The new herald knocked Masolon's door, announcing the arrival of the High Cleric and all the guests at the great hall. When Masolon took a deep breath of air, Payton grinned. "I would be nervous if I were you. Let's go."
Surrounded by the royal guards, Masolon descended the stairs with careful steps. At the door of the great hall stood Ziyad wearing a blue doublet. "It's your night, brother," Ziyad whispered to him as he entered. All men in the hall, including Gramus, Foubert, and even Jonson rose up. The bald lord must have been galloping non-stop from Ramos to Paril.
"To the head table," Payton instructed, his voice low. "Next to Master Petrilius."
Only one bald man clad in red and white sat at the head table, his neck and forehead wrinkled. "Who are the ladies?" Masolon glanced at the women and girls attending the ceremony as he slowly advanced toward the head table atop the dais.
"I recognize Lord Jonson's wife, their daughters and granddaughters," Payton replied in the same low voice. "I don't know the rest, but probably, they relate to commanders from Paril and Ramos. The time before the wedding wasn't enough for those coming from Kalhom and the East."
So, Foubert has not brought his family. When Masolon reached his seat, he remained standing, as Payton had taught him about royal wedding traditions, and so did all the attendants, waiting for the bride's entrance.
And there she came at last.
Clad in a long, green silk dress embroidered with gold, Rona stunned everybody as she slowly walked across the hall. Long, golden hair flew down her back. The golden tiara and the pearls decorating her hair shone like a sun chased by small stars. The more she approached the head table, the stronger his heart pounded. He had seen her hundreds of times before, but at this very moment, she looked more gorgeous than any time ever. Even Master Petrilius could not take his eyes off her, Masolon caught him.
"How can you just keep looking prettier every time I see you?" Masolon lowered his voice, gazing at her as she stood before him.
She gave him a warning look, yet she could not help smiling. He was supposed to stay silent until the High Cleric finished his work.
Standing between Masolon and his bride, Petrilius closed his eyes when he loudly intoned phrases in the Old Bermanian Tongue, from which Masolon did not understand a single word. The High Cleric then opened his eyes. "Masolon," he called out, keeping his voice loud although he was so close to him. "Make all these people hear you say:
"I, Masolon...
"Vow to love and support you...
"In joy and grief...
"In health and sickness...
"In prosperity and hardship...
"I pledge...
"To be for you...
"In honesty and with sincerity...
"A faithful and kind husband...
"And the Lord is my witness."
Masolon was repeating every phrase, his eyes seeking Rona's.
Petrilius turned to Rona, calling her by her name, asking her to repeat his words.
"I, Rona daughter of Charlwood...
"Vow to love and support you...
"In joy and grief...
"In health and sickness...
"In prosperity and hardship...
"I pledge...
"To be for you...
"In honesty and with sincerity...
"A faithful and obedient wife...
"And the Lord is my witness."
As Rona finished her words, Petrilius hollered, raising his right hand, "In the name of the Lord of Sky and Earth, I proclaim Masolon and Rona husband and wife."
The attendants cheered and clapped. Masolon could distinguish Ziyad's YEAAAA among the clamor. As the High Cleric stepped back, Masolon held Rona's hand, staring at her charming face. "It happened." His voice was lost in the hustle. "Unbelievable, is it not?"
"I am yours, and you are mine," she tilted her head, "forever."
He would take Rona in his arms and leave this hall to be alone with her, but Payton had warned him not to violate the rituals of a royal Bermanian wedding. Masolon had already been through a wedding before in Herlog, and it had not been that strict. It will never be easy for Bermanians to accept a foreigner king. Today you have a chance to show everybody you are one of them. Don't ruin it. Masolon recalled Payton's advice. All he should do now was a little more waiting.
The babel of voices calmed down as Masolon's squire entered the great hall carrying the Bermanian crown of six gemstones on a red pillow. When the lad reached Rona, the hall was totally silent. The Queen took the crown from the red pillow and placed it over Masolon's head. "In accordance to the rights granted by our bond, I proclaim you, Masolon, King of Bermania." She knelt and kissed his hand. Every man and woman in the hall knelt, including Master Petrilius himself.
"All hail King Masolon!" The herald hollered, raising his fist. "All hail King Masolon!" The attendants shook the hall, their thundering voices making Masolon shiver.
Foubert advanced to the dais and bent his knee before Masolon. "In the name of the Lord of Sky and Earth, I, Foubert of Lapond and Karun, swear to you Masolon, King of Bermania, that from this hour, I will be faithful to you and your bloodline without deception. I will give you possession of my castles and fiefs as you demand them of me. My soldiers will be at your disposal as you will."
Jonson and Gramus were next. The bald lord should be glad as he was now holding the city of Ramos that he had always wanted, with all its fiefs and castles. Yet Masolon wished he could see through Jonson's heart at this particular moment; when Jonson had to kneel before the King. As for Gramus, Masolon was not in need for this wish. I already know how you feel, Gramus.
All who witnessed the coronation in the great hall came to the head table to swear fealty to the King, one by one. Jonson's relatives, commanders, lesser lords, the Royal Guard, and even Ziyad, no one excepted. After Masolon was done receiving oaths of homage, servants started serving food and drinks on tables. Music was played.
"Are you hungry?" Masolon asked Rona who sat next to him.
"I barely ate this morning." She grinned.
"We can have supper upstairs," he suggested.
She playfully arched an eyebrow. "Supper might stain the sheets."
"The sheets will be stained anyway."
She leaned one elbow on the table, her fingers playing with her hair. "It would be better if we wait until our guests finish their dinner."
She is testing my patience. "Our guests will be at more ease if we leave."
"If it pleases you, my king." She tilted her head, still leaning her elbow on the table. Curse me! Her seducing smile was irresistible.
"Let us go." Masolon took her hand and both rose up, their guests pushing to their feet at once. "As you were." Masolon managed a smile, gesturing to his guests with his palm. As he moved away from the dais, Payton and his guards surrounded him.
"Easy, Captain," said Masolon. "We are inside the royal palace."
"My duty is to ensure your safety anywhere, Your Grace." Payton slightly bowed.
"It's alright, Your Grace," said Rona, pressing his hand. Masolon took a deep breath and went outside the hall with his queen, escorted by the Royal Guard. What is the harm? Just a few more minutes.
After going upstairs and then to the corridor leading to the royal bedchamber, Masolon stopped. "You may leave now, Captain. Nothing harmful can come through these walls."
Payton bowed again and stepped back with the other royal guards. Yet they did not walk away.
"Curse you, Payton." Masolon gnashed his teeth as he walked with Rona to their bedchamber. "What is it?" he asked when she giggled.
"You should see your face." She covered her mouth with her hand.
"Yes, yes, keep giggling." He smiled crookedly. I cannot wait to hear you moan.
The four swordsmen guarding the door of their room bent their knees when Masolon and Rona went past them and entered. Curse me! I will not be the only one who hears her. . .
Disturbed by the thought, Masolon stepped out
side. "You may join your brothers-in-arms at the end of the corridor." He pointed at Payton and the rest of the Royal Guard. As the four swordsmen exchanged hesitant looks, Masolon glared at them. "Now!"
After making sure that all soldiers were far enough, Masolon entered the bedchamber for the second time. "Curse these crowded palaces!" he mumbled.
"O please, sweetheart." Rona sat at the edge of the bed, her hands resting on its blue sheet. "Nothing should anger you at this very night."
"You are absolutely right." He sighed. Not at this very night. It had been a while since they were alone. Now the only barrier standing in his way to her perfect, ivory body was her green dress.
"Would you help me with my dress?" His flirty bride tilted her head.
"With pleasure, Your Grace." He took his time to entertain his eyes with her curves. "Let me start with this brooch over your breast."
19. BEN
Ben hurried to the wooden gate when he heard the clamor. As he approached, he found seven fellows from the Brave Lads gathered in a circle. "Let's see what we have here," he heard Ted say. "Three swords, one bow, three arrows, two daggers, a fur coat, two copper coins, and a belt."
"Are you sure you didn't steal anything, you thief?" Edd sniggered.
"You dare call me thief, you bastard?" Ted scowled.
"Hey! Hey!" Ben yelled, the lads letting him join the circle. "What is going on here?" He gazed at the items sprawled on the ground.
"Ted and I killed three robbers." Edd was excited. "With the first ray of sunlight, we caught them trying to sneak into the village. When we started shooting them, they ran into the woods, but we didn't let them flee. We chased them until we hunted them down. Look what we have plundered."
In the last few months, all villages of Ramos and Paril had served either of the two clashing armies, sparing meager provisions to their unfortunate residents. As they were getting more miserable and more desperate, robbery was rising. Ben had hoped that life might become less rough after the end of this bloody war and after the coronation of King Masolon—Ben always bragged to the new lads about the night watches and the conversations he had had with the King—yet there were still rumors of another coming war with the South. All men, and maybe boys, would be summoned soon for more blood rivers to run.
"They ran into the woods and you chased them," Ben repeated what Ted was narrating. "What did we say about abandoning our posts?"
"We wanted to make sure they would never come back," Edd justified.
"We never abandon our posts," Ben firmly said, glaring at Edd and Ted. "What if it was just a decoy so that others could pass through the undefended walls?"
Edd rubbed his hair.
"Fine. Thanks for the lesson," Ted said, irked by Ben's reproach. "What about this loot?"
"How are we going to divide this?" Edd hurriedly asked.
The other lads started to argue with Ted and Edd, who wanted the whole plunder to themselves as they were the ones who had killed the thieves. Ben ignored them as he heard the cracking of an approaching cart. It was Nell, his wife, and their daughter Doly, their belongings loaded behind them. They were not the first family to leave the village escaping from the war.
"Not a good idea if you ask me." Ben shook his head when the cart stopped at the closed gate.
"Let me out, boy," Nell demanded. "I won't stay here until we start eating each other."
"The road outside is not safe." Ben glanced at Doly and her mother. "If your safety does not matter to you, think of your women before you take them on such a journey."
"I will take my chances."
"Do you think that life in the North is better than here?" Ben knew that those who had left the village had headed to Kalhom. "When the war comes, they will gather men and food from all regions."
"Open the gate, Ben," Nell insisted. "I don't want to say it again."
Ben exhaled. "Open the gate, lads," he commanded, his eyes fixed on Doly whose face was puffed and a bit flushed. Although it was not that cold this morning, she pulled a cloak twice her size about her slender shoulders. Poor girl. She had locked herself in her father's house since she left Masolon—or since Masolon left her; nobody exactly knew. Except for her parents, Smit was the only one who had seen her in the last five months. Ben remembered that he had escorted the old man once or twice to Nell's house.
Blast! An awkward thought crossed his mind when the wooden gate was closed behind the departing cart. With wide steps, he left the lads. "Ben! We are not done with this booty!" He ignored their yells as he trotted toward Smit's house.
The old man could still be sleeping, but Ben banged on the door with his fist when he arrived. From inside the house, Smit yelled, "What is it?"
"It's me, Smit."
The old man opened the door, alarmed. "Something wrong, son?"
"She is pregnant, isn't she?" Ben looked Smit in the eye
"Wha...what are you talking about?" Smit was confused, or he pretended he was.
"Doly." Ben leaned forward toward the old man.
Smit shushed him and motioned him to come inside. When Ben entered and closed the door behind him, he asked the old man, "You knew about it from the beginning, didn't you?"
"Only when Nell asked for my help," Smit admitted. "The girl was too sick, and she could have lost her boy."
"A boy?" Ben was astounded. "How do you . . ?"
"Son, I have attended to generations of pregnant women in this village. I can know it from the mother's face."
A boy, or a girl; that was not the subject now. "The Nells are not escaping from the war; they are escaping from us. From anyone who may know who they are. Is that right?"
"You must understand their fears, Ben," said Smit. "That babe is in danger after Masolon has become King. What do you think the Queen will do when she learns that the Bermanian Crown Prince is not her son? She may not kill the babe alone; she may also kill his mother and her family and burn the whole village down into ashes."
"You are going too far, Smit." Ben shook his head.
"Me? Going too far?" Smit curled his nose, his eyebrows drawn together. "You are so green, kid. Haven't you heard about Charlwood's massacre in Lapond? Not a woman or a child was spared. Those who were not swiftly slaughtered by cold blades were slowly cooked by blazing flames!"
Ben grimaced, unable to imagine the horrible sight. "Surprised, kid?" the old man snapped. "There is much evil in this world more than your innocent heart can stomach."
Smit coughed hard. Ben helped him seat himself on the nearest chair and brought him a cup of water. For an instant, Ben was worried the old man's heart might stop. He had never seen Smit that nervous.
"Easy now, Smit." Ben patted the old man's back.
Smit let out a breath of air, looking down at the floor. "These lands have sunk into a bottomless bloodbath because of a woman's lust for power." He turned to Ben. "Do you think she will let some peasant's son become the heir of the very throne she waged her cursed war for? Are you too naive to see that?"
Perhaps, I am. Ben bit his lower lip. Suddenly, he felt too small in this world. Too small to make any difference. "Still it is not right to separate a father and a son from each other."
Smit held his hand. "Sometimes we have to choose to do the wise thing, not the right thing."
"I will try to live with that." Ben avoided Smit's eyes.
"We will never speak of this again, or even whisper with it to ourselves." Smit wagged his finger firmly. "Swear you will never ever tell anybody about this matter."
Rubbing his hair, Ben took a deep breath. Two words were all he had to say. Two words that would save a family from its doom, but they would deprive a father and his son of each other. Probably, forever.
"Alright." Ben sighed. "I swear."
PART 2
THE TWO-HEADED LION
20. POLAPOPOLOS
A cold winter breeze kissed Polapopolos's cheeks when he poured the red juice from the silver pitcher into his golden goblet. To him, the fresh
Byzont red grape juice was the best drink ever existed. Leaning back to a pillow on the wooden seat of his terrace, he enjoyed the sight of the green tops of Sergrad Mountains, the Eastern Shields of Byzonta. Since the beginning of time, the Murasen cavalry had never come close to Inabol thanks to those natural forts.
Polapopolos could hear the heavy banging on the door of his mansion. "It must be Olago. I mean Lord Olago." He motioned his page to hurry to the poor door before Olago might smash it with his massive fist. Curse those Mankols! They don't know the difference between entering a fine house and storming a muddy barn!
Tired and grim, Olago was clad in a black cloak over his purple tunic and blue breeches when he stepped into the terrace, Polapopolos's page escorting him. "Lord Olago, come to me." Polapopolos opened his arms, but Olago kept his distance from him, ignoring the welcoming gesture. "No?" Polapopolos arched an eyebrow. "At least, you need some rest. Even Mankols feel tired from long journeys, don't they?"
Olago slowly approached, glancing at Polapopolos's page. "Can we talk here?" he coldly asked, his long, silky, black hair swinging every time he moved his head.
Polapopolos waved his page away. "Let me have the honor of entertaining you, Lord Olago." From the table in front of him, he grabbed the silver pitcher and poured from it into another golden goblet.
"A lord and a third-born son," Olago impassively remarked, taking the flagon from Polapopolos's hand.
"How can I help the third-born son of King Cunshez, the Kaan of Mankols?" Polapopolos filled his goblet for the second time.
Olago gulped down his drink. "I need a war." He wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
"You are already having one with the Rusakians."
"That's my father's war, not mine." Olago curled his lips. "Besides, we are on our way to make a truce with the Rusakians. I'm surprised the news hasn't reached Byzonta yet."
Of course, it had. But it would not harm to let the Mankol prince offer all he knew. "A truce? It is not the Rusakian winter, is it?"
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