“Question,” Pike spoke with an unseen mischievous grin. “Let’s say you wed our candidate and all goes well for some time-” A polite knocking followed by an eager announcement gave the men pause. “Your midafternoon meal is ready good Captain.” Gemma pushed her way in once Pike opened the chamber door. Rakim marveled at the large tray piled high with dishes, glasses, cutlery, and covered bowls arranged carefully to balance on a single forearm, for the hand bore the weight of a thickly woven wicker basket flowing with bread and wine. “In the usual place, my Captain?”

Gemma flowed back and forth from her large tray to an ornate round table hidden away by a heavy curtain. “This won’t do. This won’t do.” Rakim watched as broad arms wrestled the dense cloth against the wall then taming it with silk cable fashioned into a sweet bow. Each saucer touched the lacquered table without a sound. Pike continued to speak although his words went unnoticed as the ornate clay bowls took their place among the cutlery encircling the modest vase full of wilting flowers. In minutes, the heavy tray was emptied and a calm arrangement of lunch was created.

“That type what you fancy?”

Rakim jerked away from the whispering Pike who giggled as he gestured towards the maid too absorbed in her task to notice the attention drawn her way. “What?”

“Oi, what do they call you?”

“Gemma,” she smiled wide with a light curtsy. “I keep to the kitchen and the royal stables.”

“Come ‘mere. I need to borrow you for a moment. Don’t worry: this one doesn’t bite.”

“But I haven’t brought in his food yet…” Pike ushered the confused maid into his former seat across from the anxious prisoner. “I want you to repeat everything I whisper in to your ear, no matter how crass it is. You see, we need to test our prisoner’s mettle. Can’t have a man with wandering eyes and the like.”

“But...the food will get cold-”

“Only a minute.”

Sheepishly Gemma straightened up in her seat and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. Pike leaned in and within his hushed words were things that caused the maid’s milk white skin to flush. “I-I…” Gemma took a deep breath.

“Dear husband...I-you...oh, I just cannot!”

“Oh, jus spit it out!”

“Fine! I don’t want to lay with you anymore! You’re a bore. I will never have a son this way! What say you?!”

Rakim stared at the mortifying moment unfolding before him unsure of what to do other than grimace. “He wants me to act? Why not ask me himself? This poor maiden is sick with shame.”

“Forgive me. Please, tell me, what must I do to change for the better?”

“What?” The Captain

“Your heart must be feeling, what is it you say...tired? There must be a reason you feel this way. What can I do to bring your heart peace?”

“Gemma? Gemma stay focused.” The young kitchen maid grew that much darker. “I didn’t mean to raise my voice. It is just-you understand?”

Rakim nodded, keeping his eyes to the floor. “Sometimes our hearts get the better of us. Thank you for trusting me with your thoughts, my bride.”

Pike hurriedly whispered something in Gemma’s ear, dodging the glare she gave him in response. She sighed. “I need something different. At this rate we will never have a son.”

“Oh...I understand. Why don’t you show me what you want and I will follow.”

“Do-do I have to say it? Oh...I want you to take me like a two pence whore! I wan-give it to me hard and fast. Prove to me how much of a man you are...I can’t say this sir.”

“Should I take you on the ground or against the wall?” Rakim grimaced then glared at Pike who looked gleefully on at the swelling discomfort. Rakim wriggled out of his left shoe and launched it at Pike’s head leaving a dark print on his hood. “How dare you make her say such rude things? You bring shame upon her. Forgive me, I will tell no one of this.” As he bowed, Gemma’s face wrinkled when it failed to fight back tears. She stood up briskly and rushed out the room leaving the heavy tray behind. Her footsteps faded quickly from the towering stairwell.

“Well, you gon’ let your woman flee before you give your word?” Pike scoffed as he peered down the stairwell. He noticed the small worn basket covered in cloth left beside the door frame. It was lighter than the man anticipated, the basket nearly flying from his grip with the extra force given. Pike sealed the door behind himself.

“I have one last question before we retire to our meals,” Blight leaned on his elbows keeping his voice low. “Eyes to the floor again. Am I truly that intimidating?”

“Say your bride did not flee when shamed, rather she struck you, what would you do?” Blight failed to conceal his worried tone. Pike strutted over, dropping the basket in Rakim’s lap. “Yes, let us imagine your betrothed is a woman with a short temper and less patience.” Pike added.

Rakim shrugged. “I think the meal is the hard naan again. God willing it will not be green this time.”

“What if she got hold of one of your knives? Charging at ye like a mad bull! It’s you-”

“Men who raise their hands to women are weak animals,” Rakim spoke curtly.

“So you’ve never crossed paths with a cruel, monstrous woman? Someone so vile-”

“I can leave if my words cannot make do…are not-worthy,” Rakim sifted through his reserve of english words, failing to find any that matched his honest thoughts. He sighed. “I would never, how you say-” Rakim raised his left hand gesturing a slap. “Not to a woman. Never.”

“Why?” Pike asked, obviously disappointed.

“I am my father’s son!”

“I see. That will be all for now. Why don’t we save the rest for the morning.” Blight’s soft tone muted the pregnant air that flooded his office. Wordlessly, Rakim was escorted back to his cell.

“Sire,” Rakim asked suddenly. The scratching of a busy quill hastened as it rounded off one last sentence. After three days, the sound followed Blight even in his dreams, there was an eager swipe before a long awaited sigh. The captain leaned back in his hide chair and finally looked up.

“Can I speak to my bride?” Rakim gestured in mild frustration once more as his spoken words failed to match his thoughts.

“Face to face?” Blight gestured in kind. Rakim watched carefully before shaking his head.

“Speak…uh…how you say-” Rakim suddenly tapped the parchment drying on the desk. “Can I send her this?”

Blight’s swollen eyes widened as he pieced the odd conversation together.

“Can you help me?” Rakim spoke bashfully. “I cannot-do this thing, not with the King’s english.”

“Certainly.” Blight fanned his notes, then scoffed as he hurriedly cut a letter sized sheet of parchment. He switched his formal short quill to a short stalk of firm charcol. “How do you wish to address your bride to be?”

Rakim gave the captain a familiar squint.

“Ah, for instance, when we send letters to comrades we say, “To my loyal friend” or “Good sir.” Is that clear?” Rakim nodded quickly. Stealing a deep breath, he spoke.

“To a maiden most honored and fair…”

“Oh bless him; that’s good.”

“‘I have crossed land and’...wait. No no. ‘I am certain you know I am-was-a bandit. I must apologize for putting you in a terrible place. You did not earn the trouble at your door. I have no dowry to offer, only my promise for your hand.’”

“Are you certain?”

Rakim nodded firmly. “‘You must know I do not anger…fast or-or scream when I am suffering. I enjoy children and will give you as many as god will bless-. When you tire, I will tend to them in the night. As a man, I wish to know what-things?’ How do you say this: things during the day?”

“What she does for leisure? Not work, but pleasure?”

“Yes! ‘What things make you joyful? What things hurt your heart? Why do you wish to change? How do you want to grow? What wife do you hope to be? What father do you need for your children?’” Blight carefully drafted Rakim’s words.

“Less questions.” Rakim thought aloud. “That is too much to ask for-”

“On the contrary,” Blight was already drafting the revised version as hastily as he interjected. “The message isn’t long. These questions are good; makes you look receptive.”

“Ah, even so…I do not want her to believe she is not allowed to keep her secrets. Can you understand my thoughts?”

“Er-Yes, I suppose…” Blight struck out the last question he added before retrieving a precut sheet of pure white stationary. He turned his palms over finding them clear of stray ink smears. Rakim watched the quill glide effortlessly creating unfamiliar characters that stood tall as they wove into one another.

“They write the other way? Why?”

“You should sign it, right there at the bottom.” With a quill suddenly in hand Rakim signed his name in trembling font the only way he remembered how. “Oh it looks terrible.”

Blight smiled reassuringly before giving the letter one last glance. “What language is that?” Blight gawked at the interlaced characters cradled by what looked like an ellipsis. The captain sealed the letter in a carefully mixed wax that dried in a faint blue tone. A swift red haired page arrived and tucked the letter in a leather pocket on his hip. Even in the lads’ attentive stance he looked anxious when Blight insisted the page stay by the recipient’s side until a response was given. With a pitious look the page shuffled out of the broad door of the warm quarters.

“How’s the matchmaker faring these days?” Kane teased with his signature proud grin as he entered the training grounds. “You seem to be spending more time braiding hair and brewing ale than anything else. Beginning to forget what you look like.” Blight smiled for the first time in weeks.

“Pleased to report things are going well. Progressing, for once. The candidate is…he’s a rare one.”

“A bandit, rare? Doubt it. They’re all opportunistic scoundrels.”

“This one is very polite. Poorly spoken but what bandit isn’t. Even so, he seems so innocent; might as well be a virgin maid. He only refers to Royal as “fair and honorable.” He worries himself sick trying not to offend “her”...stop it.”

Kane was now wheezing, bracing his knees, as he struggled to stop laughing.

“He may not speak our language well but the few words he has are sincere,” Blight continued as he ignored Kane’s crude laughter. “He even offered to take a vow of celebacy if his ‘Bride’ dislikes being touched.”

“Did he really?” Kane calmed down, brushing the budding tears from the corners of his eyes.

“He is still under the impression that Royal is a woman, and we plan on keeping this ruse until the King announces his final decision.”

“Until then…?”

“I’ll be drafting sweet nothings.”

“Royal can read? Never took that oaf for an intellect.”

“Between you and I-” Blight glanced around as he gestured Kane to lean closer. “He is weak to romance. Absolutely helpless. He writes like a lovelorn maiden, saying he “wants nothing more than to love whole-heartedly.”

Kane scoffed aloud.

“I wish I had the liberty to share more but things have become too personal.”

“You know I am not one to gossip.”

Blight shook his head. “It would be cruel to do so to the Bandit. Too honest for his own good. If it were possible, I’d marry the lad myself.”

“What would the skinny one think?”

“He’d invite himself to dinner. Pike is too harsh of a man for him but they have been getting along well enough.”

“That was fast.”

“Lad taught Pike how to curse in his native tongue.”

“Sentry’s going to have a screaming fit once he catches on.”

“Two shillings says it takes a week.”

“Three days,” Kane countered with a wild grin.