by Lara Blunte
"Is he leaving us, Tommy?"
"Hush, we will wait to hear. It might be nothing yet..."
Tameas saw the silhouette that had come to stand tentatively at the door, and recognized his wife. He nodded at her, inviting her into the room, and she approached slowly.
"How does the king?" Isobel asked.
He shook his head very slightly at her, without letting Agnetta see. The girl felt Isobel's hand on her shoulder and touched it, without taking her face away from her brother's chest.
"Your Highness," it was Lord Jollan at the door, nodding solemnly at Tameas.
Agnetta's sobs increased, but she went from Tameas' arms into Isobel's, after being kissed by her brother.
Tameas mouthed his thanks to Isobel and followed Lord Jollan into the royal chamber.
"There might be little time left," Lord Jollan warned.
Queen Elinor was kneeling on a cushion by the window, holding a rosary and apparently praying. She did not look at the prince. Sir Jochim was in the room, looking solemn, and so were the physicians, who shook their heads at Tameas making faces of regret.
Tameas approached his father's bed. The king's eyes were open, carved deep into his skull as if they might keep sinking and disappear in a little while. Tibold motioned for him to sit down on the bed and Tameas did. Tibold's hand searched his tremulously.
It was hard to see the king so diminished. He had been immensely strong, full of vitality, and had never been sick for a day in his life until the last few months. Some disease had been eating at him, but he had not wanted to stop; he had not thought it possible to slow down when he was so close to everything that he had set out to achieve.
His son’s marriage to Benedikt’s daughter had perhaps been the last thing he had needed to oversee, and he had held up until then. Now his ideas and ambitions had finally been cut short by a body that could no longer continue, and which troubled the mind inside it.
The prince felt his father press his hand with the little strength of which he was still capable.
"Tom, Tom, I needed to speak to you the most. I don't want Agnetta to see me like this. This is the end, my boy, the end for me."
Tameas knew better than to waste time pretending otherwise. "I'm here, father."
"I need to ask your forgiveness."
"There is no need..."
"There is, so much. I must be forgiven for what happened to your mother. She died of a broken heart, and I was the one who broke it. Come closer, Tom."
Bending forward from where he was sitting, Tameas set his face down next to his father's on the pillow. Tibold went on, in a lower voice, meant only for his son, “You need to know that should it not be for my little Agnetta, not a day would pass without my bitterly regretting what I did. Your mother was a lady whose worth the whole world could not have paid. If there is justice I might not go to heaven, but if there is mercy and God knows what is in my heart, I shall, and I shall be with her."
There were tears running down the corner of the king's eyes, and Tameas felt them burning their way up to his as well.
"But, much as I loved her, I have never loved anything as well as you and your sister." Tibold had to stop, to draw a shuddering breath. "Ah, my boy, even when you most hated me, even when you tried so hard to disappoint me, I have been so proud of you!"
Tameas knew that such words were only said when death was near, and that people lived their lives estranged from those they most loved for not being able to say them in time. His tears mingled with his father's as their faces lay close together.
"Forgive, Tommy, that I took your sword away from you, and that I didn't allow you to be all you were ─ such a perfect boy! It wasn't just the succession, it was fear, it was the dread of losing what was most precious, what could not be replaced! So many men lost their sons fighting for me and yet I couldn't bear to risk your life. It was wrong of me, so wrong, but I couldn't do it. Forgive your father, Tom, he only loved you too well!"
It took a moment for Tameas to speak."Then forgive me too. I have always loved you, even through my disobedience."
Tibold's breathing had become labored. "You shall make...a good king....I saw it long ago...It ...is... your destiny, Tom. Keep Donnet...close. To rule is...a lonely thing. I know you will do anything ...for Agnetta... I have...no worries...now..."
He stopped speaking and his hand stayed in his son's, but it did not move or tremble anymore. Tameas knew that if he raised his head and looked he would find that the king was gone, and so he didn't, not yet.
After a while he heard whispering behind him, and felt someone approach. "Your Highness, I regret to say...the king is dead," said Lord Jollan.
"Close the curtains", Tameas ordered.
He could hear the red curtains around the bed being drawn, and he was alone with his father. He finally raised his face, and saw in the dim light coming through the cloth that Tibold's eyes were open, so he closed them and kissed his cheek, which was already becoming cold.
A quarter of an hour later he stood up and opened the curtains, stepping away from the bed.
The men in the room bowed their heads and knelt, as did the woman, his stepmother, who was no longer queen.
"The king is dead," said Lord Jollan, "Long live the king."
"Long live the king," all in the room repeated.
THE COUNCIL
King Tibold was buried, masses were bought for his soul, and the court dressed in mourning. There was black at the windows of homes, in squares and taverns, to grieve the passing of a sovereign the people had respected and loved.
"The coronation must take place four Sundays from today," Lord Jollan informed the council.
Its members sat around the long table with Tameas, dressed in deep black, at the head.
"Yes, Your Grace, we are afraid there will be no time to mourn the loss of such a great king and loving father," said Sir Jochim. "The people, and the nobles, must see that the succession goes smoothly and that their new king ..."
"Is fit to rule?" Tameas asked, filling in the tentative pause. "My lords, the coronation will take place as you say."
"Your Grace, there must be a feast, and a tournament," said Sir Paulus after clearing his throat, his white beard shaking with the infirmity of age. Sir Paulus had overseen matters of protocol for decades. "A feast, and jousting, are customary, and the people expect it ─ even if you understandably have little stomach for celebration."
"Kings must be able to digest all sorts of things," Tameas said quietly. "There will be celebrating, and we couldn't deny our knights their chance to have a go at each other. It will keep them busy, and have them licking their wounds for a while afterwards."
"And, Your Grace, the ceremonial robes..." Sir Paulus continued.
Tameas took a deep breath, "I shall leave all that in your capable hands, Sir Paulus." He looked around the table. "My lords, shall we on to matters of state?"
A silence fell over the room. No one in it was of Tameas' blood: his uncles had died young, in war, leaving no children, and he had no aunts. At the table sat Queen Elinor's brother, the Earl of Angiers, but he was as useless and as dim as a goose. Then there was the military commander, Lord Adalbert, an able and loyal man who nevertheless could speak of nothing but war, or how to keep the peace through arms.
"Indeed, Sire," Sir Jochim ventured. "We were about to suggest that in terms of ruling, you might want to consider ...a beard."
"A beard?" Tameas asked, his face inscrutable.
"Indeed," Sir Jochim repeated with greater verve. "We thought it might lend more...authority to your investiture."
Tameas leaned back on his chair and asked, "And what type of beard would you recommend, Sir Jochim? Pointed, as Lord Jollan's? Long, as Sir Paulus'? Or should it be as ample and generous as yours?"
Sir Jochim was opening his mouth to give his opinion when he caught Lord Jollan's eye and his shake of the head. Oh, he was being teased!
"I only thought, Sire..."
"I shall tel
l you what I wish to know," Tameas said calmly. "What is the size of our standing army? In case of war, how many other men can be gathered, under which lords? Where is the map of our new kingdom, with the changes made by my marriage reflected on it? Can we build ships, such as the barbarians on the east have, and who could build them? And how much money exactly does the crown presently have?"
"Money, Your Grace?" The question still came from Sir Jochim.
"Money, Sir Jochim. Coin."
All lords looked at each other.
"Your Grace, I watch over the coin!" Sir Jochim exclaimed.
"Which is the reason I am asking you."
"Your Grace, I would have to look at the books to be exact..."
"Then look at the books. Or rather, bring them here and we will look together."
Sir Jochim was positively fidgeting, something that became immediately obvious in a man of his size. "But Your Grace, looking at dull numbers..."
"I love numbers, and I am good at them."
Lord Jollan butted in, "Sire, of course all your questions have answers, but if you will let yourself be guided by us..."
"...as your father was..."
"...we have never been a maritime race..."
"...the books..."
Tameas stood up abruptly and the members of the council rushed to do the same.
"Come, my lords, come, stand here, all about."
Tameas moved to the middle of the room and motioned so that the men in it would place themselves in different spots. "Come, come, come!"
They did, still looking at each other.
"Now, Sir Jochim, cover your eyes with a scarf!" the king ordered.
"Sire?"
"You heard me! Once you are blind, you will need to find us! It's an amusing game!"
Sir Jochim almost groaned, wondering if Tameas were going to turn out to be capricious and childish, or utterly mad, now that he had power.
"But Your Grace, should we engage in tomfoolery, at your council?" he asked in an aggrieved tone.
Lord Jollan had crossed his hands over the front of his tunic, already anticipating a lesson which Sir Jochim and the other lords still did not see coming.
"Maybe you should answer your own question, Sir Jochim?" the king wondered.
"Your Grace?"
"Should we be engaging in tomfoolery at my council?"
The lords looked at the king in silence once more.
"Should I have to play at blind man's buff, feeling my way and trying to find out where you are? Should I?"
Sir Jochim could see something different in Tameas, though the young man was looking at him with a limpid gaze. There was, however, more steel in his eyes than had previously been found there.
Tameas considered them all. "Whether I have a beard to impress you with or no, my lords, I shall have the answers to my questions at the next council, and I shall look at the books and know exactly how much coin the crown has. And before you ever set a paper down for me to sign, know that I will read it; and if you ever make a decision without me, know that you shall answer for it."
The lords stood rebuked, still silent, and Tameas continued, "You are worried about the succession, and the succession is me. I am the king about to be crowned. I won't be ambling about with a toy sword and a beard, I am going to rule; and I do not think you so foolish as to desire a war to replace me when peace has been so generous to you. Therefore know this also, there is hardly anything you will do which I won't know about, because I have been watching you all my life."
He still stood looking at them, before he finished: "I know you, much more than you think you know me."
The council bowed, low, as the king turned on his heels and left.
SISTERS
"You are queen much sooner than anyone expected," Benedikt told his daughter as they sat in her antechamber.
She had not wanted to change to new and even more luxurious quarters, but Elinor had insisted in her cold way, saying that everyone had their place and that she was now Queen Dowager, with her own wing of the castle.
Isobel had inherited some of her ladies-in-waiting, the ones most nobly born, so that they would not be slighted by serving anyone less than the present queen. Dorthe had already been in high dudgeon about the interlopers, but Isobel had been able to put her in her place and did her best to accept the presence of the chattering women, though she knew her patience to be a finite thing.
Her father had had to turn back to Lathia upon arriving in Stonemount to attend the funeral of King Tibold, but Sir Harry had stayed behind with her brothers.
"Are you unhappy?" Benedikt asked.
Isobel thought of her empty bed, but she did not wish to upset her father with the insult that was nightly repeated through her husband's neglect.
"No, father. All is well, except of course for the passing of King Tibold. Princess Agnetta is still very sad and the king wants her with him at all times."
"Have you been shut out?"
"No," she frowned. "They are very close, and yet both are kind to me."
"The girl more than your husband, I think," the duke said. "I don't see in his looks the fondness that he ought to have for a woman like you."
Isobel shook her head decisively. "It's no time to think or speak of anything except the new reality we are facing. You must give Tameas all your help and advice in the absence of his father."
Benedikt nodded. "We have met about affairs of state, and I like the way he thinks. Of course...sooner or later he will need to prove himself."
"In what way?"
"Any kingdom or land has greedy lords biting at the bit, waiting for a chance to grab more power and gain more wealth. King Tibold had put them all down, but their ambitions aren't dead, and now they see a young king, untried in war, and they may get ideas. And then, there are savages to the east and northeast, and with warmer seas, they might be getting restless."
Isobel nodded. "I didn't think, and neither did you, that dangers would end. Looking at this land one almost believes that could happen, but we know it won't. It only makes people envious..."
"I must stay in Stonemount and see to the frontiers on the northeast," Benedikt said. "And Tameas will have to be very clever at keeping the lords with him, and very forceful if any try to leave the fold."
"They shall all be coming to swear fealty," Isobel said. "It's the first time that so many have to do so at a coronation. King Tibold was a duke, and did not have even half the land that Tameas has now."
"It's a new world," Benedikt agreed. "We have to hope that it holds. I shall certainly not give my men much rest from training. They will stay sharp; it is our way!"
Later Isobel managed to get rid of her ladies and walked a few doors down to Agnetta's chamber. She found the girl sitting at a table, looking out the window at the beautiful view of trees in flower and lofty church spires. Birds flew in and out of her room to peck at the bread she left everywhere. That was probably what made her brother call her Birdie.
Isobel saw that Agnetta had covered several sheets with writing.
"What is that?" she asked, sitting by her sister-in-law.
Agnetta looked down at the paper. "I have been writing the history of Lathia, and now I was writing about my father's death."
Isobel saw that the splotches that had been made by her tears. "Should you not wait to tell such a sad story?"
Agnetta sighed, "I prefer to set it down now, when I am already sad, than later when it will make me sad again."
Isobel thought once more that Agnetta was too young to be so wise and good. She picked up a sheet and looked at it.
"Can you read?" Agnetta asked.
Isobel set the page down hastily. "No, no. Not many people can, in my country."
"Or here. Tommy taught me, because he learned from monks. He could teach you."
"Oh, no!"
Isobel's cry made Agnetta sad again. She knew that her hopes had not yet been fulfilled, and that her brother and Isobel felt no more warmly about each
other than when they had first met. It was even whispered that they had never made love at all, that the sheets of their wedding bed had borne no trace of blood, and no trace of lovemaking since.
"The king is now going to be very busy!" Isobel was saying.
She was wearing black again, to mourn for Tibold, but now the color brought out the beauty of her hair and skin, and the elegant cut of her gown made her look both slender and shapely. Agnetta could strike her brother, to think he would leave such a ravishing girl untouched.
"I can teach you to read, if you want!" she said.
Isobel sent her a sideways glance, "But what is the good of it?"
Agnetta became excited. "You like to know things ─ and there is a lot of knowledge in books!"
"What sorts of things are there in books that could be useful? I don't want to read about undying love and things that never happened!"
Oh, but they did happen, Agnetta thought. Men and women died for love, and did extraordinary things for it. She knew it to be true, because at fourteen she already felt such a love. Again she desperately wanted things to be different for her new sister.
But she only said, "You can read about anything, about plants and crops, or diseases, battles or other places in the world. Anything you would like to know."
Isobel's eyes were shining with interest, "All these things? I wonder, then, that so few people should read!"
"Tameas said that the church doesn't like people to know things. It says in the Bible: 'To increase knowledge is to increase sorrow'."
Isobel frowned hard at this. "What nonsense!"
"Indeed, but Tameas will wrench books from the church and build a great library, you will see. He will have his way, he always does. And I think you should then be able to know anything you would like to know, without asking anyone."
Isobel looked at Agnetta for a moment and asked, "Will you keep it a secret, if you teach me?"