by Candy Rae
Xavier was looking forward to the day with pleasurable anticipation.
He was, Lady Cocteau informed him, the Crown-Prince, a very grand person, the heir to the throne. More importantly, as far as Xavier was concerned, that tenday the boys who were to be his Companions would be arriving at the palace and would join him in the nursery to share his daily life. He was a gregarious young lad and had missed having boys to play with.
On the farm in Vadath he had run and played with the sons of the farmhands and craftspeople who worked there. In his opinion, sisters were no fun at all. Annette had always been a quiet little miss and Ruth was too small to be much fun.
His sisters were also to be allotted Companions, noble girls who would likewise share nursery life but Xavier gave their arrival little thought.
The three children practiced their respective roles for the ceremony, at least Annette and Xavier practiced, gaining the Court Seneschal’s grudging approval of their poise and demeanour. Ruth had not gained this grudging approval. The little princess had fidgeted through the practises, tried to escape her attendants and voiced her displeasure at the top of her excellent lungs.
Unfortunately, Ruth had to be present at her mother’s crowning. Those invited wanted, needed to see her; to see with their own eyes the new royal family and that included the youngest. This was of great import to those hoping to make a marriage alliance with Anne and David’s youngest daughter, the only one not betrothed.
Xavier was to marry Michaela Baker, Annette, Tom Brentwood and the Dukes of Cocteau, Gardiner and Duchesne all had aspirations in Ruth’s direction. Few were aware of the existence of an older daughter in the Northern Continent and David and Anne intended to keep it that way. Part of their agreement to accept the crown was that the secret should be kept. Both Annette and Xavier were scrupulous about not talking about Jess where anyone might overhear and the events over the last months had made Ruth a much shyer little person than she had been hitherto and even she was becoming more careful with whom she talked and about what.
After some thought, Anne had taken Lady Cocteau into her confidence and told her about Jess.
Lady Cocteau had proved to be both sympathetic and practical. Of Anne’s worries that Ruth might talk, she advised, “tell her not to talk about her sister apart from the rest of her family. No point going into the finer details, she’s too young to understand.”
“I’ve done that.” Anne had said, “but I’m worried, she might mention her when these other little girls arrive in the nursery.”
Lady Cocteau’s solution to this was a masterstroke.
“It’s your bloodline that is the important one. We could say that this Jess is your husband’s daughter and that she lived with you, that you took her in as your own; or a niece if you prefer.”
“You are a genius,” smiled Anne, “then if Ruth does mention Jess it won’t matter so much?”
“Precisely and let us spread the rumour before it comes out. I’ve always found that prevention is far better than the cure in circumstances like these. Does anyone else know, apart from my husband, Charles and Duke William?”
“The Lord Marshall, but Duke Henri swore him to secrecy. He’ll not say anything. David said he seemed more relieved than anything else. I think he believes that if the pestilence returns and we are wiped out, there will be another heir of the blood that he can call on.”
Anne was greatly cheered by their conversation.
Ruth’s elders need not have worried. Ruth had worked it out on her own. She would not mention Jess to anyone. She loved Jess and would have died to protect her beloved sister from what she continued to call ‘this arwful pwincess life’.
During the tendays before the ceremony, the nobles of the kingdom arrived at Fort in what seemed like droves. The inns and town houses were soon full of families and retinues. The innkeepers were delighted and increased their charges threefold. Some stables were put to use as accommodation, the horses being put out to grass outside the walls. One enterprising man emptied one of his warehouses and let out space by the yard. The shopkeepers found their takings increasing by the day. These people had to be fed and, being on the whole, nobility, ate only the best.
The poorer folk too reaped benefits; free food was handed out to those in need and small coin.
Fort was therefore in a ferment of loud and largely happy anticipation. Queen Susan’s Fealtatis had been a low-key event due to her age and health.
The Dukes of Murdoch, in particular those of Cocteau and Duchesne, had decided to make a grand occasion of this one. After the horrors of the pestilence that had wiped out the late king’s family and many others, noble, commoner and slave, it was too good an opportunity to miss. So the Conclave had declared a three-day holiday with the Fealtatis scheduled for the second day. As Henri Cocteau said to his compeers, if they didn’t give it, the majority of the free populace would take it anyway.
The order of the procession was the subject of much debate and Mikel Senotson was in demand to sort out who would precede who in the cavalcade.
Among those awaiting the events with impatient excitement was one Philip Ross, son of the Lord Marshall, who was also called Philip Ross. In the south sons and daughters tended to be named after their parents and other relatives. He was to be appointed one of David Crawford’s Gentlemen of the Bedchamber, the Prince Consort having insisted that he have some youth around him.
* * * * *
Crisis (14)
Not all the noble families, ducal or otherwise could be accommodated in the throne room for the actual ceremony. There was a considerable amount of acrimonious debate and discussion among the dukes as to who would be invited to be present and who would not.
As the Lord Marshall was busy, David Crawford took his place, ignoring the ornate chair at the head of the table. As the discussion progressed David began to lose his patience. He had not fully comprehended, until this moment, why protocol knowledge was so important. After a half-candlemark of portentous and acrimonious debate he most definitely did. He understood why internal strife ebbed below the surface and why the kingdom had experienced not one but two civil wars. He also began to understand why the marriages were so important.
David cleared his throat, “it seems to me that there is only one fair way to allocate the places available.”
“I would be pleased to see a solution,” groaned the Duke of Gardiner.
The Duke of Baker regarded the future Prince Consort through narrow eyes, not best pleased to see David taking an active part in the proceedings. He still had hopes of undermining David’s position to the betterment of his own. He sat back.
“I too would like to hear what ‘Prince’ David has to say. I doubt however, if he, newly come to our country, can have anything sensible to add.”
The Duke of Brentwood laughed but he was the only one. The rest prepared to listen. David’s words would give them a good idea of the person they would be dealing with in the future.
“It seems to me,” David began, “that neither a ballot nor an allocation by population size is fair. I do not, however, wish to sew discord amongst my wife’s subjects.” With this he reminded them of who he was and what he was about to become.
Henri Cocteau applauded this opening gambit.
“What do you propose?” asked William Duchesne.
“I will decide,” was the surprising answer, “it is after all, my wife’s coronation.”
To say that the Dukes were flabbergasted would be an understatement.
“You do not know them,” exploded Sam Baker, “you know nothing about the protocols involved.”
“I’ve been learning,” was David’s dry response.
“This is idiocy.”
“I agree to this,” said a supportive Henri Cocteau over the tumult.
Duke Raoul van Buren sighed, “It matters little to me. I’ll agree. We’ve been sitting here for candlemarks and have got no further on than when we started. Your proposal at least has the merit of origi
nality.”
“I do not intend to choose the attendees personally,” continued David, “when I said I will choose, I meant that I will choose the method. I propose we allocate an equal amount of places to each then each Duke will choose an equal amount of their vassals to attend. The two vacant duchies of Smith and Sahara I will leave to those who represent them. To ensure that those missed out do not feel slighted in any way I further propose that they each shall be invited to attend a series of private soirees hosted by the Queen after the coronation. They will be far more intimate occasions.”
“Some will prefer that to the Fealtatis ceremony itself,” said William Duchesne.
“A masterstroke,” uttered Duke Gardiner. He looked at David with a wary respect. “For those of Kellen or Thane rank a private invitation to attend an evening with King or Queen would be a lifetime opportunity.”
Neither he nor the others were to know that David intended such gatherings to become regular occurrences. The duchies were like miniature kingdoms. Each duke might declare himself a loyal vassal of the King and so swear each year at winter court. Each might hold a seat on Conclave and be equal to each other but in practice, it was not so. Their vassals swore fealty to them for their demesnes and the lesser nobility’s first allegiance was to their duke, not the crown. David intended to form personal bonds between him, his family and the gentry.
Predictably it was Sam Baker who spoke first, “I am prepared to accept this as long as all my vassals are invited to these evenings of yours.”
David bit back a smile. Sam Baker had not understood the wheels within wheels and David’s ulterior motive. He was very content.
“Well, how did it go?” asked Charles Cocteau when the Conclave was eventually adjourned. He was of course, debarred from entering the hallowed confines of the Conclave Chamber, being neither a Duke nor having a seat on a vacant chair.
“Lead me to a glass of wine, in fact, lead me to a bottle!”
Charles chuckled.
* * * * *
The crowning of Anne in the throne-room of the Palace at Fort was full of opulence, splendour and music.
The noble guests flitted around the public rooms dressed in their expensive best and talked with excitement of the ceremonies to come. Not only was Anne to be crowned but there would also be more fealty oaths and the appointments of the Ladies-in-Waiting, the Gentlemen of the Bedchamber and the Childrens’ Companions. Last but not least would be the betrothals.
Anne, David and the children were waiting in the retiring room behind the throne.
Anne was pale as she sat, knowing that the moment would soon be upon her. Annette sat by her side. She had an ordeal of her own to contend with. The betrothal between her and the Count Heir Tom Brentwood was second on the list after that of Xavier and his intended but that young man, being that much younger was not all that bothered. Marriage was far away for Xavier and Michaela. Annette knew that the Dukes would be pushing for hers as soon as it was feasible. The Dukes wanted more royals born and soon.
David had his own worries. He was about to become Prince Consort. He was diffident about his abilities to rule over this difficult country.
Anne’s face was a solemn one as she exited the retiring chamber and walked the eighteen precise steps to reach the podium on which the Throne of Murdoch sat. She stood there, resplendent in her velvet gown and giving those attending the coronation time to gaze their fill on the alabaster white face of their Queen.
To Anne, the room was made up of faces, too many faces, for everybody who was anybody was present and that did not include those representatives from out-kingdom.
Duke Sam Baker watched Anne settle herself on the throne, not yet fully reconciled to the fact that it was not his grandson sitting in Anne’s place. Little did he suspect how much Anne would have given for her and young Richard’s roles to be reversed.
Count Charles Cocteau watched Sam Baker and vowed to keep a close eye on the irritable old duke in the months to come. He was not the only one to so vow. Many nobles present did not like the calculating look they saw in Sam Baker’s face.
With the betrothal of Xavier and his granddaughter he would become even more dangerous. If Anne was to have an accident (Charles knew the duke was powerful enough to arrange one), the underage Xavier would become King and as his father-in-law, Sam become the Lord Regent.
As the moment drew closer Anne felt sick with apprehension and swallowed the bile rising in her throat. She wanted to stand up, to gather up her cumbersome skirts and run away, run as far away as she possibly could but that would be playing into Sam Baker’s hands.
He was staring at her, she could feel it, as if he was willing her to do just that, hadn’t David told her that he had suggested such a thing in Conclave not a tendays past? He wanted her to abdicate in favour of her son but she would not do it, could not leave her son to that man’s not so tender mercies.
The High Prelate was approaching now, the point of no return was upon her and she raised scared eyes to his compassionate ones as he stopped three steps in front of her.
“Do thou Anne, of the Bloodline of Murdoch solemnly swear to take up the burden of kingship of this our country for as long as ye shall live?”
The words tumbled unwillingly from her lips. “I do so solemnly swear,” and added, as she had been taught, “but I am a simple woman and it is unfitting that I shall be a King for the governance of our realm and so it is my wish to so hand over all power vested in me as King to my husband David who shall take up the burden in my stead. Do ye my Dukes and lesser vassals accept this?”
“Aye.”
The High Prelate placed the diadem on her brow.
“So be it,” he intoned then stepped back. “I call on Prince Consort David, husband of the Queen to enter and lay claim to the powers to be vested.”
He made no move to remove the diadem. Anne was Queen by blood-right and though David would perform the actual acts of governance, the crown was hers.
This was David’s cue, it was his turn to leave the retiring room and heart in mouth, approach the throne.
He placed himself in front of his wife. He did not bow, he held out his hand to help her to her feet. Although Queen Regnant, Anne would no longer sit on the big throne but on the chair to the left. She shuffled along and sank down on its cushion with relief as David turned to face the assembled.
The High Prelate cleared his throat, “what say ye David, Lord Prince Consort of Anne, Queen of Murdoch? Do ye accept the trust which is to be laid upon thee?”
“I do,” said David in a clear, unfaltering voice. No-one would have guessed (except perhaps Charles and Anne herself) just how nervous he was.
“Do ye also swear that thou will rule fairly and justly and will uphold all laws?”
“I do,” said David again.
The High Prelate bowed once more to David before turning to face the onlookers.
“What say thee, Dukes and Lords of Murdoch? Will thou agree to this, that David, Lord Prince Consort should take up the burden of governance on the Queen’s behalf?”
Charles found himself holding his breath. Would Sam Baker bow to the inevitable or would he refuse and even after all the talk, decide to lay claim to the throne on his grandson’s behalf? If he did Charles knew that they would all be fighting a bitter civil war by the end of a tenday.
Sam Baker did not but his look was thunderous as he approached the throne to give homage to the new Queen and her husband the Lord Prince Consort.
* * * * *
Quartet (5)
The Ryzck was sleeping the sleep of the weary during the early part of the night. It had to be admitted that some found it hard to settle down after the excitements of the dawn fight with the pirates but by eleventh bell, most were snuggled deep inside their bedrolls.
Tana and Tavei were patrolling the surrounding area with Valary and her Lind Jsnei in companionable silence when both Jsnei and Tavei stopped.
: It is too still : they telepathed to t
heir respective partners.
Now that they had stopped moving their two riders could sense the stillness too.
: What is it? : Tana urged.
: I do not know : came Tavei’s worried answer : I have not sensed anything like this before :
Both Valary and Tana strained their ears and could hear none of the more usual night sounds, not the patter of the tiny feet of the vuz rustling through the undergrowth, nor the slither of the zandi as it rummaged under the rocks, nor the wing-noises of the night-hunting birds.
“Pirates? Have they come back?” whispered Tana to Valary.
The woman shook her head. “Something else, listen.”
Now Tana could hear sounds but they were emanating from the Ryzck’s own campsite. Voices could be heard over the ultra-still air.
The ground rumbled. Jsnei and Tavei staggered as the soil shuddered beneath their paws. The voices from the campsite were louder now.
“Back to camp,” Valary voiced aloud, “I don’t know what it is but I don’t like it.” The two Lind turned and ran back to camp as fast as their paws could take them. Everyone was awake. The rumble came again, louder. The cook-pots swayed and fires sparked as their banked edges shifted.
Ryzcka Jilmis erupted into their midst. Mouth set, he ordered his vadeln to pack up the camp and be ready to move out. Ryzcka Jilmis knew what this was. He had felt it before growing up in the northern mountains of Vadath. There the tremor had caused a landslide that had all but wiped out his home village. He remembered the destruction that had been caused when the river had burst its banks, the watercourse changing to follow the altered topography of the valley.
There were many rivers in this part of Argyll. He knew his duty. His Ryzck must be ready to give aid to whoever needed it. He called for the men, women and Lind under his command to draw closer and explained what was happening. “They are earth tremors,” he explained, “as long as they don’t get any worse they are not all that dangerous in themselves.”