Miami Days and Truscan (K)nights

by Gail Roughton

  “Repeat it,” Johnny said, the words again coming from the corner of his mouth.

  “I don’t think I can,” I said. I could correlate none of the speech to the few words and phrases I had picked up.

  Johnny spoke quickly to the man, whoever he was, and he repeated himself, a few words at a time, very slowly. I think I complied and, in any event, my attempts to reproduce the words must have been successful because the crowd, as one, jumped to its feet and roared. Shouts of “Trusca! Trusca!” filled the room.

  “Doesn’t take much to make them happy, does it?” I whispered to Johnny.

  “I guess that all depends on your definition of much, Tess,” he said, a strange expression on his face. “I mean, you just pledged your life to Trusca.”

  “Well, haven’t we all? Not much option about it, is there?”

  Johnny turned away and muttered something that I didn’t quite catch, though I could have sworn it was something on the lines of “remind you you said that tomorrow.”

  “I beg your pardon?” I said.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Here comes the first course. Are you ready?”

  I had thought I was beginning to become accustomed to Truscan cuisine, which was nothing if not plentiful, but this! The trays never stopped! I saw every food I’d seen in the past four days and a lot more that I hadn’t; game birds roasted in their feathers, huge haunches of the meat I correlated to venison, meat pies and pastries, sweets, and fruits.

  “Johnny, Camelot couldn’t have had any more!”

  “They can throw a party right, that’s for sure,” he affirmed, upending his cup, which now that I thought about it, he had upended considerably more often than I had ever seen him indulge. I knew the brew was potent, though I didn’t know how it corresponded exactly with the alcoholic beverages of my world.

  “You’re getting drunk!” I accused.

  “Try a few cups yourself, darlin’. Live a little.”

  I did try one or two, and through it all, Randalph of Trusca sat on his massive throne, smiling slightly, and looking paternally down on his Court. Finally, he rose and the Great Hall quieted. Immediately. Completely. Again, his speech was far too rapid for me to translate at all, and he took my hand and gave a gentle tug. I assumed he was again presenting me to his Court as his new retainer and rose immediately, smiling on the crowd. After all, it could have been worse. I could have been in Pria, where, in Johnny’s concise summation, I might have been supper. Then he turned, still holding my hand, and made to leave the table. He threw a few words over his shoulder to Johnny, who rose himself, and followed. We headed for the stairs.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Upstairs.”

  “I can see that. Tell him I don’t need an escort to my room, and I’d sort of like to stay for the rest of the party.”

  I could see over my shoulder that the tables were being pulled over to the side, and a few men were grabbing what I assumed to be Truscan instruments, something on the order of lutes, or guitars, a few violins; in any event, the Truscan equivalents thereof. Obviously, some dancing was about to take place.

  You’re not going to your room, darlin’.”

  We were at the top of the stairs by this time and heading down a hall. A hall I’d never been down. Because it led to—

  “Wait a minute!!” I stopped dead in my tracks. “Then where am I—”

  Dalph tugged again, not harshly, just insistently.

  “Get down the hall a little further. I’ll explain.”

  “You think?” I threw out as we continued. We paused halfway down the corridor, and Dalph stopped. He turned to Johnny and nodded his head. Permission was obviously given to speak.

  “Well?”

  “Well, darlin’,” Johnny started. I didn’t like the hang-dog expression on his face. “You see, the thing is—”

  “The thing is he’s taking me to his chambers, and nobody told me the damn fealty oath went that far!” I exclaimed furiously.

  “Now, Tess, you got to be fair about this. I told you—I did tell you—you were pledging your life to Trusca.”

  “My fealty, Johnny, you said it was a fealty oath!”

  “Well, it wasn’t that, exactly.”

  “Then what was it!? Exactly?”

  “Your wedding night, darlin’. You’re the new queen. You pledged your life to Trusca, remember? Dalph is Trusca.”

  My intentions must have shown in my face because he ducked, though not entirely successfully. My hand did make contact with his cheek. Just not with as much force as I wanted.

  “You traitor! I trusted you, you’re an American for God’s sakes!”

  “No, I’m not, Tess. Not anymore. And neither are you. This is the only logical solution to a very sticky problem.”

  “And you didn’t tell me a thing about it! You tell me now! I deserve an explanation!”

  Dalph spoke then, an amused tone that maddened me further.

  “Dalph says you and I can talk in the morning,” he said and turned to leave. “I’m sorry, Tess.”

  I grabbed his arm. “I said now!”

  Dalph reached over and broke my grip on Johnny’s arm, speaking again.

  “Dalph says you got ten seconds to start walking down this hall, Tess,” he translated.

  Déjà vu. But if he knocked me out, he’d have to wait to consummate this marriage of his. Either that, or I wouldn’t know about said consummation and that would be some small consolation. I stood my ground and glared at both of them.

  “You tell him no!”

  I was sure that was one word which needed no translation, even if my expression was not sufficient answer, and Dalph shrugged, reached over, picked me up, and threw me over his shoulder like a sack of feed. Apparently, he did not wish to be inconvenienced by an unconscious bride. He strolled rather than walked down the hall, as though on a Sunday stroll through the garden.

  I yelled after Johnny.

  “I’ll get you for this, you bastard! Both of you! Do you hear me? You have to sleep sometime!”

  And by the end of my discourse of threats, Dalph had reached the door which obviously led to his quarters, opened it, and walked casually in.

  Chapter Seven

  He deposited me on the floor, reached over to the table which stood near the door, and picked up a large and ornate key which hung on a small-linked chain, with which he proceeded to lock the door. He slipped the chain over his neck, and had I not known it was his door key, I would have sworn it was merely an item of heavy masculine jewelry. He walked over to the window where sat another table and pulled the stopper off the top of a tall bottle. As glass goblets stood beside the bottle, it needed no great intellect to ascertain that the bottle held some wine or liquor-like contents. He poured two half-full and walked back to me, holding one out.

  I took it and performed what was, in retrospect, a most dangerous action. Had I not been so enraged, I would never have been so stupid. I threw it in his face. The minute I did it, I expected to hit the floor from a back-hand blow and decided in for a penny, in for a pound. He wouldn’t understand me, but I could still make my position clear.

  “I know you won’t understand anything I’m saying, which just goes to show you aren’t half as smart as you think you are, or you’d have learned English just to have a secret language with Johnny that your stupid Baka couldn’t understand! And you might be Trusca but I’m not Truscan!”

  Throughout this tirade, he merely stood, one eyebrow raised. Then he walked back to the table, picked up a soft napkin, and wiped his face. He reached for another goblet, poured it half-full, and turned back to me. But he didn’t come close. Then he spoke and my mouth dropped open.

  ‘“The time has come,’” he said, his English formal and perfect, ‘“the walrus said, to talk of many things. Of shoes and ships and ceiling wax, of cabbages and kings.’”

  He began to walk toward me again, and my mouth continued to hang open.

  ‘“And why the sea is boiling hot�
��”’

  “You son-of-a—”

  ‘“And whether pigs have wings.’”

  “Bitch,” I concluded. He laughed.

  “Really, Green Eyes,” he said, the amused expression never leaving his face, “you shouldn’t make hasty judgments. Actually, you’d have liked my mother. She was one such as you. From Beyond the Door.”

  He made as though to offer me the second goblet again, and apparently thought better of it.

  “If I promise you’re not about to be ravished by a barbarian you can’t communicate with, do you think you can take this goblet and have a civilized drink with me while we talk? Because if you throw it in my face again, I’ll throw mine right back. I concede, I probably deserved one, but another crosses the line into downright rudeness.”

  I didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and then I held out my hand. I needed that drink.

  He extended the goblet and I grabbed it, upended it, and drained it.

  “I want another one,” I said.

  He moved to the table, refilled the goblet, and gestured. “Come with me,” he said, and moved to one of the soft wall drapings.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Outside,” he said, lifting the drapings and revealing a door, into which he fitted the key that hung from his neck. “My private little enclosed Courtyard. And I’ll give you your drink if you promise not to drain it like you did the first one, or you won’t be able to make a lot of sense out of what I say, and we will talk of—many things.”

  “That’ll be a change,” I said and walked across the room to join him. He went down one of the steep stone steps and turned back, holding out his hand.

  “They’re very steep. I don’t want you to fall.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” I said, ignoring his hand.

  He shrugged and continued down. I followed him, descending into a small enclosure filled with the sharp-smelling green shrubs that proliferated in the Rata grounds. The odor was reminiscent of cedar. He led me to an ornate stone bench encircled by a bevy of flowering plants.

  “Sit down,” he said and handed me the goblet. “And sip. Don’t gulp. It’s supposed to be appreciated.”

  “Let me tell you something, Trusca. I don’t appreciate too much right now,” I said, but I sat.

  I’d pushed my luck when I threw the contents of the goblet in his face, and I knew it. I didn’t intend to lie down on the ground and roll over, but Women’s Liberation was a product of my own world, my own time, my own culture. When you took away a woman’s washing machines and driers, vacuum cleaners and cars, computers, and cellphones and GPS systems; when you left her dependent on nothing but her own wits and her own strength and pitted her against a man who outweighed her by close to a hundred pounds and towered over her by at least a foot, her wits were not going to prevent that man’s picking her up and tossing her about like a feed sack if he so desired unless she was a black belt. And even that would depend on how well-schooled the man in question was in martial arts, himself. I didn’t think any action heroes from the silver screens of my world would be able to take on Dalph. I’d never realized before how very dependent Women’s Lib was on the forbearance of men.

  He sat down next to me.

  “Why the charade?” I asked. “This farce? What do you want from me?”

  “I want you,” he said, turning to face me and holding my eyes with his own, “to be the Queen of Trusca. To see for me when I’m not there to see, to hear for me when I’m not there to hear. To be for me, because of who you are and where you come from, what no other woman in Trusca could be. No other woman in Trusca was raised as I know you to have been raised, in a culture which does not exist here and won’t exist, if it ever will at all, for many years.”

  “What you want is another American trouble-shooter,” I said. “A Johnny in female form. But you didn’t have to set up that mockery of a marriage ceremony to get it. Johnny was very clear. You are the last, best hope of this world. I don’t understand all the ramifications of why but I’ll accept his judgment on that. So as an intelligent human being, I was already prepared to give you what you say you want. So again I ask. Why the farce?”

  The reddish moon of Trusca, now beginning its new phase, sent forth its light. It wasn’t the strong moon-glow of the past few evenings, but everything about Trusca was newer, stronger, more vital and intense. Even in its weakened state, it was sufficient to highlight the strong and handsome features of the Truscan ruler, the high forehead, the dark and well-shaped brows, the strong straight nose and full mouth. It glinted off the dark hair which hung in waves to his shoulders. He shifted those huge shoulders restlessly under their cloak of heavy velvet.

  “I don’t want it to be a farce.”

  I raised my eyebrows and sent him a hard stare that Carlos would have translated immediately and correctly to mean it was time to cut the crap. “Okay, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. You’re American enough to realize I could be a real asset. Very useful in the general scheme of things. And you’re Truscan enough to think you can just wave your hand and have me. I’m supposed to just fall at your feet at the honor bestowed on me, am I? Oh, wait, not at your feet, in your bed. Sorry, I don’t think that’s happening.”

  He laughed. “Well, actually it is, because to Trusca, we’re married. So you have permanently moved to my chambers and you have to be in my bed when the Rata wakes in the mornings. But I don’t expect any activity in that bed right away, no.”

  “Thanks a lot, that’s real big of you. I’m overwhelmed.”

  “I assure you it’s considerably more than my mother received from my father, in the beginning.”

  Somehow I didn’t doubt that for a minute, and carefully scrutinized this strange cross-blend, this hybrid mixture of a modern American and a Truscan ruler. The voice of honesty spoke. He was one of the most impressive specimens of manhood I had ever run across. I was a great appreciator of the masculine physique and had I ever run across him or his like in my world, I would have been left breathless, and I would certainly not have been adverse to his admiration or attentions. But it would have been my choice. Better bread and water eaten in a hovel than prime rib and pheasant consumed in a prison, however elegant or luxurious that prison might be. I hadn’t realized I was so, well, the only word was American.

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll grant you that one. But you haven’t even asked, apparently you don’t even care. Suppose in my world there’s a man I love? Suppose I’m even married?”

  As soon as I said it, I realized that just because I hadn’t known he was bi-lingual, it didn’t mean he hadn’t understood every word he’d ever heard me speak. He merely looked at me with raised eyebrow.

  “Oh,” I said.

  “I’m sorry about your Carlos. And even though you never expected him to be your life partner, I think you probably care for him a good bit more than you admit. But I can’t send you back. You have to make a new life here. There is no way back.”

  “That’s not the point. The point is, you swept me into that marriage ceremony with no choice and no time to—”

  “I’ll give you all the time you need.”

  “And I repeat, that’s real big of you.” A sudden thought struck me. “In my world,” I said slowly, “in the times when my world was much as Trusca—”

  He laughed. “Believe me, Tess, your world has never been much as Trusca.”

  “In many ways, it was. And in those times, it was very important for the brides of royalty to come to the marriage—I’m not a virgin, you know. Doesn’t that throw sort of a kink in your plans?”

  He shrugged. “Virgins,” he said with a trace of a grin, “are greatly overrated. What they don’t know, they can’t fully miss. You will. If not this week or this month, then the month after that. Or perhaps even the next. But you’ll miss it. And in this world, you’re my wife. I’m your only option. Because to betray me is to betray Trusca. It would be high treason. I trust I need not explain the consequences of
that further?”

  Checkmate. He certainly didn’t need to explain the consequences further.

  “Got your bases covered, don’t you?”

  “I take that to mean you have no desire to play Guinevere to any prancing Lancelot?”

  “No,” I admitted. “I do not.” He was, indeed, amazing. I didn’t see Johnny throwing out quotes from Lewis Carroll and stories of Arthur’s Round Table. Come to think of it, I was suddenly sure Johnny hadn’t been the one to introduce him to the Greek myths from whence had come the name of his horned mount, either.

  “Your mother—what was she on Earth?”

  “An English professor.”

  I groaned.

  “At one of your institutions called Harvard.”

  “Perfect.”

  He grinned. “Actually, I didn’t have any idea what that meant in your world until Johnny came through. She never told me. Her name was Madeline. Madeline Randolph. She never overcame her training as a teacher. She was a very good one.”

  “It shows.”

  “She always said she knew exactly how Alice felt when she went through the looking glass. I’m sure you feel much the same.”

  “Politically speaking—”

  “You don’t know enough of Trusca to speak politically yet, Green Eyes. But it is my intention that you will.”

  “I know enough to ask this question.”

  “Which is?”

  “Marrying me, an outsider, won’t your nobles resent that? And Johnny said you had a son. How’s he going to feel about this?”

  “That’s the greatest benefit of all. That you’re an outsider. To marry a daughter of one of the nobles would encourage further factioning among the nobles. I have enough factions. You have no strong arms waiting to the side, ready to use you and your child to stake a claim to the throne.”

  “Then why on earth—well, that doesn’t apply, does it? Why did you marry Baka’s niece? That makes him your son’s great-uncle. That’s a pretty good blood claim, don’t you think?”

  “Johnny talks too much.”

  “Funny, I don’t think he talked nearly enough.”

  “Baka has no interest in Dal. He has a—he was born with a club foot. The House of Canor considers him defective and wants no part of him. He needs his own allies, his own family. He shouldn’t be an only child.”