It was the standard pledge of allegiance from a knight to his lord, but the soldiers looked from Oliver to Razi with wide eyes, the knowledge of the rift between the two men apparent in their wary, sunburned faces. Personally, Wynter had difficulty not spitting on the ground at Oliver’s feet, but of course there was not a trace of sarcasm in Razi’s voice, nor even a hint of bitterness when he said, ‘My brother is blessed to have such fealty in his commanders and such fierce loyalty in his men. No knight could ever be truer, Sir Oliver. We work in common, and I am honoured to accept your protection and loyalty.’
How he did not choke upon the words Wynter did not know, but she saw their effect as the soldiers’ wariness turned to grudging acceptance. She knew that these men would follow Oliver’s lead now, and would lay their lives down for Razi as surely as yesterday they would have slit his throat. Such was a soldier’s life, after all. In the space of one moment, the very man they were engaging in battle could become the man to whom they must bow, and the why and wherefore of such changing fortunes would always remain beyond their grasp. These soldiers’ only constant was in their loyalty to the Prince, and in the end all they could do was what the Prince asked of them and hope for the best.
Oliver straightened without meeting Razi’s eye and Wynter turned from him, her face smooth and expressionless. Alberon squeezed Razi’s shoulder and let go. He stepped forward and raised his hand for attention. At the back of the crowd, Wynter saw Gérard stagger up behind Le Garou, his face drawn, his proud bearing buckled under the effects of Sól’s poison. Gérard went to speak and Le Garou snapped his hand up, silencing him, his eyes on the Prince.
‘You may soon commence to packing,’ said Alberon, gravely addressing his men. ‘You will be on the road within the month.’
Wynter saw shocked delight blossom in the men’s faces. Still, they regarded the Prince in silence, as if doubting his meaning.
‘Home!’ bellowed Alberon, thrusting his fists to heaven, and his soldiers cheered in suddenly boisterous joy. Alberon raised his voice over theirs and cried, ‘My brother will go ahead as my envoy! He will prepare our way. You will be heading home within the month, men! The palace gates will be flung wide; your families who have, from necessity, disowned you will fling their arms about you; and we will be fêted as the men who risked all to strengthen this kingdom!’
The men roared and jostled, and Alberon let them caper about for a moment, his expression tender. Then he slowly raised his arms over his head again, and gradually the men stilled, looking up at him in smiling anticipation.
‘We have risked our lives for this,’ he said. ‘We have risked our fortunes, our good names, the love of our families. We have always known that the final step would be hardest. Now, thanks to my brother, it is as simple as packing our bags and strolling home. We are done,’ he yelled. ‘We have prevailed.’
The men seemed to sigh as one. Wynter saw some of them close their eyes. Some turned their faces to the sky.
‘We are done,’ repeated Alberon quietly. Then he raised his arms a little higher, and though his voice carried far across the silently gathered men, his next words had all the intimacy of a prayer uttered in the private company of friends.
‘Long live my father,’ he said. ‘Long live the King.’
And his men, like a congregation in solemn communion with God, answered low and heartfelt, ‘Long live his Majesty. Long live the King.’
ONE STEP FORWARD
ALBERON BROKE from Razi as soon as they entered his tent. ‘There you have it, brother,’ he sighed, wearily taking a seat at the map-table. ‘That should keep your head on your shoulders a while longer.’
Christopher and Wynter hesitated at the door, and Razi impatiently gestured them inside. Oliver was about to make his way past them and into the tent when Razi directed the knight’s attention down the hill. Wynter followed his meaningful glance. David Le Garou and Gérard were approaching the sentries at the base of the hill, David’s face set in determination.
‘Deal with that, would you, Sir Knight?’ murmured Razi.
Oliver pointedly looked past Razi to Alberon, seeking the Prince’s orders. ‘The Loups-Garous desire access, your Highness,’ he said.
Alberon sat back, regarding Wynter and Christopher with irritation. ‘In your nocturnal wanderings, did you perhaps cause mayhem of which I should be aware?’ At the young couple’s blushing silence, the Prince turned cool eyes to Razi.
Razi shrugged. ‘There was some petty vandalism,’ he said. ‘Nothing of import.’
Alberon sighed again, drummed his fingers, then waved Oliver away. ‘Try and fob them off, Sir Knight. Use your judgement. Be soothing.’
‘Aye, Highness.’
Wynter peered past Razi, watching as Oliver descended towards the Wolves. Sólmundr, Hallvor and Úlfnaor were watching from the edge of the road, and Razi grimaced at the sight of them.
‘Damn fools,’ he whispered, his eyes on Sól.
Alberon spoke coldly behind them and Wynter turned to find him staring at Christopher: ‘I have no patience for mopping up your messes, Freeman. This is not the time for personal vengeances. No matter how great the justification, I cannot have you and your people trampling their way over my negotiations and harming men who have come here in trust of my protection. This shall not happen again, are we in accord?’
‘Perfectly, your Highness.’
There was nothing in Christopher’s tone that could have been taken as offensive, but Wynter wished he could manage to bow a little lower and stare a little less. Alberon glared at him for just a fraction longer, then snapped at Razi: ‘Come away from the door, and leave Oliver to it!’
Razi pulled the insect-netting across and came to sit at the table opposite his brother. Wynter remained at the door, unwilling to leave Christopher’s side without knowing what was expected of him or where he should go. Razi glanced pointedly back at them, but it was not his place to offer an invitation and Alberon did not seem to notice their awkwardness, his attention being focused entirely on his brother.
‘So,’ he said softly, ‘I have persuaded my men that we shall get them safely home. They seem convinced, poor fools. Their trust is a heavy burden.’
Razi looked down at his hands, the knowledge of the men’s peril evident in his face. ‘Albi, at the risk of angering you, I’m going to ask you, once more, to keep Lorcan’s designs to yourself.’ Alberon tutted impatiently and Razi quickly went on: ‘Just until I have spoken to Father. Give yourself some ground to manoeuvre. If you do not send the designs home with Jared and the Combermen, then I can approach Father with a far greater hope of tolerance and—’
‘If I do not send the designs home with Jared and the Combermen, they will lose the support of their allies. Everything must be timed just so. You know this, Razi. We’ve spent all last night discussing it. Everything I have planned, everything, is balanced on the most delicate of timings. If there is one single delay, then my entire network of resistances will fall apart. Without Lorcan’s machines, the Midland Reformists will lose their courage, their Comberman supporters will slink into hiding and the Midland rebellion will be over before it begins. Marguerite will go ahead regardless and usurp her father, but her kingdom will be exposed and weak and all is at risk of being lost. This has taken too much planning for me to falter at the last moment. It is now or it is never. I have come too far and risked too much to stop now.’
Razi sat back, and Alberon watched him closely.
How young they look, thought Wynter. How young, and how tired.
‘You do not have to pretend that you believe in me, Razi,’ said Alberon softly. ‘I do not ask that kind of falsity from you. I understand that you have no faith in my vision . . . simply tell me that you will do your best. Please? Tell me that you will do your absolute best to ensure that my men return to their lives, and that I shall at least get the chance to present my plans to our father. It is all I ask of you.’
‘I will do my best.’
&n
bsp; ‘Thank you,’ sighed Alberon, leaning his head onto his hands. ‘Thank you . . . do try and get home without anyone slitting your throat, won’t you?’
‘I’ll do my best.’
Both brothers chuckled, and Alberon looked up at Razi from between his fists, his eyes smiling. ‘And then, perhaps, try and persuade Father not to kill me as soon as I come riding in the gates?’
Razi made a little sign at his throat. ‘Do not even joke,’ he warned softly.
Alberon nodded, sat back in a businesslike manner and slapped his hand on the table. ‘So, Freeman,’ he said, then frowned and motioned impatiently. ‘Why are you two loitering by the damned door? Get over here. Sit. Good. Freeman, I am taking my brother at his word and trusting that you will hold your tongue about anything discussed here.’
Christopher nodded silently.
‘I am running low on supplies,’ said Alberon. ‘As it stands, we have barely enough for the next two days, and the Lord Razi will need a good portion of that in order to see him through his ten days’ journey home.’
‘Seventeen,’ said Wynter. ‘If one pushes one’s horse and takes no diversion it should take a minimum of seventeen days to get from the palace to here.’
Alberon looked at her with fond admiration, and she felt like smacking him. Was it really such an accomplishment that she could count?
‘Razi will make use of my maps, sis. They will guide him through the summer passes to the north of the palace and get him home in just under ten days. However, there is barely enough scrub up there to keep a rabbit alive, and I will need to provision him and his party for the full ten days’ travel. I myself will take my personal guard and follow him. We are too poorly provisioned to travel the same route, so we will ride in parallel, lower down the slopes. The going is slower there, but the hunting better and I will have a chance of feeding my men on the trail. Razi will arrive home about five days in advance of us. That should give him ample time to ease my father’s fears and ensure my safe reception. After that,’ Alberon spread his hands and grinned, ‘it is in the hands of God.’
‘I would say it is in the hands of your father,’ commented Christopher, ‘and he’s a mite more formidable than God, if you ask me.’
The Prince was not accustomed to commoners chiming in with witticisms, and he regarded Christopher as if he were some amazing talking dog. Razi ducked his head, smiling. Christopher’s dimples creased the corners of his mouth, and Wynter sighed. Alberon would get used to him eventually – or hit him; it all depended on the depths of his royal patience.
‘Your supplies have been cut off, I presume?’ she asked.
Alberon nodded. ‘Until recently we have been in regular receipt of small shipments. No one came to us, of course, but my provisioners would go down into the valleys and meet with my supporters. The men from the last trip have not yet returned.’
‘The poor fellow we found dying by the river. You suspect he was one of these provisioners?’
‘I can think of nothing more likely.’
‘You fear the others have been taken?’
‘Yes, Wyn, I do.’
Wynter’s belly knotted at the thought. Those poor men. ‘They will betray you, Albi,’ she said softly. ‘They may not want to, but they will. The King has employed inquisitors. No one can withstand their torture for long.’
‘That fellow Isaac did,’ murmured Christopher. ‘He endured an inhuman degree of torment.’ Wynter shut her eyes at the terrible memory of it. He was protecting Mary, she thought.
Alberon cleared his throat. ‘My provisioners are already three days overdue,’ he said.
Three days!
‘You must move camp!’ cried Wynter. ‘You must do so now! They may already have given you away!’
‘I could not relocate till now, sis. I needed the Loups-Garous to find me. But yes,’ he drummed his fingers and gazed out the door, ‘I must move.’
‘And you must feed your men,’ observed Christopher.
‘Aye,’ breathed Alberon. ‘I must feed those men who accompany me back to the palace, as well as those I shall leave behind. I will order the majority of my men to remain in camp. I cannot allow them to return to their homes before I have secured my father’s approval. They would be strung up and dead before the words long live the King had left their lips. I need to keep them fed and watered for the time it takes for all of us to get home and ensure their safety.’
‘How many in all?’
‘The Combermen and Midlanders are leaving tomorrow, so I reckon it at—’
‘The Lady Mary is not fit to travel,’ interrupted Razi sharply.
‘Well, neither is she fit to stay!’ said Alberon. ‘Would you have her break her waters here? With a bevy of soldiers as her midwives?’ He snorted in amusement at the thought. ‘My men would die of flusterment; they wouldn’t have an idea what to do. No, there is naught I can do for the poor thing. Her fate is out of my hands; she will have to go back with her priest.’
Razi subsided into frowning silence, and Christopher impatiently tapped the table to regain Alberon’s attention. ‘How many men are you trying to provision?’ he asked again.
‘Eighty.’
Christopher huffed and shook his head at the impossibly large number.
‘But your people are used to providing for themselves!’ cried Alberon. ‘I had supposed—’
‘Eighty full-grown men is a bloody big clan,’ said Christopher bluntly. ‘A clan that size would have to spend the entire summer stocking up for winter. They’d trade a bit, farm a bit, be living off their horses. They certainly wouldn’t just turn up in the forest with naught but their arses in hand and expect An Domhan to provide! That ain’t the way nature works, your Highness.’
‘I am not a fool, Garron! You think I don’t understand that? But my supplies are gone!’
Beneath the table, Wynter placed her hand on Christopher’s thigh. ‘Freeman Garron,’ she said, ‘his Royal Highness finds himself in need. I am certain he would be grateful for whatever aid your people may have in their power to offer.’
Christopher went to retort, then stopped. The importance of the situation seemed suddenly to make itself known to him, and she saw his irritation with Alberon gave way to an understanding of the opportunity being presented. Wynter, her expression bland, held his eye, squeezed his leg, then sat back.
‘There . . . there ain’t no magic wand that can be waved,’ he said, turning once more to Alberon. ‘Even for people as skilled as the Merron, the secret provisioning of eighty men and their horses is a monstrous task.’
‘I understand that.’
‘You need to send men into the valleys, bulk up the camp larder with at least some sacks of grain.’
‘We shall steal them if necessary, and make reparation later.’
‘It will be lean pickings . . . if there’s any pickings at all.’
‘Understood.’
Christopher was silent.
‘Your people can do it?’ prompted Alberon.
‘If anyone can, they can.’
Alberon ran his fingertips along the edge of the table. He plucked invisible fluff from his sleeve. ‘You understand,’ he said softly, ‘I would need to be very delicate with my men about this? They take great pride in their capabilities. There can be no hint that they have been in any way . . . um . . .’
Christopher smiled bitterly. ‘The Merron lords are the most diplomatic of folk,’ he said. ‘Certainly they ain’t about to ruin your men’s appetite by crowing over who provided the meal.’
Alberon regarded him very closely.
‘I swear it,’ said Christopher.
‘They are remarkably subtle when it comes to politics,’ murmured Wynter. ‘Take it from me, if it is diplomacy you need, these folk will oblige.’
‘If you wish to make use of the Merron, it might be wise to open talks with them soon,’ said Razi. ‘I will be taking Freeman Garron back to the palace with me and he will not be around to act as your liaison.’
He smiled in innocence at Alberon’s hard look. ‘I need Christopher,’ he said blandly. ‘Without him I may well get eaten by a bear. After all, I don’t know one end of a tree from the other.’
Wynter hid a smirk. Alberon went to reply, but Oliver interrupted by ducking into the tent and jerking the door shut behind him. He did not look happy. ‘The Wolves are asking for a doctor,’ he snapped. ‘They are ill. One of their slaves is near dead, the other severely afflicted.’
‘Oh, Good Christ!’ cried Alberon. ‘Have they brought the damned plague in on top of us, along with everything else?’
Oliver flickered his eyes to Razi, then away. ‘They hint at poison, Highness.’
Alberon’s face darkened. ‘Razi?’ he growled.
Razi spread his hands in denial of involvement. Christopher gazed steadily at the table. Wynter examined her nails.
‘Razi!’ demanded Alberon. ‘You were prowling about in the night! You actually sent me word that you intended to interfere with the Wolves!’
‘As I said, brother, petty vandalism, nothing more. The Wolves’ illness is nothing to do with me.’
‘Le Garou is most insistent in his calls for a doctor,’ said Oliver. He looked significantly at Razi. ‘We have none but you in camp, my Lord.’
‘There is nothing I can do for them.’
‘Razi,’ growled Alberon.
‘But there is nothing I can do,’ repeated Razi. ‘They were fool enough to eat something disagreeable and that is that.’
‘This is your opinion?’ asked Oliver. ‘They ate something disagreeable?’
‘Most disagreeable,’ murmured Christopher.
Razi gave him a warning look. ‘That is my opinion,’ he assured Alberon.
‘And you know this how, brother?’ asked Alberon tightly. ‘You simply sense it? You’re that wonderful a physician? You can diagnose a patient’s condition as if by magic through acres of tent canvas?’
The Rebel Prince Page 25