However, as Anselm recalled, he’d been rather ill at the time, much too unwell to pay proper attention to the conversation of his betters. Following ten days of excessive debauchery, he’d spent a lot of time dozing in the back of a wagon, absolutely done in. Yellow of skin and sick to his stomach, he’d been far too unwell to even contemplate sitting upon his horse, and his cock and balls had ached almost as much as his poor abused kidneys.
Ah. The familiar, much-missed, perils of drinking and whoring.
Good days. Happy times.
Now only fragmented memories remained. He gave a sigh of regret. Sometimes he missed his old life from the very bottom of his heart. Aye, Lord Godric too, the murdering bastard that he was. To be sure, his old master had his faults, but for the longest time, they’d been a good team, friends of sorts. But now that life was over. As dead as his master, and without the faintest hope of a timely resurrection.
How quickly change had overtaken them all—and Martha seemed to have been the unwitting catalyst. The question was, if someone were to offer him the chance to his life all over again, would he make the same choices?
Maybe. Who could say for certain?
Vadim came over to where Anselm stood mired in the quicksand of the past. “Are you well, little brother?” he asked placing a gentle hand upon his shoulder. “You have borne the journey with good cheer and without complaint but I know it cannot have been easy on you.”
Anselm roused himself enough to smile. “You worry needlessly on my behalf, m’lord. I am weary, that is all. Nothing a hot bath and a long sleep cannot put right.”
Vadim nodded thoughtfully. “Although I had some misgivings in the beginning, I am glad you’re here with us, Anselm. With me.”
Anselm snorted with laughter. “You make it sound as if I had a choice in the matter.”
“Ah, but you did.”
“Did I really?” Anselm tilted his head to one side. “Far be it from me to contradict you, Lord Edgeway, but the prospect of being beheaded for high treason was never much of an alternative. However, on a more positive note, I understand that the king and his advisers were all most disappointed to learn I’d decided to refuse the gallows and join you on your quest.”
“Rubbish!”
But Anselm knew he was right. Being able to write the order to execute Vadim’s unruly litter-mate would have given King Rodmar a great deal of pleasure. Still, a pardon was a pardon. Not even the king would go back on his word now.
Rodmar the Just. That’s what the common folk had dubbed him. Not precisely the name Anselm would have given him, but the least said about that the better. His sins might have been absolved, but he must still proceed with care.
If he knew Rodmar at all, the king was already on the look out for fresh crimes to charge him with.
Chapter Sixteen
At long last they reached the fortified citadel of Haldenburg.
As the great gates closed behind them with a massive crash, Vadim felt the cool dimness of the narrow streets enveloping them like a gentle cloak, the burning ferocity of the sun shut out along with the desert heat.
Their route up to the palace was lined with many stalls, each with a flapping, brightly-colored canopy. The constant sing-song calls of the tradespeople rang through the air, competing to be heard over the sound of the crowd.
The streets were too congested with foot traffic to allow the easy passage of such a large party of knights and soldiers. Fearing for the lives of the dark-eyed children who darted, laughing, beneath their horses’ bellies in a dangerous game of dare, Vadim bade his men dismount.
After the various challenges of their journey, Tarq’s patience was almost spent. Stamping an impatient foot, the great horse swished his tail like a knotted whip over the heads of the children, making them squeal.
Being tired and hungry was often a dangerous combination.
“Easy, old fellow.” Vadim stroked the animal’s velvety muzzle, deterring the mischievous boys with a fake glare. “Let’s find a cool stable for you to sleep off your ill mood.”
Tarq wasn’t the only grump of the company. Under the blistering sun, the last few interminable leagues had exacted a toll on them all. Even Anselm was unnaturally quiet for once, although he did rally now and then to complain about how the sand had got into various body parts and rubbed him raw. Thankfully, he stopped short of showing them any of his afflicted areas.
Passing beneath the stone arch of the second gate, Vadim asked for directions to the citadel. To his relief, they were given an escort, a taciturn elderly fellow who, after giving them a brief gesture to follow him, set off through the warren of narrow cobbled streets. As they entered The Shambles—the city’s meat district—thick clouds of humming flies zipped by, their bloated bodies shining with beautiful iridescent greens and blues in the sun.
Vadim wrinkled his nose as the sickly-sweet stench of decomposing bodily fluids rose up from the blood-stained gutters running along the entire street, smothering him in the scent of death. He averted his eyes from the clots of blood, adhering like stranded jellyfish to the smooth, worn stones. In this heat, even the freshest meat was only minutes away from becoming spoiled.
Suspended on hooks above the doorway of each butcher’s shop, the heads of that day’s kill looked down upon their own dismembered corpses, regarding the cuts of glistening meat with dull, unseeing eyes while goodwives in dark veils crowded about the stallholder—straw baskets looped over their arms—clamoring in shrill voices for the choicest cuts.
Their battle-scarred guide turned sharply left. “This way,” he grunted, briefly glancing over his shoulder to make sure they were still following him. Vadim was more than happy to leave the stench and the chaos of The Shambles behind.
Taking a narrow cut-through that climbed steadily upward, they eventually stepped out onto another street near the top of the hill—a street very different from the one they’d just left. Here, all was calm and tranquil. Tall wispy trees reached skyward, their graceful branches and lacy leaves bathing the cobbles with cool pools of dappled shadow.
Beneath these trees, old folk sat upon stone benches, some dozing, others chatting, or playing slow board games. There were no stalls set out here. No shrieking children, or good-wives. No vendors calling to them, touting their trade. This street was more select; the abode of merchants, dealers of exotic spices, wildly expensive silks, and shimmering gold and jewelry. Luxury items that were far beyond the means of the simple folk back home—and some of the nobles, too.
Vadim caught the faint scent of spices drifting on the breeze, filling his nostrils with a banquet of temptation that tantalized his neglected stomach and made it grumble. Suddenly he was ravenous. How long had it been since they’d last eaten a decent home-cooked meal?
At length, they passed beneath the third and final gateway, into the courtyard of the palace. Awaiting them, a glittering oasis of sparkling fountains cast rainbows as they danced and played. While overhead, a legion of tall silvery trees wafted lazily in the sun, bathing the white marble floor with delicious shifting shadows.
“Wait here and water your beasts whilst I announce your arrival, Lord… ?”
“Edgeway,” Vadim supplied smoothly, handing the packet of waxed papers the king had given him—their passport to the city—to their wizened guide. With a brief bow, the fellow departed, his curved sword swinging at his side.
Lured by the splashing water, their troop immediately headed for the cascading water troughs lining the center of the courtyard. The prospect of having access to such a limitless supply of fresh water had a miraculous effect upon them all. From the weariest mule to the most footsore soldier, their little company was suddenly lively again.
They had just quenched their thirst when a veritable herd of stable boys descended upon them. Clad in nothing more than a pair of sandals, a simply-folded headdress, and a knee-length white skirt, the
y hurried out from beneath a large arched passageway carved into the hillside. Smiling and chattering, their teeth dazzling while in their tanned faces, they relieved their guests of their weary beasts and—promising that the animals would be well taken care of—led them to the stables within the hillside.
Laughing and jesting, free from all but their most immediate cares, the men took turns to wash beneath the powerful icy jet of the large central water pump.
Cooler, if only slightly cleaner, Vadim dried himself upon his filthy shirt while his squire dug his last clean shirt from the depths of his saddle pack and wafted the garment from its tight roll, attempting to remove the worst creases. As he did so, Vadim caught the faint scent of lavender flying from the fabric. Instantly the endless leagues fell away. Suddenly he was transported back to Edgeway and to Martha—if only in his mind.
Taking the shirt from his squire, Vadim buried his nose in the wad of fabric, and inhaled. Martha was a fiend with that lavender water of hers. No one was safe from its scent, not even Lord Edgeway himself, thank goodness. Although it wasn’t the manliest of scents Vadim didn’t mind. He was grateful for anything that reminded him of home and, not least, the woman he’d left behind.
“My lords.” Their taciturn escort had returned and this time he had company. Behind him marched four lofty soldiers, each clad in smart matching robes, all edged with gold. At their side, they each carried a fearsome-looking sword, their blades being curved and broad. Swarthy skinned with gleaming black hair, and dark unsmiling eyes, none of the men seemed particularly friendly. They must be part of the palace guard.
“The queen will see you now,” their elderly escort said. “No! Just Lords Edgeway and Upton,” he added when the knights made a move to follow their liege lords.
“My lord?” Sir Hugh frowned, clearly not pleased at the idea of being separated from his new master. A loyal man was Hugh, and a true one. Well worth the exertion Vadim had taken on his behalf.
“Rest easy, Sir Hugh,” Vadim said with a smile. “We won’t be gone long.” Hastily drawing his clean shirt over his head, he added “Please keep an eye on the others while we are gone… especially my brother.” He glanced over to where Anselm frolicked, half-naked, in one of the larger fountains while Fergus and the others looked on and hurled good-natured abuse at him. The cold water had done much to revive their flagging party. Perhaps a little too much. “See to it they don’t cause too much offense.”
“As you command, m’lord.” But worry still lurked in the depths of Hugh’s kindly eyes. Having served beneath a tyrant master for so many years, no doubt the poor fellow expected to find serpents lurking in every shadow, even here, in the king’s own palace.
Following the guards, Vadim and Reynard were escorted at a fair old pace through the cool echoing corridors of the palace, a sumptuous affair of towering white marble adorned with countless gleaming gold fittings. When they reached the tall doors that led to the queens’ main audience chamber, they were asked to give up their swords.
“A mere formality, you understand, m’lords. There is no cause for offense.”
“And no offense is taken.” Reynard smiled and bowed to the old guard. “A most sensible arrangement, to be sure.” With his calm, cool manners, Reynard could usually be relied upon to effectively smooth the odd ruffled feather and to say all that was proper.
Unlike Vadim.
Perhaps the weight of all the leagues they’d traveled was finally beginning to take its toll upon him for suddenly, after journeying so far, Vadim suddenly did not want to be parted from his sword. Still, there was nothing else for it. To argue the point would seem churlish. Besides, the guards’ swords were bigger.
Once they’d been divested of their weapons, they were ushered through the tall doors before them into a cavernous room. It had a soaring vaulted ceiling, and around the uppermost section of the wall, the dozens of small glazed windows bathed the chamber in light, lending it an almost heavenly aspect.
At the center of the room was a large throne of marble and gold, and seated upon this grand monstrosity was a lady who could only be the king’s wife. As they approached the throne, the queen regarded them with interest. Sweeping a respectful bow, one of the guards introduced them.
“Lord Edgeway and Lord Upton, Your Highness.”
“Welcome to Haldenberg, my lords.” The lady graciously rose to greet them, inclining her head first to Vadim and then to Reynard. “It gladdens my heart to finally meet with you for my lord husband has often mentioned your names in his, all too infrequent, letters. So warmly does he speak of you I feel we are already acquainted.”
“Thank you, your Highness—”
“Oh, my lady will do well enough, Lord Reynard—or Hortensia, if you prefer. I may be queen of these lands, but I have not yet been crowned the queen of yours.” With a kindly smile, the queen resumed her seat and beckoned them forward. “Come closer that we might speak intimately together for a time. Long have I waited for news of my beloved husband. Tell me, is he well?”
“He is extremely well, m’lady,” Reynard assured her, forgoing the invitation to call the queen by her given name. “In the very best of health. Our people already love your husband a good deal, and he has settled well into the mighty palace of Stanrocc. The only comfort he lacks there is the company of his lady wife, the fair jewel which the Norlands has been deprived of for too many years.”
Hortensia laughed and clapped her hands in delight, her amber eyes sparkling within her attractive face. “Prettily said, Lord Reynard. What a charming man you are. I believe we shall do well together, you and I.” She tilted her head to observe Vadim. “But you, however, Lord Edgeway, I have not yet taken the full measure of.”
Vadim immediately shook himself. Had he come across as cold? Oh, that would never do.
“Forgive me, my lady,” he said with a respectful bow. Sweeping back his hair, he smiled. “Although I do not possess the delicate tongue of my old friend here, you may rest assured that my loyalty to you and your husband is true and sincere.”
“I believe you, m’lord—even though you do not flatter me and bestow compliments like a practiced courtier.” Hortensia darted a mischievous grin at Reynard. “What say you, m’lord?”
If she’d hoped to wrong-foot Reynard by speaking so teasingly, the lady would have a long wait.
“As you say, m’lady,” Reynard agreed smoothly. “Whatever else Lord Edgeway lacks, it certainly isn’t loyalty.”
Thank goodness for Reynard. He was guaranteed unflappable in most situations—the current chaos of his personal life excluded. Indeed, without losing a grain of his customary composure, he would probably agree that the sky was made of glass if the queen were ever of a mind to express such a wild opinion. Again, unlike Vadim. He had no talent for such courtly chicanery.
Martha was right. He could not dish up a hearty helping of bullshit on command. Maybe it would be better if he remained silent from now on and allowed Reynard to do most of the talking. Although the queen wasn’t taken in by Reynard’s excessive flattery, she clearly derived great enjoyment from their game.
So, while Reynard and Hortensia conversed, Vadim was free to study his queen. Within those watchful amber eyes dwelt a knowledge and wisdom she was unlikely to ever fully reveal—not to strangers, at least.
A daughter of the desert lands that had given her life, her skin was kissed to a light honey-gold thanks the ever-present sun. Her hair, meanwhile, had the same blue-black iridescence of a raven on the wing—its plumage aglow in the dying rays of the afternoon sun—and hung down her back in an arrow-straight sheet.
As for her garb, though the fabric of her blue gown was undoubtedly expensive, the cut was modest in the extreme. Hortensia’s only adornment, in fact, was the thin circlet of plaited silver which sat atop her shining head. With her long, thin nose and firm jawline, the queen was handsome rather than merely pretty. ’Twas a
strong face and a striking one. Such looks would carry her nobly into old age, long after the bloom of fairer maidens had faded.
Her character, Vadim sensed, was equally strong. Now that he saw her in person, he heartily approved of the king’s choice of wife. Once reunited, this regal couple would surely be a force to be reckoned with.
“But where are my manners?” the queen said at last. “No doubt you are both weary after your long journey and would like the opportunity to refresh yourselves.” If Hortensia had noticed the trail of sand he and Reynard had left upon the immaculate marble floor of her chamber she was too polite to mention of it. “Rooms have been prepared for you and your men. Once you have rested, perhaps you would attend the banquet I have arranged for tonight, a small feast in your honor?”
“You are kindness itself, m’lady.” Reynard replied with another bow. “Nothing would give us greater pleasure.”
“Excellent. I should like the opportunity to introduce you to the rest of our family.”
The rest of our family?
Just how many people would they be accompanying on the journey back to the Norlands? He still had no idea for the king had been so vague. In his sealed letters he had avoided definite numbers, preferring to refer to their charges as a ‘small family party’. But as Vadim regarded the queen’s closed countenance, his sense of unease increased tenfold.
Instead of voicing his concern, however, he said: “We look forward to meeting them, m’lady.”
“Splendid!” With two brisk claps, Hortensia summoned two of her discreet servants. “Please escort our honored guests to their chambers. See to it that they and the rest of their men are properly taken care of.” Inclining her head, she dismissed Vadim and Reynard. “Until tonight, m’lords.”
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