.”

“Pardon?”

“This... was made for you from the beginning, Wid. I’m sorry I gave it to you so late instead.”

“...What...?”

Sybild looked at the gambeson in her hands and thought for a moment before she spoke. It was something that required resolve from her as well.

The fire in the hearth burned with a crackle, crackle, illuminating them both.

“I married into this house at fifteen. I was sixteen when I became pregnant with Harald. About six months later, the count brought you here.”

“...”

“I would be lying if I said I never resented you. Every day, I mourned the dead gods. I asked them to take away the resentment, jealousy, and hatred inside me. For years. And then I began to pity you, Wid. What sin had such a young child committed, that he could not receive a mother’s love?”

In a sense, those were shocking words. At least, they were to Valerie.

“Then the resentment would suddenly rise again, and I would hate myself for it and suffer guilt alone. So I wanted to create proof. Proof that I did not only hate you. This gambeson is that proof. I spun the thread, wove the cloth, cut it, and sewed it... It was all for you, Wid. I’ll make you some new cloth, so please wait a little. And...”

Sybild trailed off. She looked back at the sleeping Harald. The being she loved enough for it to hurt, and...

Sybild looked at Valerie. Rather than averting her gaze at once or leaving as usual, this time she faced him directly. To Valerie, she still seemed young.

“From now on, if you are all right with it, Wid, I will be your mother. Would that be all right?”

At those words, Valerie nearly cried. But his eyes only reddened slightly. He clenched his teeth and endured it in the end. In Valerie’s mind, someone like him was not permitted tears.

It was because of what had happened before he returned. Had he not brutally killed her before the count’s eyes? He had no right to shed tears.

At the same time, Valerie realized what a coward he had been. Afraid of sincerity, he had run away, and all he had done was use people while resorting to schemes and intrigue.

For the first time, Valerie felt ashamed of himself.

“No. You do not need to do that. I do not deserve it.”

“...”

“As you know, my lady, the count had two wives before you. Both passed away giving birth. That is why the count fears such things. In truth, he loves you and Harald dearly. He simply has no time to indulge in sentiment while struggling to protect his house and lands. So you need not be too hurt by the count’s indifference.”

Listening to Valerie, Sybild was astonished inwardly. He had considered even such deep matters, things she herself had not understood. His insight and thoughtfulness left her speechless.

“Please keep this to yourself. I am not a bastard. I have a father and mother of my own. The count is only raising me because of a promise.”

What? It sounded as though she had just heard something enormous. Sybild needed time to interpret and accept his words, and her expression showed both surprise and confusion.

“Still, because of that one thing you said, this household may survive. I will be going now.”

Valerie spoke with a calm and polite tone to the end. Then, with a gentle smile, he bowed to the countess and left the room.

In any case, what mattered was that they held a certain affection for each other. At least it was not founded on lies. It was sincere.

Not long afterward, a cleanly mended gambeson was delivered to Valerie. He treasured that garment above all others. For the first time, it felt like he possessed something wholly his own.

Chapter 2: Each Person’s Way of Loving. End.

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