by Tony Roberts
“Is she going to put gold on her face again?”
They started walking down towards the far end where a second corridor ran to either side. Vosgaris shrugged. “I don’t think so; that was a special make-up for the Tybar ambassador.”
“So we’re not meeting any Tybar, then.”
“Not today. No, I hear its some people from Niake.”
Argan thought for a moment. “I’ve never met anyone from Niake before. That’s the city across the water, isn’t it? The one I can see from the roof.”
Vosgaris stopped, the two guards stopping automatically. “And when, young Prince, did you get up on the roof?”
Argan went red. He’d blurted it out without thinking. He knew he was not supposed to go up on the roof but one day the workmen sealing a leak had left the skylight open and a ladder propped against the opening so he and Kerrin had sneaked up and looked out over Kastan City, the surrounding countryside and the seas. It had been a breath taking adventure for the two boys. “Uh…. Vos’gis, don’t tell mother, please.”
Vosgaris put his hands on his hips and looked down at Argan sternly. “Prince Argan; I’m supposed to make sure you don’t get into danger. If you do then it’s my neck on the block.”
“Would they execute you?” Argan said in shock, his eyes wide.
Vosgaris smiled briefly. “Perhaps if you got killed, but not otherwise. You see, you’re their future; our future, so if anything happens to you it affects the empire. I don’t want you to go up there again, right?”
“Alright, Vos’gis; but it was fantastic!”
“What was?”
“Going –,“ Argan’s voice dropped to a whisper, “going on the roof.”
“I never heard you saying anything about a roof, young Prince. Neither did these two guards here. Did you?”
“No, sir,” the guards shook their heads, smiling.
Argan giggled, his hand over his mouth. “You’re the best, Vos’gis.”
“Yes I am,” Vosgaris grinned, “and keep telling these guards that. Especially when I send them out on guard duty when it’s raining.” The guards grinned, then composed themselves, volgars snapping to the guard position once more.
Argan followed, a spring in his step, Vosgaris behind him, shaking his head slightly in exasperation. They turned right and made their way past doors and alcoves to a pair of double doors at the end. Behind these was the costume hall, a large chamber with huge windows that looked out onto the inner gardens of the palace. Floor to ceiling curtains hung in folds of rich cloth and along the walls in between the many windows were small side tables, covered in white and purple cloth.
The floor was of wood, uncovered by any rugs, and hanging from the ceiling were four immense chandeliers. Argan was awed by the size of the room; he’d never been in this chamber before. He was constantly amazed at the number of rooms there were, and he knew there were still some rooms he’d never been to. Those included his parents’ room. He was simply not permitted to go there. Someone had once said there were three rooms there, not one. He wondered why. At each end of the costume hall were walls with no windows or doors. Here were raised platforms with lots of chairs arranged in, what seemed, an untidy way as if people had just put them down any old how. Argan stood uncertainly by the door he’d just entered. Five chairs stood in the centre of the chamber, three facing two. They were posh chairs, or what he called posh chairs. They had that soft red stuff on – what was it? – velvet.
Vosgaris took up a place by the door and the two guards remained outside.
“What now?” Argan asked, turning round, his voice echoing in the chamber.
“We wait.”
“Oh. Can I sit down?”
“Sure, young Prince. One of those chairs over there, one of the two together.”
Argan wandered to the chair and looked at it. It was a grown-up’s chair and he settled into it, wriggling a bit. His trousers slid on the velvet. They were of blue wormspun and felt very thin. His jacket was also of the same material, and coloured a darker blue and had white patterns on it. He didn’t like it as much as his ‘normal’ clothes, but this sort of clothing was supposed to be worn on important occasions. He supposed today was an important occasion, but just who were these people from Niake?
The door opened and in came his mother, wearing a long flowing dress of gold. Her hair had been tied up into a high shape and then it dropped down her neck. There was a small tiara in her hair. Her arms were bare. Golden bracelets and a necklace glittered in the light, and she appeared to glide across the floor towards Argan. The boy stood up and watched as she approached. He looked at her very closely.
“Something wrong, Argan?” Isbel asked, full of curiosity.
“Are you beautiful, mother?”
Isbel stopped, surprised. “Well, I don’t really know; that’s for others to say. Why do you ask?”
“Vos’gis says you are.”
Isbel’s eyes went wide and she turned round, looking at the palace guard captain. “Do you, Vosgaris?”
Vosgaris paused for a moment. Argan could have dropped him into the cess pit by accident. “Ma’am.” It was neutral and could be interpreted a dozen ways.
Isbel regarded the young captain for a couple of heartbeats, then bowed briefly. “Thank you.”
Vosgaris smiled briefly, then looked over her head and resumed his guard position. Isbel turned back to Argan. “And you, Argan, look very handsome.”
“Do I, mother?”
“Absolutely. Now, we’re here to meet a family called the Varaz from Niake. They are nobility like ourselves.”
“Are they important?”
“Possibly. We need their support. We have to be friends with noble families, or else they won’t want us as their rulers, you understand?”
Argan nodded. “So we’ve got to make friends with them today?”
“Yes, in a way. There are three of them, the father, mother and their young daughter. I understand she’s called Velka, and is five. I would like you and her to make friends.”
“Yes, mother.”
Isbel smiled and nodded at Vosgaris who opened the door and spoke to the guards outside. Argan looked up at his mother. Her eyes were surrounded by a slight colouring on her skin of blue. “What’s that on your skin mother?”
“Make up. It’s supposed to make me look more beautiful.”
“But you’re beautiful anyway. Why do you need more?”
Isbel chuckled and hugged her son. “Argan, you’re very sweet. Why not make myself even more beautiful? It makes people want to like me even more. So when I’m meeting people I want to make friends with, I try to make myself look as good as possible.”
“I bet you’ll make lots of friends,” Argan said, nodding with emphasis.
“We hope so. Now, you’re to follow what I do, stand and sit when I do. Say nothing unless you’re spoken to, is that alright?”
Argan nodded, smiling up at his mother. Isbel leaned down and kissed his head. “You’re a lovely boy, Argan. I love you.”
“And I love you too, mother,” Argan smiled.
Isbel felt a swelling in her bosom. She took a deep breath and composed herself. What a contrast there was between her two sons; how could this be so? The door opened once more and in came three people, hesitating at first, then walking towards them. The man led, a stout, fleshy man with a beard turning grey with age; the woman to one side, short, dark and wide-hipped. Holding her hand was a young girl with her brown hair tied in a braid circling her hair and wearing a one-piece white dress that went to her calves.
The three stopped five paces from Isbel and Argan and paid obeisance; the man bowing low, the two females curtseying as per imperial protocol. Isbel bowed slightly, denoting her superior position, as did Argan. Vosgaris sauntered slowly up to a position alongside the five chairs and stood silently, his arms behind his back.
Isbel indicated the Varaz family to be seated, and they did so. The young girl, Velka, sat in the middle with her
mother, Mara, to her left and her father, Loban, on her other side. Isbel sat, as did Argan, and he put his hands on his lap, waiting to hear what his mother would say.
“We are honoured to be here, your majesty,” Loban said. “Thank you for allowing us to see you.”
Isbel bowed again. “It is good to meet other Houses, and to forge closer ties. The empire has been ill served in the recent past by inter-House rivalries. We have seen to all our costs what that means.”
“Indeed it does, ma’am. May I introduce my wife, Mara, and my daughter, Velka?”
More bows. Argan was beginning to think they would all get neck pains by the end of the day.
“My son, Prince Argan.”
More neck pains.
“Ma’am, may I say we have been very impressed with our visit already. We have heard so much about the new vibrant Kastan since your House has taken the throne, and we can only agree this is so,” Loban commented.
Isbel smiled briefly. “Thank you, Lord Varaz. Now, tell me about your House and your estates. Are they in good condition? Do you need any assistance? What fears to you hold of the Tybar over there in Bathenia?”
To Argan the next few moments the grown-ups talked were of things he didn’t really grasp, and he lost interest in them. He looked at the small figure of Velka. She squirmed on her chair and smiled at him, her cheeks staining red. Argan grinned back. He saw she was as uncomfortable as he was. Velka lowered her head and looked at her feet, interlocking her fingers tightly. Argan knew he had to maintain a calm appearance, as his mother had impressed upon him many times, and what had been told over and over again in his tutor lessons. So the fact he was bored and wanted to be elsewhere should not show to others. Maybe Velka would like to be elsewhere too? She was younger than he, and just a little older than Istan. Would she be as annoying as Istan? What did girls like to do? Did they play the same games as boys? What differences were there between girls and boys? Argan realised he didn’t know. He did know grown-up ladies had boobies – he smirked despite himself – and men did not, and they wore dresses and had longer hair, but that was all he knew.
Velka had longer hair, even though it was wrapped around her head. He wondered if it hurt like that. He would have to ask her. She didn’t seem to have boobies. Maybe only grown-ups had them. He thought girls didn’t like soldiers, as women didn’t become soldiers. So what toys did they have? The lack of little girls in the palace meant Argan had little experience of them. He thought of Amne; his memories of her were hazy now, but he’d been in her rooms and had been amazed at the things he’d seen there. Lots of soaps, flowers, sweet smelly things like perfumes and stuff women put on their faces to make them look beautiful. A bit like his mother, in fact. He guessed his mother must have the same in her rooms. He’d once found one of the things women wore around their bodies that pushed their boobies up, and had placed it across his tummy and chest, staring in amazement at the way it flopped limply against his flat chest. How did women manage to walk around with them? Surely they would be too heavy! There were too many things for him to find out. Sometimes it made his head hurt.
Suddenly his mother’s voice brought him out of his reverie. “Argan, perhaps you would like to show Velka the garden out there?”
Argan looked at his mother in surprise, then nodded. “Yes, mother.” He slid off his chair. He had been told how to behave in front of visitors, especially important ones. It was very important to stick to this sort of behaviour, he’d been told. So he bowed stiffly in front of the tiny Velka. “Velka, would you like to see the garden?”
Velka squirmed again, smiling shyly. “Yes, please,” she said in a thin, high-pitched voice. Her parents smiled proudly at her. They encouraged her to follow Argan over to one of the long windows that Vosgaris was opening, and Argan saw to his surprise it was in fact a door that looked like a window. How interesting!
Velka put a hand to her mouth and slowly approached Argan. Without being asked, she put her other hand into his, and Argan looked up in surprise. His mother and the Varaz couple nodded and smiled, and since they were happy about it, Argan grasped her hand tightly and led her out into the enclosed courtyard where the gardens were.
It was shaped in a rectangle and quite big, or so Argan thought. He’d never been out here but had seen it from the windows before. High hedges ran around the paved walkway that formed the edge, next to the walls, and straight paths ran into the middle where a big stone fountain stood, squirting water up into the air and down into an immense stone basin. Grass and plants made up the majority of the garden area, and wooden posts held up climbing plants that grew up and over the walkways. Wine-fruits were grown here, he knew, but as it was now winter there were none. They would grow in the spring.
Although it was cold, the two children were happy to be out of the stuffy room and to Argan at least, the stuffy conversations. What the grown-ups were talking about he had no idea, but it was more fun out here in the garden.
“Hey, Velka,” he said suddenly, “look!”
Velka followed his pointing finger. A small wriggy dirt-burrower was moving across the path. Velka looked in surprise, then giggled. “Wriggly burrower,” she said and the two squatted down to look at the creature as it blindly made its way towards the dirt. Argan found a small piece of twig and placed in in front of the creature which poked at it with its nose – or whatever it was – and recoiled. The two laughed and Velka placed another behind it. The burrower coiled up and then slid over Argan’s twig. It wriggled into the dirt and vanished under a small plant. “It’s gone home!” Velka announced.
“Yes,” Argan agreed, not knowing where it lived, but since it had wriggled under the plant quite quickly, he guessed that was where its home was. He looked up at the fountain. Water! Water was fun. “Let’s see if twigs float in the water there.”
The two picked up as many twigs as they could find and then began dropping them into the basin, watching as they span about, knocked this way and that by the falling water, not noticing the spreading dampness on their clothing or the streaks of mud that came from dirty hands. It was only after Velka sat down on the basin edge, tired, that Argan noticed how dirty she was. “Oh, you’re covered in dirt!” he said.
“And so are you!” Velka countered, pointing at a particularly huge muddy stain on his jacket.
“Oh, no! Mother will be cross,” Argan said, dismayed.
Velka looked at her once white dress. “Mummy will be mad at me, too. We’re both dirty.”
Argan sniggered. “But it’s fun, isn’t it, Velka?”
The girl nodded, giggling. She stopped and looked at the distant window of the costume hall. “Will we get to eat soon? I’m hungry!”
“Oh yes; the cooks will make a really great lunch. C’mon, let’s see if its lunchtime!” Argan took Velka by the hand and stopped, looking at it. It was encrusted with dirt, which was what he’d felt. “Oh, you’d best wipe that off – you can’t eat with dirty hands!”
He led her to the fountain basin and helped Velka clean her hands as best she could. Both of them had wet hands and so they wiped them in the grass which only served to get their hands dirty again. “I’m cold,” Velka said, her cheeks and nose red.
The two children held hands again and walked back to the costume hall. Vosgaris saw them coming and opened the door-window, and rolled his eyes at the state of the two. “Oh, by the gods,” he muttered. “Trouble coming.”
He stood back and let the two in, then closed the door and stood looking up at the ceiling, waiting for the inevitable reaction.
It wasn’t long in coming. “Oh, Argan!” Isbel cried. “Look at the state of you! And Velka...oh goodness!”
The Varaz couple sat still, dismayed at the filthy state of their daughter, streaked with dirt all over her dress and face.
Isbel compressed her lips and stood before Argan, looking down at him. “Argan! You should apologise to Lord and Lady Varaz right now! Poor Velka.”
Argan hung his head. He was alway
s getting blamed for things that went wrong. Why was that? It wasn’t fair. He stepped up to Velka’s parents and clasped his hands together in distress. “I’m sorry, Lord and Lady Varaz. I didn’t know we’d get so dirty out there.”
Lord Varaz looked at his wife who was holding out her hands to Velka, an appalled look on her face. He bowed to Argan. “Apology accepted, young Prince. No harm done. I see you both enjoyed yourselves in the garden.”
“Oh yes, Lord Varaz, there were wriggly burrowers there.”
“I’m sure there were. And plenty of dirt.”
Argan smiled, then was told to go sit on his chair by Isbel. He sat down eyeing his mother. She was not best pleased, he could see. She was busy apologising to the couple again. Lord Varaz didn’t seem too bothered, but Lady Varaz was clearly unimpressed. It was Velka’s best dress. Isbel ordered Vosgaris to go fetch the laundry mistress. She held out her hand to Lady Varaz. “We can get it cleaned here before you go, and find some clothes for Velka here to wear before lunch. We have a pretty good laundry at the palace.”
Lady Varaz nodded curtly. “Ma’am is very kind. Velka! You should know better, especially here of all places!”
Velka looked as though she were about to cry. Argan thought it very unjust. He looked at his mother but she didn’t look as though she were going to say anything, so he stood up and bowed formally to Lady Varaz.
“Lady Varaz, please don’t blame Velka. It was my fault. I am very sorry; it will not happen again.”
Isbel opened her mouth, then shut it. She had to compose herself. How sweet of her son. She was so proud of him! Lady Varaz looked at the seven year old in front of her, then bowed back to him. “Thank you, Prince Argan. You’re very gallant. I won’t blame anyone. Children will be children.”
Argan nodded and backed away, seating himself again. At least he’d stopped Velka being told off. He didn’t want that to happen. They had only been having fun.
Vosgaris was smiling and Isbel caught his look. She glared at him and the palace guard captain switched to a neutral look quickly, staring over her head. The empress cleared her throat. “Once their clothing has been changed we shall have lunch. Will you please follow us?”
