When Pip was a still just a boy, he had once been beaten for taking a piece of cake from the kitchens, and had run away to the stables to tell the horses about his problems. A tall young nobleman with untidy brown hair had come in to groom his horse, and found Pip whispering sadly in its ear.

"Hey, what's wrong, little one?" said the young nobleman kindly. "You've been crying."

Pip wiped his eyes and looked cross at being found in his hiding place.

"I got a good kicking from the second assistant cook, but I'm not a thief," he said, his lower lip trembling. "I was hungry, and I never get to eat cake, and they always make loads and loads for tea at the palace, and I bet they don't even eat them all."

"You're right kiddo, they don't," admitted the young man. "Most of them are on some diet or other. Here, I've got some chocolate biscuits in the pocket of my cloak. Do you want one?"

Pip ate all the biscuits, which had a pleasant tweedy flavour from being kept in a pocket, and then the young man found that he had a banana in the other pocket, and Pip ate that as well. He wasn't starved, but he never got quite enough to eat either, and devoured the food with urgency.

"Do you like horses?" asked the young man, brushing down his white steed.

"Yes sir, they always make me feel better," said Pip, watching the man, and noticing that he was very careful and gentle with the horse, but touched it firmly so that the horse didn't get nervous and skittish. "Horses say such sensible things when you feel sad."

"You can understand the speech of animals, then?" asked the man in an interested way, and it was clear that he immediately believed Pip.

"Yes sir," said Pip.

"Well, that's a rare gift," said the man thoughtfully. "I'm just off for a ride. Would you like to come with me, and tell me what my horse thinks about things? His name is Arran."

Pip gave the man a grin, and as soon as he'd saddled and bridled his horse, the man mounted, then lifted Pip up so that the boy was just in front of him.

"Feel alright there?" asked the man. When Pip nodded, he put one arm around him to keep him safe, and wrapped his cloak around them both before they went cantering out of the stable yard.

They had ridden right to the edge of the forest, and the man told Pip about the deer who could be found there, and how, if you were very quiet, little rabbits would come up to you and hop quite nearby. And in the spring, there were carpets of bluebells that smelt like heaven.

Pip eagerly said that he had talked to deer and bunnies when he was little, and how he would like to meet some again. The young nobleman smiled uncomfortably, and didn't say that he had often hunted the deer and rabbits.

"So what does Arran think about me, then?" the man asked Pip.

Pip had a brief conversation with the horse they were riding.

"He says you are a kind master, and there's plenty to eat, but you never bring enough sugar lumps with you," he answered solemnly. "And he says you have good hands when you ride, but your seat needs improving. He can really feel you come down on him when he gallops."

"No man is a hero to his valet – or his horse," chuckled the nobleman, his little brown eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement.

"What's a ... a vallit?" asked Pip in puzzlement.

"A valet? It is a manservant who cares for a gentleman's clothes and shoes, and makes sure he always looks nice," explained the nobleman. "He cuts his hair, shaves him, puts lotion on his skin, runs his bath, things like that."

"Is it a good job, being a valet?" Pip asked curiously.

"Oh yes, valets are well paid and highly regarded at the palace," the nobleman said. "We call a valet the gentleman's gentleman."

"Do you have a valet?" asked Pip. "Because he hasn't done your hair at all."

"I'm sort of between valets at the moment," said the nobleman with an embarrassed smile. "The truth is, none of them can stand my ways, and they soon get sick of my temper, and head out the door to valet for someone else."

"You don't seem like you have a temper," said Pip, for the young man had been nothing but kind to him.

"Well, I do," the man said shortly. "I'm a rough, surly bear with a sore head who snarls like a wolf. I hate being fussed over and made to look smooth and pretty, it makes me nervous. And I have no patience when things aren't done exactly as I please."

"Why did your last valet leave?" Pip wanted to know.

"He ruined one of my shirts in the wash, and I blew up at him, and he cried, and said he couldn't take another minute of my spoilt tantrums," the nobleman confessed honestly.

"Could I be your valet?" asked Pip. "I love clothes, and keeping things nice."

"Why, didn't I just say I'm unbearable to work for?" the man said with a grin. It was a grin which went sideways, to Pip's fascination, and did make the man look rather wolfish.

"I wouldn't fuss over you or annoy you," Pip said in a wheedling tone. "I'd brush your hair so quietly, you wouldn't even know I was there."

"You're a bit on the young side, kiddo," smiled the nobleman. "And valets need to be trained."

"I'll start training now, so when I'm old enough I can be your valet," said Pip. 

"People don't usually .... move from one part of the palace to another," the man said awkwardly.

A different sort of nobleman would have bluntly told Pip that kitchen brats don't get trained as valets, and cuffed him for his impertinence, but the young man shrank from hurting Pip. There was something so naïve and fragile about him, but plucky too.

"If it's not usual, then it must happen sometimes," Pip said confidently. "And then I can take care of you forever."

"Hey, do you want to go for a gallop?" the man asked Pip. "Let's see how fast Arran can go with two people, and if I can improve my seat."

Pip laughed, and then the young man held him tight as they took off, his strong arm securely around Pip lest he fall. They galloped for quite ten minutes, and then they trotted around the edge of the forest, which Pip knew was reserved for the royal family. The man pointed out a roe deer amongst the trees, and Pip watched open-mouthed as the deer turned and ran, its white tail bobbing behind it.

They went back to the palace at a walking pace to let Arran cool down, but even so the man still kept his arm tight around the boy. Pip snuggled into the warmth of his body, for the day was chilly, and the tweed cloak very welcome. On the way back, the man told Pip funny stories to make him laugh, such as the time the prince had tripped on the stairs at an official function, and fallen right on top of the Queen of Norway.

"Oh no, the poor prince!" giggled Pip.

"Don't feel sorry for him – the man's an absolute fool," the nobleman said. "I shouldn't say this to anyone, so keep it under your hat, but the prince is a buffoon. Quite unworthy to rule the kingdom."

"That's alright, we have King Peter anyway," Pip said.

"How his royal majesty had such an ill-favoured son I do not know," sighed the nobleman. "King Peter is a dignified, scholarly man, and yet look at the prince! An odd-looking, tattered, clumsy misfit. No wonder the king tries to keep him out of sight most of the time."

"I've seen paintings of the prince in the staff quarters," Pip said thoughtfully, "and in his pictures he looks very handsome and noble. Almost too handsome – everything so perfect that no feature really stands out."

"Ha, royal portraits!" laughed the man. "They make everyone look the same. You wouldn't even recognise the prince from his official portraits. Now, I bet you're a good artist, aren't you?" And Pip forgot about royalty, and excitedly told the man how much he loved drawing and painting.

It was the happiest day of Pip's life since he started working in the palace kitchens. He couldn't believe how kind the man had been to him – giving him biscuits and a banana, taking him for a ride on his own horse, and talking to him as if they were equals.

When the man brought him back to the stable, he carefully lifted Pip down, saying, "There you go, kiddo. Run back to the kitchens now, and try to be a good boy so you don't get beaten again. What's your name, anyway?"

"Shadow," said Pip, who had been experimenting with changing his name, and thought this one sounded dark and mysterious. "What's yours?"

"Rue," said the man with a grimace. "Silly sort of name, but that's the name I was given, and I'm stuck with it, Shadow."

"Can we go riding again tomorrow?" begged Pip, his big blue eyes as beseeching as he knew how.

"I'm sorry, Shadow," said Rue with genuine regret, "but I'm leaving for a diplomatic mission to Denmark tomorrow. I'll be gone for a while, otherwise I would have loved to take you out."

Pip waved goodbye to his new friend, who unfortunately was going away. It was a doomed friendship, Pip knew. Not only was Pip a boy and Rue a grown man, but noblemen did not make friends with servants. If they were nice, they might treat a child with kindness, but if he and Rue met as adults, he would be lucky to get even a polite smile from him.

Back in the kitchen, Pip started nosing around, asking if anyone knew of a young courtier named Sir Rue or Lord Rue who lived at the palace.

"I regret to say, there's no Rue here!" said Senor Montez with a rough laugh at his own wit. "Except in the kitchen garden, you're welcome to pick some if you like."

"Is it short for something, like Rupert or Rufus or Rudolf?" one of the kitchen wenches asked. "Because I've never heard of anyone with those names at the palace before."

"It's short for Rhubarb," snickered the second assistant cook.

"No, he said his name was Rue, just Rue," Pip answered. "He said that was the name he was given."

"Perhaps you're thinking of another bitter herb, like valerian," said one of the maidservants kindly. "There's Sir Valerian Courtmantle, but he's terribly old, at least seventy."

"No, he's much younger than that – around seventeen or eighteen," insisted Pip.

"Pip has an imaginary friend," sneered someone, and soon he couldn't mention Rue again, or everyone would say they were tired of his lies. Pip knew Rue wasn't imaginary though – he could still taste the banana Rue had given him, and he had white horse hairs on his clothes.

His one comfort amid all the teasing was that the second assistant cook was given the sack the next day. When anyone asked why, the answer was, "The order came direct from the palace". Pip couldn't help thinking that Rue might be responsible, and that it was probably for the best if nobody believed he existed.

Pip spent a lot of time thinking about Rue, and how it had felt being held close to Rue's body, with a strong arm around him. He had never felt more safe in his life, and he wished for Rue to return so they could go riding again before Pip was too old.

He slipped out to the stables whenever he could, but Arran was never there, and the other horses couldn't tell Pip where he had gone, or when he would be back. Time and geography were not in their vocabulary, and diplomatic missions a foreign concept. Horses can be trained for war, but not diplomacy.

Sometimes Pip daydreamed that he became Rue's valet, so that he could spend all day with him –and all night too. He wouldn't mind taking care of Rue's clothes and hair, running his bath, and rubbing lotion into his skin to keep it smooth. Despite the warnings of temper, he was sure Rue was the kind of man who would treat his servant decently. Maybe Rue would even let Pip sleep on his bed, curled up at the end like a faithful little dog.

That wasn't too much to hope for, was it?

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LINDENSEA LORE

This herb Ruda, or as the common folk call it, Rue, is the Queen of Herbs, and lieth under the dominion of Our Lady Moon. It is a tradition with many to strew the bedchamber with Rue to defendeth from the plague, and it giveth powerful protection from all noxious and wicked things. Although there be many a pretty receipt for dishes made with this herb, some learned from the Romans, its principal use now is in the arts of magick. For wise women sayeth the herb shall bring forth love, but of this I must remain silent, as it is a great secret. The name of the herb Rue is most curious, for it means to set free in the Greek tongue, and I oft have thought the herb should bring liberty in some way of which I know not.

From The Lindensea Husewife's Compleat Herbal by Dame Ysmay Relish