Reign of the Eagle, page 7
“Of course he did.” The young man’s fury drained away, and his shoulders sagged. “This has certainly been very...educational.”
He went back up to the castle after that, and William bore him no ill will. Some people weren’t cut out for this line of work. Whatever the boy’s father might say, Broderick the younger didn’t need “toughening up.” He was already tough—just not in this particular way.
The next day, William made his rounds alone, while Broderick the younger stayed at the barracks and worked on his swordsmanship. This made everyone happier, except, of course, for some of the people William visited.
Some of the negotiations were trickier than others. Sir Merton Mounley, the chamberlain of the Duke of Wislicshire, wanted gold before he would do what William asked. William gave him a Sovereign, but afterward he worried he had done the wrong thing. Threats were free; bribes cost money. And they always cost more than you thought they would, because people got greedy. A Sovereign today became two Sovereigns next month, and three the month after that. Perhaps Sir Merton might need to have an unfortunate accident sometime soon. Yes, that might be best.
As William crossed the big market square by the cathedral, a voice hailed him and he turned, hand on the hilt of his dagger. Fortunately, it was an old friend—Vincent Carling, Earl of Hambledon. William had squired under the previous earl, Vincent’s father, and Vincent was the one who had conducted a lot of William’s military training.
“I hear you’ve been busy lately,” Vincent said.
“Rather busy, yes,” said William.
Vincent gave him an uneasy smile. “Not so busy you can’t have a drink with me, I hope.”
They went to a little tavern off the square—a place frequented by students from the university, rather than soldiers or people from the court. Vincent got them an alarmingly large pitcher of mead and two mugs.
“I hope you don’t think I’m going to drink half of that,” said William.
“No, this is for me,” laughed Vincent. “What will you be having?” But he poured William a generous mug all the same. Then his smile faded. “Listen, William. Your little ‘visits’ around town. They’re being noticed.”
“Noticed by who, exactly?”
“People who support the queen. The Earl of Hyrne’s people. The Earl of Stansted’s, too.”
“I know them.” Some of those men were pretty good, but none of them were as good as he was.
Vincent leaned closer over the table. “They’re making lists, William. Lists of people who are enemies. Lists they’re going to use when the queen takes over.”
“And let me guess—my name is on these lists.”
“Not just yours. Your wife’s, too.”
William paused with his drink halfway to his lips and then set the mug down hard, sloshing mead over his hand. “My wife?”
Vincent nodded gravely.
It was absurd and insulting. In William’s mind, a clear line separated people who were fair targets from people who weren’t. Knights and noblemen and men-at-arms were trained warriors. They lived and died by the sword. They knew how to kill, and they took death in stride. Women lived in a separate world, where they didn’t have to see or even think about any of that. Threatening a man’s wife was a violation of the most basic rules of life, as far as William was concerned.
Granted, a few women played the men’s game. Duchess Flora, for one. And Queen Rohesia, naturally. Baroness Muriel, too, now that William thought of it. But they were exceptions, and his Gwen wasn’t like them at all. Gwen couldn’t hurt anyone, and she wouldn’t, even if she could.
There was no point, though, in objecting that Gwen hadn’t done anything wrong. There wouldn’t have to be formal charges. The king’s judges would never hear the case. When lists like these were drawn up, the people on them didn’t get the benefit of court proceedings. They vanished in the night and were never spoken of again.
“And my son!” thought William, feeling numb now with horror.
What would happen to Robby if he and Gwen were killed? Philip and Hazel Rowley would take him in, probably. It wouldn’t be a bad life for a boy, growing up around a forge. But what if the Rowleys were on the list, too? William had flashed his knives all around the city, and anyone could see the maker’s mark on them. If Gwen was on the list, then there was no reason the Rowleys couldn’t be on there, too.
William set his mug aside and wiped the spilled mead off his hand. Then he stood slowly. “Thanks for letting me know, Vincent,” he said. “Sorry, but I have somewhere I need to be.”
It started to rain as he left the tavern, and even though he ran all the way to Shieldworten Street, he was still soaked through by the time he got there. He came to a stop outside Philip Rowley’s forge, beyond the warm glow of the fires, and looked up at the windows of his apartment. Light glowed behind the curtains, and he could hear Gwen singing one of her little folk songs.
He got his breath back. It had been foolish to think anything might have happened to her already, but once the notion was in his head, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from coming back here and confirming she was safe. Now he wanted to run upstairs and see her and touch her and hold her close, and he was on the verge of doing it. But he hung back, wavering.
“If I go up there now,” he thought, “Gwen will be scared out of her mind.”
He knew what he must look like—he’d seen the look of abject terror in men’s eyes often enough. Gwen was safe. That was what he had wanted to know. He wouldn’t see her—and he certainly wouldn’t mention the lists—until he could do it calmly.
He paced up and down the street in the rain, trying to think what to do. Then, on a sudden impulse, he walked over to the East Gate, where he found Colonel Rath in the office, making entries in a large accounts ledger. William didn’t tell him everything Vincent had said, but he told him enough to let the colonel see that Gwen’s life was in danger.
“I hate to ask,” said William, “but I don’t suppose you could assign a man to stand guard outside my house, could you?”
Rath frowned and tapped his quill against the ledger. “H’m...I would like to help, of course, but I really don’t have men to spare. The queen has lots of enemies, and if I do this for you, I’ll have to do it for everyone. I don’t think that’s very practical, do you? Besides, a soldier outside your house will simply call attention to it. I don’t know where you live, William, and frankly I doubt anyone else does, either.”
William felt in his pocket for his purse, but he decided not to offer a bribe. Rath had a point there about calling attention to William’s apartment. He and Gwen never entertained—they didn’t have the money or the space. There probably weren’t half a dozen people at the castle who even knew where he lived. Best to keep it that way. If soldiers were assigned to stand guard over Gwen, then pretty soon everyone in the army would know where she was. And that would put her in far more danger, in the long run.
He apologized for bothering Rath and went back out into the rain. He would have Philip Rowley fit a strong new lock to their door tomorrow. Maybe he could get a crossbow from the castle armory and teach Gwen how to use it. He could tell her some story about robbers in the neighborhood.
No, he wouldn’t do that. If he told her anything, he would tell her the truth, but not yet.
For now, the best thing he could do was to do his job, and do it as well as he possibly could. The best way to keep Gwen safe was to make sure the queen’s people didn’t take power. He took a deep breath, cleared his mind, and started off into town. He had a list, too, and some of the people on it were about to have a very bad day.
Chapter 9
Everyone was talking about a Gemot now for some reason, even though nobody could explain why they needed one. Rohesia fumed about it, calling it insulting and almost treasonous. For once, Elwyn felt in complete agreement with her stepmother. She didn’t know if anyone had told Edwin yet, but perhaps he had heard the rumors. He had certainly become withdrawn and pensive since the funeral. Maybe he was coming to terms with the awful responsibilities that had descended on him. Or maybe he missed their father.
Late one evening, though, Elwyn discovered what really worried the boy. She had been out hunting nearly all day, and she was sharpening her knives before bed, when there was a tap on the glass door that led to the outer balcony, the one she shared with the nursery. Looking up, startled, she saw Edwin there, barefoot in his nightshirt.
“What are you doing out there?” she demanded, as she pulled him into her bedroom. He’d never been one for spying before.
“Elwyn...,” he said, twisting his hands together nervously. “Elwyn, can I tell you something, and you promise you won’t get mad?”
“He’s terrified of me,” she thought sadly. “I’m the worst big sister ever.”
Aloud, she said, “I promise. What’s wrong, dear?” She put an arm around him and led him over to her bed. He nestled himself into the pillows, and she sat at the foot, leaning against the thick oak bedpost. “Go ahead,” she prompted. “Whatever it is, I’ll do my best to help.”
“Thanks,” he said, “but I don’t know what you could do.” He took a deep breath, and his face reddened. “You know how I looked in Finster’s Book, and everyone was there, and they made a big ceremony out of it?”
She nodded.
“Well, mother says I don’t ever have to tell anyone what I read in there.”
“That’s right. But I’m guessing that’s what you want to tell me.” Elwyn sat up a little straighter, thinking of her father’s warning about the book and Cousin Broderick. “Did it tell you to beware of someone?”
The boy shook his head, and his eyes glistened. “No, it didn’t. When I looked at the book, it...it didn’t say anything.”
A shiver ran up Elwyn’s back. “What do you mean it didn’t say anything?”
“There was nothing there,” said Edwin, eyes wide and frantic. “Nothing at all. The pages were blank. I told mother, but she doesn’t believe me.” He hugged a pillow tightly to himself. “That can’t be normal, can it? I mean, isn’t it supposed to give me instructions or something?”
“Well...,” Elwyn tried not to let her brother see quite how unsettling she found this news. “Well, um...maybe it doesn’t have any instructions because you’re doing everything right so far.”
A look of palpable relief came over the boy’s face. “Oh! I hadn’t thought of that.” He lunged forward and hugged her. “You’re brilliant. I’m sure you’re right.”
She was sure she wasn’t. There was no telling why Finster’s Book was blank now, but she had a bad feeling it wasn’t a good sign for Edwin. Or for his family, for that matter.
He left happy, but she hardly slept that night. First, she gave serious consideration to asking Lord Aldred or Lady Jorunn about it, but decided not to. She didn’t want to betray Edwin’s confidence. The more she thought, the more she worried that the blank pages meant that somehow Edwin wasn’t the true king. Certainly there were people who would see it that way. So maybe she and Edwin ought to keep quiet about it.
She thought about the book a lot the next day, when she went down to the city to go visiting. Elwyn hated paying social calls, but Rohesia said they needed to “nip this Gemot business in the bud.” She also said that she was “too angry to talk rationally to people about it,” which meant Elwyn would be making all these calls alone.
“We must keep up appearances,” Rohesia told her as she left. And so they would. The nobles had to be convinced that Edwin and the queen were fit to rule, even if it seemed like Finster’s Book had a different opinion. Elwyn had to try, even though she knew she was the worst person possible for the job.
She started her calls with an easy one—Flora Byrne. Elwyn had always liked the beautiful, outspoken duchess. They were both avid hunters, and Flora always sent Elwyn a hundred new arrows for the Autumnal Equinox. They sat in the duchess’s upstairs parlor, and Flora gave Elwyn a big cup of coffee that turned out to be generously spiked with whiskey.
“I’m not opposed to a Gemot in theory,” Flora said, when Elwyn finally brought up the subject. “It would probably be good fun. But no one has given me a single good reason why we need one. Your brother is the rightful king, and that’s that. You only have a Gemot when the succession is disputed, or when there’s no heir. Everything’s going fine now. I don’t see any reason to muck it all up.”
“So you’re still happy with having the queen as regent?”
“Oh, absolutely.” Flora took a long drink of her spiked coffee and grinned. “It will do some of those men up at the castle a world of good to have to take orders from a woman for once. It certainly did some good for my dear Hugh.”
Elwyn nodded. It was easy to forget Flora was married. Duke Hugh, one of the few men in Myrcia with a courtesy title from his wife, generally stayed home and managed the estates while his wife went to court and sat on the privy council. Some people made fun of him behind his back for this, but Elwyn had always liked him.
“Folks will say the queen isn’t suited to politics,” Flora continued, “But Rohesia is a smart woman and a sweetheart to boot; she really is.”
“Um...sure.” Elwyn couldn’t have disagreed more strongly about the “sweetheart” business, but at least it seemed like Duchess Flora’s support was secure.
The conversation then turned to hunting, as it always did when Elwyn and Flora met. Talking about stags and foxes was very pleasant, until suddenly the duchess took an unexpected and unwelcome turn. “Did I tell you my son Pedr has a new Brigantian mare? I bet he’d let you ride her if you went hunting over on Gleade Hill together.”
“That would be...lovely,” said Elwyn.
She liked Pedr Byrne, even though he wasn’t a very good shot with a bow. But the duchess had been hinting for several years now that she thought her son would be a good match for Elwyn. She might have even been right. But Elwyn hated the notion of being pushed into marriage, even if it was the ultimate way to win allies. The only thing she hated worse than people asking her about it openly was when they tried to be subtle.
“Yes, I’m sure Pedr would love to see you,” Flora continued. “It would be a nice distraction for you, too.”
“Perhaps later,” said Elwyn. “I’m...well, I’m still in mourning now.”
Flora patted her hand. “Oh, yes. Of course. How insensitive of me.”
Elwyn excused herself as soon as she could and made her way back to the castle. That was enough for one day, as far as she was concerned.
The next evening, however, Gerold Halifax, Duke of Haydonshire, was throwing a party, and Rohesia said Elwyn had to go. The duke wasn’t on the council, but he had a lot of influence with the southern nobles, who were otherwise likely to be swayed by the other southern duke—Lukas Ostensen. Duke Gerold also happened to be a relative, since Elwyn’s grandmother Queen Matilda had been born a Halifax.
Elwyn didn’t know him nearly as well as she knew Duchess Flora, but Rohesia told her that he had sent an enormous wreath of lilies for the funeral, so she started by thanking him for it.
The duke looked into his wineglass. “Oh, that? My wife was the one who sent it.” He turned and looked out across the crowded great hall of his mansion, clearly searching for someone else to talk to.
“Have you heard these rumors about a Gemot, your grace?” Elwyn asked, desperate to hold his attention.
“Yes,” he said, with an irritated grimace, “but only from people I consider idiots.”
“So you would oppose a call for a Gemot?”
He swirled the wine in his glass. “Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes I think it would be better if we chose our kings based on ability, rather than birth, like the Immani do.”
Elwyn couldn’t stop herself. “And do you think this principle should be applied to dukedoms, too?” Then she stormed off, fuming.
News of her little outburst made its way back to Rohesia before the party was over, and Elwyn had to endure a stern lecture on her “thoughtlessness.”
“The duke was rude to me first,” Elwyn said.
“That’s no excuse,” said the queen. “A princess should be above such things. We cannot afford to gratuitously offend people.”
After that, Rohesia decided to accompany Elwyn on her social rounds, after all. There was a reception the next evening at a country house near the city owned by Robert Dryhten, Duke of Leornian, and the queen said she didn’t want any more “slip-ups.” The duke was decidedly on “their” side, but there would be a lot of people at the party who were agnostic on the question of the Gemot. “We must try to persuade as many people as we can,” Rohesia said.
Elwyn had been to the duke’s estate many times—it was near the Summer Palace, so she’d taken part in quite a number of hunts on the premises. The woods and gardens were lovely, and she was looking forward to walking around them in the moonlight. But then the clouds rolled in, and by the time the royal barge arrived at the duke’s private dock, the rain was coming down in buckets.
“Bugger this blasted weather!” said the duke, as he crossed the low, half-timbered entrance hall to welcome them. “We’ll still enjoy ourselves, though, even if we can’t use the gardens, right?”
A footman brought over two mugs of steaming mulled cider, and Elwyn accepted hers gratefully. Rohesia went off with the duke to talk to some nobles from Dunkelshire, and Elwyn was suddenly left to her own devices again. She disliked large parties as a rule, and the bigger and more crowded they were, the more she hated them. Plus, she was still damp from the rain, and her thin slippers squished and slid with every step.
She forced herself to exchange a few banal pleasantries with a couple people, and then went off to find a quiet corner where she could hear herself think. It couldn’t be too difficult. The duke’s house was full of odd little misshapen parlors and strange little nooks half-hidden behind stuffed elk or bears.
