Valour and Victory

by Candy Rae

  “Mother is furious with Father,” announced Isobel’s cousin Anne as she sat down beside the other women and girls in the light-filled solar of the Cocteau manor house.

  “Why?” asked Isobel, looking up from her embroidery.

  “I didn’t know Uncle Pierre had returned from Fort,” added Jennifer.

  “He arrived back a half-candle-mark ago,” said Anne. “I went to greet him with Mother. He came in, but he didn’t even look in my direction.”

  “That’s not like him,” said a surprised Isobel. Duke Pierre Cocteau adored his daughter.

  “What’s happened?” asked Isobel’s sister-in-law Katia the inquisitive.

  “He said he wanted to speak to Mother alone. He shooed me away and sent the servants out. I went, who wouldn’t with Father looking like that but I stopped outside the door. My slipper button came loose and I had to stop to fix it.”

  “Most fortuitous,” said Katia with an appreciative gleam in her eye.

  “And that it should have come loose just outside the door,” marvelled Isobel, laughing.

  “Correct,” said Anne with a frown. She had a minimal sense of humour at the best of times. “I couldn’t help but hear. They weren’t exactly being quiet. It’ll be all round the manor by now, you know what servants are.”

  “What were they talking about?” pressed Katia.

  “And why is Aunt Anne unhappy?” added Isobel.

  Anne sat up straight. “Prince-Duke Xavier has declared himself King of the Southern Duchies!” She sat back to watch the results of this bombshell. She was not disappointed.

  Isobel went pale. Katia and Jennifer opened their mouths in giant ‘O’s of astonishment. Estelle, Isobel’s sister and another cousin, Tamsin, who were visiting the manor for the summer looked at each other, open-eyed.

  Isobel was the first to find her voice.

  “But what’s to happen to the King? To the Crown-Prince?” her voice wobbled.

  Anne regarded Isobel with, it has to be said, a certain amount of malice. She had resented the fact that married to Elliot, Isobel would outrank her. Daughter of a Princess of the Blood, she felt herself a far more important person than the quiet little Isobel whose mother had been a mere Baron’s daughter.

  “Your marriage to Elliot is off,” she pronounced. “Father has agreed a match with Gerald Baker, he that was contracted to Elliot’s sister Susan.”

  “It can’t be,” cried a stricken Isobel. Gerald Baker was a loud-mouthed, obese young man, a more direct opposite to Elliot would have been hard to find. “What does Aunt Anne say?”

  “Mother is furious,” admitted her daughter. “I think Father was actually cringing when she really got going.”

  “I’d liked to have seen that,” said Katia.

  “Father kept telling her that her brother the King and her nephew the Crown-Prince are safe. The King is still King although he’s only king over the other five duchies now, North Murdoch Father was calling it.”

  “So why can’t I still marry Elliot?” asked the confused Isobel.

  Anne shrugged, “don’t ask me. I suppose Father and King Xavier are using the marriage between you and Gerald to tie them closer, makes sense from a political point of view. That’s what marriages are for.”

  “What else did you hear?” asked Katia, reasserting herself.

  “Father kept assuring her that the royal family are all safe, the northerly royal family is safe I should say and she kept asking him to return to Fort to make sure they are. He’s refusing and she’s insisting.”

  “She’ll not win that one,” Katia said with an air of ‘one who knows’.

  “So what happens now?” asked the worried Tamsin, wishing that she, her husband and her children had remained on their own estate for the summer.

  “Nothing that need concern us,” Anne answered. “We’re women, it’s the men who decide important things.” She picked up her embroidery. “Mother will be here soon and she’ll tell us what we need to know. I suppose we’ll all stay here until things settle down at Fort. I love the manor this time of the year, don’t you? Perhaps we can go boating in the lake tomorrow. The children love it on the water. What do you say Isobel?”

  Isobel didn’t answer. She caught Estelle’s eye.

  “I think my sister and I will go to the chapel for a while,” Estelle announced. She placed her embroidery to one side and the two left the room.

  “These convent educated girls are all the same,” complained Anne. “They’re always praying. As soon as anything not to their liking happens they pop along to the chapel and spend a candle-mark on their knees.”

  “Isobel’s not happy about Uncle’s change of marriage plans,” opined Katia.

  “She’ll get used to the idea,” replied Anne, bending over her workbasket in search of some yellow thread, “and it’s not as if she knew Prince Elliot all that well anyway. Elliot or Gerald, it shouldn’t really matter.”

  * * * * *

  “I will not marry Gerald Baker,” Isobel said to Estelle as they walked arm in arm towards the chapel, “I’d rather enter religion same as Jessica.”

  “They’ll be at Vespers now,” said Estelle, looking at the candle-mark dial on the wall. I used to like Vespers.”

  “So did I,” agreed Isobel. “Do you remember when Annette put that desert rudtka in the lectern? I thought Sister Earcongota was going to explode when she opened it up and out it popped.”

  Estelle giggled. “That was really funny. Wonder if Annette’s changed now that she’s a nun?”

  “She hadn’t when I saw her. I wrote to you about it, the time when Katia and I took her little sister Jill to join the schoolroom.” Isobel sighed, “I wonder how they all are. I was going to invite her to my wedding but that won’t happen now. Oh Estelle, what am I going to do?”

  * * * * *

  The Crown-Prince

  It was two days since Xavier’s coup d’état.

  The Princes Paul, David and Ian had spent most of that time sitting on the straw covered floor in one of the citadel dungeons. Despite what Alan Henot had said, they had not been taken to see Xavier.

  “What of the King?” asked Ian, shivering uncomfortably. The Citadel was old, its foundations damp with age. It had been built by King Elliot the Second back in the first century and its foundations were embedded into the rock. There was no light in the dungeon but their eyes had grown accustomed to it.

  “I asked one of the guards,” said Paul, “he said he was comfortable. At least Xavier seems to have the decency to leave a dying man in peace.”

  “Decency has nothing to do with it,” said his uncle. “He’s on his death bed, there’s no need to bring him down here. Have they allowed Queen Mary to stay with him?”

  “I believe they have,” answered Paul.

  “What do you think is going to happen to us?” asked Ian.

  “Your guess is as good as mine. He appears to have seceded the southerly duchies and claimed their Kingship. I don’t think he wants the whole Kingdom, just these five.”

  He’d have to murder both us and our families before he could claim throne-right to the entire kingdom,” said David. “He’ll not do that. I think the children are safe. The northerly dukes would tear him apart if they came to any harm. Unfortunately, due to the crisis with the Larg they can do nothing to help us. ”

  “They might even say secede and good riddance,” said Ian.

  “They might at that but Xavier will want a minor or a woman on the throne of what he is calling the Kingdom of North Murdoch. I would say that it bodes ill for us.”

  * * * * *

  The three prisoners, hands tied behind their backs were led up the stairs and out into the inner courtyard. They emerged, blinking in the sunlight to see Father Romauld, the royal chaplain, standing white-faced in front of them.

  As he recognised the white garbed prelate Crown-Prince Paul knew why they were here. Father Romauld’s hands were trembling as he began to intone a prayer.

&nbs
p; Paul recognised the words. It was the prayer for the dying. Xavier had decided that the three men would be better out of the way.

  He glanced over to his left. Yes, there was the scaffold, the scarred headsman’s block in the middle. The headsman was standing beside it. He was clad in black leather.

  Paul fell to his knees in front of Father Romauld who placed a shaking hand on top of his head. He abandoned the prayer and began to murmur the words of absolution and comfort. Paul sensed his uncle and cousin falling to their knees by his side.

  “Your family is safe,” said Father Romauld in a quiet voice, so low the guards would not be able to hear. “I’ll watch over them.”

  “For how long?”

  “The Dukes of Cocteau and van Buren are refusing to let Xavier take them to one of his own manors. He won’t dare harm them.”

  “Elliot?”

  “I don’t know where he is. I did manage to get a message out to Duchesne to warn Elliot not to come here. I’ll do what I can Paul, never fear.”

  The guards were approaching.

  “I absolve you of all sin, Paul of Murdoch,” Romauld said in his customary clear voice. “God bless you and keep you by his side until the end of days.”

  Paul rose from his knees and looked down at David and Ian. “Goodbye,” he said and shrugging off the arms that tried to grab hold of him he walked with dignity towards the scaffold. As he went he heard Father Romauld’s voice begin the prayer again. He stopped at the foot of the rough wooden steps and began to climb. Reaching the platform he looked around one last time at the grassy courtyard. Was it only three days ago that he had played with his daughters on this very spot? The courtyard was empty of onlookers but he felt sure everyone who could find a vantage point was watching the executions from behind dark windows.

  He looked over at David and Ian. Father Romauld looked up and signed a blessing.

  His uncle was watching as Paul took a deep breath, knelt down in front of the block and began his final prayers, not for absolution but prayers for his wife, children and his countrymen and women in their time of need. He laid his head down on the block and closed his eyes.

  The headsman took off Crown-Prince Paul’s head with one stroke.

  Prince Ian was next, only twenty-two years old, then Ian’s father Prince David.

  Like Paul, Ian and David went to their deaths with calmness and courage, as befitted their rank.

  Later that day, King Elliot the Eleventh joined his son, brother and nephew in death and his widow, Queen Dowager Mary was transferred to the Citadel and incarcerated with the other royal prisoners on the upper floor.

  It was she that informed them of the deaths of their husbands and fathers.

  Her grandson Elliot was now King of Murdoch.

  Father Romauld escaped from Fort that same night. By dawn he was hidden in the Thibaltine convent some miles away, praying for the souls of the royal departed, for the safety of their families and for Prince, now King, Elliot.

  * * * * *

  Robain

  “How are you going to contact Susyc Julia to tell her that her army is welcome?” asked Duke William of Duchesne. The Duke was pale - as well he might be after being informed about the true nature of the war ahead. “I don’t keep any Lind on tap with that instantaneous message-sending ability of theirs.”

  “You sure about that?” asked Robain in an amused and interested voice.

  Duke William laughed although it came out as more of a bark, “now, let me guess, you’re going to tell me that there have been Lind living within my Duchy for years.”

  “Not living here,” answered Robain, “let us say that they have been passing through. I am informed that this has been so for centuries.”

  “Indeed,” said Duke William with unconcealed irony, “how else would they know what their enemies are up to?”

  “Precisely.” Robain didn’t think the time was right to go into the intricacies of what the Lind thought about the Larg. Not enemies, whatever the Larg might think, more of estranged cousins. “Susyc Julia has told me where we can find them.”

  “Them? How many are there?”

  “Two,” answered Robain. “They have a hidden camp, a dom they call it, deep in the forest to the south-east of here.”

  “That forest is inaccessible, least in the middle.”

  “Not for the Lind,” Robain assured him. He reached inside his tunic and extracted a thin piece of paper that he unfolded and lay on the table between them. “Look, here is the forest and this is the trail your people should take.” He traced the route with his forefinger. “X marks the spot. A small party I would advise, they take this map with them, see, it’s signed by Susyc Julia herself. They are expecting you.”

  “You are full of hidden surprises Captain Hallam. What do I tell my men to tell them when they do manage to reach them?”

  “A simple ‘yes’ should be enough.”

  “I’ll think of something suitable, words to the effect that her help is more than welcome and my grateful thanks. A Larg army is one thing but if what you and the Prince say is true then these Dglai are another matter entirely. They can set out first thing in the morning, meanwhile …”

  “You should start implementing the evacuation plans,” Robain reminded him. “The turnaround times for the ships will be tight. Your people should be ready.”

  “They will be,” promised Duke William. “What of you and the Prince-Heir? Will you remain here with us?”

  Robain shook his head. “No, we must be off. You and the Duke of Graham are mustering your levies. From what you have told us this is not the case elsewhere.”

  “Gardiner and Graham will be ready. We northerly dukes look after each other. Brentwood too, he’ll help though his western border is vulnerable.”

  “They should send their non-combatants to the north too.”

  “I’ll tell them, so you, the Prince and Count James are heading south to Fort?”

  “Elliot wants to warn all the dukes. He thinks they’ll believe him where they might not the Lord Marshall.”

  “The altruism of youth! I don’t think they will. Distrust is endemic here.” William shot a wry look at Robain.

  “Elliot did mention it. Can you give me any advice about how to approach them? I don’t promise Elliot will act on your advice but he will listen.”

  “The boy has changed that much? Not that I know him that well. Crown-Prince Paul keeps the children apart as much as he is able. Not that I blame him, but, well, a more spoilt young brat I never saw when I did manage to get an invite to the family manor.”

  “He’s changed over the last months and this crisis could well be the making of him. He’ll come up with a plan, probably radical, possibly impossible. He does care.”

  “That will be a novel departure for a King of Murdoch, though I’ve seen signs of a more tolerant mindset in his father. He has had to be careful. Have you ever heard the saying ‘uneasy lies the head that wears the crown’? Well, that’s it in a nutshell. The King may be the King but he spends too much of his time keeping the peace, keeping us Dukes off each other’s throats. I would not like to be a King.”

  “The differences between the northerly and the southerly parts of the Kingdom?” ventured Robain. “I’d gathered that there are pretty big problems from what Elliot has told me. Elliot seeks to bring you all together under a common goal; the defeat of the Larg and the Dglai.”

  Duke William shook his head. “Impossible and therein lies the danger. Murdoch is not as one. The Dukes of Cocteau, van Buren and Smith are frightened and frightened men retrench, cling to the old ideals as being safer and there is Prince-Duke Xavier. I tried to warn the King but he was loath to think ill of his son. Xavier has a son and a daughter and they are already betrothed, the son to the eldest daughter of the Duke of Smith and the daughter to the Grandson-Heir to Cocteau. I’ve heard that he has broken the betrothal between his cousin Gerald and Princess Susan, Elliot’s sister and has affiliated him to the great-niec
e of the Duke of van Buren. I believe the marriage is to take place before the month is out.”

  “Philip Ross believes it was Xavier at the bottom of the assassination attempts.”

  “I’m convinced he was correct. What worries me is what Xavier will do next, not what he has tried to do and failed. He is a dangerous man.”

  * * * * *

  The Lord Marshall

  It took some days for the news of the coup d’état at Fort to percolate northwards and by then the five northerly Dukedoms were more concerned with what the Larg were doing than with what Xavier was up to at Fort. Even the Lord Marshall, Peter Duchesne, leading the Regiments through North Baker and into Brentwood could do nothing to stem the tide of Xavier’s actions. He could only hope and pray that the royal family was still alive. His duty was clear - that of defending who and what he could against the many kohorts of Larg who were sniffing about along the Brentwood border.

  “We must not permit the two wings of the Largan’s army to join up,” he told his senior officers. “If we do not prevent this, if the Larg take control of the coast, we are doomed.”

  “Latest estimates indicate that they outnumber us by at least two to one if not more,” warned General Karovitz.

  “Duke Brentwood is getting as many people to the coast as he can in the time available. Gardiner too. They are calling in every man who can bear arms, old and young,” added General Morgan. “I’ve heard that some women are intending to fight, they’ve heard the north is coming to our aid and that their women fight with the men.”

  “Brentwood is gathering his levies together at Prestonvale, some fifty miles east of the main ford and the one which we are presuming the Larg will use, it being the widest and shallowest,” said Peter Duchesne. “I propose that we march to Washington which is another thirty miles east. General Ross, if you will be so good as to send messengers to Prince-Duke Robert and ask him to withdraw to there.”