by Lara Blunte
What a waste, she thought. What a waste of a good, good man, a great friend, a brave knight. Poor Agnetta, how she will suffer as well!
It was deep night, and many men were sleeping around campfires, or simply lying on the ground in their exhaustion. But as she walked alone to the tent that held Tameas, she saw a figure standing nearby, as if it were holding a vigil for the king.
It was Harry.
"It's good that you have come," Harry said as she approached. "I don't think he will speak to anyone but you."
"I hope he will!" she said, trying to keep the tears from her eyes.
"It's a hard thing, Bell," Harry said. "It's a terrible thing."
She nodded. "He will find it very hard to bear. I must go in."
As she moved, he said, "Bell, I was mistaken..."
Isobel looked at him. "When?"
"When I called the king a coward. I am ashamed I ever did. I am ashamed that I tried to humiliate him that day, at the jousting."
Harry sounded more passionate than he had in a long time. She said nothing, only listened.
"He led a cavalry against strong odds, though he had never once fought," Harry continued. "I thought it might be madness, but it wasn't. When we reached him...Bell, he was in the middle of the fray, unafraid─ it was as if his life were charmed. He didn't just make all the men believe in him, he made me believe. There is something to him."
Harry had approached her: they were looking closely into each other's eyes now. "I don't think he will be a good king, I think he will be a great one." Harry glanced towards the tent. "I hope you can help him today, and every day."
Isobel nodded, her heart full of contradictory and painful emotions. There was so much loss, and she knew that Harry was letting her go now, because he no longer felt he could do otherwise. Tameas had conquered him, and only an extraordinary man would ever have done so.
She mustered strength enough to smile at Harry, to say goodbye to him without speaking, and then she kept on walking towards her husband.
When the flap of the tent was opened for her, she saw him sitting next to Donnet’s body, staring at the ground, his elbows on his knees, his hand on his friend's arm. He had been there for hours, and might stay several more hours. It was as if grief had hardened him to stone.
As she approached, he said in a hoarse voice," I said I wanted no one here."
She kept walking, and when she reached him she put a hand on his shoulder. He raised his head and looked, knowing that it was her.
He didn't say anything, and she wouldn't either. What could one say?
She stood there until he turned his face towards her, then she gathered his head and pressed it to her breast; she let him weep and she wept with him, because there was cause.
DAWN
Isobel awoke at dawn.
She had fallen asleep on the chair, her head against Tameas' shoulder, but now she found that there was a cushion under her cheek. He was gone.
The cot was also empty: Donnet had been taken away.
She left the tent, squinting at the gray light in the sky. Men were going to and fro, preparing the return to Lathia, putting weapons away and grooming horses, or eating their breakfast. They bowed low as she passed, and she saw the sadness in their faces. They had lost their champion, and the king's friend.
She saw that the tents for Harry and her father's knights were gone. They must have just left, she thought, or Harry had left the night before after talking to her. It was just as well.
"Where is the king?" she asked the squire who was brushing Dancer.
He pointed toward the ruins of the tower; Tameas was standing on top, already dressed to travel in breeches, boots, leather jerkin and cloak.
One wall of the tower had been destroyed a long time ago, but the stone staircase still stood, and Isobel started to climb it. She knew that he had heard her approach, but when she appeared next to him he didn't say anything. Both of them looked down at the valley; it was their way home. For some reason she didn't dare touch him as she had the night before. His face was composed, but there was immeasurable grief in it, and a tiredness caused by something even crueler than war.
“Why can’t I turn back time,” he finally said, without turning toward her, “and tell my friend that he has already fought bravely, and must stay behind while others go after the rebels? That was all I needed have told him.”
“Oh, Tameas,” Isobel said softly. “Don’t think of it in this way. You’ll suffer enough, missing him!"
She could see that he was conquering his own emotions before he went on.
"You know that I never wanted to be king, I never had the same ambitions that other men had. But I owed it to my father to continue his work, and I saw that his dream could come true, that we could bring peace and prosperity to the world we know." He stopped, took a deep breath and then added, "And yet, in this effort we may lose something that cannot be replaced."
She approached him slowly and he finally looked at her.
"We will make things better, but they will never be perfect," he said. "There is no paradise on earth. There will always be someone willing to rebel, someone wanting to invade, some plague, or fire, or earthquake ─ or some accident that didn't have to happen, and that is almost worse than anything else."
"But it is as you say," she said. "All we can do is go forward, and do as much as we can to change things..."
He now turned fully towards her. "You see, there is one thing I keep thinking about. It's something Harry said on that day, in my room, when he was asking you to leave with him. Why always later, why always for someone else?"
"Why are you thinking of that?"
"Because it's true. Because I see the waste of so many lives, so much youth. It's too late for Don to have the life he might wish, and my sister's heart will be broken, perhaps for a long time. Perhaps forever. It's impossible for me, because I cannot stop being the king. But there is still time for you."
"Time, for what?" she asked, her eyes widening in surprise. Why did he always surprise her?
"For you to be happy!"
She was shaking her head, "I don't understand what you mean!"
He had mentioned Harry; she was almost afraid of what he would say next.
"You were taken away from your land, your brothers, the man you loved,” Tameas said. “Perhaps your father was right at that time to ask you to marry me, and ensure a bond between north and south. But the bond exists now, don't you think? Your father and I are friends, even Sir Harry and I. You and I are friends.”
She had begun to frown. "Of course we are friends, I am your wife."
"But you don't have to be."
"Tameas, are you repudiating me?" she asked, now trying to subdue her own emotion.
"I want one of us to be happy now. Now, not later. You, not someone else."
Her head was whirling; what he was saying was impossible to understand. "Do you not care for me?"
He gave a sad smile. "The first time we made love I thought there could hardly be anything more beautiful than you. Then I saw you in the wheat fields, and singing by the fire. And yesterday, when you were defending the wall with a sword, ready to die protecting my sister...” He shook his head, as if in amazement. "I love you, Isobel, for all these things and none."
Isobel found that she was blushing, and that her heart was racing. She could never have imagined that she would hear these words from him.
"Until yesterday I was selfish, and wanted you all for me, but how can I be now, when you were ready to give up your life for Agnetta, and the people in that castle?" he asked. "Now I can only want you to be happy. I want you to have your love, for the rest of your life."
She was shaking her head, "We have a life together..."
He interrupted her, "I saw your face, when you thought that Harry was hurt."
She wanted to say, No, no, it was only because Agnetta was faster than I was to jump into your arms, otherwise I would have been there! But she didn't say it. Sh
e hardly knew what she was feeling anymore.
"Why should you spend all your life away from a man you love as much as that? I can't do anything for Donnet, and I can do little for my sister, but I could do this thing for you, I could let you go to Harry."
"We are married!" she cried
"We will get an annulment."
"On what grounds?"
He shrugged. "We will let Lord Jollan think of that, though he won't like it. The pope will want to please me, because I am even more powerful and rich than I was a few days ago. As long as you and I agree, the church will allow it, and I will build monasteries and churches to pay them back. You will have to convince your father, and we will think of something clever that puts all the blame on me."
"I should never wish any blame to fall on you for anything!" she protested.
"But I want this, Isobel." His eyes were fixed on hers, and they had grown so strong of late that even she blinked before them. "I want you to be with the man you love."
"Do you not want me as your queen?"
"I don't think there has ever been a more superb queen than you ─ but I know you wouldn't put that office above the happiness of the people you love unless it is necessary. It's no longer necessary. Everything you ever dream that ought to be done will be done, you only have to write to me." He smiled again, "Your handwriting is quite legible now, and your wishes will be commands for me."
"But..." said Isobel, looking for time to think. "But Agnetta will suffer so, I don't want to leave her now..."
"It's best to have the sadness all at once," he said quietly.
Agnetta had said the same thing when their father died, Isobel thought.
"Tameas, can't we think about this later..."
"No, not later, not always later..." He took her hand. "Do this thing for me. It's what I ask: I shall leave you an escort, and you will ride to tell a man that you love him."
She couldn't speak, her heart seemed to be stuck in her throat. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it for a long moment. She saw his lashes as he closed his eyes, felt the touch of his lips and of his fingers in hers.
Then there was a quick glance from him and he was already running down the stairs. He stepped out toward Dancer, which was saddled and ready for him, as was his escort. Tameas mounted, and did not look back as he urged the horse forward. She saw him ride away, his crimson cloak billowing behind him, his men following, all of him a king.
He was the king, but must she obey him now? Isobel stood alone, in an extraordinary position. It was all that she had wanted and prayed for, that she should be able to be with Harry forever, near her father and brothers, while ensuring peace and a good life for her people.
And it was done. By the power of the king, she could have it all; he was giving it to her.
It was all she had ever wanted, so why was she thinking of Tameas' room in the castle, where she slept with him every night, and the view that they enjoyed from their bed in the morning? Why was she thinking of him harvesting wheat, or finishing her song with her?
Why was she absurdly thinking that he had one dimple, on his right cheek, when he smiled ─ but only when he smiled with true joy, never when he was being ironic?
Why was she thinking that he was good, and cleverer than anybody? Why was she eager to know what he would do next and be there to see it?
And why was she thinking of his lips, of his hands, of his body?
As she walked down to her horse, which was also saddled, with twelve men waiting to escort her wherever she said, she thought of Harry, of the man she had loved all her life. He was so brave, so true, so full of honor. She thought of how he had dared everything to hand her a crown of flowers.
They had loved each other for so long!
She was riding now to the crossroads between north and south, and she stopped there for a moment: she could go north to Harry, or south, to the king. She could go any way she wanted, and twelve men would follow. She sat on her horse, holding on tightly to the reins. She had to choose, right or left.
On one side there was a man like fire, on the other a man with the brilliance and mystery of the moon.
She must have loosened the reins a little because the horse's head turned, and finding no opposition from her, it started to move, then to trot, then to gallop. She didn't stop it because she knew, with sudden soaring passion, that it was going where she wanted to go. All the thinking had stopped her, but her heart had known.
Isobel urged the horse forward, as the escort followed her. They were galloping, she ahead of twelve men, and her long hair had unfurled, and flew behind her like a golden banner.
The queen rode faster and faster, to tell a man that she loved him.
EPILOGUE. AGNETTA'S CHRISTMAS
Christmas in Lathia was ever such a beautiful time.
Snow would always fall, and it would cover the whole city and the countryside. The castle would look as if it were made of glass, sparkling in the light of silver blue days.
We would walk outside to feed dried apples to the deer that came to the edge of the garden. They weren't afraid, then, as if they knew it was a special time, a time when most people felt kind.
We would go to church, and Tameas had ordered many stories from the Bible to be painted on the walls of the cathedral so that those who could not understand Latin would yet marvel at the tales as they sat listening to mass.
My brother translated some of the parables himself, and I always remember my favorite part: Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal; but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust corrupt, and where thieves cannot break through nor steal.
For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.
In the castle there would be logs the width of big trees inside the fireplaces. My father had ordered the hearths to be almost as high as the ceiling, and almost as wide as the walls, so that the rooms would always be warm in winter.
My father had created a kingdom, my brother made it the envy of the world.
That Tameas was a great king is a fact that now belongs to history, and not just to the one written by me. Only his enemies said otherwise. He always insisted that to be king was an office, and he never rested until he made Lathia prosperous, from the warm seas to the wild oceans, and from the hard north to the balmy south.
But that first Christmas of his reign we were grieving, because we had lost our father ─ and he had lost his brother, and I my love. Yet, had there been a potion that could have wiped the memory of Donnet from our minds, we would not have taken it, because we could never want him to be gone.
Donnet had been waiting for us when we were born. He had been six months older than Tameas, and people in the castle still recalled him taking his friend everywhere by the hand, even when both were small. He had been by my side since the beginning of my life.
I never had to ask Tameas not to give me away in marriage, because I knew he would not expect me to marry, unless I wanted to. However, there was never a man who could tempt me away from my brother, never a man half as good as Donnet. Though he at first worried that I would be unhappy if I did not marry, he understood that I could not love anyone better than I loved him.
I wrote my books and read the ones in the great library the king built. I traveled all over the country and beyond with him, I sat at the council when I came of age, because Tameas said I was the wisest and most persistent voice in his ear. And I dreamt of Donnet, of what our lives would have been like together. People often found me smiling, because I was dreaming of him. They called me their Virgin Princess and treated me with such love and kindness that I could never want any other life, except the one that might have been, if a treacherous arrow had not killed a brave knight.
That first Christmas of my brother's long reign we were grieving, but there was also cause for joy. The wars were over and there would be none for many years, and certainly none to compare
to what had gone on before, because Tameas created such a powerful army that everyone was frightened of us, and when greed made men foolish the king would vanquish them.
The wars were over, the city was white with snow, and the castle was warm and delicious with the smell of baking. There were presents, wrapped in cloths of purple, red and gold, and there was caroling.
There was mistletoe and underneath it, just as I had imagined, Tameas and Isobel stood and kissed.
The soldiers who escorted them home after the Eastern Rebellion afterwards told of the king going home with a broken heart and the body of his friend; then of the queen riding after him, her hair in the wind; of how they had dismounted and walked into each other's arms, of how they had kissed and ─ though the soldiers could not have heard it ─ of how she, with tears on her face, said that she had come to tell a man how much she loved him.
My wily brother had made Isobel understand what she felt, and once she did she never faltered. By the time Sir Harry got married to a red-haired Stonemount lady, Isobel had been in Tameas' bed two thousand days, and she did not regret a single hour.
I know such things, because twenty thousand days didn't make me forget Don, and I would have never smiled as Isobel did if he had married another woman. I think, however, that Sir Harry always cared for the queen, because there was no one quite like her. He was, in spite of this, a true and generous man who loved the king, and never again looked at Isobel in a way that he should not.
Perhaps it was the potion I gave them that made the king and queen look at each other so, and hold each other's hand as they constantly did. Perhaps it was a potion that made her hang on his every word, laugh at his mischief and love his mystery. Perhaps it was a potion that made him always look at her as if he had never seen anything so beautiful, even after her glorious hair had turned white, that made him glow with pride as she sat on a throne next to him as his formidable but just queen, that made him coddle a woman who needed no coddling. Perhaps it was a potion that made a woman who needed no coddling enjoy it so, when it came from her husband.