by Glenda Larke
The twinkle in his eyes as he raised his wine goblet to his lips told Saker the mockery was possibly more friendly than otherwise, but before he could decide, the man continued, “Don’t tell me you are here to chastise us for our extravagance and wanton behaviour, because I’m sure you’d have no success. And I would be forced to mock you with my sharp wit.”
“I’m sure I have far too much sense to try,” Saker replied, “even if it was my inclination. Perhaps my gloomy plumage deceives you.”
“Hmm. The garb is somewhat sober. Or do I mean sombre? Forgive me, I have imbibed too much wine. A poor habit of mine when on shore.”
“May I ask which neither sober nor sombre courtier I have the pleasure of addressing?”
The man grinned at him and sketched an extravagant bow. “At last! A cleric with a sense of humour. We have need of such. Lord Juster Dornbeck, younger son of an obscure family, ne’er-do-well on land, successful privateer on the high seas, trader to Karradar in the Summer Seas. At your service.”
“I assure you, my lord, being a cleric does not necessarily preclude possession of a sense of humour. My name is Saker Rampion. I am the recently appointed spiritual adviser to the Prince and Princess.”
Lord Juster threw back his head and roared with laughter. When he’d finished wiping the tears from his eyes, he said, “I wish you luck with that, witan.” He leaned closer, lowered his voice and added, “The Prince has few interests outside horseflesh, hounds and light-skirt wantons. He has to be dragged to the chapel on holy days.”
Taken aback by the candour, he said nothing.
“The Lady Mathilda on the other hand,” Lord Juster continued, “appears pious. Intelligent and well read, but cunning and conniving, too, for that is the only way a maiden has power in a man’s world. You may have met your match in the pair of them.”
“And to think that I thought a year or two at court would be boring! Why, already I have met an interesting nobleman who must be foolishly in his cups, if he is bold enough to make personal remarks about the royal family to a complete stranger.”
“Ah, a riposting cleric! But I’ve not said anything that is not known to the entire court, including His Majesty the King. Have you met your charges yet?”
“Not yet. I thought it would be easy, but they always seem to have something else to do. I know the Prince is not here tonight.”
Juster glanced around. “He’s more likely to be out carousing with some of his young courtier friends. The Princess, however, is yonder, the lovely fair-haired lass in the blue dress surrounded by her gaggle of nattering ladies.”
He turned to look in the direction Juster indicated. At first, all he saw was a dozen women, varying in age from twenty or so up to fifty, dressed in gowns with absurd skirts too large to pass freely through a doorway. Then, in the middle, he saw her, clad in a less ornate style. More a neatly elegant bluebird than a Pashali parrot. The blue of her kirtle repeated the blue of her eyes, and her featherless snood did not quite cover a head of fair curls. She was laughing, her eyes dancing with amusement.
His heart lurched up into his throat. That was the Lady Mathilda? Fobbing damn, but she was the loveliest woman he’d seen all evening, a waft of fresh air amidst all the pomp and posing.
“Delightful, isn’t she?” Lord Juster said. “But not for the likes of us, witan, so it’s no use looking so smitten. She’s destined for greater things, is our beloved Princess.”
“They have a marriage arranged already? She’s only seventeen.” Smitten? It would be easy enough with someone so lovely. Banish the thought. It’d be enough to earn a rope around his neck.
“So? Her mother married at fourteen. I’ve heard whispers the King thinks Regal Vilmar Vollendorn of Lowmeer a suitable groom, since his third wife died a few months back. Or was it his fourth? He does run through spouses at such a pace! But a pending betrothal may well be rumour; I’m not close enough to the seat of power to know the difference between faulty tattle and well-founded gossip.”
Bile rose in his throat. That fresh young woman to be the bride of an old and raddled monarch? The idea was nauseating! “Well, I hope the rumour is indeed faulty. Regal Vilmar is far too old for her.”
“Here, my lad,” Juster said to a passing potboy. “More wine!” As the lad topped up his goblet, he asked, “And when does age matter in royal marriages? What counts is the accounting, don’t you think? In short, how much is a virgin bride worth to each contracting party when they sign the documents?”
The remark was flippant, but Saker felt the man was more cynical than unkind. He said, “I can’t imagine what Ardrone would gain by such a marriage.” His stomach churned at the idea. What was it the Pontifect had said about something deeply evil in Lowmeer that the Regal deliberately concealed? He glanced across the room again, where the Princess now chatted with several courtiers, flirting outrageously with her fan.
Seventeen years old. Va above.
“Who understands the ways of kings? The idea that the royal backside on the Basalt Throne one day in the future would have his blood might appeal to King Edwayn.” Dornbeck raised his goblet, grinning, and downed his wine. Saker was beginning to think there wasn’t much the man took seriously. His hobby was doubtless making cynical comments on life’s idiocies, and he’d homed in on Saker because he thought that in a naive witan he’d found a good subject to goad.
“Tell me,” Juster asked, “what do you do when you’re not advising young royals on what they ought and ought not to think? Do you hunt?”
“Not a pastime open to witans, my lord. Hunting as a sport is at odds with the Way of the Oak.”
“But you do ride, I assume?”
“Of course. But I’ve just sold the nag I used to get here.”
“May I persuade you to invest in a good mount? I’ll take you out to my cousin’s place. It’s not far from the city and he breeds fine horses. He’s also a terrible gambler and always in need of money. You will want a horse, believe me. Without one, you’ll never get close to Prince Ryce. Nothing he likes better than risking his neck jumping hedges. Don’t understand it myself. I much prefer the deck of a ship underfoot than a saddle beneath my arse.”
“That’s very kind of you. Unless you’re thinking to sell me a spavined nag. I should warn you, I do know my horseflesh.”
“Alas, to think so ill of me after such short acquaintance! I’m wounded. But still, I think I like you, Saker Rampion. Are you interested in ships and sailing?”
There was invitation in his glance, which Saker ignored. “I fear I believe a ship is merely a piece of wood to get me from one place to another, preferably without sinking,” he said diplomatically.
“Sacrilege! I hereby rescind my affection for your person.”
“I think perhaps that’s wise, Lord Juster.”
“Oh dear, again you disappoint me. But if you’re not interested in swinging in a berth in the captain’s cabin, may I offer you a word to the wise about avoiding the enticement of the fairer sex? Beware the lady who is approaching right now, because a maiden’s innate predatory charm is hard to combat.”
Saker turned to see who he meant. The Lady Mathilda was heading their way, her bevy of attendants trailing in her wake. As she came up, both he and Lord Juster bowed. Juster took her hand and raised it to his lips.
“Lord Juster,” she said, her gaze fixed on Saker, “please present your companion.”
“With pleasure. Milady, this is Witan Saker Rampion, whom I understand is to be your spiritual adviser. Witan, may I present your enchanting pupil, the Lady Mathilda, Princess of Ardrone.”
She dimpled and held out a hand. He brushed her fingers with his lips and smiled at her. “I look forward to being of service, milady.”
“I hope you are not as dull as the chapel priest.”
“I hope I’m not dull at all.”
“I was expecting some elderly wizened cleric with a hearing problem, or a dribble. When I saw you across the room I did not dare hope you were
my new adviser. Whatever possessed the Prime to choose somebody not yet decrepit?” Her eyes sparkled at him over her fan.
Va above, she was indeed charming. “I suspect you have the Pontifect to thank for that, milady. I trust I will not disappoint. Youthfulness in a teacher can mean lack of both experience and wisdom.”
She tilted her head and looked at him from under her lashes. “Do you know, I suspect you do not lack experience, Witan Rampion.” She tapped him on the wrist with her folded fan. “Come to my solar at ten o’clock tomorrow morning and we shall talk.” She smiled and walked on with her ladies.
Saker’s gaze followed her. “I think you maligned her, my lord. She is delightful, hardly predatory.”
“Oh dear, I do believe she’s already caught you in her net, so baited with an overload of sweet wiles. Beware, my friend, the court is no place for the wide-eyed innocent.”
“Lord Juster, I wonder your wine-pickled tongue hasn’t been the cause of the parting of your head from your neck before this.”
“Money, witan, money. If one is rich and dutifully pays one’s taxes, one can get away with being audacious.”
“Buccaneering pays?”
“You are looking disapproving again, witan.”
“The fact that a buccaneer carries his ruler’s letters of marque doesn’t make him any less of a thief and pirate.”
“Oh, you wound me to the quick! So swift to judge – I believe you’re a true witan after all. The word is privateer, not buccaneer, or worse still, pirate. My privateering career is a way to redress the present imbalance. Lowmians dominate the spice trade. They buy spices from one of the Pashali ports, a place called Javenka, but Pashalin won’t allow us the same privilege. So we must steal Lowmian cargoes on the open ocean.” He shrugged. “The law of both our nations recognises the legitimacy of privateering.”
“Lowmeer is now building more ships capable of sailing all the way to the Summer Seas, bypassing Javenka. Wiser, wouldn’t you think, for Ardrone to do the same?”
The mocking smile disappeared from Juster’s face as if it had never been. His gaze, now thoughtful, held Saker’s for a long moment. When he did speak, his tone was serious. “The Pontifect appointed you to this post? Not Prime Fox?”
“As I mentioned to the Princess.”
“Ah. Over Fox’s head, I imagine. I begin to see. My friend, we need to talk more seriously than this revelry allows. And I want to take you to buy that horse.”
He nodded. “Very well. Can you tell me – what’s a solar?”
Juster laughed. “Oh, the fancy word royalty give to their personal apartments. ‘Solely’ for them, not us common folk. Except their body servants. And their chosen favourite ladies, of course.”
Of course.
8
The Princess and her Spy
The Lady Mathilda, Saker discovered, had been granted her own solar in the royal wing of the palace, which she shared with four or five of her fifteen ladies-in-waiting and, he guessed, numerous body servants.
The woman who opened the door to his knock on his first visit was too modestly dressed to be a lady-in-waiting. She kept her eyes downcast and stepped aside for him to enter. Her plain dress was entirely grey, as was her hair covering. He would have taken her for a chambermaid, except that the neckline of her gown was low enough to display a simple silver chain, dangling a silver oak leaf. She escorted him through the solar to the Princess, then curtseyed and withdrew to a corner of the room.
With a wave of her hand, the Lady Mathilda dismissed the rest of her ladies-in-waiting, leaving only the grey-clad lady to chaperone.
“Witan,” the Princess said with a smile that made him think of warm sunshine and had him swallowing his saliva. “I am glad you’re here. I so look forward to your lessons and advice.”
“I am flattered, milady. I trust neither will disappoint.”
“I know far too little about the Way of the Oak. Prime Fox discourages anyone at court from going to shrines.”
Pox on the man! “I hope I can help you, milady. What is it you would like to know first?”
“Come sit beside me here, and tell me all about witchery!”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the lady in grey jerk her head up to stare at them. By the time he turned to look, she’d already dropped her gaze, her face an expressionless mask, to stare at her hands in her lap.
Interesting.
“Witcheries,” he said as he seated himself, “are a gift from Va to the worthy. Each oak shrine has an unseen guardian serving Va’s wishes, and they choose the particular witchery granted.”
“Can I ask for a witchery? What sort of people are granted one? Tell me about glamours!”
“Witcheries can be many things. Glamours are very rare, however.”
She smiled and clapped her hands as if the answer delighted her. “Go on.”
“I knew a woman whose witchery was to mend broken bones. And a man whose witchery was to be trusted by all animals. In Lowmeer, I’ve heard of men who can attract fish to a net and others who can tell when a storm is coming. Witcheries are usually useful things like those. They often fit the people who gain them – it will be a fisherman who has the skill over fish. Shrine-keepers always have a witchery, sometimes more than one, usually something to do with growing things.” He smiled at her. “But I’ve never heard of anyone asking for a witchery and having their wish granted. It doesn’t work that way.”
“Then why are some people chosen to receive such a gift?”
“Perhaps those who have witcheries know why they were chosen; but if they do, they don’t speak of it.”
“So what do these people have in common?”
A sensible question. “Nothing that I know of, except they all dedicate their life to Va and the Way of the Oak. Or the Way of the Flow, if they are Lowmian. Or to a combination of both if they are from the Innerlands. But that often happens after they have the gift, not before. Forgive me if I am blunt, milady; I don’t think you’ll ever have one. A princess is destined to marry and raise a family, not dedicate her life to serving Va, or an oak shrine.”
Her sparkle vanished. For the briefest of moments her eyes appeared flat and hard. Then she pouted prettily, so he wondered if he’d imagined the hint of a different emotion. “You disappoint me, witan. But you are right, I don’t think I want to devote my life to Va and become a cloistered nun or a shrine-keeper! Tell me, what can someone with a glamour witchery do?”
Something about the way the lady in grey tensed up told him she was listening carefully. He wondered if she was a spy. The King’s? The Prime’s? When he glanced at her, she reddened and quickly looked away.
Sweet Va, what is it about the court that makes me suspicious of everyone? “A glamour enables a person to mimic something or someone else. Such a witchery carries a great responsibility. Imagine the damage that could be done if a thief had the power of glamour!” Or what a wonderful advantage it would be for a spy … “Perhaps that’s why a glamour witchery is so rare.”
“Can someone who has a glamour disguise themselves and somebody else as well?”
“I don’t believe so, milady.”
“Do you have a witchery, Witan Rampion?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I’ll wager Prime Fox doesn’t either. He’s always so sour!” She sat back in her chair and sighed. “You’re right, I’ll never be granted a witchery. I’d use it to play tricks on my brother, or some other silly thing. And Va would be angry with me.” She dimpled, and he smiled back.
As they chatted on, he was touched by the way she slipped between youthful exuberance and a maturity beyond her years. At times he was sure her charm was assumed and aimed to stir his sympathy and concern, but then he’d glimpse a girl afraid of her own future, a young woman who had no mother to guide her, and who was surrounded by courtiers who cared more for their position than for her reality. He had not expected to be so moved. He wanted to pat her hand, and tell her that she shouldn’t w
orry.
And he couldn’t, not just because she was a princess, but because it wouldn’t be true.
After a while, she turned the subject away from the shrine and witchery aspects of the Faith, and said, “Why is it we can have a woman Pontifect, but never a woman monarch?” The hardness had crept back into her gaze. “Were I the eldest child of the King, I’d still never rule. Ryce gets to be king, he can choose when and whom he marries, he can come and go as he pleases. But because I’m a woman, I can’t do any of those things. How can Va allow that?”
He was taken aback. A woman ruler? The idea was ridiculous! Then he thought of Fritillary Reedling. She’d make a better king than Edwayn was, and she hadn’t been the first female pontifect either. In the end he said, “I think history has given us kings, and somehow we’re stuck with the custom being law.”
“And what about a princess and her marriage?” she asked softly. “Is it just, or right, that I have no say in who I shall wed? Or who shall sire my children? Or even what country I’ll live in?” A single tear ran down her cheek and she turned her face away as if she didn’t want him to see.
Her sketch of her future brought a lump to his throat. Put like that, it was not only unjust, but something much, much worse. He said huskily, “No, it’s not fair. But it is something you can do for your country, for your people. Perhaps your marriage will unite another country with this one. It is a way for you to be the mother of kings, a way for you to be a woman of influence.”
She turned back to face him, her tear-filled eyes an accusation. “Do you think that’s sufficient compensation?”
“If you make it so,” he said. In his heart, when he thought of Regal Vilmar of Lowmeer, he knew he was lying.
When he stood to go soon afterwards, he felt he’d failed her, and in doing so, he was complicit in a crime that was to rob her of choice and freedom.