The Making of Fabian--Ch. 3

CHAPTER THREE

The next two days were torturous for Fabian. He squeezed his brain from left to right and top to bottom trying to think of something he could teach a king. But like a sponge dried in the afternoon sun, he couldn't wring one drop of insight or one good idea out of his thoughts. A single sentence gave him consolation, Riana will at least know that I tried.

When the big morning arrived, Fabian was up early. He couldn't sleep and wanted to have plenty of time to get to the palace. He hoped that another slow ride down the side road might stimulate an idea of what he could say to the king. Just before leaving the house, he paused to pass his hand through his hair and look into his lone mirror. You are a fool to put yourself into this situation. Look at you. You were born for the shop not the palace.

The medallion from Princess Riana, bearing Lord Elegante's insignia, hung on the side of the mirror. Fabian had never taken her up on her teasing offer to make a present out of it. He would have loved to, but he was a blacksmith not a jeweler. He couldn't conceive of being able to make something worthy of her beauty. Maybe I can give it back to her today as a gesture of congratulations. No doubt it will be Riana and Lord Elegante to be wed. The lord will get his horse back, he might as well have his insignia, too. Besides, my heart is already too full of memories of the love I cannot have; I don't need memories hanging around my house as well. He slipped the medallion into his pocket and headed out to mount Noble.

It was a delightfully quiet morning as he and Noble made their way past the groves and farms. A few birds chatting to each other in the trees were their only traveling companions. It was just the way Fabian wanted it. Even so, he had to work hard to push away more thoughts of discouragement that tried to weigh him down. He assured himself, You were the only one of your social class in the whole Kingdom to enter the contest. Riana will know that you gave it your best. And, you made it into the final round. Not bad for a lowly country blacksmith!

Yet, in spite of Fabian's best efforts, he couldn't fully drive away the gloom that hung over him. Before the sun would reach high noon, he would be standing before the king with nothing to say. He could feel Lord Elegante's smirk as he pictured the scene. He hoped that one more time Riana could see the love in his eyes for her. Absent-mindedly he let his fingers run back and forth over the medallion in his pocket.

By this time, Fabian and Noble had reached Old Widow Grayson's home again. Fabian looked to see if she was out on her porch. He could use a friendly smile and greeting right now. Immediately, Fabian sensed that something was amiss. His keen observation noticed that Widow Grayson's gate wasn't closed, her front porch rug was wrinkled and her front window curtain was askew. None of this was normal for the fastidious widow.

Fabian and Noble made their way through the gate and Fabian called out, "Mrs. Grayson?"

Fabian heard a shuffling noise coming from inside the house, but no voice responded.

"Widow Grayson!" Fabian called again as he dismounted and tied up Noble to a post on the front porch. Fabian heard more shuffling, but no answer.

His knock on the door was met with silence. This is strange. Should I just go inside? I know someone or something is in there. Deep concern grew in Fabian as he knocked louder. "Mrs. Grayson!" this time Fabian shouted, the concern of his heart coming out of his voice.

Finally the door opened. Fabian was stunned to see a stranger--a rugged, middle aged man wearing a hat too low on his forehead.

"Git yerself off me porch. The old lady don't be a-livin' here no more,” the man said gruffly.

Fabian took note that the man hadn't shaved or bathed in some time. The ragged hat bothered Fabian as it cast a shadow over the man's eyes.

"What do you mean?" Fabian objected. "I saw her here just a few days ago. Where is she?"

"Moved to the city," the man claimed. "Sold us this here shack. It be ours now and yer trespassing. Ya better get back on that there horse of yers and git out of here."

Something didn't seem right to Fabian, but he turned to leave. Just as he was about to step off the porch, he heard a woman's groan. He whirled around as the man was closing the door.

"What was that?" Fabian demanded.

The man said nothing, gave him a final glaring look and shut the door tight. All of Fabian's senses came fully alive. He could smell the man's odor, see that other things were out of their normal place, feel that something was very wrong, and he couldn't deny what he had heard. He grabbed the handle of the door but it was now locked. He raced to his right and used the railing on the side of the porch to catapult himself over the edge into Mrs. Grayson's flower garden. In a flash he was around the back corner of the house peering into her kitchen window. Inside were all of the widow's possessions, but drawers had been spilled out, furniture tipped over and cupboard doors thrown wide open. This guy isn't an owner; he's a vandal!

Quickly glancing around, Fabian noticed a garden rake leaning against a fence a few feet away. Fabian grasped the rake and with one solid swing shattered the window, sending glass flying.

Sorry, Mrs. Grayson. I'll fix it later, Fabian thought as he climbed through the opening. Jagged glass caught his shirt and glanced his arm and the back of his neck as he crawled through, but he had no time to worry about this. Immediately he was greeted by two men with drawn knives--the man who met him at the door and an equally rugged looking partner.

"So yer couldn't leave well enough alone, could yer," the man said with a scorn.

"Where's Mrs. Grayson?!" Fabian demanded.

Just then another groan came from somewhere in the house.

"You're thieves," Fabian shouted, the adrenaline surging through his body. "Get out of here now!"

"We ain't a-goin' nowhere's," the second man drawled. "But you's be in our way."

Both men took a step closer as the one talked.

"You's goin' back out that window dead or alive?"

Fabian held his ground. "What have you done to the widow?"

It was the man with the hat's turn to speak, "Don't yer be mindin' the old lady. She'd be fine a few days yonder. But if yers don't be movin' back out that there window, yer won't be."

Fabian knew their threat was serious as they inched closer, knives extended towards him. Without hesitation, Fabian ripped his belt off and in the same motion brought it around like a horse whip onto the wrist of the nearest man. His knife fell at Fabian's feet. Fabian grabbed it and threw it out the broken window before either man had a chance to move. The man in the hat still held his knife, but took a cautious step back.

"Perty fancy work there, Long John," the man in the hat chided, drawing a smirking laugh from his partner.

"Listen. I'm giving you two ten seconds to get out of here or else," Fabian demanded.

"Else what," both men said almost in unison. With new courage they inched closer, one with a knife and the other with a kitchen chair.

At this, Fabian let loose. His years of handling ropes and whips in horse training, coupled with his long reach gave him an advantage the thugs hadn't accounted for. His belt was snapping, flying and flailing at a speed that kept pushing the men back. They kept swinging into the air with chair and knife but couldn't reach him. Welts started to rise on their arms and stomachs. A worried look grew on their faces. Fabian knew he had the upper hand.

Out of the corner of his eye, Fabian saw movement coming from Mrs. Grayson's bedroom. The widow herself was shuffling out. Distracted, Fabian looked to see how badly she was wounded. The two men seized the opportunity and came rushing at Fabian. The chair struck him across the head, sending him sprawling against the kitchen table. The knife slashed it's way across his chest. It shredded his shirt but didn't cut deeply into his skin. Fabian could feel the warm blood slowly soaking into his shirt. With his back and hands on the table, Fabian thrust a foot into the chest of each of the vandals, sending them flying backwards a few feet. Meanwhile, Fabian saw Widow Grayson shuffle out the back door.

At least she'll be safe now, Fabian thought.

The two thieves paid her no attention but came rushing back at Fabian. The next minutes were a flurry of swinging, stabbing, stumbling, surging and shouting that became a blur in Fabian's mind that he could hardly remember later. At times he had the upper hand with his speed and his reach, and at times he thought he was a dead man as the knife came threateningly close. It seemed that none of them were willing to give up.

Suddenly the back door flew open. In surged two burly farmers with a hoe and a pitch fork. Mrs. Grayson had made her way across the open field and summoned her neighbors as they were plowing. They rushed to her aide. As soon as the thieves saw the men, their courage vanished. They scrambled to unlock the front door, raced out past Noble, through the gate and across the lane where their horses were hidden in a grove of trees. Fabian followed them on foot to the road but didn't pursue them as they rode off in a cloud of dust. He found his way back to the front porch step and plopped down. He suddenly realized how hard he was breathing. He inspected his wounds--plenty of bruises, bumps and cuts but nothing life-threatening. Blood streaked his face and stained much of his clothing, but with a good bath and a few bandages, he knew he'd be fine.

Oh, no, he groaned to himself. For the first time since coming upon the thieves he remembered his destination for the morning. Riana, my beautiful Riana. How can I stand before you and the king like this? At my best, I don't fit in a palace. Now look at me!

He stumbled inside to check on the widow and to get a bucket for water. One of the farmers had stayed to care for Mrs. Grayson and the other had gone in pursuit of the vandals. She, too, had been roughed up but not seriously injured.

"My Lands, Son, look at ye. And, doin' all this for the likes of me. I can't thank ye enough for rescuin' me," she said with deep thankfulness in her voice. "How in the name of common sense did ye know to come to me today?"

"I'll tell you the full story soon. I promise. And, I'll come back to help clean up this mess. But, I must be going as soon as I wash up. I have…I have an appointment in the city. Business. Urgent business." Fabian couldn't bring himself to tell her what kind of appointment it was.

"Come now, my boy, certainly ye don't think the whole Kingdom don't know that ye stand before the king today. Such news delighted me ears when I hear of it. Now let's get ye cleaned up."

In spite of his insistence, the widow drew the water from the pump herself and washed Fabian's most obvious wounds. In a few minutes, he looked much improved although his blond curls were still matted with blood and his clothing still bloodied and torn. There was no time to take care of any of that now.

A slight groan of pain slipped out from Fabian as he mounted Noble. "Oh, and don't worry about the window. I'll be back before sundown to patch it up."

With waves and smiles of gratitude from Mrs. Grayson and the farmer, Fabian rode toward the city. His height and horse always attracted attention when he rode the city streets, but today with hair matted and clothing torn it seemed that every head turned to watch as he rode by. Fabian couldn't help but wonder what they whispered to each other as he passed.

The sentry at the palace gate gave Fabian a scornful look as he approached.

"You are late. Very late. The proceedings are well underway," the sentry barked with disgust.

"I'm well aware of that, sir. May I enter in spite of my delinquency?" How could a man so tall feel so small, Fabian wondered about himself as he awaited the sentry's reply.

The sentry had stepped aside to consult with others stationed at the gate. After a brief discussion, he came back to his post, did not say a word but shook his head in disapproval as the iron gates were opened and Fabian was allowed entrance.

A servant led Fabian through the now-familiar courtyard. He gave Fabian instructions as to where the assembly was being held and led Noble away to the stables. Fabian stood motionless for a moment, just as he had done so many moons ago when he first found himself within these walls. Here he had seen Riana for the first time. She had held his attention like no other…and still did. The first time he was here, the courtyard overflowed with well-wishers. Today, it was silent. Evidently everyone was inside to witness the king's final selection.

Well, so much for coming up with some inspiring thoughts or a great speech along the way, Fabian mused as he approached the grand set of double doors leading to the Great Hall of the Kings. He was sorely embarrassed for being late, but had to admit to himself that he did not regret having helped Widow Grayson.

"I had no hope of winning anyway," Fabian said to himself. "I know I did the right thing."