by Lara Blunte
HONOR
Tameas took a detour from the festivities that were to follow the jousting to see his champion in his tent.
Donnet was sitting on a cot, naked from the waist up, and large bruises already showed on his chest, where he had been struck twice by Harry's blunt lance. His squire was busy behind him, preparing a salve to place on the bruises and avoid swelling, as Donnet sipped wine from a metal cup.
"The saddle broke," Donnet said, scowling.
Tameas walked to the saddle and looked: the buckle had probably been weakened during the third hit, and was completely destroyed during the fourth.
He shrugged, "It happens. I am glad that you didn't break your back, or your neck."
Donnet motioned with his head so that the squire would leave them. The man went, bowing low to the king.
"Is it true? Did he give the crown to the queen?"
"Well," said Tameas. "It's meant to be the Queen of Love and Beauty, and he loves her, and there was scarcely anyone more beautiful there."
Donnet stood up with a grimace, "Will you take it so lightly?
“ I will."
"All these people who came to swear fealty will think they can walk all over you!"
"But they can't, can they?" Tameas asked quietly.
"You know that..."
Tameas held his hand up. "I have come to ask you for a favor."
"I hope it's to match swords with that impudent dog!"
"No, I need you to find a person and convince him to come to me."
"Convince? You are the king, you can –"
"You are as tiresome as Sir Harry today with all that fire," Tameas said, grimacing. “And the day is getting old and I have things to do still. It's Sir Eldon."
Donnet's eyes lit up. "Sir Eldon! Tameas, are you going to –"
Tameas continued, "Knowing him, you can see that he will need to be convinced. He wouldn't give less of a damn about being ordered anywhere."
"I will convince him," Donnet said, taking Tameas by the shoulder. "I will bring him!"
He embraced his friend.
"Don't touch the king," Tameas said with a mocking smile and, patting his friend's neck, he walked out.
Dancer was waiting for him, and he mounted easily, riding towards the open hall where tables for the banquet had been set. He found that the queen and the nobles, including Benedikt and Harry, were waiting for him outside. He dismounted and walked forward, taking off his gloves and handing them to a page. He kept walking through the group standing there, noticing that Isobel was holding the crown of flowers she had been given by Harry.
He also noticed, as he stepped into the Hall followed by his guests, that Dorthe had been summoned, and was being handed the jousting crown by his wife, and that she was scurrying away.
Tameas reached out and grabbed Dorthe's veil as it floated past him. She stopped in her tracks when it pulled on her headdress.
The king turned around, holding the veil between two fingers as if Dorthe were a curiosity that he wanted to exhibit, and everyone who had been following him stopped as well.
"Your Grace!" he said to Isobel.
"Sire?"
For the first time Isobel faced him with something like shame or apprehension, though he had seen the triumph in her eyes when Harry had won. She had obviously realized, since, that her beloved had gone too far.
"Your Grace, our brave champion has done you a great honor," Tameas said. He looked over at Harry, who was scowling, then back at Isobel. "He has acknowledged that no woman present could be the Queen of Love and Beauty other than the queen. In honoring you, he honors me, who am your husband."
He reached out and took the garland from Dorthe's hand. "Remove the crown from the queen's head," he ordered.
There was no disobeying him, though the faces before him showed different degrees of surprise. Dorthe went forward and Isobel was forced to bow her head, so that the golden crown could be removed.
When she straightened her back again, her eyes on the ground, Tameas stepped forward with the jousting crown.
"You will honor both our champion and your husband by wearing this today." He set it on her head and added, "It suits you even better than the royal one."
It was a rebuke, and a reminder that she could not be queen and wish for any other life, at least not in public, any more than he could. There was some polite clapping as if the courtiers, who knew only too well what Tameas was doing, had decided to interpret his gesture as one of chivalry. The queen's cheeks were flushed as she raised her eyes to the king, and in his she read the will to follow things to their last consequence, the same will Harry always showed, the same will she had, but with a difference.
And that difference in him was impossible for her to understand, or to predict.
He offered her his hand and led her to her seat, then took his own. Isobel watched as Harry sat in the place of honor, simmering but subdued at the same time: subdued because his rash act had ended in shame for the queen, simmering because the shame had been administered by his rival.
The food was brought, the guests talked among themselves, and wine began to flow. The page approached the king with the carafe, but Tameas put his hand on top of his glass.
"Your Grace?"
Tameas shook his head, and the page left to confer with the majordomo, who came and bowed, asking in a low voice.
"Your Grace, is the wine not to your liking? Should we bring another, or have you had enough?"
The king was looking in front of him, his jaw set. "I have had enough," he said.
THE MASTER-AT-ARMS
Sir Jochim and Lord Jollan recognized Sir Eldon as he rode into the castle, accompanied by Donnet. His hair and beard were gray now rather than black, but he had not changed much otherwise.
"It must mean that the king has decided to train at arms," Sir Jochim said as they watched the arrival through the window.
"It is a good decision," Lord Jollan said. "All things considered."
"Indeed, but he hasn't thought it fit to say anything to us. We might have arranged..."
"Oh, I think he would have wanted to arrange this himself. And I think that it couldn't be anyone else but his old teacher."
"Two intractable souls, each in his own way..."
"Perhaps they will understand each other because of it. They once did!"
"The king was a boy, and the son of a duke," Sir Jochim said. "Things have changed quite a bit since then."
"That need make no difference," Lord Jollan said, moving away from the window. "I think the king has a wisdom about strange things sometimes."
"I hope it will turn out to be wisdom," Sir Jochim grumbled,
"Well," Lord Jollan replied calmly. "At least he can apply himself, when it's important to him."
Sir Eldon was, at the moment, considering the king through merciless eyes in the throne room.
"You have grown tall, but where is your muscle?"
He walked forward and poked at the king's belly and squeezed his arms. They were alone with Donnet, so protocol could be forgotten. Sir Eldon would have done and said what he liked, no matter who had been present, which was the main reason King Tibold had had to hint that he should retire.
He was feeling Tameas' leg, "There is some muscle here, d'you still ride?"
"Yes, as much as I can."
Sir Eldon straightened his back. "Tell me the whole: how bad is this? When was the last time you held a sword?"
"I think when I was given one as a gift at my wedding..."
"Am I going to have to listen to your lip?" Sir Eldon asked, scowling.
"No," Tameas replied meekly.
"So, when was the last time you fought with a sword, a lance, a broomstick, anything?"
"I am afraid I haven't done much but tune my lute since you were sent away by my father."
Sir Eldon scoffed, "That was more than ten years ago!"
He paced around the room, shaking his head, "You were very good. Better than him." He motioned
towards Donnet with his head.
"You never used to tell me that!" Tameas said, smiling at Donnet’s frown.
"It wasn't your business to know, to get a big head, and be cut down by the first cunning shit you met. You were very good: you had real talent, reflexes, accuracy, speed, strength." He stepped back and looked at the king again. "What have you got now?"
"God knows," Tameas muttered.
Sir Eldon was still shaking his head, as if thinking of the impossible assignment he was accepting. "We will have to see, won't we?" He put his hands on his hips, facing them. "Both of you, tomorrow before sunrise, on the field. I need to go to the armory, and see what equipment is there."
He was already walking to the door, "Where the hell is the armory in this place?"
Tameas nodded at Donnet and his friend ran out after Sir Eldon, to escort him to the armory and arrange the things he needed.
"Before sunrise!" Tameas repeated to himself. "Ugh."
He sighed, then he moved his neck one way and another and heard it crack. There would be some bruising, or a lot of it, there would be pain, there would be a great deal of effort.
But he would get better than he had ever been, or he was not Tameas, the first of his bloody name.
A POTION
"We must do something, don't you see?"
Donnet shrugged helplessly, "But what can be done?"
Agnetta and too many other people knew that Tameas had returned to the arms of Mistress Alyon after Harry had handed the crown of flowers to Isobel. She knew her brother and how stubborn he could be, and suspected that after the very public display of love between the queen and Stonemount's champion, Tameas’ pride would make it possible for him to continue seeing Alyon. To make things worse, Isobel was just as proud as her husband, and the affection Tameas had for Alyon was very real.
She knew as well that this state of affairs could go on forever, if someone with their happiness in mind did not intervene.
"What a lot of missions," Donnet had muttered when Agnetta approached him. Once she had told him what she wanted to do he had said, "You can't force two people to love each other!"
It could be done, she knew. It would be done.
She had more of her father in her than anyone would guess, and she always set out to accomplish what must be done, even when it seemed impossible. And this is why she was walking in the woods with Donnet, having recruited him through much insisting.
He had given in out of affection for her, though he didn't believe in their quest. Donnet believed in what could be accomplished with a sword, or with intelligence ─ which was the reason he had more faith in Tameas as a king than he had in himself. Donnet knew that his friend had the brains, and that he and other lords would provide the brawn for his rule.
Yet he was not a stupid man. He might not read or know history, but he had great common sense and a quick wit, and he understood people. Perhaps that was why he was not fond of hopeless causes.
"It's a calamity," Agnetta has said, referring to the royal marriage. "They won't touch each other!"
Therefore, she had contended, the succession was in danger, and everything was disastrous all round the way it presently was. Desperate causes called for desperate remedies, she had said, so the impossible mission that she had set out on, taking Donnet along with her, was to make the king and queen fall in love with each other.
"A potion!" Donnet had laughed when she told him. "Ha!"
"There is no harm in trying!" Agnetta had said.
"One shouldn't fool with sorcery," Donnet had added, once he was done laughing.
"It's white magic!"
"White, black, gray ─ one shouldn't fool with it."
"What can happen?"
Donnet shrugged as they walked through the woods, "We should just let things be. How many married people love each other? Almost none! It's the way of things. They will survive!"
"It's not always the way of things," she said, throwing him a shy sideways glance. "And I don't want them to just survive, I want them to be happy!" She was very stubborn when it came to the people she loved.
"You should leave it be, Annie."
Agnetta threw Donnet another look. She loved it when he used the diminutive of her name, as he had done since she had been born ─ though at the same time she wanted him to see her as a woman soon, and not as a little girl.
When she reached fifteen she would ask Tommy to send her to a convent in the warm south, where she would spend a year writing her book. From fifteen to sixteen a girl became a woman, and when she came back Donnet would see her differently.
She knew that this is how it had happened for Isobel and Sir Harry. The same would happen for her and Donnet, because a love like hers could not be wasted.
Then she would be with the people whom she loved the most, Donnet and Tommy, who loved each other as well. And if only she could pull Isobel in, make her forget Harry, and make Tommy forget Alyon, if only she could make them see what was in front of their eyes, then happiness would be complete.
Too bad that the love between Harry and Isobel would have to die, she thought, without seeing any contradiction in a true love dying so that another, provoked by magic, could flourish. For her the magic would only make them see what was obvious, that they were made for each other because they were different. Isobel would give Tameas purpose, and he would make her understand whole new worlds through his mind.
They had arrived at the stone cottage in the woods, where Mistress Fira lived. Witches always lived in the woods, because no one wanted them around. Yet Mistress Fira was a good witch, mostly preparing salves, ointments and medicine to cure people, as well as playing the midwife when necessary. People often came to her with their ailments.
The witch liked her freedom, her solitude, she liked to walk around muttering to herself, looking for herbs. Yet she didn't show much surprise when she saw Agnetta and the knight who had come with her. The little princess had always been fascinated by her experiments.
"What brings you here?" Mistress Fira asked with the bluntness of a woman too used to her own company, living far from the castle and courtly affairs.
"I need a potion," Agnetta said.
The old woman turned sharp eyes on her. "A love potion, eh?"
Agnetta flushed unhappily. If the old woman knew, then the whole kingdom knew. The people attending the festival must have gone back to the four corners of the land speaking of how the queen loved a valiant champion, and not the king.
Mistress Fira had turned and was walking back to the cottage. Agnetta motioned so that Donnet would help her with the heavy basket, but when he tried he was elbowed aside by the old woman.
They walked into her stone house, where the windows were small and the light dim. As Agnetta took the chair indicated by Fira, Donnet looked around at the things hanging from the low ceiling: dried serpents, twigs, threads with crickets and grasshoppers. Upon turning, he found himself staring into the glassy eyes in the dissected head of a boar.
He was motioning towards the door with his head as he looked at Agnetta.
She ignored him, biting her lips. She would get what she had come for. He sighed, crossed his arms and leaned against a table, after making sure that nothing was crawling on it.
"A love potion," the old woman repeated, and cackled. "Do you think you can make people love each other?"
"You see?" Donnet said.
Agnetta was looking closely at the old woman's face. "You know it can be done."
Mistress Fira shrugged. "These things...it's best to be careful."
"Why?" Donnet asked, a little too nervously.
"Playing with human emotions...Don't you know that they are what determine everything? What is this house, or the field yonder, or the river, or the sky, if people are not feeling something about it all? What are flesh and blood, if people do not much care? It's our difference to the animals, it's why we don't just eat and sleep, but weep, and want, and kill..."
Donnet repressed a si
gh and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. Philosophy in a hut! He had to admit, though, that the old woman was not completely wrong. It was all the wanting that made life harder, all the needing.
"It has to be done," Agnetta said. "We are past the time when things mean nothing, this means everything!"
"That time is dangerous," Fira said. "But it's true that we are in it."
"So you know, then, that it needs to be done," Agnetta repeated doggedly.
"Perhaps, but do you understand it may have consequences?"
"Yes."
"No, no!" Donnet interrupted. "What do you mean, what consequences?"
"You gain one thing, you lose another, that is always the way."
"What will be lost?" Donnet inquired.
Mistress Fira shrugged. "I can't see the future. I only know that it's always the way! You pluck here, something is lost there. You don't get something for nothing. There is a balance in things, though we can't see it most of the time."
Agnetta was repeating for the third time: "It needs to be done!"
Fira got up and went to rummage in a wooden cabinet, muttering, looking at bottles. She came back with a vial and set it on the table.
"Take it, then. And I want no payment. If it works, it might be good for everyone."
Donnet came forward and bent to look at the liquid, "What is it?"
Mistress Fira chuckled, "You walked in without believing, and now you want to know?"
"How must it be administered?" Agnetta was asking.
"In a drink. It's better than in food. And they ought to be together when they drink it, otherwise...they might love someone else!"
Agnetta's eyes opened wide. "Do you mean if they look at someone else..."
Donnet was frowning. Tameas and Isobel rarely even looked at each other. "What if he is staring at a stool, and she at a table?"
Her chest moving with silent laughter, Mistress Fira said, "They might develop an extraordinary fondness for furniture!"
"It must be done!" Agnetta said again, and took the vial.
Donnet grew more superstitious by the second as they walked back to the castle, but nothing that he said to Agnetta made her change her mind.