Ram Thruster

by Georgia Fox

  "Where is my son?" she demanded, still watching Humboldt as he joined his friends across the hall. "You saw him?"

  "He is with friends in the chapel now. We rode here together this morning. After the funeral he will be taken in secret back to the house of Matthias Falconer, but we thought it proper that he attend the ceremony— important that he be seen mourning for his father. Also that the people observe him in good health."

  She nodded. "Thank you. I will talk with him before he leaves."

  "As you wish." There was a pause and then he added, "But you have not answered my question, majesty. Did you sleep well?"

  "Did you?" she snapped, feeling hot.

  "Better than I have slept in many years," the warrior replied, every word traveling across her skin like a soft summer breeze, stroking her hair, caressing the side of her ear. "Ten at least."

  "That many? You must have been tired."

  "Yes. And I knew I must be well rested now. To serve you."

  When she finally turned to look at him, astonishment burst out of her on a gasp.

  A slight grin briefly crossed his lips. Sly and smug, she thought. But it was gone again in an instant. No one else would have witnessed it. "Surely you have seen a man clean shaven before, majesty," he muttered, low.

  Of course. But not him. He was bathed too, his dark hair still holding beads of water. She quickly looked away rather than be caught staring lustily.

  "These friends with my son, they are trusted men of your choosing?"

  "They are. Nothing gets by them, majesty. The Prince will be safe with them."

  "I should meet these men."

  "You will."

  "Those you sent to guard me last night were a little...rough about the edges, Villaverde. Are these others the same? Are there no gentlemen among them?" One of them had even burped in her presence without apology. She still had not quite recovered from that.

  "Rough they might be, but they are fearless, and just what we need."

  She thought for a moment. "Do they work for you, Villaverde, or for me?"

  "For you, naturally, majesty." He sounded puzzled that she asked, but she'd never had men to directly command before and the sudden power put into her hands was a strange feeling. Pleasing, though.

  Humboldt and his comrades were watching them from the other side of the hall, so she kept her face expressionless. "Bonneville has asked for an audience directly after the funeral."

  "For what? His business can surely wait."

  "Hmm. Apparently not. Seems he's not the only impatient man, who puts his needs before my grief for the king." She couldn't resist the sly jab, before walking quickly away from him. Ram Thruster had better not think he held all the cards in this arrangement. After he left her yesterday she couldn't help thinking she'd given in too quickly to his demands. Should have made him wait longer; should have shown more resistance. Unfortunately she wasn't very good at these games, had no experience of flirting and dangling men on a string the way some women did. She'd been sheltered when it came to such matters. Ariana had never even been wooed. Her marriage was a political arrangement, and a financial one.

  Determined to remind the surly warrior of his place, she did not look at Ram during the funeral ceremony. She kept her thoughts and her eyes upon her son. Gaston looked pale and sad, but he managed his role well and kept his eyes dry of tears, winning the sympathy of his people and their admiration too.

  Sometimes she wished she could be a mother like most others and hold her son close, watch him playing jacks with other boys, wipe his face when it was dirty, sing him to sleep and tell him stories. Once, while riding in a carriage, she'd passed a farmer's wife bouncing a child on her knee and playfully covering his face with damp kisses while he laughed. It tore at Ariana's heart, because such a display of motherly fondness was not permitted from her.

  But Gaston was the son of Ersadonia more than he was her child. The moment he was born, the boy was taken from her and given to a wet nurse. In the years that followed, Ariana saw her son only when he was clean, smelling sweet and in a good temper. Her husband did not think it right for her to have too much close contact with the boy, for he believed Gaston must be raised as he had been — without too much "wasteful" affection or "fussing". The prince was treated with care, but in a distant, respectful way by his own household of staff. Ariana had no say in his schooling or anything else. She was permitted to watch as he learned to ride, but was forbidden from dashing to his side when he fell from the horse and broke his arm.

  Today, studying her son, she realized how much he had grown, how fine and noble his slight form as he moved down the aisle of the chapel to kneel and pray beside his father's crypt. Pride swelled in her heart, and pity too, for the both of them could not know a simpler life of hugs and kisses.

  But Septimus must have known best. He always did. Now their son, born to be a king, would need to be strong and focused on his role, not distracted by boyish games. It was good that he had not been spoiled.

  When the ceremony was over, and with no stern eye to criticize her, Ariana took her son aside, embraced his slender shoulders briefly, kissed his brow and told him to listen to his tutor. "Keep to your studies for the next few days, Gaston."

  "But when can I come back to court, madam?"

  "As soon as the coronation is prepared." She didn't want to risk keeping him around the palace until then. Nor did she want to frighten her son with talk of danger lurking at court. There were too many folk milling about, too much back and forth as everyone jostled for power in this new era, and her own position now— without her husband— was undefined. She would make Gaston's ascension to the throne as smooth as possible, keep him sheltered from the evil until it was disposed of and there was nothing in his way. The fate of those two poor little Plantagenet Princes in England continued to plague her. The ambition of men was a dark and greedy beast.

  "Are you in danger, madam?" her son asked.

  "No, of course not."

  "But they have reduced your personal guard."

  He was an observant boy, another reason why he was better away from the palace at that time. "Ah, but I have found myself another guard. One we can trust."

  Her stuck out his jaw. "I should stay and protect you. I am old enough now."

  She smiled and then pressed her lips to his brow again in a display that would have resulted in a terse word or two from Septimus, had he been alive to see it. "Do not worry, Gaston. I am quite safe." Aware then of a cold chill, she looked up and saw Humboldt de Bonneville watching them as he came out of the chapel. He was waiting for an audience. Best get it over with.

  Ram stepped up to her side. "I should go with you," he growled.

  "It is not necessary. Please go with the others and take Gaston."

  "I think I should—"

  "You think? Since when was that required?" Yes, it came out of her rather meanly, but Bonneville was watching. Besides, Ram Thruster was not her father or her husband and she would not allow him to get the upper hand.

  "It may not be required, majesty," he grumbled. "But it comes naturally to a man. More so than to a woman."

  Ah, that was no doubt an answering thrust to her own wounding parry. But it was bold of him to speak to her in that way. She stared at Ram for a moment. "I take it you are sober this morning?"

  "As my horse." He scratched his cheek. "I am merely...giddy, majesty."

  "Giddy?" She'd never seen the man giddy in the ten years she'd known him.

  "Glad to have a job to do. I do not like to be idle." Glancing over at Bonneville, he added, "I should be with you when you meet him." He had raised a hand and brushed his knuckles briefly against her arm, sending a shiver across the surface of her skin.

  "Indeed you should not. I know what I'm doing. Do you know what you're doing?"

  "Trying to stop a stubborn woman from meeting her enemy alone."

  "What do you think he can do to me? Humboldt's method of choice would most likely be poison or some o
ther subtle method. Striking with his own hands would get blood on his clothes and he is very particular about his garments. You may rest assured I shall eat and drink nothing he offers me."

  "Do not underestimate the enemy. Give him an inch and he'll take a yard."

  She arched an eyebrow. "Like you? A man who says he wants only a kiss and then, having taken it, demands more."

  He closed his lips in a firm, angry line.

  "I will call for you, Ramon Villaverde, when I need you." Ariana felt powerful suddenly, looking into his eyes and knowing how he desired her now. It was an odd feeling, but pleasing. His dark lashes swept down, briefly hiding the brilliant color behind them, and when they lifted again she saw a glimmer of deeper warmth.

  "I'll be waiting," he said.

  "Should you not return with my son?"

  "No." He smirked. "I've a debt here to collect."

  "Today?" She raised an eyebrow.

  "Why not? Otherwise you might renege on our bargain, majesty."

  Ariana stared at him. "I would not."

  "Well...just to be sure...a wise man always takes his payment upfront." He looked away from her quite nonchalantly, as if they discussed the training of a new palfrey or some other usual business. "So," he added in a low voice before he walked away, "I'll be waiting."

  Chapter Seven

  "A boy-king, eh? That's always trouble."

  Ram spun around to face two smiling blue eyes in the tanned face of an old friend and fellow soldier. "Slam! I thought you would be the last to get my message."

  Solomon Hardicanute, disowned son of the Marquis of Charvignon, and known to his closest few friends as Slam Hardy— had caused several disapproving heads to turn as his booming laugh rang out, rolling down the corridors of the palace.

  "Ah, yes, mourning for your king, of course," he exclaimed belatedly, pulling a non-too convincing 'sad' face and sweeping off his hat to a flock of passing ladies. "My condolences! Condolences, madam! And to you, my lady. And to you, sir... oops. My mistake. My lady. I'm sorry! What? From behind it was difficult to tell."

  Ram hastily led his friend outside into the courtyard. "I thought you were in Spain chasing after that girl who left you tied to a bed post and stole your best boots."

  "Dona Fredericka? Oh, she is news from the past. Besides, I am done with women. We are better off without them. As you always were. Now I shall be like you Ram and never give any wench my heart again."

  "Excellent." He didn't believe it for a minute. "You are here to work, I hope?"

  "What else? For you I would do anything. You know that." The man was already turning his distracted gaze around the courtyard, searching no doubt for a pretty face. "Who else comes?"

  "I sent for the usual crew of reprobates. Swift and Longa are here now with Prince Gaston. Two others are with the Queen. More should arrive in the next few days."

  "So where do I fit in?" He grinned. "As the Bishop said to the busty tavern-wench."

  "You will travel into the country with the Prince today, for he is staying in the house of his tutor. I have assessed the servants there and found most to be trusted, but keep your eyes open."

  Slam nodded. "And you?"

  "I will stay here and watch over the queen."

  "Ah, yes. What is her name...Anna, Alicia...a pretty thing, I recall. You gave yourself the easiest job, I suppose."

  "Ariana." Ram looked over toward the windows of her formal chambers where she now met with De Bonneville, alone. Against his advice. "And I fear my charge will be the hardest to guard."

  * * * *

  "Majesty, I am aware that these last few months have been challenging to you, nursing the ailing king while also assuming many royal duties on his behalf."

  "And watching over my son."

  "Yes, naturally." Humboldt's lips cracked in the mockery of a smile. "And watching over your son."

  "He will make a fine king. Like his father before him."

  "I am sure...in time...Prince Gaston will rise to the challenge."

  She waited patiently while he fumbled with a pair of riding gauntlets and readied his next words. Bonneville's distinguished, silver-sprigged hair had very recently been trimmed above his ears, she noted, and his beard neatly shaped also. Probably by his mistress when he got out of bed this morning. He was a fastidious man, always clothed in garments of the latest design and richest fabrics— something of a peacock, in fact. But today there was less flamboyance and more elegance to his appearance, a stern, unfussy confidence. This morning Humboldt de Bonneville was a man who felt victory within his grasp.

  "Majesty...my lady, if I may...my queen..."

  Spit it out, Bonneville.

  Abruptly he lurched forward and down. For a moment she thought he was collapsing with indigestion, since he also slapped a hand to his chest. But then the real horror became apparent.

  "Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

  She stared, feeling her lips part in shock.

  He continued, "We know what we need to do, in order to maintain this country for your son. He is young yet and will need us. Together, you and I can secure Ersadonia."

  Her mind spun. Finally she could move her lips. "You want to marry me?"

  "Yes. Majesty. My queen." He reached for the hem of her gown and brought it to his lips in a very odd, awkward and unnecessary display. "With you at my side—"

  "Oh, do get up, Humboldt."

  Her hem dropped through his fingers and, still balanced on one stiff knee, he looked up at her. "I do not press for an answer today. Not here and now. But consider the advantages, my lady. They are plentiful— for both of us. And for your son. He will have a father again to guide and protect him until he is mature and can ascend the throne. In the meantime, you and I will serve as regents. It will end whatever division there might be among the courtiers and politicians. Ersadonia will be united when we are, my lady."

  "Humboldt, rise up off your knee. I can hear it crackling like a bonfire, for pity's sake."

  He winced. "Would you help me? I'm rather stuck."

  With a sigh, she offered her hands and managed to pull him upright again. "Lord Bonneville, I am...honored...that you would think of me as a potential wife, but this is a decision I cannot make today."

  He bowed. "Of course. I know this is soon, but in times of crisis such decisions must be made promptly and I fear others may come to you with proposals. Young and well-favored as you are. Therefore I extend my offer to you first. I have much to give you, much to share with you. I do not think you could have anything to complain about."

  Poor Humboldt. For a very brief moment she felt sympathy, as she watched him striking the dirt off his knobby knee with his hat. All such feeling passed, however, when he added, "You are, when all is said and done, a foreign princess, not of Ersadonian blood. You were accepted here because of your marriage to Septimus, but no one will let you serve alone as Regent for your son. And if you reject my marriage proposal, be aware that I cannot support Prince Gaston's rise. You will divide the country. Civil unrest will occur."

  She kept her face somber. "I will give your proposal all due consideration."

  "And when shall I know your answer?"

  "After the official period of mourning."

  He flicked his gauntlets against one hand and studied her face with those cold, grey eyes. "I see the Thruster has come back to court, after keeping his distance so long."

  "I called him back." He would know that already, no doubt, and must be testing to see if she would boldly admit it.

  "Did he not have a falling out with King Septimus in his majesty's last weeks?"

  "It was not a falling out. It was a slight disagreement on some matter." In truth she didn't know what had occurred, but she knew Ram Thruster had exiled himself from the palace for several months. She added, "The King mentioned to me many times in his final days that he had been harsh toward his faithful vassal."

  The corner of Bonneville's mouth turned up slowly. "I heard i
t was on the matter of some woman."

  "I did not hear that. But then people know better than to gossip in my presence."

  "Really?" He replaced his hat and squared his shoulders. "I had assumed that you were at the root of it."

  "Me?" She felt the blood drain out of her.

  "That you finally grew tired of the scoundrel's many affairs with your ladies-in-waiting and other noblewomen at court, and that you demanded the king do something to curb it."

  "Oh." Relief. Of a sort. "I see."

  "King Septimus always turned an indulgent blind eye to the sexual antics of his tamed pet— our rough and ready Ram does like to plow his seed in a bit of the finer country-side, as he used to laugh— but I thought perhaps you had persuaded his majesty to reprimand the fellow at last for rutting freely above his station."

  "I would certainly never ask my husband to reprimand anybody. If the transgression involved my ladies-in-waiting, and I became aware of it, I would serve the reprimand myself."

  "But you must have known that Ram Thruster prefers to hunt among the upper-classes for his sport. No brothel whores for him. No indeed, he pursues the high-born and well bred. He plays with married ladies mostly, because they expect no greater commitment from him and he prefers to remain unfettered." He tipped his head to one side, eyes unblinking, scouring her face. "It is almost as if, by poaching our finest ladies, he thinks to gets some sort of revenge on those who are above him."

  "Above him in what way?"

  "In class, in birth, breeding, education, wealth, consequence...the list is endless, majesty. He is a man who has nothing."

  "Apparently he has something, my Lord Bonneville, if he has tempted so many high-born ladies away from their husbands and their morals."

  Humboldt's nostril's flared as he put his bearded chin up. "In any case I have wasted enough time discussing that man."

  "Indeed. I wonder why you even raised the subject."

  "I meant to warn you, majesty, that to invite such a man back to court and let him into your confidence is a grave mistake."

  "My husband trusted him for twenty years or more."