The Promised Lie

by Christopher Nuttall

  Perhaps I would have been told more, if I’d taken the oaths, she thought. Or perhaps I would have been killed with the others ...

  “I think it should be investigated,” she said, firmly. She’d have to write a full report to Alden, if nothing else. “If there’s any truth to the stories, we have to find out.”

  “We saw the creature that took a village,” Lord Robin said. “There is definitely some truth to the stories.”

  Isabella took a bite of her food. It was a little bland, but it was filling. “Yeah,” she said, though a mouthful of potato. “There’s some truth. But what?”

  She sighed as she splashed gravy over the meat. It was unusual for supernatural vermin to come out into the open ... although, she supposed, the ... events ... had remained well away from the towns and cities. The village they’d visited had been a day’s hard ride from the nearest town. And yet ... normally, most supernatural creatures would stay well away from humanity. Even werewolves preferred to remain in their packs than travel too close to human settlements.

  But things have changed, she thought. The Empire is gone.

  “We’ll find out,” Lord Robin said. He nodded towards the wall. “The Prince is still in discussions with Earl Oxley.”

  “That’s good, I suppose,” Isabella said. “Do you think Goldenrod will bend the knee?”

  “I have no idea,” Lord Robin said. “But I hope he tries to fight.”

  Isabella nodded. Prince Reginald would accept Earl Goldenrod’s submission, if the man offered it. But if the man chose to fight, his lands could be taken and parcelled out to Prince Reginald’s supporters. Lord Robin wasn’t the only one who wanted a share. It could get awkward, very quickly, if pretty much every aristocrat on the island bent the knee.

  Prince Reginald will have no lands to share out, Isabella thought. Her lips twitched. That would be very inconvenient.

  It would be, she knew. And it might lead to civil war. But she couldn’t help feeling that a worse problem was brewing, out in the countryside. The world had changed, yet everyone was pretending that everything was normal ...

  She couldn’t help thinking that it was a terrible mistake.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “I was sorry to hear about the death of your brother,” Earl Goldenrod said, once he’d entered the tent and the formalities had been concluded. He was in his late fifties, old for a nobleman still in full possession of his faculties. His hair might be white, but his body was fit and healthy. “I believe he had the makings of a fine king.”

  That’s not what you thought when he was on the throne, Havant thought. He controlled his expression with an effort. Earl Goldenrod was old enough to understand precisely how to manipulate a young and prideful man. He was easily old enough to be Havant’s father. You have always seen our family as potential enemies.

  “I too sorrow for his loss,” Havant said. He’d mourned his brother, briefly. There hadn’t been time for more than a quick ceremony before the remnants of the army had resumed the march. “But the island has worse problems than merely the loss of a king.”

  “Indeed it does,” Earl Goldenrod said. “And I assumed that was what you asked me here to discuss.”

  Havant nodded, curtly. Earl Goldenrod had been marching southwards, either to fight the invaders or bend the knee to them. Havant hadn’t really been surprised when his scouts encountered Earl Goldenrod’s army on the march. Earl Goldenrod would want to be in position to either make himself the kingmaker – or the king – or bend the knee to the invader in exchange for being confirmed in his lands. Prince Reginald hadn’t given the northern lords much time to pledge themselves to him. Havant suspected the invader was secretly hoping that some of the lords wouldn’t reach Allenstown in time.

  Which suggests he has every intention of replacing our noblemen with his own, Havant thought. He’ll have to reward his followers somehow.

  “My father could happily spend hours discussing the meaning of a single clause in a treaty, even though everyone knew the answer already,” Havant said. “I prefer to be blunt. Do you mind?”

  “Of course not,” Earl Goldenrod said. “Youth is always refreshingly honest.”

  And open, Havant thought.

  He felt a flash of pure frustration, mixed with shame. He hated being so weak. If he hadn’t been so desperate, he would have sent ambassadors to conduct the negotiations on his behalf. Earl Goldenrod held the whip hand and the bastard knew it. But it was also clear that he knew better than to dismiss Havant out of hand. The mere fact he’d brought his daughter with him – if the spies were to be believed – suggested he was looking for more than merely paying homage to the island’s new king. And perhaps, just perhaps, that gave Havant an opening.

  “The invader holds Allenstown,” Havant said. “I have heard that Earl Oxley has already travelled north to pledge himself to Prince Reginald. Given a week, most of the south will be in Prince Reginald’s hands.”

  “So it would seem,” Earl Goldenrod agreed.

  “Prince Reginald isn’t an islander king,” Havant continued. “He is the son of another king, one who possesses far greater resources than ourselves. The age-old balance of power between the monarchy and the nobility has been shattered. Prince Reginald can simply bring in enough forces to crush us utterly, if we don’t bend the knee. But if we do bend the knee, like the noblemen of Andalusia, we will be weakened to the point where we will be little more than slaves.”

  He ground his teeth at the thought. The nobility had always been powerful. And they’d been effectively all-powerful in their lands. But now ... King Romulus had weakened his noblemen to the point where none of them could offer resistance, if the king wanted to crush them. King Romulus might claim that his streamlining of the kingdom’s laws was intended to simplify the courts, but Havant doubted that any of his nobles were fooled. More and more power was slipping out of their hands ...

  ... And they’d already lost the ability to resist.

  “That might be true,” Earl Goldenrod said, calmly. “But we could also come to terms with him.”

  “There are two problems with that,” Havant said, equally calmly. “First, he will possess enough power to destroy us – utterly – if we displease him in any way. The balance of power will be shattered, once and for all. It won’t be long before he starts putting limits on the number of soldiers we’re allowed to raise, limits we will not be able to subvert.”

  “There are always ways to get around such limits,” Earl Goldenrod pointed out.

  “But he will be watching for signs we are trying to raise more troops,” Havant said. “The second problem is that Prince Reginald will need lands to pay off his supporters. I expect he will insist that you – and I – surrender some of our family lands, at the very least. It’s quite possible that he’ll start looking for ways to push us into rebellion, just to give him an excuse to confiscate the remainder of our lands. You know as well as I do that many of our supporters will edge away if Prince Reginald turns on us.”

  “Well, quite,” Earl Goldenrod said.

  He smiled, rather coldly. “And yet, what do you offer instead?”

  Havant took a breath. “An alliance,” he said. “I will marry your daughter. My child – your grandchild – will combine our lands.”

  Earl Goldenrod didn’t look surprised by the offer. Havant understood. His family might have been weakened, but they still possessed vast power. Combining the Hereford and Goldenrod lands would create a power bloc that even Prince Reginald would have to fear. Indeed, it might put Havant’s child on the throne. Earl Goldenrod might well have been angling for a marriage alliance – in which he would be the senior partner – all along.

  “An interesting thought,” Earl Goldenrod said, finally. “But can you win? Can you even delay the invaders long enough for your child to be born?”

  Havant reached for a map and laid it out on the table. “The invaders will have problems following us northwards, at least immediately,” he said. �
�They will need time to regroup, time to bring in reinforcements before the autumn storms. I don’t intend to give them that time. We cannot seek a pitched battle, not now, but we can and we will devastate the farms Prince Reginald is planning to use to feed his army. His men will start starving soon enough.”

  Earl Goldenrod cocked his head. “You do realise you’ll be devastating more than just their army?”

  “Yes,” Havant said, bluntly. Vast numbers of peasants and commoners would starve. He didn’t care. Prince Reginald could not be allowed to make use of them. “And we’ll be targeting the Oxley lands too. Let Earl Oxley try to push Prince Reginald to hunt us down. It will prove unsuccessful.”

  “Proving that Prince Reginald cannot protect his vassals,” Earl Goldenrod finished.

  Havant nodded. Oxley had clients of his own to protect. If bending the knee to the invader wasn’t enough to protect Oxley’s lands, he’d start to slip away. It wouldn’t be long, Havant suspected, before Oxley opened communications with the north. But it wouldn’t be enough to save him, once the two earldoms were combined. Earl Oxley would pay a steep price for deserting his countrymen.

  Earl Goldenrod drew out a line on the map. “He might also march north,” he said. “And try to take the war to us.”

  “In that case, he’d be exposed,” Havant countered. “You and your army can take up defensive positions here, joined by the majority of my troops. He can challenge us on prepared ground, if he wishes.”

  There was a long pause. “Very well,” Earl Goldenrod said. “You will marry my daughter tonight.”

  Havant wasn’t surprised. No agreement was sacred, save one held together by blood. Blood ... his thoughts swam suddenly, as if something had disturbed them. He didn’t remember much, if anything, of what had happened the night his brother died, but ... he shook his head, grimly. The black-outs had become more and more frequent, yet he found it hard to care. It wasn’t important.

  He collected himself. Earl Goldenrod would style himself the senior partner, of course, but he was in his late fifties. And he didn’t have a son. Havant would take his place, after he died ... after, perhaps, he was helped to shuffle off the mortal coil. By the time Havant’s son was old enough to claim his inheritance, Havant would have established himself as the elder statesman of the combined earldom. There would be plenty of time to train his son properly before Havant himself died.

  And I may yet be king, he thought. He’d been careful not to claim the kingship in front of Earl Goldenrod, knowing that it would put the old man’s dander up. Once the invader is defeated – starved and then beaten in battle – we will be in a position to claim everything for ourselves.

  “Make the arrangements,” he said. His father would be rolling in his grave – the Goldenrod and Herefords linked by blood – but there was no choice. “I’ll need to head south again soon.”

  “Of course,” Earl Goldenrod said.

  He rose, bowed, and headed for the flap. Havant leaned back in his chair, forcing himself to relax. The tricky part of the negotiations was already over. Now ... once the marriage was solemnised, he had to go back to war. The invader could not be allowed to rest easy ...

  It was getting dark, when he walked out of the tent. The soldiers were bustling around, running through training exercises as the sergeants prepared them for war. Dozens of Red Monks were clearly visible, speaking to the soldiers and encouraging them to give their lives for the cause. Havant hadn’t issued any orders, but hundreds of soldiers were already praying around the plain stone altars. That was odd, yet it didn’t bother him. Instead, it felt natural and right.

  It won’t be long before the faith is established everywhere, he thought. It felt strange, as if it wasn’t entirely his thought. And then the world will change.

  He wished, suddenly, that his sister had escaped Allenstown before the city surrendered itself to Prince Reginald. It would have been nice to have someone from his family beside him, even though she wouldn’t have been able to stand beside him when he was bound to Roxanne Goldenrod. Havant had known he’d have to marry one day, but he’d never imagined being married to Earl Goldenrod’s daughter. Rufus had been the only person who could have married her ...

  ... And now Rufus was dead.

  He will be avenged, Havant promised himself, as he walked towards the fire. And those who killed him will suffer.

  A space had been cleared in the centre of the camp, surrounded by the Hereford and Goldenrod banners. Havant felt his blood boil as he realised the Goldenrod banners had been placed in a position of superiority over the Hereford banners, although he knew it didn’t really matter. He’d just have to endure the snide dismissal until the old man died ... perhaps with a little encouragement. Or, for that matter, a child was born. Their joint heir would inherit both sets of land. He could endure a ceremony conducted by one of their priests for that.

  He sucked in his breath as he saw Roxanne Goldenrod, standing beside her father. She was taller than he’d expected, even for a noblewoman. Long red hair flowed down, framing a strikingly pretty face and flowing to her waist. The long dress she wore hinted at her curves, rather than following them. Her expression showed nothing of her innermost thoughts. She would have known, of course, that her father would arrange her marriage – and that her consent was nothing more than a formality. If she’d said no, her father would have beaten her for disobedience. No one would have batted an eyelid.

  “Come forward,” the priest ordered.

  Havant strode up to the fire, watching as Earl Goldenrod and his daughter walked forward. It didn’t look as though he was dragging her to the flames, thankfully. It was considered to be bad luck if the bride struggled, even though she was being traded as casually as a pig or a cow. Emetine had gone through the same ceremony, Havant recalled. And she hadn’t struggled at all.

  But she was going to be queen, Havant reminded himself. That made putting up with a tiresome milksop worthwhile.

  He looked at Roxanne, aware that she was studying him too. She had good reason to be pleased, he thought. Her new husband wasn’t that much older than her, after all. It wasn’t uncommon for a young girl to be married off to a much older man, if the dictates of policy demanded it. King Edwin had been a good thirty years older than Emetine. Havant smiled, despite himself. He’d probably been too old to have any interest in taking his wife to bed, let alone conceiving children.

  “Roxanne, Daughter of Goldenrod,” the priest said. He wasn’t a Red Monk. Havant couldn’t help finding that annoying. “Do you swear, before all the gods, that you have never known man?”

  “I swear,” Roxanne said.

  Havant nodded, curtly. It would be a terrible disgrace if it turned out that the bride wasn’t a virgin. Roxanne would have been protected from birth, chaperoned by her mother and then by her serving maids. And if she’d somehow managed to lose her virginity despite that ... well, it wasn’t uncommon for such girls to be quietly murdered for bringing disgrace upon the family. There could not be any question marks over the paternity of a woman’s child.

  “Join hands,” the priest ordered.

  Havant reached out and took Roxanne’s hand. It felt warm and smooth against his skin. She would have spent her childhood learning to sew and spin, rather than preparing herself to run an estate or fight a war. Havant had no doubt that there were hundreds of young men in the Goldenrod lands who’d be unhappy, when they heard that Roxanne had finally married. No doubt some of them had been angling to marry her and eventually succeed her father as earl.

  Which may be a problem, after the war, he thought. But for the moment, it doesn’t matter.

  He felt oddly disconnected from the world as the priest babbled his way through the marriage ceremony, reminding the young couple that they would now be united together for the rest of their lives and then calling on the gods to bless the match. The words didn’t feel quite right, somehow, as if the priest was lying. But what was he lying about?

  The ceremony finally ca
me to an end. Havant kissed Roxanne gently, then led her to the table. A small feast had already been laid out for the handful of guests. It probably wasn’t the kind of ceremony Roxanne had wanted – if she’d wanted anything at all – but there wasn’t time to go all the way back to the Goldenrod Lands and hold a proper feast. Later, perhaps, they’d be able to hold a more formal ceremony. But that would come after the war.

  “Take good care of her,” Earl Goldenrod said, as the wine began to flow. Havant had ordered wine distributed to the soldiers, just to give them an excuse to celebrate too. “And you” – he pointed a jovial finger at his daughter – “remember who and what you are.”

  Roxanne’s face showed no expression. Havant wondered, idly, if she had anything resembling a personality. It would be boring to spend the rest of his life – or her father’s life – with a girl who said nothing. Maybe she just didn’t trust herself to speak. It would have been a terrible shock to be engaged and married in less than a day, even though she’d presumably known that her wedding day was fast approaching. She had to be nervous. It was quite possible that no one had bothered to tell her about the facts of life.

  He ate and drank sparingly, careful not to make himself sleepy. Roxanne sat beside him, nibbling at food. She was nervous, he decided. The combination of sharp remarks from her father and bawdy romance ballads from the soldiers couldn’t be making her feel any better about the wedding. Havant wished, again, that his sister had been able to join them. She would have been able to keep Roxanne company.

  Finally, they rose and headed to the tent. Hark stood outside it, his face hidden behind his cowl.

  “My congratulations on your wedding, Your Majesty,” he said.

  Roxanne shrank back against Havant. For the first time, her face showed real emotion. Fear.