The King's Whisper

by T. S. Cleveland

  As the others grumbled their agreement, then turned to continue the arguments that had been interrupted, William began unrolling the single scroll he’d retained, then looked again to his grandson. “Do bring that over here,” he directed, nodding to the ladder.

  “What do you think is it?” Felix asked Torsten as they waited.

  “I’ve no idea,” Torsten replied, looking perplexed.

  “An important document has been languishing in the royal chronicler’s private safe for more than twenty years,” William began loudly, after ascending a few feet up the ladder. His grandson had hold of his legs, keeping him braced so his hands were free to hold the scroll. The room quieted as curious and suspicious eyes turned towards him. “After your visit to the library this morning,” he continued, looking down at Torsten, “I decided it was time I checked on the document, and once I did, I felt an almost overpowering desire to remove it from safekeeping.” His eyes now moved to Felix. “I also felt compelled to have copies made, and the scrolls I have here are those copies. The original remains safely tucked away.”

  “But what is it, Chronicler?” Torsten asked impatiently.

  “It is your original birth certificate, Lord Torsten,” William replied solemnly.

  Laughter erupted from many of the councilmembers and their families. “I think Torsten already knows he’s Malcolm’s bastard!” one of them shouted. “The rest of us have long known!”

  “The whole Quarter knows!” yelled another.

  “Yes,” William nodded in agreement. “You all appear to be well informed as to Lord Torsten’s paternal lineage. But whom among you are aware that our late Queen Bellamy was his mother?”

  23 - The Bandit King

  Torsten stood rigid and speechless as the melee erupted around him. Felix did not. As the swell of councilmembers descended upon him—furious and cursing as they grabbed at the scrolls in his arms—he yelled for Audrey. But there’d been no need. She was already crossing to them, six of the twelve royal guards in tow, and they quickly formed a protective line between Torsten and the council.

  William descended the ladder, moved to stand between Felix and Torsten, and began elucidating on several key points of the document held out before him. Torsten had been born in late summer, his birth had been attended by the Royal Physician, as well as the royal chronicler—William himself—and the names of both his parents appeared above their easily recognizable signatures: Malcolm Carwyn’s small lettered scrawl, and the curved, elegant loops of Queen Bellamy. And below all of this, was the royal sigil. “The actual seal is wax, of course,” William explained, “but rather brittle after all this time. Yet another reason not to risk bringing the original.”

  Felix looked across at Torsten, trying to gauge his reaction, and was immediately struck by how his deep furrow of brows, so dark and expressive, were indeed like Bellamy’s. His hair was thick and shiny like hers, too. And he moved elegantly, just as she did. Or rather, just as she had.

  “This document is naught but hornswoggle and lies!” Lord Ward yelled, waving his copy at William before throwing it to the floor. “I could have had my own scribes produce much the same, were I as devious as you, and named one of my bastards a child of the queen!”

  “Could you have?” one of the councilwomen sniffed haughtily. “I would think putting together a fraudulent document in the short time Lord Torsten has been at court would be quite a skillful undertaking, and I don’t believe for a minute you’re clever enough.”

  “He’s not,” another councilwoman said. “But William there is. He could have cooked this up years ago and been biding his time.”

  “But for what reason?” one of the councilmen retorted. “I don’t care for the turn of things any more than the rest of you, but the Chronicler has nothing to gain if Lord Torsten ascends to the crown. He already has reputation and money. There is no motive. And if this were all part of some elaborate plan, he would have had to be in on our queen’s murder to see it to fruition, and I would never believe him capable of that.”

  As the room erupted in a round of new and frenzied speculations, Torsten raised his hands. “Everyone stop!” he commanded, his voice strong. “I’m as confused by this as the rest of you. I know who my mother was. Her name was Elizabeth and she worked in the palace kitchens until the day she died.”

  “I am sorry, Lord Torsten,” William said quietly. “Elizabeth did raise you from the day you were born, but she was not your mother.”

  “If he says he’s the son of a kitchen wench, take the man at his word!” cried Lord Ward, his cheeks red and his hands clenched in angry fists.

  “I have a question,” Felix said hesitantly, raising his hand slightly as he addressed William. “How could Queen Bellamy have ever kept this a secret? I don’t know much about life at court, but wouldn’t someone have noticed if the queen was pregnant?”

  “Right you are. And had it not been for the circumstances being as they were that unfortunate summer,” William began, “she’d not have been—”

  “What circumstances?” Torsten interrupted.

  There was a loud gasp, and then one of the councilman’s wives came forward. “The sickness,” she said, pressing her hand to her chest. “It was the summer of the sickness, wasn’t it, Chronicler? When we sent away our servants, shuttered our homes, and only answered our doors when they called for the dead. No one attended court after the deaths began, and they lasted from late spring ‘til harvest. The queen was said to have taken ill during that summer as well, but she never talked about it.”

  “Bellamy was quite adept at keeping secrets,” Audrey said, stepping forward. “But this is one secret she couldn’t have kept alone. I suggest we adjourn to the dungeons and allow its newest occupant to shed some light on the subject.”

  “Yes,” Torsten said at once. “Take us to Malcolm. I wish to speak to my father.”

  ***

  When the palace was all but destroyed, the dungeons had been spared, in part because they lay furthest from the fighting, and in part, because they lay underground. Felix surveyed the evidence remaining of that battle as their assembly walked in silence across the smooth stone courtyard: the tree that had been split by lightning, the juniper bush Scorch had hidden Bellamy inside, the spot where he had crawled from beneath a pile of dead bodies. In the glow of the many lanterns that lit their way, he could also see that most of the debris from that day had been cleared, and that new walls and windows were rapidly going up. But the grounds still bore clear signs that something bad had happened here, in burned and blackened swaths of lawn, massive roots protruding from the ground, and beds of flowers and shrubs, now crushed and dead.

  Felix sighed. The day he’d been lucky enough to leave the courtyard alive, he’d never dreamed of returning. Yet here he was, only a short time later, being escorted by a troop of royal guards and walking ahead of the Royal Council, hand in hand with the man who would be king.

  When they reached their destination, Audrey was waiting. She had gone ahead on horseback with some of the guard, while he and the others had wended their way through the busy streets in their individual carriages, the one they’d shared with William in front. It had helped to have some of the Royal Guard leading the procession, but they hadn’t progressed nearly as quickly as they would have had Felix taken to the roof with his flute.

  Audrey led them through double doors into a large, utilitarian foyer with many doors and hallways adjoining it. It was a service area, rarely seen by royals or nobles. The servants who lived within the palace came and went this way, as did the members of the Royal Guard who lived there. But this area also led to the dungeons. Felix recognized it all readily, despite the broken plaster in the ceiling and walls, and the deep cracks in the mosaic tile floor. He had been here before, though they had entered the dungeon through a different set of steps.

  Audrey’s knock was quickly answered by a guard, who led the way down a wide, well-lit, stone stairway that ended in a long, narrow hall, where mo
re than a dozen guards stood attentively, awaiting their arrival. The air was cool, and though the area was clean, it smelled a bit of mold and damp. On one side of the hall were the cells, the first in the row being where Merric and Scorch had been briefly incarcerated. On the other side was the eating and sleeping area for the guards. Audrey led them into a large room, where simple stone benches lined the walls and there were enough tables and chairs for thirty men to eat or play at cards and dice. “I’m having Malcolm brought in here,” she said. “There’s not sufficient room in his cell for so many visitors.”

  “I would hope not,” someone muttered as people began to take their seats.

  “Does he know?” Torsten asked quietly, still holding Felix’s hand as he gripped Audrey’s arm and moved them away from the others. His palm was sweaty and his eyes were a bit wild.

  “No,” she said. “He knows something is going on, but he doesn’t know anything about Bellamy’s death, or,” she gestured vaguely, “any of this. The guards are under order not to speak of it.”

  “And Queen Bellamy?” he asked softly. “There was so much going on that I—”

  “Winchester is making arrangements,” she said plainly, and if Felix hadn’t known her, he would have guessed she cared nothing at all for the queen. But he did know her, and he knew better. “He’ll take her to the school tonight, to lay in state.”

  “I’ve saved a table for your lordship,” William said as he approached. “I believe being in the center suits your station, and it will allow the others to best witness the interview.”

  “Oh,” Torsten said with a brief nod, looking overwhelmed. “Thank you.”

  “Listen up!” Audrey yelled suddenly, turning to face the assembled nobles with a singular fierceness. “This is not a social visit,” she began, glaring at each councilmember in turn with her one good eye. “Nor is it an opportunity to voice your opinions. This is an interrogation, and no one but Lord Torsten, Sir William, or myself are to speak unless they are asked. Failure to abide by this directive may result in becoming a guest of these dungeons for an indefinite length of time, and there is ample room for you all. Understood?”

  All heads nodded, though many did so reluctantly.

  As Audrey left to fetch Malcolm, Felix and Torsten followed William to their table. “I wish I could say or do something to make this easier,” Felix said, holding tight to Torsten’s hand.

  “Having you beside me makes everything easier, Flautist,” Torsten replied with a small smile. “And if you’re going to wish for something, wish for Malcolm to speak the truth, whatever it may be. It would be the first time in his life, I’m sure.”

  All were seated, some in silence, others sharing their whispered expectations, when Malcolm appeared in the doorway. He was dressed as he’d been when arrested the day before, clean and well-coiffed, looking for all the world as if he might have been arriving late for tea. He wasn’t shackled, but Audrey stood right behind him, one hand on the grip of her dagger and the other on his back as she guided him forward. The guards filed in behind them, taking up their assigned positions by the door and along the perimeter of the room. Felix could feel Torsten tense beside him.

  “What is this?” Malcolm asked, looking at the quiet assemblage with bemusement. “It isn’t my birthday, and if this was a trial, Bellamy would be in attendance. Wait!” he said, coming to a sudden stop, a look of excitement lighting his face. “Has the queen been deposed? Are you all here to free me?”

  “We are here to question you,” William said, coming to his feet and indicating the empty chair at the table he shared with Felix and Torsten. “Take a seat.”

  “I will not be questioned by a chronicler,” Malcom spat as Audrey pushed him forward. He turned to glare at her, but shrugged when he saw the severity of her face, turning with a flourish and taking his seat. “Is this how things are being run in my absence, Ward?” he asked, meeting eyes with the councilman at the next table as he adjusted the lace on his sleeves. “You sit in silence while a glorified librarian in the company of a worthless bastard and his whore run the show? Have they taken your balls, man? Your tongue? Speak up.”

  Lord Ward’s face was a brilliant red as he pushed to his feet. He glared at Audrey with pure hatred, kicked aside his chair, and moved towards the back of the room with an angry huff.

  “Seriously?” Malcolm chuckled uneasily, looking around at the others as Ward took his seat on the concrete bench. “And have the rest of you also gone mute?”

  William slapped the scroll onto the table. “The only voice this assemblage wishes to hear is yours, Malcom Carwyn, as you attest to the validity of this document.”

  As Torsten squeezed Felix’s hand beneath the table, Malcolm took the scroll up, a look of curiosity on his face as he unrolled it. Upon seeing its contents, his expression turned immediately to one of fear and disbelief. “What are you playing at, man?” he whispered, looking wide-eyed at William as he hurriedly closed the scroll and clutched it tightly in his hands. “Have you lost your mind? She’ll have you drawn and quartered if she learns of this betrayal.”

  Everyone shifted uncomfortably upon viewing Malcolm’s reaction, and once William resumed his seat, Torsten spoke for the first time. “The queen will not learn of a single word spoken here,” he said to Malcolm, “neither from William nor anyone else present. On this, you have our sacred vow. Doesn’t he, Lord Ward? Everyone?”

  “Yes,” Ward stammered nervously as the others quickly nodded their agreement. Felix dropped his head, not wanting to show the pleasure he felt at the subtle, though obvious change. The councilmembers’ allegiances were already shifting.

  “Now tell us,” Torsten said, leaning forward with narrowed eyes. “Is the document true?”

  Malcolm’s nervousness was palpable as he returned Torsten’s stare. “She’ll kill us all when she learns of this,” he hissed. “Vow or not, these people won’t keep their mouths shut for a moment longer than it takes to be the first to tell her, in the hopes of having their life spared! You don’t know them like I do,” he continued, moving his eyes to boldly appraise Felix before returning them to Torsten. “You know nothing,” he laughed, sitting back in his chair. “You’re nothing but a foul pretender, you pillow-biting bastard!”

  Torsten rose to his feet, slamming his fist on the table. “Is she my mother or not?” he demanded. “Or are you too much of a coward to tell me?”

  “Coward?” Malcolm countered angrily, coming to his feet. “You dare call the man who impregnated a child queen and lived to tell the tale a coward?” he bellowed, and the room gasped. “Of course it’s true! Your slut of a mother was hot for me, they all were, including some of the people in this room that have grown too ugly and old to acknowledge. And you wouldn’t be a bastard had the whore seen fit to marry me, but she refused, even when I generously offered to dispose of my latest wife.”

  “Tell us about Elizabeth,” William said calmly as Torsten stood glaring.

  “Who?” Malcolm asked, looking befuddled.

  “The woman I believed was my mother!” Torsten said dangerously.

  “Oh, her,” Malcolm replied. “She was nobody. Bellamy’s maid at the time. She happened to come upon me as I lay waiting for the queen to return from an outing, and, well, as I was already in the mood,” he said, his lips forming a malicious grin, “I seized her. But I’ve no idea if the brat she bore was mine. Likely not, since it so quickly sickened and died.”

  “You raped her?” Torsten asked, enraged. Felix laid a comforting hand on his back and could feel he was trembling.

  “Rape?” Malcolm laughed. “A noble can’t be charged with such a crime against a servant, boy. I swear, if you didn’t have my eyes and I’d not smelled your flesh burning when the royal sigil was branded on your heel, no one would ever convince me that such an ignorant pile of excrement was mine.”

  Torsten leapt across the table, hurtling into Malcolm. His chair tipped back, and they crashed to the floor. “Why did you do it?”
Torsten yelled, Felix and the others coming to their feet as he grabbed Malcolm’s lapels and shook. “Why did you take me from my true mother?”

  “I didn’t,” Malcolm rasped. “Not by myself, anyway. Bellamy arranged for you to be raised as Elizabeth’s, long before you were born. She couldn’t keep you! She’d have been deposed had anyone guessed the truth, and I’d have hanged. But it was his idea,” he said, looking to William, “the chronicler and the physician’s, to claim you’d died and present Elizabeth’s dead daughter to Bellamy as her own. She was at death’s door herself when you were birthed, and for a week after. She had the sickness. She never even questioned the dead baby wasn’t hers.”

  “Is this true?” Felix asked William.

  “Yes,” he admitted. “She was so young, so gravely ill. The only reason we branded the sigil on Lord Torsten at all was for fear that she would die.”

  “And now she will never know her child lives,” Torsten said quietly, looking dazed as he came to his feet. Felix went immediately to his side, putting an arm around his waist.

  “Well,” Malcolm said, adjusting his sleeves as he stood. “I would think not. As much fun as hearing this scandal has been for all of you,” he snarled, looking around, “I’m sure you can see the wisdom in keeping your vow never to speak of it. Otherwise, you would risk putting this violent barbarian in queue for the crown.” He glared at Torsten as he straightened his jacket. “And our queen couldn’t be cajoled into restoring my position at court if she were to drop dead of shock, and the shame would certainly kill her.”

  “She’s already dead,” Torsten said as Malcolm bent to brush his trousers.

  “What was that?” he asked, straightening up. “What nonsense did you say?”

  “Queen Bellamy is dead,” Torsten said, more loudly this time.

  Malcolm stared at Torsten for a long moment, fear and anger flashing in his hazel eyes. “How dare you voice such blasphemy!” he accused. “And how dare you stand mute on hearing it?” he continued, looking at the others. “He should be hanged for those words!”