And suddenly they were, their great hinges groaning as the doors slowly pulled apart like the mouth of a great whale devouring a shoal of fish. As the crowd watched open-mouthed, out they came, the great and good of Tanaren society. When the familiar figure of Nicholas Hartfield emerged there was a great cheer; when it was the Grand Duke’s turn it was a little more muted – seemingly the general populace were as ambivalent about him as the Duke of Edgecliff himself. Then, finally, out came the bride and groom. The matronly lady nudged her friend knowingly. ‘Samite.’
Lady Ceriana Osperitsan-Hartfield looked positively radiant. Her pure-white samite dress bedecked with red and blue gemstones and thin golden tiara nestling on her rich brown hair sparkled in the sunlight, drawing gasps from her appreciative audience. Her hair, as befitting a woman on her wedding day, was gathered up into a white hennin trailing a sheer veil over her otherwise exposed milk-white neck. Her dress had a long train flowing behind her, as she descended the cathedral steps and made for the open gilded carriage that would convey her to the ducal barge nestling on the quayside at the bottom of Loubian Hill. There was confetti and shouting, applause and many expressions of good health and happiness from the crowd. Ceriana walked towards them to wave briefly, an action that elicited the biggest cheer of all. The groom, clad mainly in white with his ceremonial sword in its gold-encrusted scabbard, was barely noticed; he was as good as a foreigner to most of the crowd, who had little knowledge of the lands from which he came.
Once she was seated in the carriage, Ceriana acknowledged the crowd once more, waving enthusiastically to them, and with that they were off. Knights of the Silver Lance provided the escort and her parents, the Grand Duke and other dignitaries followed in slightly more modest carriages behind them. It was a breathtaking spectacle in the early-afternoon sun, one not even remotely spoiled by the barely noticed sight of an elderly lady relieving herself into a jug as they all thundered past her.
The sun was almost down by the time they arrived at Erskon House. Berek was waiting at the jetty ready to escort them from the river to the evening feast, along with an honour guard of twenty handpicked Hartfield men resplendent in the livery of the Duke. For Ceriana, the day had passed in something of a whirl; she had had little time to think or catch her breath, which in all fairness was probably the way she wanted it. Everything to her surprise had gone exactly to plan, even she had to admit that the dressmakers and fitters had done a very good job on her and for the first time in her life she felt she could look in the mirror and not criticise. Even her freckles seemed unimportant such was the loveliness of the dress, its jewelled inlays and the fancy gems of the necklace and tiara offsetting the shimmering white cloth perfectly. The ceremony had gone without a hitch; the rehearsal had been invaluable on that score and, to her ears, the choir had never sounded better. Her groom had been courteous if distant and her parents and sisters had spent much of the time grinning happily from ear to ear. The only slightly sour note was that her brother, who was almost as protective as her father towards her, was not able to be there, the Grand Duke having dispatched him and a contingent of Silver Lances to the war in the east. The Grand Duke himself was with them on the barge dressed resplendently in a trimmed red velvet jacket and black breeches and boots of the supplest leather. He was only a few years older than Ceriana, handsome in a dark saturnine way, with a thin waxed moustache and a sliver of a beard. She wondered if the rumours were true, of his excessive womanising and overly close relationships with the Barons Fillebrand and Richney. He had actually announced earlier that day that he was making Fillebrand a duke, a title held by only five other people and the first to be raised to such a status since the founding of the country; it was a move with huge constitutional implications for the country and certain to raise ire in many quarters, but as the wedding was the only thing that mattered at that moment it was all but forgotten. The arguments could be left for another time.
As for Ceriana and Leontius, she had hardly said a word to him in her entire life but was informed earlier that he would be sitting next to her at the top table. She was hardly relishing the prospect.
Erskon House was every inch the traditional baronial country estate, a long rectangular two-storey affair, its wattle and daub newly whitewashed. Several wings led off the main body of the building, newer additions to the original construct; one held the servants’ quarters, another the new kitchens, and there was an entire wing built specifically to accommodate the Grand Duke, a frequent visitor, though not as frequent as his father once was. It was originally a hunting lodge and was indeed still used for that purpose, as could be evidenced from the various sets of crossed antlers and boar heads and tusks that adorned the walls of the great dining hall. As at Edgecliff, the head table was raised on a dais with the guest tables at right angles to it. As the Grand Duke took his seat at the head of the table, above him and to his right was a gallery that housed the musicians who had already been playing for some time and were already well into the swing of the evening celebrations. As everyone took their seats, the mead and wine started flowing immediately, served up as it was by a silent army of servants gliding from table to table working so efficiently they were barely noticed by the revellers.
Ceriana sat down and glanced around, taking in the seating order. To her left was her husband, then a certain Baron Einar who seemed to be a close associate of his, and then her two sisters. On her right was the Grand Duke, her father, mother, and then Lady Catherine, who had already taken up her new role as her mother’s companion. She felt a little isolated sitting as she was between two men she barely knew, but before any conversation could start out came the food.
And what a feast it was. There was fish – salmon, trout and herring from the sea – all flavoured with various fruits – apples, pears and woodland berries. There was pork, roasted, with quince and chestnuts. There was swan and other smaller game birds, pies filled with eggs, vegetables and jellied meats, loaves upon loaves of luxury white bread. Side dishes of cabbage, garlic, onion and frumenty, cheeses both soft and hard, there was duck, goose and stork flavoured with pepper, mace and galangal, and, of course, a suckling pig served for the delectation of the Grand Duke alone. All this was washed down with wine imported at great expense as well as mead, although Ceriana stuck with the sweetened almond milk that she had always preferred. Once the main meal had been devoured, out came the desserts – crepes, fritters, sweet custards, pastries and tarts flavoured with rose petals. It was a meal remembered by everyone for months, nay years, afterwards.
Ceriana, however, ate like a bird and realised she would have to force herself a little so nervous was she. As she helped herself to a thimbleful of salmon, the Grand Duke turned to speak to her. She tried not to blench.
‘This is quite the feast, is it not? I fear it will outdo even the best efforts of my own kitchen in the city.’ He had an easy charm about him but at this stage of the day, like most of the men here present, he was well into his cups.
‘Yes, my Lord, Father wanted to make it special what with losing his daughter and all that.’
‘Well, he may not lose her for ever,’ the Duke replied cryptically, lowering his voice so her husband could not hear him. He, however, was oblivious to such matters, being deep in conversation with Einar.
‘Whatever do you mean?’ She forgot to address him formally such was her surprise.
‘Well, as you probably know, I – as Grand Duke – am the secular head of the church in Tanaren. This means that in some rare cases I can grant divorce petitions, although it is a power hardly ever used; my father never needed it and never wanted to as it would mean crossing swords with the Grand Lector. I, however, am quite happy to use it, or any other of my powers, should circumstances render them appropriate.’ He leaned towards her a little more so that their faces were but inches apart. ‘You, Lady Ceriana, are still a sought-after woman. I married you to Wulfthram because at this moment it is the right thing to do politically. Politics and allegiances can c
hange swiftly, however.’
‘I see. I had heard, my Lord, that I was marrying because you want to temper the rebellious spirit of the northern Barons.’
‘Not all of them are rebellious, no. Most are loyal, just like your husband. My spies, however, tell me that some sort of rebellion is brewing up there and I am hoping that your marriage to the North’s most powerful man will strangle any such sentiments at birth. I really do not want to send troops up there permanently. Anyway, I am digressing. What I meant to say is that Duke Nicholas’s youngest daughter is still a target for marriage for many of our noblemen.’
She exclaimed incredulously, forgetting for a second to keep her voice quiet. ‘But I cannot be expected to marry them all!’ She put her hand over her mouth and continued to speak a little more quietly. ‘You would have me divorce then? Wouldn’t the same barons whose behaviour you seek to curb be slighted by this?’
‘In a few years there will be alternatives; Marschall’s and Duneck’s daughters will be of age then. My plan is for you to divorce him and for Wulfthram to marry one of those girls instead.’
‘Do you have someone lined up for me then?’
‘Not directly, it will depend on who is most favoured at the time. I have not even ruled out taking you for myself.’
She coloured and hurriedly drank some almond milk, turning her top lip white.
‘Links between my house and that of the Hartfields have always been strong,’ he continued. ‘But there has been no intermarriage between us for a few generations. It would be a logical step to bolster our alliance in such a way.’
‘But what if I have children by him?’
‘I hope you do.’ He smiled. ‘The barons of the north will have a blood connection to us; it should ensure their loyalty without there being too close a rival for my position. No one down here would accept a half-northern child as Grand Duke.’
It all sounded plausible to Ceriana, but surely so many people would be annoyed by such a move? She resolved to ask her father about this sometime. ‘And what of my sisters?’ she asked. ‘Will you do the same to them?’
‘No, I only have this right over marriages sanctioned by me and under my rule. It is not something I intend to do every five minutes. Oh and it goes without saying...’ he nodded his head, indicating Wulfthram, ‘...that you mention this conversation to no one else.’
‘You are testing me, are you not?’ she answered coquettishly. ‘If I do say something, I will be shown to lack character and loyalty and certainly not deserving of your hand in the future. Yet I will also be expected to keep a secret from a man with whom I will be spending most of my days and to whom I now owe a bond of loyalty, too. You are making my position invidious.’
He smiled knowingly at her. ‘Yes, you could say that.’
She spoke firmly. ‘You have sworn me to discretion and so that is something I will honour. I would rather not discuss my divorce on the day of my marriage, however; Elissa’s breath, I have not even had my wedding night yet!’ Did her father know of this? Her mother? No, her mother would not know, but her father? Could he keep something like this from her? Her head was swimming.
‘Good,’ Leontius replied. ‘I will speak no more of it. You have comported yourself most admirably today; I will be keeping an eye on you.’ With that, he feigned a slight bow to her and turned to speak to her father.
She was hoping to excuse herself, saying she needed the latrines, whereas in truth she just needed a walk to clear her head, when to her surprise her husband turned to her, his conversation with Einar presumably at an end.
‘Well, my Lady.’ He spoke curtly but politely. ‘I suppose it is time we conversed on matters other than the exchanging of rings.’ She could tell he had been drinking a lot, too, but he seemed able to handle it much better than the Grand Duke.
‘I suppose you are right,’ she replied. Why did he make her so nervous? She found him more intimidating than the Grand Duke. ‘Is there some question you wish to ask of me?’
‘How about this one?’ he said. ‘You are obviously intelligent and far better connected than I. I am also old enough to be your father. Is there anything in this marriage to make you happy?’
She was thrown by this. Did he feel sorry for her? She swallowed, suddenly uncertain. ‘My family has always done its duty, but I ... I...’
His smile was sardonic. ‘Yes?’
‘Well, I get the impression that you are faintly embarrassed by the whole situation. I am not sure, though, whether your embarrassment is caused by being forced to marry a spoiled, privileged child from the south or by being dragged into the Grand Duke’s politicking and co-opted into the old ruling class of this country.’ She hadn’t really meant to say so much; her tongue was running off with her again.
He looked at her. Some of her hair had come loose under her tiara and there was a stubborn defensive look in her eyes. His response was measured: ‘There is a little truth in both those statements; maybe more than a little truth. The ramifications of this marriage will become more apparent to you once you arrive in Osperitsan. You will be made most welcome by the way and treated with the respect your status accords. We may not have as many luxuries as you have been used to and you may grow weary of the taste of fish – Osperitsan being an island after all – but I fully intend to give you as good a life as possible. There will be a welcome reception for you on arrival. It will be attended by all the barons that matter – so you can meet them; and they you of course.’
‘Will the rebellious ones be there?’ Another statement she regretted and she hadn’t even been drinking. She determined to remain silent after his reply.
He stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘Everyone down here has a rather simplistic view of us; we all have to be for or against, black or white, night or day. In a way I wish it was like that; it would be easier, then, to round up the troublemakers and this marriage would be as unnecessary as the Grand Duke’s spies.’
‘You are right, of course; I cannot come to judgement until I see your lands for myself. I have spoken quite ill-advisedly and I apologise for that. People do have a tendency to jump to conclusions based on the scantest of evidence. Down here we do tend to see you as ... well, as a little barbarous and unrefined.’
Einar caught her words over the din of the music and laughed uproariously. ‘Well, Wulfthram, you have wasted no time in upsetting your new wife. It is daily baths for you from now on!’
Ceriana giggled. ‘Scattered with rose petals, of course.’
Wulfthram gave a slight smile. ‘I do not bathe any other way.’
As the night went on, she talked to many other people. Einar was a giant of a man with an infectious laugh, to whom she warmed immediately; she spoke briefly with Barons Duneck and Richney, who both wished her well. She noticed something in Richney’s eyes as he spoke to her. It was as though he knew every word of her conversation with the Grand Duke earlier. Finally, as things were winding down, she spoke to her father.
‘I think I will retire now, Father; it has been a very long day.’
‘Yes, my dear, and I believe your husband wishes to start off early tomorrow.’
‘I will miss you, Father. I fear I might get quite lonely.’
‘I will miss you, too, little one. It seems like only a few years ago you were a babe in arms and I was presenting you to the staff at Edgecliff. You were the only child that never cried; you loved being held and shown the outside world, the sea and the cliffs and the ships bobbing in the harbour. Wulfthram is a good man, if a little dour; we have talked much over the last few days and I know he will do well for you. Settle in over the winter and hopefully I will be up to see you in the spring.’
She wanted to ask him if he knew of the Grand Duke’s plans but her head felt too heavy. Instead, she kissed her father goodbye and retired to her room, completely failing to notice the lecherous roaring of the crowd of drunken men behind her as they saw her go.
Doren was waiting for her, sitting in a chair by the dark
wooden bed.
‘Right, my Lady, allow me to prepare you for your new husband. If you need the chamber pot, use it now so that I can wash you down there; men can be quite particular about such things...’ Her words floated over Ceriana’s head.
So that was how Wulfthram found her some time later, laying on the bed in a thin shift, hair beautifully combed spread out on the sheet underneath her, a light citrus perfume dabbed behind each ear, between her breasts and legs, make-up on her eyes and cheeks and ... snoring like a drain. He laughed silently to himself; perhaps she was going to be more interesting than he had thought...
10
‘Father!’
No reply.
‘Father!’
Still nothing.
‘Father, A heron is eating all the fish!’
It was true, on the bank of the river a stake had been driven into the ground; a rope of thick twine connected it to a large wicker fish trap, weighted at the bottom, whose open end protruded above the water. Hovering intently over this trap was an old silver-grey heron that was eating his fill from its contents. The bird was not so engrossed, however, as not to notice the stone hurtling towards it. However, he was an experienced hand at this game – before the stone had found its mark he was away, propelling himself upwards with slow powerful wing beats, his belly sated till the next morning.
The hurler of the stone ran towards the trap, passing two small urchins, neither of them more than four years old, sitting on the bank pointing their fingers at the heron. Stepping into the water, he lifted the trap. There were still fish in there but in a greatly reduced number, though enough for a meal for three or four. He groaned, dropped the trap and walked towards the children.
He was quite a young man but in that short lifetime exposure to sun and wind had left his skin brown and ruddy; his hair was jet black, short and plastered to his head. He wore breeches but no shirt, and on both pectorals there appeared to be deliberate scarring in a pattern of a coiled rope reaching up to the base of his neck. His eyes, of a gentle brown, regarded the children fondly.
The Forgotten War Page 14