The White Robe (The Sword and the Spell)

by Clare Smith

  “You really should try to eat, My Lady. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

  She knew she was and tried desperately to think of something which would take her mind off what she had to do. “Tell me about yourselves; it will take my mind off things.”

  “There aint much to tell, My Lady. My dad was ‘ung for theft and I became kingsward. When I’d seen nine summers I was bound to the whore ‘ouse as a servant an’ when I’d ‘ad me first bleedin’ I became a whore. Sheevar Twenty Two ‘ere was sold to the whore ‘ouse by ‘er dad when she ‘ad seen twelve summers and started whoring straight off as ‘er mam ‘ad done. It’s in yer blood yer see.”

  “That’s awful,” said Tarraquin, truly shocked.

  “It could be worse, at least at the pleasure ‘ouse we get a decent kind of client. Now Lord Istan, he’s one of our favourites, none of us mind bein’ laid by ‘im.” Sheevar Fourteen nodded in agreement.

  “I’ve never been with a man,” said Tarraquin coyly. “What’s it like?”

  “Gawd! We aint the best ones to ask are we. We don’t do it for pleasure or love like you will.”

  “Then why do you do it?”

  “When you’ve got a kingsward number burnt onto yer arm yer don’t ‘ave any option do yer? And it’s better than runnin’ an’ being on the streets with no roof over yer ‘ead. Yer learn early on that its better ter spread yer legs willingly and be groped fer a couple of gelstart than to be raped and brutalised fer nowt. It’s a bit of wisdom yer should remember, not that it’s ever likely to ‘appen to a lady like you.”

  “I hope not but I will remember it just the same, as I will remember what you have told me about your life. When I’m queen I’ll make things better for you, I promise.”

  “You already have, we’re lady’s maids now.”

  “And as lady’s maids you should have proper names not numbers. What would you like to be called?”

  They both giggled. “My mother named me Birrit and it would be nice to be called that again,” said Sheevar Fourteen.

  “Don’t rightly know,” said the other. “Never thought ‘bout it so I’ll stick with Sheevar but without the number.”

  “You’ll have to choose another name when you become my ladies in waiting, Sheevar. Even without a number Sheevar wouldn’t be appropriate.”

  They both laughed again. “Hellden’s balls lady, we aint no ladies in waiting. What would yer court ladies say if they saw us with yer? No, we’ll just be ‘appy to be maids if you’ll ‘ave us.”

  “I would be honoured.”

  “There,” said Birrit, putting the makeup away in a small box. “All you need now is the dress, crown and jewels and you’ll be a real queen.”

  She pushed the screening blanket to one side and slipped out, returning moments later with an armful of starched petticoats and the nervous tailor carrying the heavily embroidered overdress. Birrit and Sheevar helped her into the layers of petticoats and then eased the dress over the piled coils of hair letting it fall gracefully around her. The tailor went to fasten the buttons at the back but was shaking so much with nerves that he couldn’t hold the buttons so Sheevar had to take his place.

  He stood back to admire his work and tutted loudly. “The breasts are not high enough; they need to be more prominent.”

  The tailor stretched his hand forward to lift the left breast higher and had his hand slapped out of the way by Sheevar. “Leave ‘er tits be, yer dressing a queen, not a whore. Go an’ get the crown an’ the jewels so we can finish the job.”

  Complaining loudly the little man hurried away and quickly returned with two boxes. He opened the first and brought out a slim pendant flared at the end like a bell and engraved with the royal crest. Birrit took it from his shaking hand and adjusted the length of the chain until the royal seal nestled perfectly in Tarraquin’s cleavage. The tailor opened the second box and lifted the crown out earning a gasp of surprise and awe from the three women who hadn’t seen it before.

  “Hellden’s balls, it’s beautiful,” muttered Sheevar. “Is it real?”

  “Of course not, the real one is locked away and only Sarrat and the Lord Keeper of the Keys can get to it.” The tailor turned the gold and silver crown around in his hands so that the light made the imitation jewels sparkle. “However, apart from them the only people who know it is not the real thing is the guildmaster of the metal smiths guild and those in this room.” He placed the crown on Tarraquin’s head and gave a small titter of amusement. “I’ve never crowned a queen before.”

  Tarraquin reached up and adjusted the crown with her finger tips. She had practiced walking and sitting with a wooden ring on her head made from a bowl that had its bottom cut out but hadn’t expected the crown to be so heavy. She hoped she wouldn’t have to wear it for too long otherwise she was going to have a stiff neck. Birrit came forward with a hand mirror and Tarraquin looked at her reflection. Gone was the inexperienced woman and in her place was a regal and serious queen. If it hadn’t been for her eyes she wouldn’t have recognised herself.

  “Are you ready, Your Majesty?”

  Tarraquin nodded and then wished she hadn’t as the crown slipped forward slightly and had to be repositioned.

  “Yes, if everything is prepared you may remove the screen.”

  She turned towards the blanket wall and her two maids scuttled behind her to make sure her dress was hanging perfectly. The tailor slipped outside and in a moment the blanket which had screened off her private enclosure was removed.

  Malingar stood to one side, his blood red uniform edged with gold braid complimenting his dark features. An ornamental helmet with a thick red plume was tucked under one arm and his gloved hand rested on an ornamental sword hilt studded with gems. Jarrul stood on the other side in a plain dark jacket and breaches with his dark hair tied back making his pale skin look whiter than ever. His only ornamentation was a band of pale blue silk which ran from one shoulder, across his back and chest and met at his waist. The royal crest of her father’s house was embroidered on the front at heart height.

  They both bowed and stepped forward and Tarraquin gave them each a brief nod and a warm smile as she stepped past them, ignoring the supporting arm they both offered. She walked out of the shaded colonnade and into the early morning sunlight which flooded through the high windows above the throne room floor. As if she had been a queen all her life she gracefully mounted the dais and with the assistance of her maids who adjusted her dress around her, Tarraquin sat regally on Leersland’s throne.

  She looked around the room and smiled in satisfaction. The chaos of the previous night had gone and instead of bedrolls and empty uniforms both sides of the throne room were lined with guards in bright red livery, ceremonial helmets and black knee length boots which shone like silk. Each man held a highly polished halberd and a small shield emblazoned with the royal crest, both of which would be useless in a fight. At their sides though, each wore their own mercenary sword, the only non standard items amongst them. Tarraquin wondered where so many new uniforms had been found in such a short space of time but decided it must have been a much easier task than producing the replica crown and seal which she now wore.

  When Malingar and Jarrul had taken their places to each side and slightly behind her she eased back into the uncomfortable throne trying to ignore the heavy carving which dug into her back and legs. The room was absolutely silent and the only movement came from shimmering dust motes which floated downwards in the beams of light from above. Then in the distance there was the sound of raised voices and the pounding of feet, quiet at first and then louder as the commotion came closer.

  Now she could hear someone shouting above the noise of arguing voices and her heart beat faster in anticipation of what was to come. From outside there was a sudden clash of weapons and the huge doors at the far end of the throne room were pushed open. A tall man in long, dark robes with a large silver key hanging on a chain around his neck strode into the room. He stopped abruptly after a dozen s
trides, took a quick look around the room and pointed an accusing finger at the seated figure on the throne.

  “Traitor!” he screamed. “Seize that woman!”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Challenge

  Despite the fact that she’d been expecting this or something very like it and had rehearsed what would happen next, the Lord Keeper of the Key’s challenge came as a shock. She raised her hand to give the signal to proceed with their plan and felt it shake so she dropped it quickly back onto the arm of the throne before anyone could see just how afraid she was. From behind her Malingar took two steps forward and gave a single command. The two lines of soldiers moved smartly into their allocated positions and before the Lord Keeper of the Keys had a chance to say another word he was surrounded by a small phalanx of armed guards.

  Another section of the guard had formed a formidable barrier in front of the throne room doors blocking the entrance and keeping the crowd at bay. Despite the ceremonial appearance of their weapons none of those outside the throne room felt inclined to press forward into the shiny, sharp tips of the polished blades so they milled around outside instead. The remainder of the guards had left the throne room at a run with their swords drawn, bypassing those trying to get into the chamber and engaging the surprised and unprepared palace guard. They had been summoned by the Lord Keeper of the Keys when over two hundred lords and worthy citizens had unexpectedly turned up at his door demanding immediate access to the throne room.

  This was the tricky part. If the palace guard was at full strength then Malingar’s men would be overwhelmed and the few that were now left guarding the entrance to the throne room would be insufficient to hold the palace guard back; then the game would be over. If, however, the men who had been smuggled into the city the previous evening had been successful in disabling the off duty guards and those on patrol in the city the whole thing might just work.

  Tarraquin sat and listened intently for the clash of steel and shouts of battle but all she could hear was the cacophony of voices of those waiting to gain admission to the throne room. If there was a fight going on, it was happening some distance away; not that that was any consolation. The plan had been to wait for word that the palace guard had been subdued before making the next move, but it seemed to Tarraquin that it was taking far too long and they were in danger of losing control of the situation. Without looking at him, Tarraquin raised her hand again and Jarrul stepped forward from his position at the rear of the throne.

  “Lord Keeper of the Keys, you may step forward and address Her Majesty.”

  The guards at the front of the phalanx stepped smartly to one side and then flanked the Lord Keeper of the Keys as he strode the length of the throne room to the foot of the dais where the queen sat. He was a tall and imposing man and the sound of his heavy boots and metal tipped cane hitting the floor echoed around the open chamber. When he came to a halt in front of the throne he ground his cane down hard into the polished marble and glared at Tarraquin.

  “What is the meaning of this charade? How dare you invade His Majesty’s palace and sit on his throne. He will have all your heads for this insult.”

  “Lord Keeper of the Keys, it is customary to bow before your monarch,” interrupted Jarrul sternly.

  The Lord glared at Jarrul and then back at Tarraquin. “King Sarrat is the ruler of Leersland, not this girl. I will only bow to the rightful monarch.”

  Malingar stepped forward from the other side of the throne to respond but Tarraquin held out a restraining hand. “My Lord Keeper of the Keys.” she said quietly. “I understand how difficult this must be for you, and that I’ve placed you in an awkward position. For many summers you have been a loyal servant to Sarrat, believing him to be the rightful king and now, it must be upsetting for you to find that you have been serving the wrong person all that time. Sarrat murdered King Malute, my father, and took the throne by force. As the true heir I am now taking back what is rightfully mine. I would ask you to see reason and to serve me as well as I am sure you served the usurper. Will you do that for me? Will you be my Lord Keeper of the Keys and share the keys of the kingdom with me?”

  The Lord thought for a moment and then took a pace forward and showing his disrespect rested one leg on the first step of the dais. “Madam, King Sarrat is the crowned ruler of this kingdom and I will only serve the rightful king. He has charged me with keeping the kingdom’s keys, crown and seals and that is what I will do until he returns to reclaim them.” He removed his foot from the step and gave a mocking laugh. “You and your claim to the throne are as counterfeit as that crown on your head and the seal around your neck. Once the people of Leersland realise that you are a fraud they will have your head and I hope that I’m there on that day to lead you to the headsman’s axe.”

  Tarraquin sighed in disappointment. “I’m sorry you feel this way, I would have preferred to have you at my side rather than beneath my feet. Captain Malingar, you may have him taken away but treat him gently until dawn tomorrow. That will to give him the chance to reconsider his decision. If, after that time, he has not changed his mind, your questioners may do whatever is necessary to make him reveal where he keeps his keys and the location of the crown and seal.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “You cannot do this to me!” shouted the Lord Keeper in protest but Malingar had already signalled to the guards surrounding the Lord and they once again closed around him marching him from the room still protesting. Tarraquin watched them go and then waved her two advisors to her.

  “What now?”

  “We use the backup plan and get Lord Istan to declare you queen, after which you take oaths of loyalty from those who have gathered.”

  Tarraquin turned to Malingar. “Have we any news of the fighting?”

  “No, but I am sure we will have soon.”

  “Yes, I’m sure too, one way or another.” She frowned slightly as she considered the situation. “Then we proceed and hope for the best.”

  They both nodded in agreement and Malingar gave the curt command to the row of men who guarded the entrance to the throne room. Slowly they pulled back and the guards on each side of the retreating line fell out and took up their previous positions along the sides of the room until only a single guard remained. He turned and bowed to the queen and then took up his own position at the side of the dais.

  From the throne room doors, the crowd of supporters filed into the room led by Lord Istan and slightly behind him the huge figure of Guildmaster Jobes of the carter’s guild. When all of the supporters had entered the throne room, Tordray and two other guards followed them in. Tordray stood framed in the doorway until he caught Malingar’s eye and then bowed briefly. He turned and walked out of the throne room again leaving the two guards to close the door behind him.

  Malingar gave a smile of satisfaction and leaned down close to Tarraquin’s ear. “The fortress is ours, my lady.”

  Tarraquin nodded distractedly as she watched the crowd move forward and spread out to fill the throne room to about a third of its length. “And the city?” she whispered back.

  Malingar just shrugged as the supporters milled about muttering amongst themselves. Most of those present hadn’t been into the throne room before or even into the palace for that matter, and they stared around in wonder at the rich carvings, portraits and tapestries which decorated the walls. The few lords who had been part of Sarrat’s court waited impatiently for their fellow conspirators to stop whispering and pointing out things to others who stood with their mouths open, gaping around them.

  Once everyone had settled and there was silence, Lord Istan stepped forward, his dark tailored coat and blue sash with the royal emblem embroidered on it matching the one that Jarrul wore and making him look older than his twenty five summers. He approached the throne and bowed deeply to Tarraquin before turning and facing the silent crowd.

  “My lords, guildmasters and worthy gentlemen, I present to you Queen Tarraquin
, King Malute’s only child and rightful heir to the throne of Leersland.”

  He turned back to the queen and knelt on one knee with his head bowed. Behind him there was absolute silence and no movement. Tarraquin looked out at the faces before her, some confused, some blank, one or two angry and a very few smiling. She kept her eyes fixed on the crowd as the guards at the edge of the room shifted nervously, waiting for a command from their captain.

  “Your Majesty,” grunted Jobes as he went heavily to one knee almost pushing the man next to him out of the way as he made space for himself.

  Around and behind him others fell to their knees naming Tarraquin queen until the entire crowd were on their knees with their heads bowed. Jarrul gave Tarraquin an encouraging nod and she stood with a small, relieved smile on her face.

  “My lords, guildmasters, worthy gentlemen, the honour you have shown me is gracefully accepted. You may rise.”

  She retook her seat on the throne as the crowd regained their feet, the older ones with stiff joints being aided by their younger neighbours. When everyone was standing and there was silence again, Istan turned back to the queen.