Annatrice of Cayborne

by Jonathan Davison

  Charleroux was respectfully saluted as he passed by the townsfolk. They reminded Annatrice of the people of Cayborne. They were simple, hard working families who wanted for little and gave much. After being embroiled in the embarrassment of riches for the latter part of her life, it was a reminder of the past when life was hard but worries were few and far between. Some of the towns girls, both young and old whooped with joy and bounced up and down at the sight of her, resplendent in her flowing gown of crimson and white lace. She even heard one shout out over the hubbub, 'she is beautiful!', and Annatrice blushed with a rare feeling of inflated self worth. Charleroux kept his nose high in the air as he made his way through the crowded market place. Annatrice soon discovered what it was to be nobility in a place such as this. The perceived differences between ordinary and the extraordinary people had to be kept large and wide at all times. Class was not a matter of science; it was a matter of perception.

  The entourage kept a brisk pace until it was clear that Charleroux's fortress was on the horizon. Compared to the grandiose keep of the ruler, her new master's home was little more than a fortified hall with the most meagre of moats to keep any invaders at bay. It was little wonder that Annatrice sensed that Charleroux was pensive about her perception of his wealth. It was quite apparent that her husband was a small fish in a very large pond.

  Annatrice dismounted her mare and a number of servants scampered about her, curious and eager to please. The castle compound was compact; a small garrison of soldiers appeared to keep the order. They were clearly on their best behaviour as their lord arrived with his new and captivating lady. At the gates to the main hall, a line of servants stood to attention to welcome their Lordship back into his home and as Charleroux took Annatrice's hand much to her embarrassment, they bowed with considerable enthusiasm as she passed.

  The hall was tall and lengthy; a large chamber seemed to be the reception area where quality wooden furniture stood, shrouded in plump opulent cushions. A well maintained fire blazed in a central hearth and there were ornaments of precious metals adorning every available space. Upon the walls, a series of large portraits hung, warriors and kings of ages past, perhaps even ancestors of Charleroux?

  “I beg of you, sit and take the weight from your feet.” Charleroux motioned for Annatrice to take comfort in a long, softly lined bench by the fire and then waved his hand, clicking his fingers at an attentive servant who stood behind him.

  “Bring wine and a platter.” He barked, the servant shuffling off with all haste leaving only the wedded couple remaining.

  “I see your influence in this room. It speaks for you.” Annatrice said as she sat, looking around fascinated by the assorted paraphernalia which included a large stuffed bears head, mounted upon the wall.

  “I'll admit there is little to appeal to a woman’s sensibilities.” Charleroux replied as he too sat but not too close to his bride.

  “I am not a typical woman, it interests me.” Charleroux took some comfort from this admission.

  “That you are not. You are unlike any I have encountered. You have the wit of a poet and yet the patience and voraciousness of a hungry wolf in the fold, you are blunt like a cudgel but as sharp as a warrior's sword. Were it not for your humble origins I would think you to be of royal stock such is your power to command men to do irrational and foolish things.”

  Annatrice looked over to Charleroux, his eyes red and tired, the strain of the journey and perhaps his lack of sleep clear to see.

  “You are tired, as am I. I should like to take some rest after supper and then talk more in the morning when we are both a little more lucid.”

  Charleroux nodded in agreement.

  “I wish you could understand the power that you have over me, it is all encompassing, fearful even. You can see my every weakness, my hopes and desires; surely you can see that I offer only my best intentions towards you?”

  Annatrice rested her face in her hands.

  “I see that.”

  Charleroux nodded once more. He felt oddly ill at ease being so meek around a woman of such tender age but she had intensity, an air of intangible essence which demanded respect. Charleroux stood up and walked towards the doorway.

  “I shall see what is taking so long.” He said quietly.

  “Let them be, they tend you with great loyalty. Show them your care and they will serve you even better.” Annatrice said, her face still buried in her cupped hands.

  “Are those the words of a peasant?” He quipped, wondering where she acquired such wisdom.

  “Peasant, noble, I am neither. I feel their anxiety to please. That is all.”

  Annatrice looked up to Charleroux who stood lingering on her every word.

  “I am sorry.”

  Charleroux looked baffled.

  “For what?”

  “For the way I have embarrassed you, I have regretted the words I used at the feast but they were in some ways, necessary. I needed to earn your favour and demonstrate my usefulness.”

  Charleroux was somewhat taken back by the welcomed but belated apology.

  “I accept your most sincere words; my heart has carried a heavy burden since that moment. You are however, a rare and formidable ally to those who pursue power in this land or any other. If that display was even the limit of your abilities, people will seek you out.”

  Annatrice sat back and closed her eyes. Charleroux had brought up a relevant point. Annatrice could feel her powers growing stronger by the day, even with the mild discomfort from the horses back on the long journey, her senses were coming alive, and the voices in her head floating in and out of her thoughts like a wisp of ether. When would these feelings stop and how would she ever be able to trust herself not to invade the privacy of the people that she met, her irrational yet increasingly paranoid fear of betrayal beginning to grow by the day?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Annatrice awoke the next morning in Charleroux's long, soft bed. He had curiously not attempted to consummate his marriage as he had stated the day before, but had slept soundly beside her, his eager hands resisting the urge to touch. Annatrice rolled over and saw her husband, quite awake and looking at her with his dark brown eyes.

  “Did I snore?” Annatrice inquired, her juvenile sense of humour finding its way to the surface.

  “Absolutely not. You took the form of a sleeping goddess and did not utter a sound.”

  The flattery was unwarranted but received with a smile.

  “After you retired, I sent a messenger to Deo Canthi requesting a conference. Things will proceed quickly now, he is impatient to move forward.”

  Charleroux was straight to business, Annatrice sensed that he was making a conscious effort to be rather matter of fact about things and not let other issues cloud the reason why they had joined.

  “So Deo Canthi is close by?” Annatrice asked.

  “Close, yes. Forgive me for being vague, for me to disclose such things would be careless, although if you wanted to find out you need only administer another cut?”

  Annatrice sat upright and looked down at the smooth flesh of her inner arm. A series of healing wounds were clearly visible as the sleeve of her nightwear had ridden up. Annatrice felt threatened by her husband's new knowledge, it was one aspect that she did not care to share with anyone.

  “These wounds were from a fall, my pony took flight, and I fell upon a bush of thorns.”

  Annatrice was a poor liar. Charleroux rolled back and looked up at the ceiling.

  “You shall have no such dramas with Majestic; she is a fine mare with impeccable breeding.”

  Annatrice agreed hoping her tall tale had ended the thread of the conversation.

  “When I receive receipt of my request, we will have to ride out to a location of his choosing. I should like you to come for obvious reasons; I trust this to be agreeable?”

  Annatrice nodded, it was agreeable. To finally meet the opposing King would be quite a moment. Her research had led her to believe that he
was a just and wise ruler, not without a taint or two on his record but worthy of removing the tyrant of Araman.

  When Annatrice rose, she realised that Charleroux's servants had been busy during the night. A wardrobe of fine clothes had been gathered. She had left Fontayne with almost as little as when she entered. It was obvious that her husband was making efforts to appease her and earn her favour. The pressure he exerted was tangible, she felt that despite his most courteous behaviour, the expected end product was obvious and Annatrice could see where it was all heading. Whether it was Tragian who took her by force under pain of death or Charleroux who attempted to charm her to his bed, the end result was the same. Annatrice viewed Charleroux's efforts to be equally as abhorrent but she could not deny that some part of her felt compelled to offer herself to him; after all she had cajoled him into the marriage in a bid for her freedom. She prayed that if it came to that then her husband would be a tender lover unlike the despised King. She was also quite aware that Charleroux must also have made great sacrifices in order to 'buy' her from the King's custody. Tragian never gave away anything in his life. Annatrice wondered what riches or privileges her husband had ceded in order to claim her as his own.

  Annatrice spent the morning discovering her new surroundings and meeting her husband's staff. Both they and their master were confounded that she took the time to speak to them and ask them questions about their lives and work. All the while, Charleroux paced around his home nervous about the forthcoming meeting with King Deo Canthi, if his new wife failed to deliver, he would be looked upon unfavourably and stood to lose his promised wealth and maybe much more. At mid morning, Charleroux's trusted messenger returned with news of Deo Canthi's position. Annatrice was ushered out of the door and to the saddle of her awaiting horse, it would be a long ride and Charleroux dare not be late.

  Lord Charleroux rode with a compliment of six soldiers. The path to their place of conference, a ruined fort on the shores of Kellington Lake close to the Suleyman border. It was not a dangerous route but when it came to the safety of the noble, nothing was left to chance. Two riders led the way, the other four accompanied Charleroux and his wife who lingered some minutes behind the forward party.

  Galloping hard in extended bursts tired the horses quickly and at certain points, Charleroux pulled them up for respite. As the horses supped the cool waters by a moorland stream, Annatrice dismounted to take in the views of the desolate but breathtaking scenery. The winter sun could barely be felt over the frigid wind that whistled across the eroded hills. Rounded peaks of solid rock jutted from the ground as if smoothed by the hand of a powerful god.

  “Not much farther now.” Charleroux said as he dismounted, brushing himself down in readiness for the King. Annatrice embraced herself; she was cold despite the warmth of a sheepskin cape.

  “May I warm you?” Charleroux gallantly offered although there was no altruism in his gesture. Annatrice accepted his offer, her skin was blue, and the speed of the horse combined with the frosty air was a chilling combination. Charleroux embraced his wife and her face was buried into his chest.

  “Tell me Charleroux, what did you offer Tragian in return for my hand in marriage?” Annatrice felt compelled to ask, she wished to know her price. It seemed unlikely that even with all of Charleroux's wealth; he could have prised her free with mere coin. Charleroux paused for a moment, he was uncomfortable and Annatrice could feel that he did not want to share the information.

  “There is little point in lying to you is there?” He said in resignation, knowing that his thoughts were hers for the taking.

  “No, not really. I know Tragian, I know he would ask for much in return for little, that is his way.”

  Charleroux looked down upon his wife.

  “I would not say that I have gained little in this case, you do yourself a disservice my lady. However, I cannot conceal the heavy weight of burden your hand in marriage has placed upon me.”

  “Then speak it and be done with it.” Annatrice impatiently hurried the pontificating noble.

  “I could not offer my wealth to the King for it is his wealth to take. That is what it is to be a king. He demanded only one thing of me, one terrible thing of which I am deeply ashamed. However, knowing that it would not be long before he was stripped of his throne and sent to the dogs, I accepted his bargain.”

  Annatrice could sense his embarrassment and shame at his actions but could not quite clarify what they were.

  “And this promise?” She persisted in her inquiry.

  “I promised that if ever bore a daughter then on her thirteenth birthday, she would be presented to the King for his...indefinite pleasure.” Charleroux could not bear to look into Annatrice's raging dark eyes. This was not only his child that he abandoned to pure evil depravity but hers also.

  “How sure you are that your plot will succeed to promise such a thing!” Annatrice barked. The soldiers who tended their horses shuffled uncomfortably trying not to be party to their master's argument. Annatrice grasped Charleroux's face to draw his undivided attention, an action that defied his standing as a noble and the man of the house.

  “How could you waive your daughter's rights so callously, so easily in order to fulfil your most base desires? Do you not know what torture lay ahead for her behind those castle walls?” Annatrice cried out, the anger of her time at Tragian's mercy once again emerging with little to hold it back. Charleroux grasped his wife's hand and pulled it away from his face.

  “No! I do not and cannot! How could I? All I know is that Tragian will be long dead before I bear a child and even so...it might be a son?”

  Annatrice was wholly unconvinced by her husband's thoughtless gamble.

  “Maybe Tragian is not as doomed as you would believe. For your sake I hope he is, for if he casts off this coup and rises to even greater power, I shall have your head before I send my daughter to his parlour.”

  Annatrice snatched her arm away from Charleroux's grasp and remounted her white mare.

  “Come, let us meet this Deo Canthi and pray he is of sound mind unlike some of his followers.”

  Annatrice's wrath was an embarrassment to the noble who shook with anger at his humiliation. He looked over to the soldiers who turned their glances away as to not see his rage.

  “Well? Do as your new master says!” Charleroux yelled at the confounded soldiers who hurriedly mounted. The irony in his voice was lost on the simple men who protected him but it was clear for Annatrice to hear. Charleroux climbed on to his large and powerful stallion and kicked its flank with unreasonable force. He hoped that when all was said and done, this would all be somehow worthwhile. The girl was compelling but she brought out the worst in him and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Charleroux's party emerged over the summit of a small hillock and their silhouetted shapes were clear to see to those who watched with vigilance from the base of the ruined fortress. Castle Trushen had been left in tatters as a reminder to all those who had forgotten the sacrifices of previous pointless wars. Its close proximity to the Suleyman border had at one stage made it a vital defence structure in times of great hostility. Peace between the nations had reigned since but the uneasy pact was not as hardy as the giant stone walls of the fortress and they had fallen, crumbled into dust.

  Charleroux held his soldiers at the peak and looked out over the valley. The long thin Kellington Lake offered superb fishing, but now was not the time to be exploring its depths. Looking for a flag of acceptance before riding on, it was not long coming and Annatrice felt a pang of nervousness in her gut as she could not in truth tell how this conference would pan out. A small triangular flag had appeared above the walls, flapping in the swirling winds, its orange colours significant in that it was the Royal Standard of Deo Canthi.

  The party kicked on down the hillside and Annatrice prepared herself. Taking a small concealed dagger from her saddlebag, she fumbled at it, stuffing it into her sheepskin overcoat. She
had the powers to determine truths and falsehoods; it would be foolish to enter such an arena without a tactical advantage.

  As they closed in on the ruins, Annatrice only then realised the imposing scale of the remaining walls. This was not some nobleman's keep; it was an outpost home to a legion of soldiers. Even the charred scorch marks upon the castle walls were still evident and Annatrice imagined the blazing inferno that ended the fortress' usefulness. Rounding the structure, it was clear that one of the outer walls had collapsed completely and to enter the hollow interior, it was no longer necessary to enter through the giant gateway. Annatrice quickly spotted movement from within and a small group of horses could be seen and the reflective chink of plated armour too.

  Charleroux's party were quickly halted and examined by a small cluster of mounted warriors, their weapons drawn. Ushered forward, the soldiers burning eyes seared Annatrice's skin with their persistent gaze and the feeling of unease grew significantly as she passed through the outer walls and into the courtyard, still strewn with large chunks of rubble.

  Little was said as Annatrice and her husband dismounted. The King was not immediately noticeable by his presence. She could feel their caution and their fear, it relaxed her, and at least she was not alone in her worries. A muscular and bearded soldier pointed to a small building which was situated in the corner of the yard, it may have once been used as a stable, Annatrice reckoned. Under watchful eyes, Annatrice and Charleroux approached the building leaving their own guard behind to tussle with the King's soldiers in a game of silent, mental warfare. Charleroux motioned to hold his wife’s hand but Annatrice did not feel it appropriate despite the comfort it would have offered. Rounding the corner, Annatrice set eyes on two men who sat on wooden barrels, supping at a flagon of thirst quenching liquid. On arrival, they both stood, one young, slender and fresh faced, the other elderly, bearded and rather fat in comparison.