Fic: To Save His Soul 1
Title: To Save His Soul
Author: shana0809
Dedication: To liroa15 for being the most amazing beta, and lady_quark and melj1213 for the idea and encouragement.
Disclaimer: They do not belong to me. Also, not true. I made it all up.
Fandom: Football rpf
Pairing: Pedro Leon/Ricardo Carvalho
Rating: R for language and adult concepts, violence, religious themes, and dubious consent.
Word Count: 15 955
Summary: We all have choices. Sometimes, they’re just not one ones we want.
A.N: For the rpf_big_bang challenge.
He's never travelled in his life. That first time doesn't count; he can't say he understood how cold, lonely, and heartless the road is then. The world beyond the walls of his former home is so much different than he always imagined. He's gone soft, it seems, and gotten used to the comforts of the Duke of Porto's house. He's become used to having a roof over his head and food in the kitchens. Maybe it wasn't for him, but it was there.
When he was young but still old enough to understand what was happening, maybe seven or eight, the Duke of Porto's soldiers came to his village. Soldiers coming to the village wasn't out of place because of its proximity to the disputed border between Portugal and Spain. This attack had been just another chapter in the continuing animosity between the two nations.
He doesn't like to think about his early life. He doesn't like to remember his parents; his last memory of them is of their bodies laying outside their small home. It always makes him feel disloyal. He's never been entirely sure why they left him alive, but he's always felt vaguely guilty about it.
Telling himself that it's all God's plan only helps so much.
He remembers being pulled up onto a horse; it hurt. The trip following that is a miserable blur best not remembered. He was tired, hungry, thirsty, and, above all, terrified, and that's all he really remembers or wants to remember.
He does remember reaching the house of the Duke. He remembers because it's still the largest house he's ever seen. There's the manor house proper, the defences, outbuildings, and the fields. It's a big place, and it’s loud. It reminds him of his village, all the noise and people of a market day condensed into one household.
-
It's terrifyingly different from anything he's ever experienced. He knows a house this big means someone powerful. The man who owns this house doesn't care about his village or what was done. The house tells him that he's about to be thrust into a whole new world.
The first moment he’s brought to stand in the hall, a room bigger than his entire house, he knows he'd never be the same again.
His first memory of the Duke of Porto isn't something he's ever likely to forget. It's a scowl; the type of scowl that makes a sane man fear for his life. Everything up until the Duke has been horrible, but in a sort of understandable way.
The simple Spanish boy from a farming village died with his parents that day. Someone new was born the moment he was shoved to the floor in front of the Duke of Porto.
People are killed in border wars all the time. Sometimes, the victorious side even takes prisoners. It's not something of which the Church exactly approves, but they don't stop it from happening either. Being tossed to the ground in front of well-dressed, well-fed men isn't something that happens all the time.
Spanish peasants aren't brought to the homes of Portuguese nobility.
It doesn't happen.
When the lord looks at him, it's one quick, dismissive glance. It can't take more than half a moment. That's normal though. Nobles always look down on the lower classes, and this man's clothes mark him as some sort of noble.
"This is the best you could find me?"
The words are hard for him to follow. They're not his language, but the languages are enough alike that he can understand enough.
"Yes, my lord. The others were too old, too young, or too sickly looking. I didn't want to risk the spread of an illness. This was the best that remained in the whole village."
"Fine." The tone is displeased. "You may go. Leave the boy. He'll do."
The man who brought him bows and backs out of the hall, and he's left alone with the noble. So he does the only thing he can think to do. He stays as still as possible and hopes he goes unnoticed. It seems to work.
Finally, a serving woman comes, and with several sharp words and insistent hand motions, she drags him from the hall. She's a matronly sort of woman. She's bigger than his mother but looks to be about the same age, so he finds her comforting.
She takes him to the servants quarters, pulling at his arm whenever he slows down. There, she shoves him down onto a pallet off in one corner. Once all that's done, she turns to face him. Her dark eyes study him for what feels like forever.
When she speaks, he thinks her voice sounds kind. "Spanish?" she asks.
He nods.
"Poor child. I'm sorry for what your life will be like, but I'd rather it be you than one of my boys."
He doesn't understand exactly what she means, but he knows it isn't good. His life here probably won't be pleasant.
He's not wrong.
In some respects, his life is better than it ever was back on the village. There's more food, his corner is always warm, and the people aren't awful. They speak too fast for him to understand a lot of the time, but he can't fault them for that.
He's been in the house for a little more than a week, working in the kitchens to earn his keep, when the lord seems to remember he's there and sends for him.
When they take him back to the hall, the lord isn't alone. There's a boy there and a man wearing the vestments of a priest. He knows about priests. His parents were pious, God-fearing people who attended the sermons and went to confession every time a priest passed through their village. This priest must be assigned to this house to keep those in power on the righteous path of the Lord by watching over the souls.
The priest is familiar, which makes him a welcome sight.
Surely any house that has a man of God in it can't help but walk in the light of God. He feels better about his situation already.
"Him?" the boy sneers. "What is this trash doing here? It belongs in the kitchen."
All he can do is keep his eyes on the floor and his face averted. He's a simple farm boy, and he shouldn't be in this place. It's far above him.
"The English have given me an interesting idea, Ricardo," the lord replies, unruffled by the boy's outburst. "You're wild. Your teachers and servants fear punishing you while I'm away on business."
The boy snorts. "Business? You're out of favour, Father."
The lord doesn't even appear to notice the rejoinder. It's obvious the boy, Ricardo, is confused by this as well. "Then explain to me the English thing this bit of trash can teach me, Father."
He can't help but wince. Maybe things are different for the lords, but had he ever dared to talk to his father like that he'd have been face down in the dirt and unable to get up. The lord only laughs. "So headstrong. You'll be formidable as the Duke of Porto one day, but first you must learn to control your temper. Otherwise, your enemies will use it to destroy you."
"Yet you dare to bring Spanish scum into our home."
Apparently this last remark is too much for the indulgent lord. He pushes himself from the throne-like chair and faces the boy. "You don't rule here yet, Ricardo. You'd do well to remember that, or you never will. I will make the decisions here as is right and just in the eyes of God."
There's silence for a moment, and he's afraid to breathe. Finally, Ricardo speaks stiffly. "Of course, Father. As you will." A small bow accompanies the words.
It's enough for the lord; he sits down with a heavy sigh. "This is why I do this, boy. The English have a concept. They call it a whipping boy. A noble house uses a peasant boy," he sees the sweeping gesture that encompasses him out of the corner of his eye, "and they take him in and raise him next to the heir. When the heir does something wrong, the whipping boy takes the punishment."
He swallows deeply, tries to still the quaking in his limbs and control the urge to make a mad dash for the entrance to the hall. He's going to have to endure all the punishments this spoiled, disobedient, defiant boy earns?
He understands.
Now he understands why the serving woman was so pleased to have him.
He must of displeased God somehow. This is his penance, his punishment for whatever sin he committed.
God is testing his faith. He must not fail.
He stays quiet. He's not here to speak. He's only here to be part of the explanation.
"And how exactly is the addition of this... peasant supposed to change my behaviour? He takes my punishments; I may do whatever I want."
"You will live with him, go to lessons with him, spend time with him. Over time, you'll begin to care for him due to proximity. He'll be with you for lessons in both the scholarly arts and those of the warrior. He is your responsibility. God, and myself, will judge you by how well you do by him. If you cannot care for one boy, you aren't ready for a ducal house."
"Then let God judge my worth, Father. I'm sure He has many more important things to worry about in this world than my temperament."
The priest speaks now, as is proper because the subject is God. "The Heavenly Father is concerned with the state of all His children. Their immortal souls are His primary concern."
"Then He'd best look to the state of the one on the floor, Father."
Ricardo leaves at his Father's dismissive gesture, his face set into sour lines. When his son is gone, the lord seems weighed down by the confrontation.
"I worry for his soul, Father. I worry for my own."
"You did very well, my lord," the priest reassures. "It's obvious to me that God is guiding your hand in this."
"You must teach them exactly the same, Father. Exactly the same. Everything depends on this."
"You know Ricardo has no interest in my lessons, my lord. His heart is set on being a great warrior, and anything that doesn't achieve that goal is discarded."
"I am still a God-fearing man. I won't have my son living uneducated in the Holy Book. It would ease my soul if this were done."
"You know I will do my best."
"Leave me, Father. Take that child with you; I have no use for him."
The priest bows. The man of God bows to a mortal man. From his position on the floor, he's perplexed.
"Of course, my lord Carvalho."
He follows the priest as he's led from the hall. He doesn't know what to do, so he just keeps putting one foot in front of the other until the priest stops moving.
The Father turns to face him. "What is your name, child?"
"Pedro, Father."
"And are you a true believer in our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, Pedro? I have heard of heathens in Spain."
"I am a good Christian, Father."
"And do you believe in the one true Church, which speaks for our Lord God on this Earth?"
"Yes, Father."
"Good, good. Now, I know the situation isn't ideal, but Ricardo doesn't have an evil temperament."
Pedro can't help but nod dumbly. His parents told him it was a sin to argue with a priest, and he can't contradict the Father because of it. To him, Ricardo seems cruel and uncaring. Not evil, it's true, but not good either.
"I will help you gather and move your things from the servants quarters to the outer chamber of Lord Ricardo's rooms."
"Thank you, Father, but you are too important. Everyone in this place must depend upon you."
The soft laughter that answers him is confusing.
Luckily, he doesn't have much to move, but it means that all too soon the Father is leaving him in a barren room. Pedro wishes he could return to the safety of the chapel with the Father.
He can he hear Ricardo moving around in the other room. All he can do is pray to God the young lord stays in the other room. He's safe while he's alone. He doesn't want to be humble and polite to a boy that's never known hardship. A boy that's never been hungry. A boy that's never been cold.
It takes a long time before Ricardo to storm out of his room. Pedro spends the entire time huddled on the little pallet in the corner the Father set up for him.
When Pedro sees Ricardo, he's struck by how big and angry the young lord looks. Judging by the young lord's expression, Pedro's life is going to be a simple endurance of suffering.
-
Ricardo can't help but glare at the pathetic form huddled in the corner of his rooms. He might resent having this urchin in his space, but he knows better than to cross his father on this. He'll have to endure having the child foisted on him. However, it'll fail as an attempt to control his behaviour.
Sneering, he can't help but step back from the pathetic form. "Get cleaned up. I can't tell what's you and what's just filth. I refuse to have that around me."
"Yes, my lord," the boy's eyes never leave the ground. Someone appears to have taught him respect for his betters at the very least.
"Go now, boy," Ricardo dismisses with an even larger sneer. He can't see how his father believes having this poor scrawny boy can take his punishments and survive, but it means he can do whatever he wants, and nothing will happen to him. He can do as he pleases.
The fact that his father has pinned his hopes on this poor, sad, frightened little servant is pathetically laughable. He'd feel sorry for the man, but the man is making his life more difficult.
The next time he sees the boy, and he really should give him a name or learn what everyone else is calling him, is right before his next lesson with Father Izecson. It's an odd name to Ricardo. Too formal and stiff. Still, the man is from Rome, and his father considers it a mark of status to have him as a member of their household.
Unfortunately for him, Father Izecson is also insistent on lessons in numbers, letters, and the Holy scripture. His father doesn't want him to rely on scribes and clerks. Ricardo hears endlessly about how they can fool him and steal what’s rightfully his. That may be, but if Ricardo spends too much time with the scholarly arts, he won't learn to defend what's his, and there will be nothing for the scholars to steal.
He doesn't care about his father's proclamations that this knowledge will give him an advantage with the King when he gets to Lisboa. Their monarch cannot possibly favour the ability to read and write over the ability to ride, shoot, and kill.
His father just doesn't want to be known as a provincial noble from the north. He spent his entire time in Lisboa trying to prove he was more. It doesn't bother Ricardo. He has Porto. He doesn't need the favour of John II. He needs to be left alone to grow his crops, hunt, and grow fat on his estates.
Still, he heads towards the chapel. In his distraction, he actually trips over the boy on the floor beside the cold fireplace in his outer chambers. He's also beside the pallet.
"God's teeth, boy, you're supposed to be on the pallet."
The form startles awake at the first kick. "My lord," it murmurs, curling tightly into a ball.
"Time for lessons, boy. Let's not keep the Lord and the good Father waiting. That would be a sin." The sarcasm goes right over the boy's head by the way he scrambles to his feet.
Ricardo's actually a little surprised at how quickly the boy makes it to his feet and starts scurrying after him. He takes a moment to consider the rags the boy's wearing. He's cleaner than he was last time Ricardo saw him though.
He'll have to find something less filthy and disgusting for the boy to wear. The smell of the rags is offensive.
The Chapel is dimly lit; it always is. It's also smoky from all the beeswax candles that are burned. It's one of his least favourite rooms because of the smoke and the heavy feel of it.
He halts at the entrance, genuflects, and continues to where Father Izecson is sitting and considering the altar. He's either contemplating the altar, or else he’s communing with God or something equally useless.
He clears his throat, and Father Izecson turns to him. "Ricardo, good, you're here. Where is Pedro though?"
Ricardo feels the frown cross his face. "Pedro?"
"The young man your father picked."
"The boy my father so callously condemned while you stood by and watched?"
"Yes, the young man the Duke chose to fill the new position created in his house."
"He was right behind me when I left my chamber. It's not my problem if he doesn't keep up or gets lost."
Father Izecson gives him a disappointed look, gets up, and goes to find the boy, Pedro. It's a task for a servant anyway. The Father is a servant of God...
Lessons are frustrating as always. The huddled form of the boy, Pedro apparently, only makes things worse. He now has a witness to his shameful behaviour. He really needs to leave this sort of thing to the courtiers, court dandies, and men of God. He's a noble. He belongs on the back of a horse with a sword.
To make the situation even worse, the peasant boy-the stupid, dirty peasant filth-starts to pick up the lessons from the moment he's shown them. Each time the boy picks up a concept, Father Izecson seems to beam with pride. He finally has an apt pupil, and his joy is apparent.
It doesn't take long for Pedro to outstrip him, much to Father Izecson's delight. He's eager to learn more in a way Ricardo's not. At first, he hopes the boy will eventually fail.
It doesn't happen. Months pass, and Pedro continues to absorb knowledge like it's as easy as riding a horse or shooting a bow.
That's when Ricardo decides to start taking the boy to weapons practice. His father did say involve the boy in all aspects of his life. It's dangerous for a servant to know how to wield weapons, but Ricardo's need to see the boy humbled is greater than his fears.
He will be lord here, and he will not be outdone by some Spanish peasant boy with big eyes and uncontrollable hair. Not in his own home.
Not ever.
-
The training grounds the warriors use are a place Pedro avoids. Normally, he goes to lessons with the young lord, cleans his rooms, sweeps out the fireplace, gathers wood for the fire, and sometimes he brings the tub and hot water for the lord to bathe. Oftentimes, when Ricardo returns from practicing the martial arts, he's covered in blood, dirt, shit, and mud. He smells worse than Pedro can ever remember anything smelling.
Pedro assumes that every noble house must be like this one. There's a divide between the martial and domestic sides of the house. The domestic side is controlled by the woman who was the Lady Carvalho's chief lady-in-waiting. She works with the steward to run the kitchens and laundry and to care for the house.
The warriors and defenders of the house are controlled by the marshalsea. Pedro's already met the man over several of his master's more minor offenses, including taking food from the kitchen and beating one of the serving boys. The man is large, well muscled, healthy, and strong. He also wields a mean whip. They're all good characteristics for a man in charge of the stables, the men at arms, the weapons makers, and the defences, but very bad for someone in Pedro's position.
He's not sure why exactly he's been told to attend this time. Lord Ricardo isn't forthcoming with his motivations, and it's not Pedro's place to ask. So he stands in the corner closest to the entrance, hidden by the warriors who've gathered to train and drill.
Ricardo is laughing and joking with these men, rough as they are. The lord is at ease here in a way Pedro has never seen in lessons with Father Izecson or around him. With the Father, Ricardo's always stiff and formal. He says all the proper words, but they're laced with disrespect. Around Pedro, he's just too filled with disdain to act normally.
Pedro hovers in the back, desperately wanting to leave but unable to disobey his orders, until the marshalsea pulls him to the front. Pedro knows Ricardo is behind this by the smug look on his face.
The next hours seem to last forever; Pedro loses track of how many times he gets knocked down in attempt to teach him how to defend. Between the yelling of the marshalsea, the jeering shouts of the others, the clash of their weapons, and the noise of their animals, he's sure he'll be deaf before it's over. He already feels like he's endured the worst beating of his life.
Ricardo seems to flourish. He notes the lord's skills in those few moments he's not face down in the dirt, frantically trying to stop someone from running him through or avoiding near wild war horses. It's to be expected, really. Lord Ricardo Carvalho has been raised to be a warrior. He's been training since he was a boy younger than Pedro.
This lesson is just an excuse for Ricardo to humiliate, punish, and humble him. He's here to endure these lessons, just like all of Ricardo's punishments.
From the first combat lesson, his days take on a new routine. He rises before the sun, rekindles the fire in Ricardo's outer chamber, heads to the kitchen to help with breakfast, comes back with the food when Ricardo wakes, goes to lessons, goes to combat lessons, cleans the rooms, rekindles the fire, prepares a bath if Ricardo wants one, heads back to the kitchens to help prepare the evening meal, cleans up the remains of the evening meal, goes to evening Mass, and finally crawls back to his pallet well after the sun has gone down.
The only bright point in his day are the lessons with Father Izecson.
He's gotten to the point where he can almost read entire passages from the Bible. Father Izecson is incredibly proud of his achievement.
His lord Ricardo is not.
Also, Ricardo doesn't seem any fonder of Pedro he was in the first moment they met. He never calls Pedro by his name, and if he can help it, he doesn't refer to Pedro at all. Mostly, he ignores the fact Pedro exists, except to complete the manual chores. Even then, Pedro's interchangeable with one of the other servants.
The only time Ricardo doesn't ignore Pedro's existence is in the moments after he's done something to have earned a punishment. Pedro's watched Ricardo's face then. His lord sees him in those moments. The moments where he bleeds for the Portuguese's sins make him visible.
There's nothing as comforting as remorse, but there's something there that tells Pedro's the other man's affected by the events.
Every night while he listens to Father Izecson's sermon, Pedro tells himself to trust in God, but as the whip descends, cutting into his body, he finds that a particularly difficult thing to do. Sometimes, he can't move by the time they're done with him, his back is on fire, and he wants to die. Sometimes, it's not as bad. It all depends on what Lord Ricardo's done.
The punishments don't follow any sort of schedule. It's nothing so simple as when Ricardo gets bored. It's random, and he's yet to figure out what causes Ricardo to break the rules. Often, they don't make sense. The last one was for Ricardo refusing to learn how to care for his equipment. Yet, Pedro knows Ricardo can perform all those tasks.
He has no idea what's prompted this trip out into the bailey. The stable hands, the kitchen boys, the guardsmen, and the laundresses are all gathered around the edges of the area, pushing to get the best view.
The whipping post is the centre of the space. Pedro forces himself to walk over to it, his fingers rubbing over his rosary in a comforting gesture. The two guardsmen walking beside him, laughing, jeering, and mocking him are beyond his control. He refuses to dishonour himself by sinking to their expectations.
That might be why the other servants think he's gotten above himself because he can read.
This is going to be bad, the worst yet. He knows that because two guardsmen are also standing beside a shaken looking Ricardo. Ricardo is never forced to stay and watch the results of his work. The grim cast to the assembly tells Pedro that everyone is upset by whatever has happened, not that they've bothered to tell him for what he's being whipped.
"Either you or the beast easily could have been killed. Your actions were rash and showed no respect for your teachers or house, and this house cannot endure foolish losses brought about by your temper. I had hoped you would grow out of this recklessness as you became a warrior, but I see I was wrong. You're fourteen now. Very soon, you'll be a man of the world. In God's own time, you will rule here. You need to prove you won't waste lives. Prove you're a man."
Pedro can see Ricardo's face, and what the future Duke thinks of restraint and being the type of lord the marshalsea wants him to be is clear to Pedro. It's obviously clear to the whip-wielder as well.
Pedro can feel the leather of the whip slice through the rough wool of his tunic. This is the first time the first strike has had such force. He can feel the blood start to trickle down his back after the first five, and he's bitten his lip clean through in an effort not to scream. He loses himself in the haze created by the pain by the tenth. He can feel himself drift off into the sweet dark after that.
-
Ricardo's seen Pedro punished in his place several times. It's always been from a distance, from a place Pedro can't see him. He told his Father he wouldn't make this boy's life easy, and he hasn't. It's different when he can look into Pedro's eyes. Somehow, it’s more effective.
Father Izecson does his best to find punishments that will bother Ricardo without having to use Pedro to achieve his ends, or else he picks things that don't bother Pedro. He's often more effective than the whippings, but Ricardo knows his world. They like the show.
It's odd for him to see Pedro formally led in, to listen to the whispers of the servants. Normally, Ricardo's too busy with whatever sin they believe he's committed to care about his whipping boy's fate.
This time is different. He's sore, bruised, and he can feel a cut on his shoulder clotting. He resents the unbroken stallion that tossed him. He resents that he has to stand through this when he'd rather go soak in his small tub.
He's surprised at the dignity his servant shows. His back is stiff, his head is high, his chin is raised, and he looks regal. Apparently, the lessons about carriage and deportment have been fully internalized by the young Spaniard.
This is the first time he's bothered to study the Spaniard. His jaw is a bit too square, too strong for Ricardo to classify him as pretty. It's still an appealing face. There's something attractive about him. He's got some sort of magnetism to him.
Ricardo's not sure what this Spaniard reminds him of more: the Christian martyrs going to face the lions or the lions themselves. As innocent as he is, Pedro is certainly no saint, and, therefore, he must be one of the lions.
Pedro Leon.
It suits.
The first strike with the wicked-looking, single tail whip causes his little lion to rock forward. It's to be expected. Ricardo can see the whip is shredding the coarse tunic from Pedro's back. The exposed skin is torn, bleeding, and a mess shortly afterwards.
Pedro tries not to scream at first. Soon, small whimpers start to escape, and then there's no more noise. His lion ends up hanging off the whipping post, limp and unresponsive.
The marshalsea says something to him, but he doesn't hear it. He waves the man off, his attention focused on Pedro. He's praying to God, really praying--maybe for the first time--that the Spaniard isn't dead. He looks dead.
Father Izecson makes it to Pedro before Ricardo can make his feet move. He's distracted by the marshalsea. Pedro is leaning on the priest. In fact, he's almost draped over the other man, Ricardo can hear him mumbling something that sounds a lot like a prayer.
Not dead then.
Ricardo comes close enough to meet Father Izecson's eyes and get a good look at the damage.
"Move aside, Lord Ricardo," he hears. The Father's voice is cool and confident. He's more authoritative than Ricardo can remember hearing. "I have to take him to his pallet. I have some herbs that will help with the pain and healing. Otherwise, he's in God's hands. You'd best hope God spares him."
Ricardo barely contains his snort. He doesn't want to get into another discussion with Father Izecson about the mercy and glory of God. God isn't merciful, and it's obvious to Ricardo that He cares little for his mortal children. He leaves them to suffer untold horrors on earth.
They don't have time for such nonsense. He lets Father Izecson carry Pedro towards his room while he glares at anyone who doesn't get out of the way immediately.
It doesn't take long to settle Pedro face down on the small pallet in the corner of his room. Pedro's mumbling prayers when the remains of his tunic are removed. The damage to Pedro's back is the worst thing he's ever seen. He leaves Father Izecson with Pedro and goes to see his father.
The Duke of Porto is with his scribe, composing some sort of letter to Lisboa. They've been out of favour for years, but his father keeps trying. It's his dream to see their position and prestige with the king restored. Ricardo doesn't care about earning the king's favour. They might not have royal favour, but they're still distant relations. They don't have to worry about losing their lands, and they have the strength of arms and weapons to hold them.
His father looks startled as he storms into the man's study. The scribe startles and lets out a noise of concern.
"Leave us," Ricardo demands, his voice cold.
The man looks to his father and scurries from the room at the older man's nod.
"Ricardo, it's good to see you unharmed. The beast as well."
The tone is gently chiding, but Ricardo's not in the mood. He's just watched the marshalsea administer a totally disproportionate punishment and nearly kill a member of his household. He did so on this man’s-his father-orders. For what? To teach Ricardo a lesson? Well, he's learned a lesson, but not what his father wanted to teach.
"I doubt you've ever seen the beast, Father. You'd not like the mud in the stables."
"Ricardo..."
"Will the funeral be nice when the Spaniard dies, Father? Your man did his very best to make sure your Spanish trash will meet our Lord. Does that please you, Father? Should he ever try to touch me in such a manner, he will not live to see the next dawn."
"You should think before you act. You could have been killed."
"Had it been me, I would have died. The fall and the beating would have surely sent me to Our Lord. Perhaps, Father, you should think more on the well-being of your people and less on your return to Lisboa."
"He will survive. My instructions were not to kill him."
"The good Father says it's in God's hands now. You know what that means, Father. Perhaps God will mercifully take him from this world as he did my mother."
His father pales. "I didn't mean for it to be that severe."
"You should have been more specific. You give me this boy, and you tell me you want me to learn responsibility and restraint, but you have no control over men who have served you since before my birth. You're so obsessed with your improbable return to Lisboa that you've lost control here."
His father is pale when Ricardo leaves him sitting in his God-forsaken study with his cursed books. He ignores the servants scrambling out of his way and calls for the master of the chambers. The man responds at once.
When he finally gets back to his room, Father Izecson has removed all the cloth from the boy’s wounds and is using hot water to clean away the blood and dirt.
"Will he live, Father?"
"His wounds are bad. I will know better when they are completely clean."
Ricardo nods and paces away from the cot.
"Was it worth it, my lord?" The priest's condemnation cuts deeper than his father’s because the priest is quiet about it. He doesn't need a whip to prove his point. Just his words.
"What? Say what you mean," Ricardo growls, stopping his circuit of the room to glare at one of the servants bringing Father Izecson more hot water.
"Whatever pleasure your actions brought you, was it worth the suffering of another of God's children?"
Ricardo snorts. "The horse is one of God's children too, Father. I do not see you worrying over its fate."
When he turns to study Ricardo, Father Izecson's face is calm. "The question remains. Was it worth it?"
"I could have managed. There was no reason to bring the boy into this."
"He is to suffer in your place."
"It's not right that he should do so. He is a good man. A Spaniard, but still a good man."
"You care for him." Hushed words.
"He makes my life easier," Ricardo snaps, irritated by the distress he feels over an easily replaceable peasant boy. There is no way the boy should matter this much.
He's here to be beaten. It's his whole reason for being. It's why his father's soldiers didn't kill him years ago.
Father Izecson frowns. "Have you become so focused on becoming a good warrior that you've lost sight of the importance of being a good man? God will judge you, Ricardo. Your mind is closed to what God is trying to achieve here. I pity you. You've chosen a hard path."
Ricardo ignores that. God can chose whatever path He wishes; the only path Ricardo will consider is the one he favours.
"When will we know if he lives?"
"Tomorrow morning. If he makes it through this night, it will be a good start. If he has been chosen to live, we will see improvement soon. If we don't, well, we will see that soon too."
"Is there anything that can be done?"
"Pray."
"I will leave that you, Father. Maybe God will hear his chosen servant. He certainly doesn't hear the rest of us."
-
When Pedro comes back to himself, he feels stiff and sore. His muscles hurt, and his back aches, but it's not the sharp pain he was expecting. It's the stiffness and pain that comes after many days of healing, and it doesn't make sense.
When he opens his eyes and turns his head, Father Izecson is sitting beside his small pallet. "Father?" he croaks out, his voice hoarse and scratchy.
"Pedro? Pedro, my child, you're awake. Praise our Lord and Saviour, you're awake."
"Father?"
"You worried us quite a bit, child. After they," Father Izecson pauses, letting Pedro fill in the blanks, "you fell ill. There must have been an evil spirit in the courtyard that day because it was very bad. I was preparing myself to deliver your Last Rites and send you to our Maker, but the Lord God decided to spare you."
"I am glad to have been saved, Father. God's mercy and love are great and should not be doubted."
"Yes, they are. You should rest more now if you can."
Pedro nods weakly in response. He hasn't felt this tired and wrung out in his entire life.
The next time he wakes, Father Izecson isn't in the room with him. He understands that. The Father is busy, and Pedro knows that. Tending to the souls of the people in the house is a heavy responsibility. He knows how the world works, and the Father's time isn't to be wasted on one servant boy.
His struggles to rise bring someone to his side. He can't see who because he's face down. When he does manage to get a look by carefully turning his head, the man hovering beside him makes him think he must still be ill or somehow possessed by evil spirits that are causing him to see things.
"My lord?" his voice is small and surprised, and it causes Ricardo to stop standing over him and help him turn him over.
"Father Izecson told me you were awake. I was about to give up hope that God didn't have him imagining such miracles."
"You shouldn't say such things about God and Father Izecson. He'll punish you for your pride," Pedro chides; he blanches as soon as he's done speaking. "Forgive me, my lord. I spoke out of turn."
Ricardo watches him for a long moment instead of striking him. It's not that the lord can't; he's well within his rights to do so, and he's done it before, so Pedro's confused as to why he's just watching right now. Maybe he’s also a little bit afraid.
"Of course it would be the good Father you chose to defend, little lion."
"What?" Pedro's horrified that his mouth seems to be running away from him. Maybe he's possessed. There's no other excuse for such behaviour. He'll be lucky if Ricardo doesn't beat him for this.
"I have decided that your name will be Pedro Leon. It suits you."
"How... generous of you, my lord. May I inquire as to why?"
"I have my reasons."
Pedro knows the subject is basically closed with that. The lord has his reasons, and they're not something about which the peasants need to worry. It's supposed to be enough; it's the way of the world.
Pedro struggles to stand, forcing his legs to take his weight despite the fact they feel weak. "If you give me a moment, my lord, I will see to the fire and perhaps your bathwater."
"Be at ease, Leon. Just this once, your duties have been seen to. Work on regaining your strength quickly. You have things to do."
"Of course, my lord. As you wish," Pedro murmurs, his eyes pinned to the ground. He's confused by this new, gentler attitude, but he's not going to question it.
He grows stronger as the days pass, but Ricardo virtually disappears from his sight. Father Izecson keeps him company as he performs whatever indoor duties can be found for him. The weather, a cold rain in particular, has kept him inside the keep for fears he'll catch some other sickness.
Father Izecson allows him to study from the Bible kept in the Chapel, and Pedro treasures the opportunity to pour over the Lord's words and take His message into himself. Unfortunately for Pedro, asking Father Izecson about the change in Lord Ricardo's behaviour isn't helpful. All the priest can tell Pedro is when all hope was lost, the young Lord spent the night in the chapel, the first time anyone can ever remember Lord Ricardo in the chapel not during Mass.
God obviously has a plan for the young lord, and he's using Pedro in His plans. It's not for him to understand.
Routine eventually returns, and Pedro can all but forget Ricardo's strange behaviour, expect in combat lessons. Ricardo almost seems protective there, keeping an eye on him and not allowing the marshalsea to work with him. Despite all the years he's been forced to endure these lessons, he's still no better. He can wield a knife with some skill, but the sword is completely beyond his reach.
He watches Ricardo become the best warrior in the house as the seasons pass, mainly from the dirt and mud, but he still gets to see it. Ricardo starts to assume more of his father's responsibilities around the estate, and the Duke withdraws further into his dreams of returning to Lisboa. Pedro privately suspects a sickness of the mind, but he doesn't dare to say anything.
The Duke's illness begins to show physically soon after Ricardo's seventeenth birthday. It's almost a boon as Ricardo is a man, fully grown and more than capable of taking care of the estate himself. The Duke's obsession has become a hindrance to his people, but they can't do anything about it.
When the end appears, it comes with a rapid decline that has everyone in the house whispering about the illnesses from generations past and punishments from God. Pedro knows Father Izecson has spent a large amount of time calming the servants and trying to keep the hysteria down. People honestly believe that God is punishing their lord.
Perdo's surprised that Ricardo's father has lived this long. Granted, he doesn't have much contact with the Duke, but every time Pedro sees him, he looks worse.
Ricardo has stepped into the role very nicely. He's used to dealing with the men at arms. He's even moderately used to dealing with the tradespeople and peasant farmers who live just outside the walls. He deals with them the same way he deals with the warriors, and Pedro thinks they like that.
However, Ricardo still has politics to master. He's too blunt, too impatient, and too unconcerned. All the visitors that come when the Duke finally passes prove that. They label him as an uncultured provincial lord within hours of their arrival. He knows because their servants talk. They don't know to watch for Pedro. They think he's just another one of the kitchen boys. Their unguarded words allow him to gather information.
His position doesn't exist in their houses. They aren't wary. They should be.
Only time will temper Ricardo and make him a passable politician.
Pedro is busy feeding wood into Ricardo's fire when the lord himself storms in. He's early, and Pedro startles, dropping the wood.
"My lord," he stutters, bending down to gather the wood again, "forgive me."
Ricardo waves him away, and Pedro quickly goes back to work. Ricardo has been especially dismissive of him since he formally took over the title of Duke of Porto. It doesn't have the same cold--almost cruel--edge as before, but it's still effective.
He can't earn Pedro punishments anymore. Ricardo's become a man while Pedro was keeping his head down and trying to endure the whippings. Something changed after Pedro woke from that one whipping. Something was different, and it's never gone back to normal, but it still has Pedro on edge. Years later, it still has him on edge.
"Leon," Ricardo calls after a moment of silence.
Pedro startles. Ricardo's never given that name up, and he still has no idea why Ricardo decided on that name. However, he hears it a lot. The other servants have started to call him Leon as well.
"My lord?"
"Can you do sums as well as you read your Bible and write your letters?"
"I can do sums, my lord. Father Izecson taught me."
"Good. Come here."
Pedro nearly trips over his own feet in his haste to obey the Duke's instructions. "Yes, my lord?"
"These are the household accounts. I need someone to look them over. I don't trust my father's clerk. You have the skills. I need them. Complete this as quickly as possible."
Pedro takes the ledgers from Ricardo, bowing as he does so. "Yes, my lord."
He feeds some more wood into the fire and retreats from the room to allow Ricardo to bathe. Sitting in a quiet corner of the hall, the first thing he notices is that the accounts are a mess. It's a very real probability that the clerk was taking some of the profits from the land for himself. No one can understand what he's done.
"God's whiskers," he breathes out, then sets to work, his finger tracing across the vellum.
-
Ricardo wishes he could say losing his father is a shock, but after the last two years, it's not. It's a relief, God save his soul for thinking it.
He doesn't have to listen to his father beg for God's mercy anymore, and he doesn't have to remind himself of his father's sensibilities and love of Lisboa.
He's free to be the Duke of Porto in the way he wants. It's literally what he was born to do. In the days that follow his father's death, Pedro acts as his chamberlain and steward, keeping his house running smoothly.
He's not expecting many to attend his father's funeral. He was out of favour at court, and rumours of his illness will have spread. That's the way court politics work. Ricardo's pleased with those who do come. They're not those in favour, but they are the ones who stayed in contact with his father.
There aren't enough of them to demand an ornate ceremony. A simple ceremony suits Ricardo better anyway. His father might have been a political man at heart, but Ricardo’s not. He just wants to get Father Izecson to say some words over his father, throw some dirt on him, and lay him to rest.
There are more attendees than he'd originally expected and planned for, but Father Izecson knows exactly what to do. He says enough to seem like Ricardo is a devout man, deeply in mourning for his father, without actually saying it. Soon, he's able to shovel dirt on top of his father's coffin and walk away.
It leaves him feeling empty and blank. He's not sad. His father's dead. He's a grown man. He's eighteen by their nearest figuring, and he's ready to deal with everything that comes with being Duke of Porto. He doesn't have time to miss his father like a child. He has lands to oversee.
He doesn't have time to cry. So he most definitely doesn't have tears in his eyes for a man he hated.
When he returns to the inner bailey, Pedro is waiting for him. His chamberlain, his whipping boy, is waiting for him. The man is the closest thing to a confident he has is calm, collected, and has the rest of the house well in hand.
"Rooms have been found for your noble guests, and space in the hall has been made for their outriders and servants."
He nods.
"Father Izecson is available to speak to you if you wish, my lord."
"Why would I need to talk to the Father? Tell him to pray for my father's immortal soul, and let me get on with my life, Leon."
"Of course, my lord. In that case, a Lord Jose Mourinho is waiting on your convenience. He wishes to speak to you."
Ricardo nods and heads to the study. Lord Mourinho was an ally of his father's, an important one.
The most important one.
Part 2
S
Author: shana0809
Dedication: To liroa15 for being the most amazing beta, and lady_quark and melj1213 for the idea and encouragement.
Disclaimer: They do not belong to me. Also, not true. I made it all up.
Fandom: Football rpf
Pairing: Pedro Leon/Ricardo Carvalho
Rating: R for language and adult concepts, violence, religious themes, and dubious consent.
Word Count: 15 955
Summary: We all have choices. Sometimes, they’re just not one ones we want.
A.N: For the rpf_big_bang challenge.
He's never travelled in his life. That first time doesn't count; he can't say he understood how cold, lonely, and heartless the road is then. The world beyond the walls of his former home is so much different than he always imagined. He's gone soft, it seems, and gotten used to the comforts of the Duke of Porto's house. He's become used to having a roof over his head and food in the kitchens. Maybe it wasn't for him, but it was there.
When he was young but still old enough to understand what was happening, maybe seven or eight, the Duke of Porto's soldiers came to his village. Soldiers coming to the village wasn't out of place because of its proximity to the disputed border between Portugal and Spain. This attack had been just another chapter in the continuing animosity between the two nations.
He doesn't like to think about his early life. He doesn't like to remember his parents; his last memory of them is of their bodies laying outside their small home. It always makes him feel disloyal. He's never been entirely sure why they left him alive, but he's always felt vaguely guilty about it.
Telling himself that it's all God's plan only helps so much.
He remembers being pulled up onto a horse; it hurt. The trip following that is a miserable blur best not remembered. He was tired, hungry, thirsty, and, above all, terrified, and that's all he really remembers or wants to remember.
He does remember reaching the house of the Duke. He remembers because it's still the largest house he's ever seen. There's the manor house proper, the defences, outbuildings, and the fields. It's a big place, and it’s loud. It reminds him of his village, all the noise and people of a market day condensed into one household.
-
It's terrifyingly different from anything he's ever experienced. He knows a house this big means someone powerful. The man who owns this house doesn't care about his village or what was done. The house tells him that he's about to be thrust into a whole new world.
The first moment he’s brought to stand in the hall, a room bigger than his entire house, he knows he'd never be the same again.
His first memory of the Duke of Porto isn't something he's ever likely to forget. It's a scowl; the type of scowl that makes a sane man fear for his life. Everything up until the Duke has been horrible, but in a sort of understandable way.
The simple Spanish boy from a farming village died with his parents that day. Someone new was born the moment he was shoved to the floor in front of the Duke of Porto.
People are killed in border wars all the time. Sometimes, the victorious side even takes prisoners. It's not something of which the Church exactly approves, but they don't stop it from happening either. Being tossed to the ground in front of well-dressed, well-fed men isn't something that happens all the time.
Spanish peasants aren't brought to the homes of Portuguese nobility.
It doesn't happen.
When the lord looks at him, it's one quick, dismissive glance. It can't take more than half a moment. That's normal though. Nobles always look down on the lower classes, and this man's clothes mark him as some sort of noble.
"This is the best you could find me?"
The words are hard for him to follow. They're not his language, but the languages are enough alike that he can understand enough.
"Yes, my lord. The others were too old, too young, or too sickly looking. I didn't want to risk the spread of an illness. This was the best that remained in the whole village."
"Fine." The tone is displeased. "You may go. Leave the boy. He'll do."
The man who brought him bows and backs out of the hall, and he's left alone with the noble. So he does the only thing he can think to do. He stays as still as possible and hopes he goes unnoticed. It seems to work.
Finally, a serving woman comes, and with several sharp words and insistent hand motions, she drags him from the hall. She's a matronly sort of woman. She's bigger than his mother but looks to be about the same age, so he finds her comforting.
She takes him to the servants quarters, pulling at his arm whenever he slows down. There, she shoves him down onto a pallet off in one corner. Once all that's done, she turns to face him. Her dark eyes study him for what feels like forever.
When she speaks, he thinks her voice sounds kind. "Spanish?" she asks.
He nods.
"Poor child. I'm sorry for what your life will be like, but I'd rather it be you than one of my boys."
He doesn't understand exactly what she means, but he knows it isn't good. His life here probably won't be pleasant.
He's not wrong.
In some respects, his life is better than it ever was back on the village. There's more food, his corner is always warm, and the people aren't awful. They speak too fast for him to understand a lot of the time, but he can't fault them for that.
He's been in the house for a little more than a week, working in the kitchens to earn his keep, when the lord seems to remember he's there and sends for him.
When they take him back to the hall, the lord isn't alone. There's a boy there and a man wearing the vestments of a priest. He knows about priests. His parents were pious, God-fearing people who attended the sermons and went to confession every time a priest passed through their village. This priest must be assigned to this house to keep those in power on the righteous path of the Lord by watching over the souls.
The priest is familiar, which makes him a welcome sight.
Surely any house that has a man of God in it can't help but walk in the light of God. He feels better about his situation already.
"Him?" the boy sneers. "What is this trash doing here? It belongs in the kitchen."
All he can do is keep his eyes on the floor and his face averted. He's a simple farm boy, and he shouldn't be in this place. It's far above him.
"The English have given me an interesting idea, Ricardo," the lord replies, unruffled by the boy's outburst. "You're wild. Your teachers and servants fear punishing you while I'm away on business."
The boy snorts. "Business? You're out of favour, Father."
The lord doesn't even appear to notice the rejoinder. It's obvious the boy, Ricardo, is confused by this as well. "Then explain to me the English thing this bit of trash can teach me, Father."
He can't help but wince. Maybe things are different for the lords, but had he ever dared to talk to his father like that he'd have been face down in the dirt and unable to get up. The lord only laughs. "So headstrong. You'll be formidable as the Duke of Porto one day, but first you must learn to control your temper. Otherwise, your enemies will use it to destroy you."
"Yet you dare to bring Spanish scum into our home."
Apparently this last remark is too much for the indulgent lord. He pushes himself from the throne-like chair and faces the boy. "You don't rule here yet, Ricardo. You'd do well to remember that, or you never will. I will make the decisions here as is right and just in the eyes of God."
There's silence for a moment, and he's afraid to breathe. Finally, Ricardo speaks stiffly. "Of course, Father. As you will." A small bow accompanies the words.
It's enough for the lord; he sits down with a heavy sigh. "This is why I do this, boy. The English have a concept. They call it a whipping boy. A noble house uses a peasant boy," he sees the sweeping gesture that encompasses him out of the corner of his eye, "and they take him in and raise him next to the heir. When the heir does something wrong, the whipping boy takes the punishment."
He swallows deeply, tries to still the quaking in his limbs and control the urge to make a mad dash for the entrance to the hall. He's going to have to endure all the punishments this spoiled, disobedient, defiant boy earns?
He understands.
Now he understands why the serving woman was so pleased to have him.
He must of displeased God somehow. This is his penance, his punishment for whatever sin he committed.
God is testing his faith. He must not fail.
He stays quiet. He's not here to speak. He's only here to be part of the explanation.
"And how exactly is the addition of this... peasant supposed to change my behaviour? He takes my punishments; I may do whatever I want."
"You will live with him, go to lessons with him, spend time with him. Over time, you'll begin to care for him due to proximity. He'll be with you for lessons in both the scholarly arts and those of the warrior. He is your responsibility. God, and myself, will judge you by how well you do by him. If you cannot care for one boy, you aren't ready for a ducal house."
"Then let God judge my worth, Father. I'm sure He has many more important things to worry about in this world than my temperament."
The priest speaks now, as is proper because the subject is God. "The Heavenly Father is concerned with the state of all His children. Their immortal souls are His primary concern."
"Then He'd best look to the state of the one on the floor, Father."
Ricardo leaves at his Father's dismissive gesture, his face set into sour lines. When his son is gone, the lord seems weighed down by the confrontation.
"I worry for his soul, Father. I worry for my own."
"You did very well, my lord," the priest reassures. "It's obvious to me that God is guiding your hand in this."
"You must teach them exactly the same, Father. Exactly the same. Everything depends on this."
"You know Ricardo has no interest in my lessons, my lord. His heart is set on being a great warrior, and anything that doesn't achieve that goal is discarded."
"I am still a God-fearing man. I won't have my son living uneducated in the Holy Book. It would ease my soul if this were done."
"You know I will do my best."
"Leave me, Father. Take that child with you; I have no use for him."
The priest bows. The man of God bows to a mortal man. From his position on the floor, he's perplexed.
"Of course, my lord Carvalho."
He follows the priest as he's led from the hall. He doesn't know what to do, so he just keeps putting one foot in front of the other until the priest stops moving.
The Father turns to face him. "What is your name, child?"
"Pedro, Father."
"And are you a true believer in our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, Pedro? I have heard of heathens in Spain."
"I am a good Christian, Father."
"And do you believe in the one true Church, which speaks for our Lord God on this Earth?"
"Yes, Father."
"Good, good. Now, I know the situation isn't ideal, but Ricardo doesn't have an evil temperament."
Pedro can't help but nod dumbly. His parents told him it was a sin to argue with a priest, and he can't contradict the Father because of it. To him, Ricardo seems cruel and uncaring. Not evil, it's true, but not good either.
"I will help you gather and move your things from the servants quarters to the outer chamber of Lord Ricardo's rooms."
"Thank you, Father, but you are too important. Everyone in this place must depend upon you."
The soft laughter that answers him is confusing.
Luckily, he doesn't have much to move, but it means that all too soon the Father is leaving him in a barren room. Pedro wishes he could return to the safety of the chapel with the Father.
He can he hear Ricardo moving around in the other room. All he can do is pray to God the young lord stays in the other room. He's safe while he's alone. He doesn't want to be humble and polite to a boy that's never known hardship. A boy that's never been hungry. A boy that's never been cold.
It takes a long time before Ricardo to storm out of his room. Pedro spends the entire time huddled on the little pallet in the corner the Father set up for him.
When Pedro sees Ricardo, he's struck by how big and angry the young lord looks. Judging by the young lord's expression, Pedro's life is going to be a simple endurance of suffering.
-
Ricardo can't help but glare at the pathetic form huddled in the corner of his rooms. He might resent having this urchin in his space, but he knows better than to cross his father on this. He'll have to endure having the child foisted on him. However, it'll fail as an attempt to control his behaviour.
Sneering, he can't help but step back from the pathetic form. "Get cleaned up. I can't tell what's you and what's just filth. I refuse to have that around me."
"Yes, my lord," the boy's eyes never leave the ground. Someone appears to have taught him respect for his betters at the very least.
"Go now, boy," Ricardo dismisses with an even larger sneer. He can't see how his father believes having this poor scrawny boy can take his punishments and survive, but it means he can do whatever he wants, and nothing will happen to him. He can do as he pleases.
The fact that his father has pinned his hopes on this poor, sad, frightened little servant is pathetically laughable. He'd feel sorry for the man, but the man is making his life more difficult.
The next time he sees the boy, and he really should give him a name or learn what everyone else is calling him, is right before his next lesson with Father Izecson. It's an odd name to Ricardo. Too formal and stiff. Still, the man is from Rome, and his father considers it a mark of status to have him as a member of their household.
Unfortunately for him, Father Izecson is also insistent on lessons in numbers, letters, and the Holy scripture. His father doesn't want him to rely on scribes and clerks. Ricardo hears endlessly about how they can fool him and steal what’s rightfully his. That may be, but if Ricardo spends too much time with the scholarly arts, he won't learn to defend what's his, and there will be nothing for the scholars to steal.
He doesn't care about his father's proclamations that this knowledge will give him an advantage with the King when he gets to Lisboa. Their monarch cannot possibly favour the ability to read and write over the ability to ride, shoot, and kill.
His father just doesn't want to be known as a provincial noble from the north. He spent his entire time in Lisboa trying to prove he was more. It doesn't bother Ricardo. He has Porto. He doesn't need the favour of John II. He needs to be left alone to grow his crops, hunt, and grow fat on his estates.
Still, he heads towards the chapel. In his distraction, he actually trips over the boy on the floor beside the cold fireplace in his outer chambers. He's also beside the pallet.
"God's teeth, boy, you're supposed to be on the pallet."
The form startles awake at the first kick. "My lord," it murmurs, curling tightly into a ball.
"Time for lessons, boy. Let's not keep the Lord and the good Father waiting. That would be a sin." The sarcasm goes right over the boy's head by the way he scrambles to his feet.
Ricardo's actually a little surprised at how quickly the boy makes it to his feet and starts scurrying after him. He takes a moment to consider the rags the boy's wearing. He's cleaner than he was last time Ricardo saw him though.
He'll have to find something less filthy and disgusting for the boy to wear. The smell of the rags is offensive.
The Chapel is dimly lit; it always is. It's also smoky from all the beeswax candles that are burned. It's one of his least favourite rooms because of the smoke and the heavy feel of it.
He halts at the entrance, genuflects, and continues to where Father Izecson is sitting and considering the altar. He's either contemplating the altar, or else he’s communing with God or something equally useless.
He clears his throat, and Father Izecson turns to him. "Ricardo, good, you're here. Where is Pedro though?"
Ricardo feels the frown cross his face. "Pedro?"
"The young man your father picked."
"The boy my father so callously condemned while you stood by and watched?"
"Yes, the young man the Duke chose to fill the new position created in his house."
"He was right behind me when I left my chamber. It's not my problem if he doesn't keep up or gets lost."
Father Izecson gives him a disappointed look, gets up, and goes to find the boy, Pedro. It's a task for a servant anyway. The Father is a servant of God...
Lessons are frustrating as always. The huddled form of the boy, Pedro apparently, only makes things worse. He now has a witness to his shameful behaviour. He really needs to leave this sort of thing to the courtiers, court dandies, and men of God. He's a noble. He belongs on the back of a horse with a sword.
To make the situation even worse, the peasant boy-the stupid, dirty peasant filth-starts to pick up the lessons from the moment he's shown them. Each time the boy picks up a concept, Father Izecson seems to beam with pride. He finally has an apt pupil, and his joy is apparent.
It doesn't take long for Pedro to outstrip him, much to Father Izecson's delight. He's eager to learn more in a way Ricardo's not. At first, he hopes the boy will eventually fail.
It doesn't happen. Months pass, and Pedro continues to absorb knowledge like it's as easy as riding a horse or shooting a bow.
That's when Ricardo decides to start taking the boy to weapons practice. His father did say involve the boy in all aspects of his life. It's dangerous for a servant to know how to wield weapons, but Ricardo's need to see the boy humbled is greater than his fears.
He will be lord here, and he will not be outdone by some Spanish peasant boy with big eyes and uncontrollable hair. Not in his own home.
Not ever.
-
The training grounds the warriors use are a place Pedro avoids. Normally, he goes to lessons with the young lord, cleans his rooms, sweeps out the fireplace, gathers wood for the fire, and sometimes he brings the tub and hot water for the lord to bathe. Oftentimes, when Ricardo returns from practicing the martial arts, he's covered in blood, dirt, shit, and mud. He smells worse than Pedro can ever remember anything smelling.
Pedro assumes that every noble house must be like this one. There's a divide between the martial and domestic sides of the house. The domestic side is controlled by the woman who was the Lady Carvalho's chief lady-in-waiting. She works with the steward to run the kitchens and laundry and to care for the house.
The warriors and defenders of the house are controlled by the marshalsea. Pedro's already met the man over several of his master's more minor offenses, including taking food from the kitchen and beating one of the serving boys. The man is large, well muscled, healthy, and strong. He also wields a mean whip. They're all good characteristics for a man in charge of the stables, the men at arms, the weapons makers, and the defences, but very bad for someone in Pedro's position.
He's not sure why exactly he's been told to attend this time. Lord Ricardo isn't forthcoming with his motivations, and it's not Pedro's place to ask. So he stands in the corner closest to the entrance, hidden by the warriors who've gathered to train and drill.
Ricardo is laughing and joking with these men, rough as they are. The lord is at ease here in a way Pedro has never seen in lessons with Father Izecson or around him. With the Father, Ricardo's always stiff and formal. He says all the proper words, but they're laced with disrespect. Around Pedro, he's just too filled with disdain to act normally.
Pedro hovers in the back, desperately wanting to leave but unable to disobey his orders, until the marshalsea pulls him to the front. Pedro knows Ricardo is behind this by the smug look on his face.
The next hours seem to last forever; Pedro loses track of how many times he gets knocked down in attempt to teach him how to defend. Between the yelling of the marshalsea, the jeering shouts of the others, the clash of their weapons, and the noise of their animals, he's sure he'll be deaf before it's over. He already feels like he's endured the worst beating of his life.
Ricardo seems to flourish. He notes the lord's skills in those few moments he's not face down in the dirt, frantically trying to stop someone from running him through or avoiding near wild war horses. It's to be expected, really. Lord Ricardo Carvalho has been raised to be a warrior. He's been training since he was a boy younger than Pedro.
This lesson is just an excuse for Ricardo to humiliate, punish, and humble him. He's here to endure these lessons, just like all of Ricardo's punishments.
From the first combat lesson, his days take on a new routine. He rises before the sun, rekindles the fire in Ricardo's outer chamber, heads to the kitchen to help with breakfast, comes back with the food when Ricardo wakes, goes to lessons, goes to combat lessons, cleans the rooms, rekindles the fire, prepares a bath if Ricardo wants one, heads back to the kitchens to help prepare the evening meal, cleans up the remains of the evening meal, goes to evening Mass, and finally crawls back to his pallet well after the sun has gone down.
The only bright point in his day are the lessons with Father Izecson.
He's gotten to the point where he can almost read entire passages from the Bible. Father Izecson is incredibly proud of his achievement.
His lord Ricardo is not.
Also, Ricardo doesn't seem any fonder of Pedro he was in the first moment they met. He never calls Pedro by his name, and if he can help it, he doesn't refer to Pedro at all. Mostly, he ignores the fact Pedro exists, except to complete the manual chores. Even then, Pedro's interchangeable with one of the other servants.
The only time Ricardo doesn't ignore Pedro's existence is in the moments after he's done something to have earned a punishment. Pedro's watched Ricardo's face then. His lord sees him in those moments. The moments where he bleeds for the Portuguese's sins make him visible.
There's nothing as comforting as remorse, but there's something there that tells Pedro's the other man's affected by the events.
Every night while he listens to Father Izecson's sermon, Pedro tells himself to trust in God, but as the whip descends, cutting into his body, he finds that a particularly difficult thing to do. Sometimes, he can't move by the time they're done with him, his back is on fire, and he wants to die. Sometimes, it's not as bad. It all depends on what Lord Ricardo's done.
The punishments don't follow any sort of schedule. It's nothing so simple as when Ricardo gets bored. It's random, and he's yet to figure out what causes Ricardo to break the rules. Often, they don't make sense. The last one was for Ricardo refusing to learn how to care for his equipment. Yet, Pedro knows Ricardo can perform all those tasks.
He has no idea what's prompted this trip out into the bailey. The stable hands, the kitchen boys, the guardsmen, and the laundresses are all gathered around the edges of the area, pushing to get the best view.
The whipping post is the centre of the space. Pedro forces himself to walk over to it, his fingers rubbing over his rosary in a comforting gesture. The two guardsmen walking beside him, laughing, jeering, and mocking him are beyond his control. He refuses to dishonour himself by sinking to their expectations.
That might be why the other servants think he's gotten above himself because he can read.
This is going to be bad, the worst yet. He knows that because two guardsmen are also standing beside a shaken looking Ricardo. Ricardo is never forced to stay and watch the results of his work. The grim cast to the assembly tells Pedro that everyone is upset by whatever has happened, not that they've bothered to tell him for what he's being whipped.
"Either you or the beast easily could have been killed. Your actions were rash and showed no respect for your teachers or house, and this house cannot endure foolish losses brought about by your temper. I had hoped you would grow out of this recklessness as you became a warrior, but I see I was wrong. You're fourteen now. Very soon, you'll be a man of the world. In God's own time, you will rule here. You need to prove you won't waste lives. Prove you're a man."
Pedro can see Ricardo's face, and what the future Duke thinks of restraint and being the type of lord the marshalsea wants him to be is clear to Pedro. It's obviously clear to the whip-wielder as well.
Pedro can feel the leather of the whip slice through the rough wool of his tunic. This is the first time the first strike has had such force. He can feel the blood start to trickle down his back after the first five, and he's bitten his lip clean through in an effort not to scream. He loses himself in the haze created by the pain by the tenth. He can feel himself drift off into the sweet dark after that.
-
Ricardo's seen Pedro punished in his place several times. It's always been from a distance, from a place Pedro can't see him. He told his Father he wouldn't make this boy's life easy, and he hasn't. It's different when he can look into Pedro's eyes. Somehow, it’s more effective.
Father Izecson does his best to find punishments that will bother Ricardo without having to use Pedro to achieve his ends, or else he picks things that don't bother Pedro. He's often more effective than the whippings, but Ricardo knows his world. They like the show.
It's odd for him to see Pedro formally led in, to listen to the whispers of the servants. Normally, Ricardo's too busy with whatever sin they believe he's committed to care about his whipping boy's fate.
This time is different. He's sore, bruised, and he can feel a cut on his shoulder clotting. He resents the unbroken stallion that tossed him. He resents that he has to stand through this when he'd rather go soak in his small tub.
He's surprised at the dignity his servant shows. His back is stiff, his head is high, his chin is raised, and he looks regal. Apparently, the lessons about carriage and deportment have been fully internalized by the young Spaniard.
This is the first time he's bothered to study the Spaniard. His jaw is a bit too square, too strong for Ricardo to classify him as pretty. It's still an appealing face. There's something attractive about him. He's got some sort of magnetism to him.
Ricardo's not sure what this Spaniard reminds him of more: the Christian martyrs going to face the lions or the lions themselves. As innocent as he is, Pedro is certainly no saint, and, therefore, he must be one of the lions.
Pedro Leon.
It suits.
The first strike with the wicked-looking, single tail whip causes his little lion to rock forward. It's to be expected. Ricardo can see the whip is shredding the coarse tunic from Pedro's back. The exposed skin is torn, bleeding, and a mess shortly afterwards.
Pedro tries not to scream at first. Soon, small whimpers start to escape, and then there's no more noise. His lion ends up hanging off the whipping post, limp and unresponsive.
The marshalsea says something to him, but he doesn't hear it. He waves the man off, his attention focused on Pedro. He's praying to God, really praying--maybe for the first time--that the Spaniard isn't dead. He looks dead.
Father Izecson makes it to Pedro before Ricardo can make his feet move. He's distracted by the marshalsea. Pedro is leaning on the priest. In fact, he's almost draped over the other man, Ricardo can hear him mumbling something that sounds a lot like a prayer.
Not dead then.
Ricardo comes close enough to meet Father Izecson's eyes and get a good look at the damage.
"Move aside, Lord Ricardo," he hears. The Father's voice is cool and confident. He's more authoritative than Ricardo can remember hearing. "I have to take him to his pallet. I have some herbs that will help with the pain and healing. Otherwise, he's in God's hands. You'd best hope God spares him."
Ricardo barely contains his snort. He doesn't want to get into another discussion with Father Izecson about the mercy and glory of God. God isn't merciful, and it's obvious to Ricardo that He cares little for his mortal children. He leaves them to suffer untold horrors on earth.
They don't have time for such nonsense. He lets Father Izecson carry Pedro towards his room while he glares at anyone who doesn't get out of the way immediately.
It doesn't take long to settle Pedro face down on the small pallet in the corner of his room. Pedro's mumbling prayers when the remains of his tunic are removed. The damage to Pedro's back is the worst thing he's ever seen. He leaves Father Izecson with Pedro and goes to see his father.
The Duke of Porto is with his scribe, composing some sort of letter to Lisboa. They've been out of favour for years, but his father keeps trying. It's his dream to see their position and prestige with the king restored. Ricardo doesn't care about earning the king's favour. They might not have royal favour, but they're still distant relations. They don't have to worry about losing their lands, and they have the strength of arms and weapons to hold them.
His father looks startled as he storms into the man's study. The scribe startles and lets out a noise of concern.
"Leave us," Ricardo demands, his voice cold.
The man looks to his father and scurries from the room at the older man's nod.
"Ricardo, it's good to see you unharmed. The beast as well."
The tone is gently chiding, but Ricardo's not in the mood. He's just watched the marshalsea administer a totally disproportionate punishment and nearly kill a member of his household. He did so on this man’s-his father-orders. For what? To teach Ricardo a lesson? Well, he's learned a lesson, but not what his father wanted to teach.
"I doubt you've ever seen the beast, Father. You'd not like the mud in the stables."
"Ricardo..."
"Will the funeral be nice when the Spaniard dies, Father? Your man did his very best to make sure your Spanish trash will meet our Lord. Does that please you, Father? Should he ever try to touch me in such a manner, he will not live to see the next dawn."
"You should think before you act. You could have been killed."
"Had it been me, I would have died. The fall and the beating would have surely sent me to Our Lord. Perhaps, Father, you should think more on the well-being of your people and less on your return to Lisboa."
"He will survive. My instructions were not to kill him."
"The good Father says it's in God's hands now. You know what that means, Father. Perhaps God will mercifully take him from this world as he did my mother."
His father pales. "I didn't mean for it to be that severe."
"You should have been more specific. You give me this boy, and you tell me you want me to learn responsibility and restraint, but you have no control over men who have served you since before my birth. You're so obsessed with your improbable return to Lisboa that you've lost control here."
His father is pale when Ricardo leaves him sitting in his God-forsaken study with his cursed books. He ignores the servants scrambling out of his way and calls for the master of the chambers. The man responds at once.
When he finally gets back to his room, Father Izecson has removed all the cloth from the boy’s wounds and is using hot water to clean away the blood and dirt.
"Will he live, Father?"
"His wounds are bad. I will know better when they are completely clean."
Ricardo nods and paces away from the cot.
"Was it worth it, my lord?" The priest's condemnation cuts deeper than his father’s because the priest is quiet about it. He doesn't need a whip to prove his point. Just his words.
"What? Say what you mean," Ricardo growls, stopping his circuit of the room to glare at one of the servants bringing Father Izecson more hot water.
"Whatever pleasure your actions brought you, was it worth the suffering of another of God's children?"
Ricardo snorts. "The horse is one of God's children too, Father. I do not see you worrying over its fate."
When he turns to study Ricardo, Father Izecson's face is calm. "The question remains. Was it worth it?"
"I could have managed. There was no reason to bring the boy into this."
"He is to suffer in your place."
"It's not right that he should do so. He is a good man. A Spaniard, but still a good man."
"You care for him." Hushed words.
"He makes my life easier," Ricardo snaps, irritated by the distress he feels over an easily replaceable peasant boy. There is no way the boy should matter this much.
He's here to be beaten. It's his whole reason for being. It's why his father's soldiers didn't kill him years ago.
Father Izecson frowns. "Have you become so focused on becoming a good warrior that you've lost sight of the importance of being a good man? God will judge you, Ricardo. Your mind is closed to what God is trying to achieve here. I pity you. You've chosen a hard path."
Ricardo ignores that. God can chose whatever path He wishes; the only path Ricardo will consider is the one he favours.
"When will we know if he lives?"
"Tomorrow morning. If he makes it through this night, it will be a good start. If he has been chosen to live, we will see improvement soon. If we don't, well, we will see that soon too."
"Is there anything that can be done?"
"Pray."
"I will leave that you, Father. Maybe God will hear his chosen servant. He certainly doesn't hear the rest of us."
-
When Pedro comes back to himself, he feels stiff and sore. His muscles hurt, and his back aches, but it's not the sharp pain he was expecting. It's the stiffness and pain that comes after many days of healing, and it doesn't make sense.
When he opens his eyes and turns his head, Father Izecson is sitting beside his small pallet. "Father?" he croaks out, his voice hoarse and scratchy.
"Pedro? Pedro, my child, you're awake. Praise our Lord and Saviour, you're awake."
"Father?"
"You worried us quite a bit, child. After they," Father Izecson pauses, letting Pedro fill in the blanks, "you fell ill. There must have been an evil spirit in the courtyard that day because it was very bad. I was preparing myself to deliver your Last Rites and send you to our Maker, but the Lord God decided to spare you."
"I am glad to have been saved, Father. God's mercy and love are great and should not be doubted."
"Yes, they are. You should rest more now if you can."
Pedro nods weakly in response. He hasn't felt this tired and wrung out in his entire life.
The next time he wakes, Father Izecson isn't in the room with him. He understands that. The Father is busy, and Pedro knows that. Tending to the souls of the people in the house is a heavy responsibility. He knows how the world works, and the Father's time isn't to be wasted on one servant boy.
His struggles to rise bring someone to his side. He can't see who because he's face down. When he does manage to get a look by carefully turning his head, the man hovering beside him makes him think he must still be ill or somehow possessed by evil spirits that are causing him to see things.
"My lord?" his voice is small and surprised, and it causes Ricardo to stop standing over him and help him turn him over.
"Father Izecson told me you were awake. I was about to give up hope that God didn't have him imagining such miracles."
"You shouldn't say such things about God and Father Izecson. He'll punish you for your pride," Pedro chides; he blanches as soon as he's done speaking. "Forgive me, my lord. I spoke out of turn."
Ricardo watches him for a long moment instead of striking him. It's not that the lord can't; he's well within his rights to do so, and he's done it before, so Pedro's confused as to why he's just watching right now. Maybe he’s also a little bit afraid.
"Of course it would be the good Father you chose to defend, little lion."
"What?" Pedro's horrified that his mouth seems to be running away from him. Maybe he's possessed. There's no other excuse for such behaviour. He'll be lucky if Ricardo doesn't beat him for this.
"I have decided that your name will be Pedro Leon. It suits you."
"How... generous of you, my lord. May I inquire as to why?"
"I have my reasons."
Pedro knows the subject is basically closed with that. The lord has his reasons, and they're not something about which the peasants need to worry. It's supposed to be enough; it's the way of the world.
Pedro struggles to stand, forcing his legs to take his weight despite the fact they feel weak. "If you give me a moment, my lord, I will see to the fire and perhaps your bathwater."
"Be at ease, Leon. Just this once, your duties have been seen to. Work on regaining your strength quickly. You have things to do."
"Of course, my lord. As you wish," Pedro murmurs, his eyes pinned to the ground. He's confused by this new, gentler attitude, but he's not going to question it.
He grows stronger as the days pass, but Ricardo virtually disappears from his sight. Father Izecson keeps him company as he performs whatever indoor duties can be found for him. The weather, a cold rain in particular, has kept him inside the keep for fears he'll catch some other sickness.
Father Izecson allows him to study from the Bible kept in the Chapel, and Pedro treasures the opportunity to pour over the Lord's words and take His message into himself. Unfortunately for Pedro, asking Father Izecson about the change in Lord Ricardo's behaviour isn't helpful. All the priest can tell Pedro is when all hope was lost, the young Lord spent the night in the chapel, the first time anyone can ever remember Lord Ricardo in the chapel not during Mass.
God obviously has a plan for the young lord, and he's using Pedro in His plans. It's not for him to understand.
Routine eventually returns, and Pedro can all but forget Ricardo's strange behaviour, expect in combat lessons. Ricardo almost seems protective there, keeping an eye on him and not allowing the marshalsea to work with him. Despite all the years he's been forced to endure these lessons, he's still no better. He can wield a knife with some skill, but the sword is completely beyond his reach.
He watches Ricardo become the best warrior in the house as the seasons pass, mainly from the dirt and mud, but he still gets to see it. Ricardo starts to assume more of his father's responsibilities around the estate, and the Duke withdraws further into his dreams of returning to Lisboa. Pedro privately suspects a sickness of the mind, but he doesn't dare to say anything.
The Duke's illness begins to show physically soon after Ricardo's seventeenth birthday. It's almost a boon as Ricardo is a man, fully grown and more than capable of taking care of the estate himself. The Duke's obsession has become a hindrance to his people, but they can't do anything about it.
When the end appears, it comes with a rapid decline that has everyone in the house whispering about the illnesses from generations past and punishments from God. Pedro knows Father Izecson has spent a large amount of time calming the servants and trying to keep the hysteria down. People honestly believe that God is punishing their lord.
Perdo's surprised that Ricardo's father has lived this long. Granted, he doesn't have much contact with the Duke, but every time Pedro sees him, he looks worse.
Ricardo has stepped into the role very nicely. He's used to dealing with the men at arms. He's even moderately used to dealing with the tradespeople and peasant farmers who live just outside the walls. He deals with them the same way he deals with the warriors, and Pedro thinks they like that.
However, Ricardo still has politics to master. He's too blunt, too impatient, and too unconcerned. All the visitors that come when the Duke finally passes prove that. They label him as an uncultured provincial lord within hours of their arrival. He knows because their servants talk. They don't know to watch for Pedro. They think he's just another one of the kitchen boys. Their unguarded words allow him to gather information.
His position doesn't exist in their houses. They aren't wary. They should be.
Only time will temper Ricardo and make him a passable politician.
Pedro is busy feeding wood into Ricardo's fire when the lord himself storms in. He's early, and Pedro startles, dropping the wood.
"My lord," he stutters, bending down to gather the wood again, "forgive me."
Ricardo waves him away, and Pedro quickly goes back to work. Ricardo has been especially dismissive of him since he formally took over the title of Duke of Porto. It doesn't have the same cold--almost cruel--edge as before, but it's still effective.
He can't earn Pedro punishments anymore. Ricardo's become a man while Pedro was keeping his head down and trying to endure the whippings. Something changed after Pedro woke from that one whipping. Something was different, and it's never gone back to normal, but it still has Pedro on edge. Years later, it still has him on edge.
"Leon," Ricardo calls after a moment of silence.
Pedro startles. Ricardo's never given that name up, and he still has no idea why Ricardo decided on that name. However, he hears it a lot. The other servants have started to call him Leon as well.
"My lord?"
"Can you do sums as well as you read your Bible and write your letters?"
"I can do sums, my lord. Father Izecson taught me."
"Good. Come here."
Pedro nearly trips over his own feet in his haste to obey the Duke's instructions. "Yes, my lord?"
"These are the household accounts. I need someone to look them over. I don't trust my father's clerk. You have the skills. I need them. Complete this as quickly as possible."
Pedro takes the ledgers from Ricardo, bowing as he does so. "Yes, my lord."
He feeds some more wood into the fire and retreats from the room to allow Ricardo to bathe. Sitting in a quiet corner of the hall, the first thing he notices is that the accounts are a mess. It's a very real probability that the clerk was taking some of the profits from the land for himself. No one can understand what he's done.
"God's whiskers," he breathes out, then sets to work, his finger tracing across the vellum.
-
Ricardo wishes he could say losing his father is a shock, but after the last two years, it's not. It's a relief, God save his soul for thinking it.
He doesn't have to listen to his father beg for God's mercy anymore, and he doesn't have to remind himself of his father's sensibilities and love of Lisboa.
He's free to be the Duke of Porto in the way he wants. It's literally what he was born to do. In the days that follow his father's death, Pedro acts as his chamberlain and steward, keeping his house running smoothly.
He's not expecting many to attend his father's funeral. He was out of favour at court, and rumours of his illness will have spread. That's the way court politics work. Ricardo's pleased with those who do come. They're not those in favour, but they are the ones who stayed in contact with his father.
There aren't enough of them to demand an ornate ceremony. A simple ceremony suits Ricardo better anyway. His father might have been a political man at heart, but Ricardo’s not. He just wants to get Father Izecson to say some words over his father, throw some dirt on him, and lay him to rest.
There are more attendees than he'd originally expected and planned for, but Father Izecson knows exactly what to do. He says enough to seem like Ricardo is a devout man, deeply in mourning for his father, without actually saying it. Soon, he's able to shovel dirt on top of his father's coffin and walk away.
It leaves him feeling empty and blank. He's not sad. His father's dead. He's a grown man. He's eighteen by their nearest figuring, and he's ready to deal with everything that comes with being Duke of Porto. He doesn't have time to miss his father like a child. He has lands to oversee.
He doesn't have time to cry. So he most definitely doesn't have tears in his eyes for a man he hated.
When he returns to the inner bailey, Pedro is waiting for him. His chamberlain, his whipping boy, is waiting for him. The man is the closest thing to a confident he has is calm, collected, and has the rest of the house well in hand.
"Rooms have been found for your noble guests, and space in the hall has been made for their outriders and servants."
He nods.
"Father Izecson is available to speak to you if you wish, my lord."
"Why would I need to talk to the Father? Tell him to pray for my father's immortal soul, and let me get on with my life, Leon."
"Of course, my lord. In that case, a Lord Jose Mourinho is waiting on your convenience. He wishes to speak to you."
Ricardo nods and heads to the study. Lord Mourinho was an ally of his father's, an important one.
The most important one.
Part 2
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