The Road of Kings: A Strong Woman in the Middle Ages (A Medieval Tale Book 8)

by Lina J. Potter

  He didn't like it one bit.

  ***

  No matter how busy Jerisson Earton might have been, he still found time to meet his loyal servants.

  "Your Grace!"

  Thomas was overjoyed to see Count Earton as if he was his own kin. How could he not?

  They had made it! They had survived!

  Everything was over, was it? Was it?

  Jerisson smiled at Thomas.

  "Yes, Thom. Everything will be all right. We can return to the embassy."

  "For real?"

  "There shouldn't be any trouble anymore. We've caught everyone. They're now sitting behind bars waiting for execution."

  "Serves them right! Killing a king, who's ever heard of such thing?"

  Jess nodded.

  "Good thing you're all right."

  "Her Grace sent us a note, letting us flee. We even took the Dishans, too."

  "Yes. Count Dishan wanted to see you."

  "Err..." Thom looked worried.

  "If he offers you an estate, don't agree. We'll give you one in Ativerna," Jerisson warned, but his eyes were smiling. "Those Wellsterians! They'll woo all the best people if you let them!"

  Thomas realized that nothing bad was going to happen and smiled.

  "How can I leave my homeland, Your Grace? When are we returning, by the way?"

  "As soon as the Roivels and the Elonts recover."

  "What happened to Their Graces, Your Grace?"

  "They were tortured."

  "How dastardly! Aldonai's scourge upon them! How about M’lady Countess?"

  "She's all right. She'll be in the capital soon."

  "Praise Aldonai! I need to visit the temple. Oh, and wash Lidarh."

  "Wash him?"

  "We had to dye him, Your Grace, to get him out of the city..."

  Jerisson simply shook his head.

  "Fine. Go back to the embassy. It should be all clear from now on."

  Thomas bowed.

  "Should" didn't quite mean "will."

  The difference was considerable. He and his men would return to the embassy, but they would be ready even for the worst.

  ***

  The people of Cardin hadn't seen such a sheer number of ceremonies since forever.

  An engagement, the king's funeral, and finally, the pretender's execution.

  Yes, exactly. Altres Lort had it announced everywhere that Robert Alcine had killed the king, found a woman to pass her off as the late Queen Albitta, and plotted to put his own bastard son on the throne.

  He was still being interrogated, but the pretender's fate was sealed. There could only be one punishment for someone claiming to be the queen: death.

  The execution was to take place at noon.

  Everyone left their homes to go to the Palace Square, even those who didn't like such things. How could they miss something like that? Their children and grandchildren would never forgive them!

  Entire families walked together, talking along the way.

  The square was packed with people with no room to swing a cat. Townsfolk were standing next to each other or sitting on the rooftops, while the owners of nearby balconies rented them out for a tidy profit.

  Only the very center of the square was empty: the scaffolding padded with green fabric. Technically, for Albitta, they should have chosen purple, but Altres Lort ordered them to use green. He didn't want to start rumors or gossip.

  It was a pretender who was executed, not the queen, period.

  If anyone told Altres that he was thinking along the same lines as Robert Alcine, the count would have been insulted. Still, both needed confirmation for the people, and what could be more convincing than the predecessor's execution or funeral?

  For himself, Altres picked a spot just next to the chopping block. He wanted to play it safe and be as close to the center of events as possible. If anyone tried to rescue Albitta, he would always be able to throw his dagger. As for the rest...

  He was Gardwig's Butcher, after all; he would stay one even without his king.

  The crowd, calm at first, grew restless.

  "They're bringing her!"

  "A carriage! Look!"

  Usually, convicts were transported in a special cart, but Altres decided against that. Knowing Albitta, she would have been screaming the entire trip. He didn't want that.

  A plain closed carriage slowly drove by the scaffolding and stopped just next to it. Two guards walked out, the last of them helping Albitta to do the same. She couldn't do it by herself, bound in heavy chains as she was.

  Still, she retained a truly royal poise. Altres even regretted sending her maids. The woman had done everything to make up for her predicament, using any tool at her disposal.

  Heavy purple velvet dress embroidered with gold, braids shaped like a crown...just add diamond jewelry, and she could easily go to a ball that very minute. Her stature, her face, her eyes... Albitta looked around and slowly walked to the scaffolding.

  The executioner was waiting. Altres Lort was waiting. The crowd of onlookers was waiting.

  Carrying herself with utmost dignity, the former queen climbed the stairs of the platform, the guards behind her as her retinue. The executioner pointed at the spot by the chopping block, and Albitta stood there. He started speaking.

  "By order of Her Majesty Milia, the regent for His Majesty Edwin..."

  The people needed to hear that the woman punished was a heinous pretender should have been killed ages ago.

  Albitta listened with a look of contempt, not saying anything. That said, Altres had let her know in advance that if she screamed at the execution, they would just gag her.

  The man finished reading the decree.

  Aldon Peters stepped out.

  "Your...ahem! Child of Aldonai, are you ready to repent your sins?"

  "I have nothing to repent! I was a queen. I was betrayed and disgraced, and I only returned what was mine by right," Albitta sharply retorted. Her words thundered above the pavement as people listened. "I have avenged myself, and I regret nothing."

  And before anyone managed to gag her, she knelt by the chopping block.

  "Aldonai, accept my soul!"

  Her head lay on the polished wood.

  The executioner glanced at Altres Lort and saw him nod.

  The axe flashed.

  Albitta's last glare was addressed toward the king's jester, and Altres couldn't look away. That glare told volumes:

  her pain, her hate...

  You have won. Damn you!

  But was Altres really the one to blame? After all, he had protested Gard's decision once, but his brother insisted. What was a loyal butcher to do? Only carry out the order whether he liked it or not. Nobody cared about his opinion back then.

  Altres felt disgusted with himself.

  Blood was pouring out of Albitta's body, smearing the scaffolding, ugly brown against the green padding, the sky reflected in the queen's dead eyes.

  Yes, the queen.

  He had only followed orders. He had only avenged his brother. Why did he feel so awful, though? As nasty as if all stray cats of Cardin pooped on his conscience?

  Damnable politics. Damnable cycle of revenge.

  Altres knew that later that night, he would be getting drunk. With whom, though? What about Count Earton? He wasn't supposed to fraternize with his subordinates, and the count was an outsider who would leave soon.

  Absolutely. He would do it.

  ***

  Edwin and three more mercenaries were watching the Summer Palace.

  The rest of his men had left after threatening their employer and getting their payment. They never agreed to risk their own heads like that, after all. Edwin, however, wouldn't budge.

  He needed some kind of payback, dammit! Some way to retaliate for his humiliation, his loss, his prospects cast into the dirt... He could have become a chancellor for Her Majesty Albitta or Henry.

  His current options were becoming an exile or a corpse.

  E
dwin didn't want to try to assassinate the queen. To Maldonaya with her! He had seen Milia a few times and formed an opinion. True, she was a klutz, but someone might need a woman like her.

  He bore no ill will toward the queen; all she had done was to save her children. That was quite admirable, actually. The Eartons, however... They were the proverbial spanner in the works.

  Ed decided to start with ambushing Lilian Earton.

  There was no salvation from a crossbow bolt, even if she was a shilda. Maldonaya's name couldn't repel it, as long as he aimed true. Worst-case scenario, he could have it blessed in a temple.

  Gold coins did their part, and Edwin found out that Her Majesty would leave for the capital at dawn, naturally accompanied by the countess.

  That Ativernan woman held way too much power in her hands, going around and giving orders. Yes, she had said that she was versed in the healing arts, but how could she? She was a woman! She couldn't have any real skills!

  The maids had it out for the countess for making them wash the royal chambers and wet-clean it every day, but Lily was unrelenting.

  Three children, one of them a baby, plus a woman who had just given birth. Leaving dirt with them? She didn't think so!

  "Clean" was the word.

  A similar fate befell the kitchen, where plates were to be scrubbed clean, while Lily personally tasted all the cooked dishes. No, she wasn't mean like that.

  It's just that fridges were a twentieth-century invention. The Middle Ages had sauces designed to mask the taste of not-so-fresh food.

  Lily had already told Milia about the field version of a thermos, impressing her, but introducing them would take lots of time.

  What if the servants cooked days-old fish, poured sauce on it, and gave to the queen?

  She wouldn't allow them!

  She had gone to great lengths to save Her Majesty; she didn't want her to get an upset stomach, food poisoning, or intoxication. Milia had just got her milk coming in.

  Usually, noble ladies didn't breastfeed, but the queen decided to attempt it with her newborn.

  She had no husband to get back to (intimacy during breastfeeding was considered a sin), and Lily explained to her that drinking her milk would be good for both the mother and the child.

  Several times a day, Milia put the baby against her chest, and felt a little bit better: not physically, but mentally.

  She had been unable to help her husband, but she did save his sons for whom he had given his life, including the youngest one.

  Cor wouldn't remember his father, and Gard would never get to see him. Milia grieved that.

  The scullery maids, in turn, grieved Countess Earton's nagging. She wasn't well-loved in the castle, and any information about her was easily divulged to the king and generous sir.

  By the morning of the third day, Edwin Fremont had prepared everything for an ambush, grabbed two crossbows (loading one took ages, after all), and lay in wait. Nobody would know where the bolt came from.

  He had planned everything out—except for one thing.

  ***

  The time for the royal departure had finally come.

  Lily watched everything with ill-concealed skepticism.

  She remembered how Thomas Concord had arranged their journey and realized that the Summer Palace had no such expert. All they had were royal guards, capable of marching out to expeditions, setting camps, and staying overnight in roadside inns.

  They had no idea how to escort highborn ladies and make them happy along the way; after all, it wasn't in their job description. Thus, Lily decided to shoulder some of the problems herself.

  For instance, the carriage…it had to be properly equipped, and they needed two more as backup.

  Food. Milia couldn't eat roasted meat past its best or game caught in the woods. A nursing mother required a specific diet.

  Maids, wetnurses, the Eveers who had decided to make use of the opportunity to travel back to the capital, and the children.

  She could sit on her backside, hoping that a skilled steward would jump out from somewhere...until problems arose.

  She could also make a list of issues to handle—thankfully having a good idea of what exactly had to be done after spending so much time with Thomas—and proceed to resolve them.

  Nobody objected.

  Everyone decided that if she were successful, that would be their shared achievement, and if not, they could always blame it on the countess' uncalled-for overtures. Let Her Majesty lay the guilt on Countess Earton; it's not like they felt sorry for the latter.

  Lily realized that and calmly arranged everything.

  Meanwhile, the Virmans had the time of their lives wooing local farm girls. Where else would palace staff come from?

  His Majesty, of course, would bring his own servants, but until he decided to grace the residence with his presence, simpler folk would suffice. Farm girls were quite enough to wash and clean the rooms, cook something, and if any of them got a baby in their belly—well, that would only improve their bloodstock.

  The guards, however, never grew too cocky. There was a balance of sorts. No matter their birth, each nobleman had certain things drummed into his head: one didn't shit where he ate or starve his sheep when he could sell wool for a profit. His Majesty could also have an unpredictable reaction to the peasants' complaints, depending on his mood.

  Once, Gardwig had had the petitioners whipped, and another time, ordered the culprit to buy a cow for each farmer. Nobody was quite sure what the queen would do, but why tempt fate?

  The farm girls took a liking to the Virmans. Back in Earton, Lilian had instructed the latter to be sure to obtain consent, or she'd rip off all of their bits or, even worse, marry them off.

  The threat was acknowledged, and the Virmans never crossed boundaries either back home or in Wellster, wooing the women as well as they could and trying to be as gallant as possible.

  One time, a girl shared the news with Ivar: a nobleman had been passing through their village. Why'd she take him for a nobleman? Well, it's not like he could trick anyone. His hands were well-groomed; he had obviously never known hard labor. His clothes might be plain, but his weapons were expensive. Despite common preconceptions, peasant girls weren't stupid. They had different interests, but any commoner knew: noblemen, danger, and money always came together.

  Who knew what might occur to a highborn man? It was better to give them a wide berth.

  Little by little, it emerged that the man had been asking about the queen, the palace, and most importantly, about the time the queen would leave for the capital. He also seemed interested in Countess Earton.

  A village was its own world where everyone knew everything about each other. An outsider was big news. In a way, a village was like an onion: even if you peeled it, it didn't mean you'd get to the core easily. You'd have to shed a lot of tears first.

  Ivar shared his findings with Gael, who considered it, found it worrying, and went to see Lilian Earton. He didn't want to trouble her without a good reason; first, he would check everything himself.

  "Your Grace?"

  "What?"

  "We'd like to go and scout out the area, find out what's going on."

  Lily was surprised.

  "What for?"

  Gael shook his head. Despite all her skills and expertise, in some ways, the countess was naive as a child. Leif had been right to ask them to protect her.

  "Your Grace, Alcine flooded the city with mercenaries. At the moment, they're scattering..."

  "Would they care about us?" Lily shrugged.

  "Why not? They could get a good ransom for any of Their Highnesses. And then there's Miranda and you..."

  Lily sighed.

  Terrorism wasn't invented in the twentieth century, not by a long shot. Pirates had long since learned to kidnap hostages and demand ransom. The Virmans tried to avoid doing that, but...the sea wrote many things off.

  "Do it," she told Gael. "Report to me tomorrow."

  Gael bo
wed and left.

  The countess had her upsides, too. She never tried butting in on things she didn't know and didn't try to order people around and get her own way without a good reason.

  Her subordinates would do their own work, and she would do hers, with the results added together—a good system, all in all.

  ***

  The Virmans decided to ride around the neighboring villages, getting a beer, having fun with pretty girls, and chatting with rumormongers.

  How else would they get news?

  It worked in the very first village, where the locals told them about Edwin Fremont, even if their account somewhat differed from what had really transpired.

  Yes, some mercenaries had passed through, wanting to visit the castle and find work. They seemed to be headed to the capital, not fleeing it, however.

  So they hadn't stayed?

  That piqued the Virmans' attention.

  Mercenaries? How curious!

  Could it be they were going to help Alcine? What were they going to attempt after learning that the duke's enterprise had failed horribly? The latest tidings were all extremely favorable for Milia.

  Alcine imprisoned, Albitta sentenced to death... And knowing Altres Lort, the sentence would be carried out quickly enough.

  What would those people do?

  Either turn around and go back or ride on, hoping to make a profit as true carrion eaters, or... The Virmans had a third version as well. The mercenaries could stay somewhere in the vicinity, plotting something shady.

  The capital wasn't the only place where they could make a good haul. There must have been a reason they were asking about the palace. And with those thoughts, the Virmans started combing the area.

  They easily located Fremont's hiding place and his preparations.

  Edwin's plan was simple: fell a couple of trees on the road and fire a shot while everyone was busy deciding what to do, hopefully hitting Countess Earton. He had spent a few days traveling with her and knew that riding in a carriage made her sick. She would most likely be on horseback.

  He would shoot, and he would flee.

  His prospects seemed decent enough, but he needed to be ready: find escape routes, file down the trees, and set up an ambush spot. It was autumn, and trees were either leafless or in the process of losing foliage. If he climbed them to hide, even the birds would mock him.