‘Very well.’ She was sitting demurely on her bed; he pulled the chair from her dresser so that he could sit facing her.
‘Did you hear me earlier when I said I had to speak to Berek?’ she nodded. ‘Well, my discussions involved making preparations at Erskon House for a visit from the Grand Duke some six weeks from now.’
‘I didn’t know he was due to go there; he normally only visits in high summer, and that is now passed.’
‘No,’ Nicholas said, ‘he doesn’t normally, but this is different because I will be hosting one of the biggest events of the year.’
The axe had fallen; she spoke, knowing his reply long before it came. ‘It is my wedding, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, my dear, I am afraid it is.’
‘Well, then, I suppose you had better tell me all about it.’
‘Indeed, now where shall I start? First of all, I had many things to discuss with the Grand Duke and had decided to leave your nuptials until the end of my stay; I had half a hope that it would be forgotten, what with the eastern war becoming a priority again, but it was not to be. The night before last we were at dinner, myself, the Grand Duke, Duke Edrington, Duke Marschall, Barons Duneck, Fillebrand, Gerlig, Richney and others, when out of the blue the Grand Duke spoke up, saying to me “What about that daughter of yours? Sorted a husband for her yet?” I replied that I get petitions for you every day and was in no hurry to arrange anything. There was a groan at this, half the barons at the table had a son they wanted to foist on me. At that point, though, Leontius, the Grand Duke, interceded. ‘I am sorry my, friend; I would not normally do this to you without a private discussion first but it so happens I have a match for her.’ Duke Nicholas stopped and looked directly into Ceriana’s large eyes. ‘I cannot tell you how my heart sank at this news. I was hoping to hold on to you for at least a year or two more, and now I was not even to get to choose a husband for you.’
She met his gaze steadily. ‘Go on.’
‘Leontius has been Grand Duke for nearly two years now, as you know. At first, knowing how well I got on with his father, he readily listened to what I had to say. Alas, this last year or so I have seen my influence waning. He is a young man and it is the younger nobility that mostly have his ear. For years, for example, I have argued for a negotiated settlement to this pointless and costly eastern war, Leontius, though, now wants a decisive victory without understanding that one is hardly possible without great sacrifice. It is frustrating – he has the makings of a fine ruler but the advice he listens to is, I feel, leading him down paths best left untrodden.’
‘Water, Father?’ Ceriana handed him a bowl into which she had just dispensed water from a jug on her bedside table. His voice was getting a little husky. He readily accepted, drank, and continued.
‘Well, apart from you, the two main reasons why I was seeing the Grand Duke was to discuss reinforcing the war in the east, details of which I will not bore you with now, and to discuss the latest unrest among the northern barons. As you know, they are not native Tanarese but rather are descended from the men of Kibil who were given safe haven here when they fled from their Chiran conquerors some two hundred and fifty years ago. The northern territories are quite poor; the coast is rugged and rocky with many small islands, each of them a baronial holding in their own right. Recent harvests haven’t been good up there and local discontent has been fuelled by many of the more outspoken barons. It is an odd situation. They would never openly declare against the Grand Duke – they are nowhere near powerful enough – but they may rebel in some other form, demanding more autonomy or more control over their taxes. We know that a heavy-handed response to any rebellion with ringleaders executed and troops sent in would only make the matter worse; force is at best an ultimate sanction only to be used when other methods have failed, and with the war in the east already draining resources a protracted struggle on two fronts is not what the nation needs.’
Ceriana could see what he was driving at. ‘I am to marry one of them?’
The Duke of Hartfield nodded.
‘But, Father, the north is ... is the middle of nowhere. The people are poor and backward; some even say that brothers marry sisters there and all their children have six fingers and toes!’
He managed a weak laugh. ‘Not all rumours are true. They are grim and stoic folk, yes, but they are not without honour. Indeed, they have so much of it they can be difficult to deal with at times.’
‘So the Grand Duke wants to use me to ... to bribe these blackguards into behaving themselves. Am I not more important than to be traded off to a fisherman who has never seen the inside of a bath?’
‘Alas, Ceriana, you are my fourth child and outside my castle and lands you are seen as nowhere near as important as my son, or even my other daughters. You are, however, important enough to be used to assuage the northerners.’
She raised her voice in frustration. ‘But I will never see you again, Father; the north is an age of travel away – you never visit there!’
‘On the contrary, Leontius is hoping I will visit regularly, backed up with a large quantity of knights and men at arms, just to show the locals the strength of his supporters.’
Her shoulders sagged; there was no point in fighting. ‘Well, who is this husband to be then?’ she asked tremulously.
‘He commands the island of Osperitsan, the largest and most powerful of their baronetcies. His name is Wulfthram and he is seen as the voice of the north. His previous wife died three years ago – disease claimed her.’
‘Does he have children? How old is he?’
‘No children, no legitimate ones anyway. As to his age I am unsure, but the general reckoning at court is that he is about twice as old as you.’
‘Twice as old,’ she said, half to herself. ‘Any more bad news? Have all his teeth fallen out? Does his breath smell like a village latrine in summer? Please do not say that he has six fingers.’
‘I have met him barely and have no clear recollection, but Leontius speaks quite well of him, apart from his tendency to rebellion of course. Not your typical northerner were his words; he even shaves his beard apparently.’
‘Sounds like you are trying to soften the blow,’ she said. ‘How is Mother taking it?’
‘How do you imagine?’ he sighed. ‘He is not the husband she envisaged for you. I have spent the last hour feeding her wildthorn berries and trying to calm her down.’
‘If you have any left,’ she said with a shrug, ‘bring them over to me! ... I have six weeks then.’
‘Yes, you will marry at Erskon. The Grand Duke will use the occasion to size up the northern barons, then you will travel to Osperitsan the following morning. My first official visit will be some time after.’
‘I imagine this Wulfthram is as unhappy about this match as we are.’
‘Yes and no. On the surface it will be seen as an effort to rein him in, so I would expect a public display of reserved antipathy; however, in reality a northern baron has just been given a seat at the Grand Duke’s high table. It is almost unprecedented. It is forcing him to tread a line between pleasing his fellow barons and pleasing the Grand Duke, which is of course Leontius’s intention in the first place.’
There was silence for a moment. She stood up and looked out of the window staring idly at a lone goose pecking its way across the courtyard’s straw-covered stone. Her world was falling in on her. ‘Thank you for telling me, Father, for explaining everything. If this is my duty, I will not fail you.’
‘Thank you, my dear, and I am sorry.’ He came towards her, kissed her gently on the forehead, then turned and left the room.
Ceriana watched him go, down the narrow passageway leading from her room then down the steps towards the great hall. She then shut the door, sat on the bed and rubbed her eyes, trying desperately to stop the tears welling up inside them.
She needed to get out of the castle. Being the daughter of a duke, however, this was easier said than done. Firstly she had to tell the seneschal
who had to arrange an escort, check her route so any undesirables could be cleared out of the way, and organise wagons, supplies and the like. Once all that was done, she could proceed.
The coastline around the castle was all high cliffs and precipitous drops, but some two miles away a small river, barely more than a stream, cut a cleft through the hills before entering the sea. Where it did this there was a small rocky beach that could be accessed only via a steep path that was almost completely concealed by brakes of high ferns on both sides. This beach was a favourite spot of Ceriana’s; it was quiet, with just the sound of the sea, the gulls and the wind whipping her hair into an unholy mess. The wagons had to be left at the top of the path and those retainers and soldiers who had no choice about remaining up there with them had to endure the steep climb down, burdened as they were with provender and other essentials required for a picnic on the beach.
She took a little guilty pleasure in hearing them cursing and sweating as they clambered over the soft earth and pebbles. The ferns made the air still and hot, and the cloying smell of the densely packed vegetation filled the soldiers’ noses. At long last, at the bottom of the path, the ground levelled, the ferns suddenly fell away and they were hit with the shock of the sea air billowing around them, cooling the sweat on their faces, its exhilarating freshness bringing new vigour to tired legs. The journey back up the hill was another matter entirely but Ceriana would worry about that later. Now she was just standing looking at the waves as they broke on the sand and crashed against rocks, and wondering if she would ever see one of her favourite spots again.
Lady Catherine scurried up to her, her pinched face blotched red with exertion. ‘I really wish you would choose somewhere more accessible for your walk, my Lady.’
‘If it was easy to get to, then it would be full of people and hardly the same place at all. The effort to get here makes this a much more appreciable place, don’t you think?’
‘I don’t think my legs will be appreciating anything tomorrow,’ the girl groaned.
But Ceriana wasn’t listening to her; she had already started to walk along the beach. Ahead of her a couple of soldiers fanned out, with more either side and behind her. Just clambering through the ferns were some servants, including some unfortunates bearing heavy hampers for the meal they would take on the beach.
Since the conversation with her father she had gradually come to terms with the fate awaiting her. The wedding was now only a couple of weeks away and, although she had always imagined that she would want to control all the minutiae of its organisation, she found herself surprised to find that she had no interest in it at all. Rather, she was content to let the myriad servants, courtiers and sycophants who had appeared at the announcement to get on with it. Instead, she contented herself with seclusion, being surrounded with as few people as possible and taking in the joys of reading, Megan’s harp and even embroidery, although she was still terrible at it. She felt that she was a passive observer in her own life; it was a journey in which she was merely a passenger and she had no control of either the destination or the directions required to get there. If that was the way it was to be, she thought, then so be it. She could get married standing in a muddy puddle and wearing the hides of beasts if that was what they wanted. She had to content herself with small victories and today was one of them.
Berek came up to her; he could be quite a cold fish at times, although he was always so busy she never blamed him for it. He didn’t need to come along really, but she sensed that he was just as relieved to get out for a few hours as she was. ‘My Lady,’ he enquired, ‘is there any particular place you would like us to set up your picnic?’
‘Oh, somewhere quite close to the stream, I suppose. Not too close, though; we don’t want anyone falling in.’ She giggled at this as though the idea of someone falling in was actually quite amusing.
‘As you wish, my Lady. Just give us ten minutes or so to set things up.’
‘Of course, Berek. In the meantime I will walk along the beach just where the waves come in.’
‘Don’t get your feet wet, my Lady.’
‘I will try not to but I doubt if I will have any success,’ she said impishly.
He smiled, a notable event in itself. ‘Well, we have towels and clean shoes should they be required, my Lady.’
‘Thank you, Berek. You think of everything.’
She left him and, along with Lady Catherine, meandered slowly towards the shoreline. The phalanx of soldiers still stood protectively ahead of her and behind her, although apart from their party the beach was deserted. She looked back to see Berek and a dozen servants fixing up trestle tables (who on earth had carried them? she wondered) and opening hampers, although the wind was doing its best to foil their endeavours. The early-afternoon sun was strong off the sea and when she looked ahead of her she had to shelter her eyes with her hand.
There appeared to be something of a commotion with the soldiers ahead of her. One was pointing to an object that appeared to have been brought in by the tide; another soldier was trying to get Berek’s attention by waving and shouting in his direction. The wind whipped his voice away almost before she could hear the words –
‘Sir Berek, a body, a body on the beach!’
Curious, she turned her head back towards the object in question and saw that it was indeed as the soldier had described it. It was too far away for her to make out any distinctive features but it looked like a man, a man in a black cloak and boots. She was about to go in for a closer look but at that point Berek stepped in front of her.
‘No, my Lady, let the soldiers and myself deal with this; he may have been in the sea a long time.’
Thus stymied, she turned and walked away from the soldiers who were rushing to the scene, towards a large rock that stood up from the beach like a rotten tooth, shallow waves breaking gently against it.
Lady Catherine, having caught up with her, put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, Elissa, how terrible!’
‘Go to the servants, Catherine. Stay with them until Berek says otherwise.’
As Catherine left her, she realised that for once she was alone and not the focus of everybody’s attention. Her pace quickened towards the rock, and she decided to explore it. It was irregular and had footholds; perhaps she could even climb on it before she was seen. Once she got there she looked around – she was still unnoticed. Quickly she pulled up her dress, exposing her ankles and calves along with her woefully inadequate soft shoes, and started to clamber on to the rock. She skirted around its edge until where she stood was actually overlooking the sea. They are bound to see me soon, she thought. She looked up and saw that the rock now completely concealed her from the soldiers as well as the servants. She would get such a scolding! The sea splashed at the rock, wetting her feet and legs. She would need her spare shoes after all. And then she saw it.
What by Elissa was that? She crouched down for a better look. Some six inches under water, caught in a cleft in the rock, was what appeared to be a ruby. The problem with describing it thus, though, was that it appeared to be nearly the size of Ceriana’s fist. She put her hand into the water, soaking her lace cuff. The ruby or whatever it was was embedded quite firmly and needed a bit of a tug to get it free. It came loose in her hand but the effort required caused her foot to slip. She ended up on her backside, feet, legs and part of her dress in the sea. Then a larger wave covered the rock face on which she was balanced, drenching her face and hair. She did not care, though. Righting herself, she took a deep breath before regarding her prize.
It was a ruby... What else could it be? It had no facets, certainly, but an unpolished stone would not sparkle as brilliantly as this did. She held the jewel up to the light and found her face and neck bathed in a rich, blood-red luminosity. Yes, she thought, it has the colour of blood! As she stared at it she realised covetously that she did not want anyone else to see it, not yet – not until she had examined it properly herself. She took out the handkerchief that she kept tucked in
to her dress and used it to quickly wrap the stone; she then gripped it tightly in one hand so that it looked like she had just been using it to wipe sweat and water from her face and brow. She turned back, retracing her steps and with one last flourish hopped lightly off the rock.
Berek was not five feet from her with an expression as if he had just drunk a flask of sour wine. He held up something in front of her face.
‘Clean shoes, my Lady?’
4
After the rain came the frost. The night was unseasonably cold. The inky blackness of the camp was lit up by a smattering of red smoking braziers around which the shadowy figures of the night watch had congregated. Wispy tendrils of mist slithered between the tents, driving down the temperature. The dawn was coming. The ground was coated in brittle ice, and the mud, churned up in the wet, had frozen into a variety of contorted ropelike patterns. As the camp stirred in the glow of the dawn, the sounds of heavy boots, animal hooves and the wheels of the wagons crunching through this frozen sludge rose above the hoarse cries of the officers and the grumbling of the rank and file.
In many ways Reynard Lanthorpe was the Tanaren ideal – blond, blue-eyed, a well-trimmed flaxen beard – but even he had that barely perceptible look of a man who had seen more than he should, a look borne by many men who had fought in this war too long.
‘Morning, Glaivedon.’ he said brusquely as Morgan ambled towards him, frenziedly rubbing his hands together. ‘I have to supply you with some men, I believe. I hope you don’t want too many; there is only so many we can spare.’
‘Not too many, no. Four or five should be sufficient. We really want to move as quickly as possible and not get noticed, though that may be difficult with the wagon we have to take. Whoever volunteers and is chosen needs to know that this is a job that carries many risks; maybe more than if they were to stay here war or no war.’
‘Experienced men then! They are an even more precious commodity. I spoke with the men last night and we have some volunteers. I will go to speak with them again. Shall I mention your name?’
The Forgotten War Page 6