‘Ach, poor Ceriana, then I suppose a sapphire necklace would be wasted on you here. Never mind, I shall just take it back and give it to your mother; it can go with the emerald ring I have just given her...’
‘What! You have brought me a necklace! Let’s see it then! Don’t tease me!’
Her father held it up for her. It was beautiful – pale silver with a resplendent blue gem at its centre. ‘You know, I shouldn’t be doing this any more; it is your husband’s place to buy you things from now on.’
‘Ha! My hair will be grey before it occurs to him to get me such a thing. Make this the last thing you ever get me and I shall wear it until he realises that I like such things. Thank you, Father; it goes with this dress so I shall put it on now.’
She started to fix it around her neck. In doing so, though, her father’s attention fell on the simple cord fastening of the dull iron amulet.
‘What is that?’ he asked.
She baulked for a second. She could not lie to her father, but neither did she want to give him the truth. ‘It is nothing,’ she said. ‘A sort of good-luck charm.’
‘Really?’ he asked. ‘You would rather die than wear such a humble thing. It ... it has nothing to do with your letters to St Philig’s, has it? That is a business you have been keeping from me also.’
She looked crestfallen. ‘It has never been my intention to keep anything from you, Father,’ she said. ‘It is a complex and irksome matter that I just didn’t want to trouble you with. Will you be content if I say I will explain all on your formal arrival here, when we have more time; it cannot be explained in five minutes, maybe not in five hours.’
He seemed to accept her answer. ‘Certainly. May I say that you seem to have matured much since your arrival here. Motherhood, I suppose will accelerate that process, too.’
‘Thank you, Father, though I have no wish to grow old before I am ready to.’
Nicholas looked at her with some concern, as though troubled by a thought he was reluctant to express.
‘You are ... happy here, aren’t you?’
She smiled sweetly. ‘Yes, Father. I do get a little lonely at times, if truth be told. I think I love my husband and I know he has a growing affection for me, but he is a little taciturn and is often busy. We do not see each other perhaps as often as we would like, but it is as you have always told me – duty is what comes first. We have to find time for each other that fits around our, or rather his, responsibilities.’
Nicholas stopped for a second, as though considering his next subject before broaching it. When he did so, he lowered his voice so as not to be heard by anyone else.
‘You know the rumour about Leontius and you, and the possible annulment of your marriage here. Where would you stand with that?’
She whispered back at him, trying to speak as forcefully as she could.
‘Do you know the trouble it would cause here? The insult that would be given? The idea of this marriage was to forge alliances, was it not? An annulment would split things apart, probably irrevocably.’
Her father nodded. ‘But you would be married to the Grand Duke.’
She set her chin stubbornly. ‘Then he should never have made this match out of short-term expediency. Marriage is not a trifling thing to be picked up and discarded like a two-year-old dress. I know who he is, and how prestigious to our family such a match would be, but Wulf is my husband and it is only he that commands my loyalty. He is a good man and would be shamed in front of his people. Something like that could force him into exile or, even worse, to take up arms against the Grand Duke. He would have no choice and who, by the Gods, would I support if it came to that? I could not betray him.’
Nicholas looked at her with a grudging admiration. ‘You are a Hartfield indeed. I am proud of you for your stance. I must admit the thought of your marriage to such a man is very tempting to me but I will not cross you in this. You are probably the only person in this world to make me say such a thing. So much sharper than your sisters and you have that way about you, always able to bend me to your will. If the Grand Duke insists in this matter, I cannot stop him, but I will defend your interests as best I can.’
‘Thank you, Father. Leontius really has no idea if that is his plan. These people are proud, and Wulf has stood beside me in matters and ways I have yet to explain to you. I owe him for that and for the child we are having.’
He nodded. ‘The child is important whether boy or girl. A connection has been forged between our family and the noblest house of the north and west. If the Grand Duke dies without issue, his siblings have little backing among the other nobles. His brother has the disposition of a drunken ox and his sister, though clever and beautiful, loses support merely by being a woman. We could be looking at a child with a claim to the Dukedom of Tanaren in the future if the gods of fortune work in our favour.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘We have always been close to the Grand Dukedom without ever actually attaining it, have we not?’
‘Now that, my child, is an untruth. The sixth to tenth Grand Dukes were all Hartfields. The man who was to become the eleventh Grand Duke was ousted, partly because of rumours that he was part elven.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Are you serious? We have elven blood?’
‘It was just a rumour. His mother was from Zerannon when relations with the elves were more cordial. Even after her marriage she would often return there, as she had little affection for her husband, Grand Duke or not. She would visit the elves often and it is said she dallied with the lord of one tribe. A child was born nine months after one visit, so you can understand how the stories started. Within a decade or two of all this happening the elves and humans were at one other’s throats and any physical relations between the two peoples were banned. I really wish you had studied your family’s history a little more.’
She looked at him, her eyes large and reflective. ‘I never thought I would agree with you on this but you are right, I wish I had.’
He gave her a fatherly kiss on her forehead. ‘Enough of these dry subjects for now. I have to leave. I will see you again shortly and we can talk at much greater length about many things.’ He looked at her necklace and at the cheap cord under it. ‘Fare you well, little one. Keep smiling, and look after the child you carry.’
‘Goodbye, Father.’ She hugged him one more time, as though reluctant to let him leave. She had to release him eventually, though; they both smiled warmly at each other before he turned and headed off in the direction of Wulfthram’s quarters.
Less than an hour later she was sat next to her husband in the hall. The tables had been moved to be next to the walls, leaving the central area free to stage the evening’s entertainment. There was spitted ox and boar and large chunks of freshly baked bread. The winter vegetables, kale and leeks and cabbage, had been cooked into a wholesome potage and it was not long before Ceriana was full to bursting, licking grease and gravy off her fingers in a way that would be considered indelicate back home, but which here made her seem just one of the crowd. She recognised all the attendant barons from the previous council meeting; the only one missing seemed to be Baron Skellar, with the only new addition being Baron Vorfgan. He sat almost opposite her sharing jokes with those around him, though once she caught him looking at her with a strange, almost disturbing look in his eyes – one that she couldn’t fathom but one that she could not help but find unsettling.
The evening’s entertainment was what could be termed rustic. The musicians played at a ferocious pace, the singers sang folk songs both wistful and bawdy, many in the local Kibil–Tanarese patois which she still found to be near incomprehensible. Wulfthram, she could see, was trying to deflect accusations of circling too close to the Grand Duke by putting on a show that appealed to the romantic Kibil ideal – the yearning for the homeland and for a lifestyle that had probably never existed – one which he knew the barons would lap up.
The stage play was of a similar mien. Again, she could understand little of what t
hey were saying, so Wulfthram had to explain to her key aspects of the story. It told of a tribal Kibilese chieftain who fell in love with the daughter of the invading Chiran general. Ostracised by their own peoples, they wed and took their own lives that very same night, little realising that it was the night of dolour. This was the name of the night in which Kibil was annexed into the empire. If the tragic couple had just travelled to the docks they could have taken ship unnoticed amongst thousands of other fleeing tribesmen, heading south to Tanaren and voluntary exile from their homelands of purple heather and rugged black mountains, swapping it for a life of fishing and seafaring in a little-known corner of the world.
Between each act the jesters came out, throwing water over each other and telling barbed jokes at the expense of the assembled nobility. Wulfthram was a reclusive misery, Einar an overweight drunk, Thudig an indolent slob and so forth. They even made a joke at Vorfgan’s expense, referring to the mysterious death of the former baron’s son. Vorfgan laughed off the rather limp jokes they were making, but the implications of their words were obvious.
Then finally came the tumblers. It was the sort of entertainment that would definitely be described as ‘lowbrow’ back in Edgecliff, the sort best suited for a dockside tavern with a large floor space. The dwarves were dressed in colourful outfits and went about their set with great enthusiasm and no little skill. Ceriana rather found herself enjoying the spectacle despite her better judgement. It was not every day, after all, that you could see a column of people five high with the topmost performer flinging himself into the air to be caught by a colleague standing on the floor yards away. The crowd loved it, shouting uproariously during the entire performance and hammering their eating knives on the tables, and when it had all finished the applause did not stop for an age. Ceriana played her full part in it.
It was late in the evening and the entertainment was at an end. The room was stiflingly hot and she was glad to leave it and head for her quarters. Accommodation was not readily available for all and most of the guests were to bed down on the floor in the main hall, furs and blankets being provided for their comfort. Barons like Einar and Thudig had their own rooms; being local they visited regularly and so were treated as special guests. Vorfgan, too, had his own room, though how he had managed to wangle that Ceriana did not know.
Her husband escorted her to her quarters. When they got there she stopped, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him gently on the cheek, hoping he didn’t mind her hot, glowing skin.
‘Enjoy the evening? I trust it did not offend your delicate Tanarese sensibilities?’ He was smiling at her.
‘That I did,’ she replied. ‘The parts of it I could understand anyway.’
‘Good, it was more for them than for you, I’m afraid. Tomorrow we are going into the low woods to hunt boar.’
‘Poor old boars,’ she said. ‘Why is it always them?’
‘A worthy opponent,’ said Wulfthram. ‘I have seen many people hurt badly by them in the past, even killed. Besides, you never object to eating them.’
‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘It is hypocritical of me to say such things.’
‘And then, weather permitting, the fleet should arrive in about three days and the council can begin in earnest. And then our troubles really begin.’
‘It is going to be difficult this one, isn’t it?’ she said warily.
‘Yes.’ He sounded weary. ‘I fear it will degenerate into one big argument between pro- and anti-Tanaren factions with nothing resolved. I may be forced into taking sides and annoying more people than I usually do. Right now, though, all I want is a good night’s sleep. I feel exhausted already’
‘That is a shame! I may have been hoping for a little more from you. I actually have breasts now, for the first time ever, and you are just not taking advantage of them while they last.’
‘Then tonight it will be my loss. As soon as this lot heads back home, though, we shall see about putting things right.’ He gently stroked her forehead and teased a strand of hair loose from its pin until it hung loosely over her temple.
‘Sleep well then, my husband; you will need all your strength for what is to come, I know. I will do whatever I can to help you, however little it may be.’
‘Well, you are invited to every meeting this time; I have learned the error of my ways.’
She giggled. ‘You don’t want to feel the sharp edge of my tongue?’
‘Oh behave yourself,’ he laughed softly. ‘Wait a few days, as I said. Oh and that necklace, from your father, I presume?’
‘Either him or a secret admirer. Do you like it?’
‘It’s beautiful obviously. I am not sure I can compete with the finest Tanaren goldsmiths; there is nothing of such quality up here, though I believe your father is extending a formal invitation to a few of us to travel back with him, so maybe I will see something then.’
She smiled a smile of absolute radiance, guaranteed to melt the stoniest heart.
‘Oh, Wulf, there is no need. I am really not that shallow to be bought with trinkets, although sometimes admittedly it can help. It is the last piece he will give me. In a way it marks the end of something. There was a time when the best dresses and adornments were everything to me; now I have you and this’ – she patted her stomach – ‘I know we will always have my ... problem hanging over us but the amulet I wear works, so we can live our lives as the Gods intended still. It is not so bad ... really it isn’t!’
Wulfthram again played with the loose ringlet hanging from her brow.
‘Yes, it is a question of looking at what we do have rather than what we do not. That is what the priests would tell us anyway. Sleep well, little Ceri. Another busy day tomorrow.’
They kissed gently. ‘Gods watch over you, Wulf.’
‘And you. Always.’
Back in her room she felt suddenly exhausted. Even washing her face in a bowl of icy cold water didn’t help. She had removed her shoulder bandage earlier and now, fully dressed, flushed and damp, she fell flat on her back on the bed and was asleep in seconds, completely oblivious to the world around her.
In a different, smaller room an hour or so later lay a man who was definitely not asleep. As the nascent moon shone its light through his window directly on to his bed Vorfgan kicked off the sheet and looked at the sleeping girl next to him. Both were naked and for a while he looked at the way the light played over her body with a casual curiosity. She was one of the serving girls he had inherited with his new baronetcy. He knew she hated him, but she was pragmatic – she knew that giving him what he wanted was in her own best interests – and so he took full advantage, even enjoying the way she gritted her teeth as he did what he wished with her. He liked that hard-nosed realism; he wished he had more of it himself but without dreams, and the determination to fulfil them, it was nothing.
Sighing he rolled off the bed and started to dress himself, pulling on his breeches and shirt, then the leather jerkin. He strapped on his knife then went to the lantern on the side table. He lit it, then closed its hood, lay back on the bed and waited.
Not for long as it turned out. He had barely shut his eyes when it came. The single bell ringing from the house of Artorus half a mile away. It chimed hourly, as all those churches did, day or night, and was just what he needed for his plans.
He took the lantern to the window, lifted it close and pulled the hood back once, twice, then three times, and replaced it on the table. Then, after a brief wait, from somewhere out on a moor which was little more than a slab of brooding darkness to his eyes, came the answering signal, three short flashes of light. He picked up his lantern and repeated his earlier signal, this time getting an immediate response. He blew out the flame and put the lantern down. Its job had been done. He finished dressing, pulled out his dagger, checked its edge with his thumb then gave out a long deep breath.
He slapped the girl on her backside, eliciting a sharp squeal.
‘Get dressed, wait an hour or two, then get down to y
our room on the harbour. You won’t want to be staying out here tonight.’
Without another word he opened his door, checked the corridor and started to stride towards the building’s main entrance.
It was time.
10
Haelward stretched. He was cramped and uncomfortable and started moaning to himself at the coldness of the dawn. When he had climbed into it the previous night, most of the space in the wagon was already occupied by packs, equipment and the prone comatose forms of Willem and Alys and so he found himself forced to curl up in a tiny space against the wagon’s side where he could not settle and where his blanket never seemed to cover him fully. His sleep therefore was fitful at best, and as soon as light started to peer over the horizon he determined to get up, stretch his legs, and see what the dawn had to bring.
The day was crisp and clear, with a thin dusting of frost on the hard ground. His boots crunched as he hopped on to the roadside, his muscles protesting at every move. At the other side of the road was a narrow gully which housed a cheerful little brook which was now half frozen, its surface glassed over. He ambled over there, both to swill his face and to empty his bladder, his bleary mind half hoping he was doing this in the right order.
He heard, or half heard, the sound of footsteps behind him that were not his own. Was it Willem? His mind was so full of cobwebs that it did not immediately register that it might be a threat. Not until it was far too late. The footsteps speeded up and he was about to turn and see what was going on when there was an impact on the back of his head so powerful his legs instantly gave out from under him. As he fell poleaxed, face down on to the stony path, the only word going through his head was ‘cudgel’. He vaguely thought he could hear screaming and the sounds of a struggle, but consciousness left him long before he could make sense of anything other than the smell of earth and the taste of blood in his mouth. All he could feel was cold, and then nothing at all.
Finally he came to. Pain lanced through the back his head and then through his bloodied chin, which had taken the full impact of his fall, causing his teeth to grind together and bite his tongue. He opened his eyes slowly; even the light hurt them. Gradually he eased himself on to his haunches and then he unhurriedly managed to stand fully upright. What by the furnace had happened here? He had no idea of how long he had lain there but his fingers were numb with cold and the feeling had gone from his toes. He made his way to the wagon and pulled the canvas to one side. It was as he feared – no people, goods and equipment ransacked, and clear signs of a struggle. Concern for his two charges started to well up inside him. His sword, damaged beyond repair in Oxhagen, he had decided to replace in Tanaren City; he never envisaged having to need it before then. He reached into the wagon and retrieved his hunting knife, almost a foot long and deadly sharp.
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