Mollified, Aiko canted her head, then said, “Alos needs gloves.”
“And we need something to stuff a hooded peacock in,” added Alos, “if we don’t use the trunk, that is.”
* * *
They located Dolph in their quarters and sent him to fetch a rope. When he had gone, Egil said, “Tomorrow, when he’ll not think of it in connection with the rope, I’ll ask Dolph to find us a sack.” Egil glanced at Alos. “To carry the peacock in should we need go over the wall. And speaking of ropes and walls…” Egil rummaged about in his luggage and tossed a pair of gloves to Alos. The oldster tried them on and found they fit well enough.
Grinning his gap-toothed smile, Alos tucked the gloves away, then said, “What say we eat, eh?”
They took their midday meal in the dining hall of the east tower, and afterward explored the castle proper, all but the central spire. As they strolled about, they took special note of all points of egress in the event of a hasty exit. When they finally returned to their quarters, they found a length of rope lying on Lady Aiko’s bed.
* * *
That evening, as Dolph had said there would be, they heard the ringing of a bell.
“We are summoned to the festivities,” said Egil, slipping into a dark red jacket, accented in black, matching his accented breeks. His feet were shod in black boots, and ’round his waist was clasped a black belt with red buckle. He stuck his head out the door and called, “Dolph,” and the chamberboy hurried inward. “We’ve not yet been to the central tower; will you guide us?”
“Ja, sir, I will.” Dolph paused, then added, “But with you that axe you cannot take. Stahl only, the queen’s champion, in her presence weapons to bear is permitted.”
“But we’re here to entertain the queen,” said Egil, “tomorrow night, and it’s part of my costume, lad, just as Lady Aiko’s blades are part of her costume.”
“Well, sir, into the great hall your axe you will be permitted tomorrow and Lady Aiko her swords. But for tonight only permitted small ornamental daggers are. Wear them all the lords do.”
“Bah,” growled Aiko. “In the hands of one who knows how to use it, a tiny dagger will kill as swiftly as a great sword.”
Egil sighed and slipped his axe from his belt and laid it on the table, signing for Aiko to do likewise. Muttering under her breath, she unbuckled her blades and laid them beside Egil’s axe. But she did not remove the four shiruken hidden in a band at her waist.
“Do we look all right now, boy?” asked Alos, craning his neck in his ruffed collar. Alos was scrubbed and groomed and was dressed in green: pale green shirt with ruffles at the collar and wrist, emerald green jacket and breeks, black boots and belt. On his head he wore a dark green hat with a black plume.
Aiko, as usual, was dressed in her leathers, but she forwent her ribands, saying that she would wear them morrow night for her performance.
Dolph looked at them, but he seemed transfixed as his gaze alighted on Arin in her simple yet elegant satin gown of russet that fell straight to the floor from a tan bodice. Brown slippered feet peeked under the hem. Her chestnut hair was garlanded with intertwined beige ribbons, matching those crisscrossing the bodice. In a breathless voice, Dolph said, “More beautiful than you, milady, none will be,” then immediately blushed and turned away.
Egil grinned and murmured to Alos, “Methinks he saw neither thee nor me nor Lady Aiko, but I suspect we are presentable.”
When they came to the door of the great hall, Dolph, his wards safely delivered, sped away. Arin and her companions joined a slow-moving stream of nobles and diplomats and other guests pacing inward past a posted guard. Ahead, within the hall, a steward struck a great staff ‘gainst the floor and called out the ranks and names of the guests as they made their entrances. Slowly the line advanced, and at last the four of them moved past the doors.
They came into a great long chamber, beringed by pillars against the wide-set walls. Spaced along the walls as well were huge hearths, all without fire, for it was early September and summer had not yet fled the land. The walls themselves were hung with tapestries, and staffs jutted out, from which depended the colorful flags of the different fiefdoms of Jutland arranged in descending order of rank—dukes’ flags above those of counts, counts’ above earls, and so on, down through viscounts and barons—each flag bearing a coat of arms. Overhead, great wooden beams spanned from wall to wall, and dangling down from the timbers were chain-hung braces of lanterns; the chandeliers were lighted brightly, for only lavender twilight streamed in through high windows above. Three broad steps down from the wide entryway landing began a great center floor of smooth, polished stone, the whole ringed around by raised flooring where sat banquet tables. The amphitheater swept forward till it fetched up against four steps leading to a wide throne dais. Though the floor was awash with people, the throne itself was empty.
The hall was abuzz with conversation, and with Arin on one arm and Aiko on the other, and with Alos trailing after, Egil came to an aide standing beside the steward and whispered their names to the man. As other guests passed them by and were announced, the aide looked through a list and then said, “Ah yes. Here you are.” He looked up at Egil. “You will be seated at Baron Stolz’s table.” He pointed to a table halfway along the left side of the chamber. “There, under the green flag with the white boar.” At Egil’s nod, the aide stepped to the steward, who struck the floor with his staff and then called out: “Milords and ladies and honored guests: the Dylvana Arin of Darda Erynian; Lady Aiko of Ryodo; Master Alos of Thol; and Master Egil One-Eye of Jord.”
As they stepped forward down to the main floor, Arin glanced up at Egil and mouthed, [Jord?]
Egil leaned down and whispered, “Aye. Jute and Fjordland are ancient enemies, hence it would be folly to claim my true homeland when I stand in the court of the foe. And so I chose another. Jord and Fjordland are neighbors, and the Jordian accent is much like my own.”
Now they moved down among the guests, and many eyes followed them, widening at the sight of the satin-gowned Dylvana and the leather-clad golden warrior at her side. As to Egil and Alos, the guests gave them little heed, their glances pausing only long enough to note Egil’s scarlet eye patch and Alos’s white eye, though some did make surreptitious signs of warding at the sight of the oldster’s pale orb. Egil though scanned their faces closely, and he said to Arin, “Let us circle, love, for I would find Baron Steiger. Likely he’ll be here, and perhaps by now has remembered where he and I met.”
Slowly they wended among the throng, Alos and Aiko following. Searching carefully, they made one complete circuit about the floor, but of Baron Steiger there was no hint. “Shall we go ’round again?” asked Arin, yet in that moment there sounded a trumpet.
The steward hammered the floor three times and called out, “The queen approaches.” Moving to places more or less in line with their respective feudal flags, people formed a long aisle down the center of the floor from the doors to the throne. With Arin and Egil leading, Alos and Aiko following, the four moved to a place along the aisle forward of Baron Stolz’s flag. Moments later, the clarion flourished again, and the steward smote his staff against the floor three more times and called out, “My lords and ladies and honored guests, Queen Gudrun the Comely, monarch of all Jutland and of the Ryngar Isles, and her consort, Delon the Virile.” Then steward and trumpeter stepped aside and bowed low.
In through the door swept a tall woman. She was dressed in a pale blue long-sleeved silken gown with a tight bodice and a skirt which flared out at the hips to fall widely to the floor. Yellow hair cascaded in curls down her back, and tight ringlets framed her powdered and rouged face. A golden tiara set with glittering jewels crowned her head. About her left wrist was clamped a silver bracelet from which a long silver chain linked her to the silver collar ’round the neck of the man following to her left and a step behind.
He was compact, no taller than she, perhaps five feet eight inches altogether. He had fair skin and
pale blond hair and his age was perhaps thirty. He was dressed in dark purple, with bright lavender insets in the puffed shoulders and sleeves, and lavender ruffles at neck and wrist. His purple shoes and belt, with their lavender buckles, matched the rest of his garb, and he wore a wide-brimmed lavender hat adorned with three enormous purple plumes.
Gudrun paused, allowing any and all to admire her, and then permitted the consort to offer his hand as she descended the three steps to the amphitheater floor. Together they paced down the aisle, he once again a stride behind, and they smiled and nodded at the bowing and curtseying guests. When they came to Arin and Aiko, the queen paused and looked at them both, her pale blue eyes glittering. And no amount of powder and rouge could conceal the effects of the passage of the thirty years that had elapsed since the statue of her—the one in the hedge maze—had been crafted. She smiled at Arin, and the consort swept the plumed hat from his head and bowed low and smiled at Arin as well, though no hint of pleasure reached his eyes. Then they both moved on without saying a word.
The queen and her consort came to the dais and mounted up, she to sit on the throne, he to sit on the top step to her left. Her gaze swept across the crowd, and she raised a hand and said, “We are most pleased to have you join us in our celebration of new love.” She beamed down at the consort, a man twenty years her junior, and he canted his head in obeisance. She batted her eyelashes and rattled the chain, the links of silver clinking softly.
Egil leaned over and whispered to Arin. “Adon! She treats him as if he were a pet dog.”
Aiko, overhearing, shook her head. “Worse, for he is unmanned, as no pet dog would be.”
Giggling, the queen stood and gestured left and right and commanded, “Let the celebration commence.”
At these words, people began moving toward their assigned tables, Egil, Arin, Aiko, and Alos turning toward the one under the green flag sporting the white boar. As they took their places, the other guests at the table stared at the satin-gowned Dylvana and the leather-clad Ryodoan at hand. Egil introduced himself and the others, and received their names in return, though one of the seated ladies—the Baroness Stolz—gushed, “Oh, I’ve heard of you, Lady Arin. You are the Elven bard.” She turned to Aiko. “And this must be the sword dancer.”
Aiko growled under her breath, but held her peace.
At the baroness’s side, a sour-faced man, Baron Stolz, leaned over and whispered to her in a voice all could hear, “Hush, my dear. An Elf if she wasn’t, the queen’s guests at all they would not be. But common entertainers these are.”
Again, Aiko growled under her breath. Egil, though, sketched a bow to the baron and said, “I daresay, dear baron, we are not in any way ‘common,’ as you will no doubt discover in the days to come.”
The baron huffed but made no reply.
In through the doorway, to much applause, marched the entertainers: strong men, jugglers, prestidigitators, acrobats and tumblers, wrestlers and dancers and buffoons. They circled the floor to be seen, and then marched back out the door.
Inward came thralls bearing platters laden with food: fresh-baked loaves of bread, roast pig and lamb and beef, grilled fowl and broiled fish, and stewed vegetables such as beans and red cabbage and peas and parsnips, and great bowls filled with grapes and pears and peaches. More thralls entered, these conveying pitchers of foaming ale and mead and wine to the tables, and Alos looked longingly at each and every one that passed by him, though Aiko prevented him from snagging any.
The boards were set and groaned beneath the weight of the feast, and the guests filled their trenchers with food and their goblets with their choices of drink, all but Alos, for although he could choose whatever he wished from among the food, Aiko would allow him only water or tea, even though he gazed at the other libations and whined, “Just a taste. A little taste. What can it hurt, eh?”
But Aiko was adamant, and Alos growled, “I’ll be glad when we’ve got what we’ve come for and all of you are on your way. Then I’ll do as I please.”
Aiko glared at him, and Alos ducked his head and snatched up a joint of beef. But ‘ere he could take a bite, Arin reached out and stopped him, saying, “Wait,” and gestured toward the throne.
On the dais, servants set a small table beside the queen. And they laded her trencher with the food of her choice. They also set a trencher down beside Consort Delon, and placed in it food at her direction. They poured wine into golden goblets, and set one of these by Delon as well. Satisfied, the queen raised her chalice and called out, “Let us begin.”
A lord stepped forth onto the floor and raised his own goblet on high, proclaiming, “To the queen!”
To the queen! came the response.
The queen stood. “Nay. Not to me, but to love instead.”
“Are they not the same?” called out the lord.
Baron Stolz hissed under his breath. “Bah! Toadying fool. Careful if he is not, next he will be.”
“To the queen and love,” called out the lord, raising his goblet on high.
To the queen and love! came the response, followed by a cheer.
And at a sign from the simpering queen, all dug into their food…except for Delon, who only seemed to pick at his meal.
In through the doorway came three buffoons in garish makeup: the first one stepped across the amphitheater as if walking on an invisible tightrope high above the floor, his arms outstretched, his entire body wobbling and jerking this way and that as if for balance; the second buffoon walked to one side, half crouching and looking upward, his hands held out as if to catch the first should he fall; the third buffoon was enwrapped in a cloak and he walked to the left and behind the first. Just as they reached the center of the floor, the cloaked buffoon drew a slapstick out from beneath his cape and with a loud crack! whacked the rope walker on the behind, who, with a descending scream, staggered and spun and lurched to one side as if falling, while the catcher, with his arms outstretched, ran wobbling to save him, and they crashed into one another and collapsed in a heap as the crowd whooped in laughter, the cloaked buffoon roaring and laughing and pointing at his handiwork. Then the three buffoons began chasing one another ’round and ’round in a tight circle, one whaling away with an inflated pig’s bladder, one with a slapstick, and one merely whooping and howling and leaping each time he was whacked, his garish mouth gaping wide with his bawling. The guests roared at such farce, the queen herself pounding the arms of her throne and hooting with joy. But purple-plumed Consort Delon merely smiled.
Finally, in file, they ran from the great hall, howling and whacking and battering. Resounding applause followed them out, and they popped back in to bow to the acclaim, only to be whacked at one and the same time by a very long slapstick wielded by a fourth garish buffoon as they bent low—to the delight of the crowd.
Next came a man and a woman juggling flaming batons, and they whirled and danced and flung the blazing wands back and forth, several in the air simultaneously.
They were followed in turn by wrestlers and acrobats and a strong man and other entertainers. At last, long into the night, Queen Gudrun the Comely ordered a halt to the proceedings and announced, “The time has come to hear Delon sing.”
As the table and remains of the meal were cleared away from the dais and a silver-stringed lute was brought to Delon, Baroness Stolz leaned across to an elderly lady and said, “I hear she found him in Thol while visiting the Tower of Gudwyn the Fair, an ancestor of hers, I believe.”
“Oh no, my dear,” responded the dowager, Lady Klatsch, “I believe he was taken in a raid in West Gelen.”
“Hmph,” harrumphed Baron Stolz. “Just a commoner he is told am I. To the castle he came two months past, advantage to take. Burned like the others he will be—serves him right—though longer than any of them he has lasted.”
Delon removed his tri-plumed lavender hat and set it on the steps. Then he took up the lute and strummed it once, gauging its state of tune. Satisfied, he turned to the queen. “Have you
a request, milady?”
She leaned forward and smiled coyly. “’The Lovers.’”
Delon bowed. “As you will, my queen.”
Once again he sat at her feet, then he began to sing, his voice gentle when the words were gentle, and sweet when they were sweet, strong and vibrant as called for, and whispery at need. The guests all sat silent, no coughs, no rustle of movement, no shuffling of feet, as his singing filled the hall. And the queen sat transfixed, her eyes drinking in the sight of him, her hands gripping the arms of the throne until her knuckles shone white, her breath coming in short gasps followed by prolonged sighs.
Arin leaned over and whispered to Egil, “If I knew not what my eyes saw, I would think him an Elf.”
Egil whispered back: “If I knew not what my eyes saw, I would think her making love in bed.”
Finally Delon’s song came to an end, and applause erupted and there were many calls for more. But abruptly the queen stood, her eyes shining brightly. “It is late and we are weary. Come, Delon.” And without another word, she swept down the steps of the dais and across the floor and out from the great hall, towing Delon on his silver chain after.
* * *
When Arin and the others returned to their room, they found that Dolph had turned down the beds and had opened the doors to the balcony, airing out the chamber. The September night was warm, and a half moon sank in the west, casting its light across the balustrade and into the room. Doffing their clothes, they prepared for sleep: Arin and Egil took to their bed, drawing the curtains closed; Aiko set her tatami mat to the floor and settled into cross-legged repose, her swords at hand, her back against the door; Alos glanced at her and, grumbling and huffing, lay down on his couch and pulled a thin cover over himself and fell instantly to sleep.
A quietness descended, the room silent but for the soft sonance of breathing. But then, drifting inward through the open balcony door, there came the distant sounds of someone, a female, in distress. Aiko’s eyes flew open and she listened…. No, not distress, but rather the hoarse panting groans of a woman in the throes of passion, moans of pleasure climbing and building, ending at last with a climactic shriek. Aiko stood and stepped to the balcony and peered down into the courtyard below. She could see no one in the moonlight and shadows. As she turned to go back in, movement caught at the corner of her eye, and there on the central tower and above, on the balcony to the queen’s bedchamber stood Delon. Even though he stood in gloom, Aiko knew it was he, for a silver collar girded his neck and a silver chain arced down and into the black of the room behind. He was leaning on his hands on the railing, and his head hung down as if he were fatigued. He was unclothed.
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