Ambition and Alavidha

by Candy Rae

  * * * * *

  The Chapel Royal was not large and guests could now be restricted to those she wanted to invite, within limits. The royal and ducal families would all still be invited. Foreign invites could be culled to the Ambassadors themselves (and their wives if they were so encumbered – most Ambassadors were, by tradition, bachelors).

  As for the other few remaining places, the Chapel Royal was her own personal chapel.

  I’ll invite who I damn well please.

  * * * * *

  Now the day had arrived and here she was sitting at the front of the royal stall waiting for the most important participant in the ceremony, her grandson. Light music was playing in the background; six of the best violinists the royal music master could provide. In fact, he was playing himself. There wasn’t a choir. Queen Antoinette disliked voice music and much preferred instrumental.

  The Archbishop, the Royal Chaplain, both resplendent in full canonicals, were waiting.

  The violins moved on to another piece and the Queen sat up straighter. Through the side door entered her daughter, the Crown-Princess, baby Elliot in her arms and beside her, his face as bland as ice walked Prince Crispin of Leithe. His eyes however, resembled raw agates. To those who knew him, these eyes told a story; of intense displeasure and then some. Queen Antoinette’s gaze went to her daughter. The Princess looked flushed.

  So the couple had been ‘having words’, again.

  Why did she marry him? The Queen, not for the first time, asked this question. I advised her not to. Infatuation. Is the infatuation dissipating? If so, it is too late now.

  The Queen knew the law as well as her subjects. One life, one marriage. This rule had been promulgated as long ago as the end of the first century as a means of keeping the inter- house (royal and ducal) marriages within limits; to keep the inheritance laws as simple as possible and to avoid bloodshed between ambitious heirs if the direct blood-line were to die out. There had been three civil wars during the first century alone.

  The Princess had insisted she loved Prince Crispin and would take no-one else. Had the love been real? No, decided her mother, it had not. But nothing could be done about it now.

  Queen Antoinette sighed. Her beloved daughter would just have to live with it but she foresaw great problems in the future.

  The royal couple walked slowly to their assigned positions in front of the altar and stood waiting for the Archbishop to begin.

  The godparents were requested to join them. As a royal prince, Elliot must have a number of godparents as befitted his exalted status. It was a great honour to be chosen.

  What further disquieted the Queen and a considerable number among the congregation were the identities of some so chosen.

  Traditionally a prince had eight, six male and two female.

  The females chosen were Duchess Elizabeth of Hallam and her sister Duchess Katie of North Baker. The two had been born Princesses of the Blood, though from one of the more junior branches. They were cousins of Lord Prince Marshall Pierre. More importantly for the Queen, they were also Crown-Princess Antoinette’s aunts; their brother had been Queen Antoinette’s beloved husband who had died of the ague the year their daughter had been born.

  Queen Antoinette had chosen three of the other six after a discussion with her daughter but the other three were, by tradition, always chosen by the father.

  The Queen had chosen Prince Xavier (son of the Queen’s second cousin), Prince Pierre (son of the Lord Prince Marshall) and Duke Raoul van Buren.

  The other three were the choice of Prince Crispin. They were not of ducal rank, they didn’t even descend directly from one of the twelve ducal houses; they were not even Barons. The three consisted of two Kellens and one Thane.

  The three weren’t even good, upstanding members of society. They were noisy, argumentative young men, more suited to wenching and drinking than looking after the morals of a prince.

  However, the Queen tried to comfort herself, they’ve been behaving much better lately (she knew nothing about the activities in Prince Crispin’s tower room) so I suppose we must just hope for the best.

  The three were conducting themselves well; they were making the right responses, they had put aside their party outfits and were dressed in sober hues, so Queen Antoinette relaxed.

  * * * * *

  Queen Antoinette was not the only one to be worried. Other members of the congregation were making notes of the activities at the altar.

  Crown-Princess Antoinette appeared awkward and nervous to all who were sitting close enough to see her properly. She kept glancing at her husband, almost, the onlookers thought, as if she was desperately seeking his approval.

  Lord Prince Marshall Pierre was sitting in the front pew.

  By the gods, Robert Crawford was right to be worried. “That young man is trouble my dear, make no mistake,” he whispered in an aside to his wife during one of the frequent stops and starts of the ceremony, “you mark my words.”

  Baron Peter Taviston made a mental note to tell Kellen Robert Crawford to tell Duke Paul Hallam about his observations of Prince Crispin.

  Kellen Robert Crawford made a mental note to inform Duke Paul Hallam about it. Prince Crispin is getting above himself though he hides it well. Look at that mocking expression on his face. I very much wonder what he is planning.

  * * * * *

  In fact, Prince Crispin wasn’t planning anything particularly dire, at least this day. He was just an angry and disappointed man.

  There he had been, helping the cathedral deacons with their planning of the baptism; in the huge cathedral, with him the centre of attention, when out of the blue, his mother-in-law had poured freezing, icy-cold water on top of it all when she had moved the ceremony to the Chapel Royal.

  Crispin was, deep down, a vain person; he shone in company; he liked being the centre player in the court pageants and he had intended that the baptism be a pageant that would never be forgotten.

  Now here he was in the pokey (his word) chapel and there was hardly anyone here to view his achievement.

  For he considered the birth of his son to be an achievement of a very high order.

  Queen Antoinette was correct in her suppositions in doubting his attachment to her daughter. He didn’t love his wife, he had difficulty sometimes even liking her. He considered her to be a mousy, boring sort of person and as different as chalk from cheese from the women who did attract him. He liked his women loud and blousy, with large chests and who enjoyed sex.

  It was a great wonder to him that he had managed to get her pregnant at all.

  He glanced at her with barely concealed dislike. Prince Crispin was good at subterfuge but he wasn’t as good as he thought he was.

  Queen Antoinette caught the look on his face.

  * * * * *

  THE ROYAL HIGHWAY – EAST OF FORT - KINGDOM OF MURDOCH

  The people accompanying Kellen Crawford to the Duchy of Hallam found him not to be his usual quiet yet jovial self. So introspective had he become that the normally alert Robert didn’t take much notice of the fact that he was not the only one trying to hide inner worries.

  He did rouse when the party passed through the border between the Duchy of Smith and that of Hallam. It seemed indeed as if everyone sighed a great sigh of pleasure at leaving Smith behind. The Duchy of Smith, like the others further south, represented the old ways. It’s peasantry were poor and downtrodden, were ruled by its Duke (through his vassal nobles) with a heavy hand and an iron fist. The Duchy of Hallam was more progressive and always had been. Its Dukes knew it was their beholden duty to look after their people. Hallam had vocational and academic schools paid for by the Duke who also paid for the hospitals and it had a legislative system based, as far as was reasonable, on a fair deal for all. There were no serfs in Hallam. There was always a steady trickle of refugees entering Hallam from Smith to its west and the Duchy of van Buren to its south (both of these dukes believed that it was their god-given right to extract all they w
anted from the poor).

  The voices of the women and children among the party certainly grew far more light-hearted once they had passed the border. Even Robert Crawford found himself talking, not in the monosyllables he had previously sported but with loquacity Lord Prince Marshall Pierre would have found surprising.

  However he was still worried and his face showed it. Those talking to him wondered and a few surmised that his worries might be very similar to their own.

  It was with relief when Robert saw the outriders speed off towards the manor to inform Duke Paul that their arrival was imminent.

  He knew that their destination was only a few candlemarks away. Soon he would be able to unburden himself.

  During what remained of the journey however, he found out that he was not the only member of the party going to seek advice from the Duke. He was one of four.

  * * * * *

  THE FAVOURITE MANOR HOUSE OF THE DUKE OF HALLAM - DUCHY OF HALLAM - KINGDOM OF MURDOCH

  Paul, Duke of Hallam was sitting reading when his seneschal entered the study to tell him that a large party of riders were approaching the manor and would arrive before nightfall.

  Paul Hallam looked up but made no move to rise from his chair. A recent fall from his horse had resulted in a broken leg. It was healing well but it was still painful to move around.

  This leg break was why it was not he returning from Fort this evening and why he was sat in his study, reading, awaiting the homecoming of his beloved wife Elizabeth, his first-born son and heir Liam and all the rest.

  Paul raised clear blue eyes to Mal.

  “A large party you say?” he asked, knowing well that Mal would not have appended the adjective in his sentence if his news had portended only the return of those who had set out from the manor to attend the baptism at Fort.

  “The messenger said that the Duke-Heir of Gardiner is also among the party My Lord, also Baron Karovitz and Kellen Crawford of Cador.”

  Paul Hallam closed his book, placing it with care on the low table beside his chair and looked the enquiry he felt.

  “Anyone else I should be aware of?”

  “There are also a number of ladies present My Lord, apart from My Lady, her daughters and her attendants but the message did not say who exactly. The party numbers over eighty My Lord!”

  “Then I’ll not detain you from your duties Mal. If that many are about to descend on us you’ll be hard pressed to get ready in time.”

  “Housekeeper is already preparing the rooms but,” he was backing away, “with your permission I’d better go supervise.”

  His last words were indistinct because Mal was closing the door as he uttered the last words. Paul knew he would be by now speeding down the corridor to make sure all was in readiness.

  Paul Hallam now put his mental energies to work wondering just why his second son Robain (the lad had married the Daughter-Heir of Gardiner the previous summer) and his son-in-law Charles Karovitz had decided to visit. It was probable too that the ladies Mal had mentioned were their wives and it was not beyond the bounds of intuition that all the children were there too.

  Paul concluded that although this might be a social visit, it was a fair assumption that it was not. The inclusion of Kellen Crawford in the party rather bore this out. Robert Crawford held a position at Court, a senior position. He had been a gentleman of the bedchamber of the late king, a post bringing with it much honour and considerable influence. The Dukes ran their demesnes, their duchies, but it was those of lesser birth that ran the country.

  Robert now held a similar position (without the bedchamber part) in the household of Queen Antoinette.

  The Kingdom of Murdoch, being at present ruled by a Queen Regnant, always a difficult time for the country. She was the only child of King Elliot the Sixteenth who had survived into adulthood.

  Now what has prompted Robert to come here, now? He and Robert were boyhood friends, true, but his friend had never, during the years he Paul had known him, arrived at the manor unannounced.

  Paul Hallam sat a long time pondering. He came to no conclusion but a feeling of foreboding began to rear its ugly head. Only something of great seriousness would have prompted Kellen Crawford to desert his post, Paul corrected himself, to request a leave of absence from his post.

  The party clattered into the manorial courtyard at sunset and all was noise and bustle as the weary travellers dismounted and were ushered inside by the liveried Hallam servants.

  Duchess Elizabeth, after greeting her husband (still waiting with impatience in his chair) refused to tell him why she had brought so many guests home with her, merely saying that it would all become clear soon before departing to see to the comfort of her female guests.

  A few moments later Paul’s two sons, Liam and Robain, his son-in-law Charles Karovitz and his friend Robert Crawford entered Paul’s study. Paul noted that they had taken the time for a quick wash and a hurried donning of clean garments. Paul hid a grin. His eldest was a fastidious young person and would have insisted.

  “How are you Father?” Liam asked, leading the others over.

  “I’ve felt better but this damn leg of mine itches like jip,” Paul answered as he turned to greet his old friend.

  “Robert, good to see you and Charles and Robain, you are both ever welcome but I have to admit I have no idea why you have come. It is more than a visit to see the invalid of that I am sure. Your face always gives you away.”

  Robert made an obvious show of wanting to wait for the servants to depart before he began so Paul requested that they leave them. They did so without outward surprise although Mal obviously wanted to stay.

  Paul and his seneschal enjoyed a friendship mutual and of respect; there was little Mal did not know about his master’s worries and thoughts.

  Robert lifted a glass of wine from the tray the servants had left on a nearby table. He sipped it with obvious pleasure, his throat was dry after the day’s travel.

  Paul glanced at the other three men but they were standing watching Robert. Obviously Robert had been elected spokesman.

  Robert cleared his throat.

  “Some matters have come to our attention,” he began and took another sip of wine.

  “I’d guessed that. Better tell me the worst. Not good matters I presume?”

  “Not good at all,” Robert agreed as he took the chair in front of Paul. The others remained standing although they moved closer the better to hear.

  “You’ll have heard about the unrest in the southerly duchies?”

  Paul nodded.

  “I have, but that’s old news and it’s an ongoing problem. The Reform Movement I presume?”

  “The main body was crushed by the Regiments not two days ago, leaders executed. Lord Marshall Prince Pierre was as usual, thorough. I doubt any of their leaders escaped. Now the Regiments are uncommitted once more.”

  “It’s a wonder the northerly Dukes agreed to it,” Paul was thinking aloud. “They like the southerly dukes to be under some discomfiture, the most discommoding the better.” He shook his head, “you’d think they would have learned after eight centuries to work together.”

  “They weren’t there when the decision to crush the movement was made.”

  Paul digested that piece of news. For some reason it made him feel worry-cold inside.

  “I always was uneasy that our Court and governmental seat is located where it is,” he said. “It is too close to the southerly dukedoms, van Buren, Cocteau, Smith and South Baker. Gives them too much influence at Court. However, if the southerlies erupt into revolution even now we just close our borders and wait it out. I don’t condone serfdom as you know.”

  Robert Crawford agreed, “Elliot Twelve freed the slaves, they should have left them free and not introduced serfdom to replace it. It is a rod of their own making.” He glanced at Paul’s second son Robain then pointed a finger at him. “Your turn.”

  “There’s more?” asked Paul Hallam with a sigh.

  “Yes
Father,” Robain answered and stepped forward, “much more.”

  “Shoot,” commanded his father.

  “When I was at the Palace I was approached by the Duke of Markwood and his uncle, they had a proposal, a proposition they called it. As you know, my wife’s cousin Edith is married to the Brentwood heir Mark and where Markwood goes Brentwood is sure to follow? Anyway, it was a most peculiar notion.”

  The Markwood Duchy adjoined Brentwood. His future duchy was to Brentwood’s east, Robain having married the Daughter-Heir last winter.

  Paul glanced at Liam who was married to the said Mark’s elder sister Marie. Liam shrugged his shoulders.

  Repeated inter-marriage between the ducal houses, was as Paul had mentioned on hundreds of occasions a necessary evil, devised in the early years to keep inter-ducal rivalry to an absolute minimum. It didn’t often work.

  “Members of the Markwood family are not the brightest individuals in the world,” Paul contented himself with saying.

  “Well,” continued Robain, “it seems that they two of them have come up with a most original and to my mind dangerously far-fetched idea.”

  “Idiotic idea,” interrupted Charles Karovitz

  “And I’m at a loss as to how they managed it. Originality is I would have thought beyond both of their abilities and this one is almost beyond comprehension!”