by Lazlo Ferran
Shakira’s knee banged into mine in admonition. I glared at her.
Lord Kospan’s wife, Ukabala was talking to Shakira conspiratorially, probably about men, or fashion, as the ballad reached its climax.
“Oh! I love this bit,” said Lord Kospan, and joined in. “And so my heart was finally ren-ded. And all was bro-ken.”
Even Lord Bulya was rocking his head from side to side, his bulk in time with the music, as he munched on a crust of the bread.
I glanced briefly around the room to see how many faces I could recognise. I could see an increasing number of young, and unfamiliar, faces on the peripheral tables, no doubt populated by Shakira's invitation, but this was by no means a bad thing. New blood is usually a good thing in Court. The servants bustled about between tables and dais, some carrying large silver trays held high above their heads. Some were in pairs, carrying even bigger pewter trays or even iron ones, with boar’s heads on, roasted to a crisp delight, with oranges or other fruit from the orchard, resting around their bases. This was a touch Shakira had introduced lately, and I must say, it was popular with guests. I looked at the massive iron-framed Chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling and how the light danced across faces and walls alike and smiled. It was a jolly feast. There was only one thing marring it but it was such a small thing, I couldn’t really complain about it. I looked at the faces around me and like mine, their powdered faces with starting to streak with sweat.
There were many long, wide corridors leading from the outer windows of the palace to this chamber, to conduct cool draughts in and across the Hall and during the summer months the roasting spits in a kitchen against the outer walls were used, to let the heat escape and especially, to keep it away from the Banqueting Hall. Unfortunately, for some reason, the cooks had deemed that not enough meat could be turned on those spits alone and one of those in the inner kitchen had been used. This had caused enough heat to make me, at any rate, uncomfortable. I couldn’t understand it. When I was younger, there were just as many people and yet we always had enough meat in the summer months, using only the spits in the outer kitchen. I would have to inspect the spit-boys to find out whether they were doing a proper job or not. I turned my attention to the jugglers and acrobats taking the centre of the Hall.
The next course was being laid, as they began their performance. Shakira had instructed the cooks to use this recipe, from Europe.
“What is it?” I asked, looking eagerly at the yellowish flat surface of the contents of my white bowl.
“It’s a sort of cheese souffle,” she said. “With wild mushrooms and herbs and salmon.”
“Hmm.” I was skeptical but her choices usually pleased my palate. I could see the other members of the High Table watching me to see if I would try it first, not out of deference, I might add. I wasn’t sure if it was liquid or not so I dug my spoon in, cautiously. A jelly like substance filled my spoon and then my mouth, as I let my taste-buds explore its flavour.
“Mm. It's good.” It really was very good. The others smiled and started on theirs.
This light meal was accompanied by a non-alcoholic drink made with blackberries but Lord Bulya had soon added potka to his.
“Nice. Very good,” he said with a full mouth.
Conversation turned to politics and military matters, with Lady Kospan peering around Shakira to ask me politely the opening question, what opinion did I have of the Chief City Planner’s scheme to redirect the course of the River around the City, thus allowing more houses to be built. It was an innocuous question and I was only too happy to discuss it.
“I think it is an interesting idea but perhaps best applied elsewhere. I feel that the City is plagued with enough sanitation problems already without diverting the one reliable means of cleansing that it currently has.”
“Why don’t you do something about the City Cleaners then? They don’t work hard because they are not paid enough,” said Lord Abdil’khan.
I knew he would be a lesser wage-payer than I, had he the chance. He was just looking to score points.
“And if I were to pay you a sum of 500 rubles per year for their salaries, how much would you pay them?” I asked him, staring down at my souffle. I knew he would have difficulty with this, knowing that I might just do it.
“Ahh. What are they currently paid?” he asked.
“How can you suggest they should have a raise, if you don’t know their current wage?” I asked. He had taken the less embarrassing option of admitting ignorance, rather than greed.
Lord Bulya was clapping and laughing at the exchange. He always enjoyed a good argument. It was one of his only redeeming features. He chose this moment to launch an attack.
“And what of the Invasion in the north?” he asked. There was attentive silence from the others.
I took my time answering, thinking all the time how to conceal the true nature of my plans, while giving them something plausible enough to maintain stability in the Court.
“I have a plan.” I said matter-of-factly. “Oh yes. But it is in the planning stage. Tomorrow I will inspect my own troops, now recovered I hope from last winter’s battles and then, you and I, Lord Bulya will put our heads together to knock out the strategy.” It was, of course, all nonsense. I was not inspecting my own troops the next day and I had no intention of discussing my plans with the one man who could, given half a chance, pose a threat to me. He seemed satisfied with the answer.
The roasted meats were carved now and our souffle dishes were quickly replaced with great plates laden with the various, steaming produce of our great farm-lands. The only additions to meat were turnips, parsnips and a bread made with onions and mare’s milk. In the centre of the Hall, the jugglers and acrobats had been replaced by an invited traveler, who was talking about distant lands, China, Africa and Europe. I only knew this because Shakira had showed me the itinerary. You couldn’t really hear him above the cacophony of voices, fueled by alcohol and food, laughing, singing and talking. I snapped my fingers for another glass of wine and after another two, was feeling quite relaxed and mellow. Shakira held my hand, on the table for a moment.
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Ummh. Very much.” She was eighteen now and beautiful and I was proud to have this woman sitting at my side.
“Ahh. The beautiful Princess!” exclaimed Lord Bulya. “And how close they seem now. I often wonder at how close you are.” He had said the word ‘wonder’ with just the right amount of awe to make it ambiguous. Did he mean ‘wonder’ as in wonderment, or ‘wonder’ as in ‘ask myself.’ If the latter, it was a dangerous comment to make, suggesting, as it did, impropriety. There was a hushed silence, as my answer was awaited. I could not be bothered to play this game and so asked him, “What are you suggesting Lord Bulya?”
He mumbled something about how it was only natural for the Princess to be close to the King and the moment had passed.
By the time the pudding had arrived, I was feeling bloated and nearly drunk. I eased off on the wine and forwent the final round of cakes and biscuits.
It was the tradition, at such Banquets, that no guest should leave before the King and although I knew I had not reached that moment yet where people would wish for my departure, in fact I was ready to leave, and after consulting with Shakira, I stood up. The Court Herald shouted in a loud voice, “The King and Princess retire,” as we passed into the corridor beyond and on to the Great Stairs.
“You didn’t tell me you were inspecting the troops tomorrow,” Shakira said as we walked hand in hand along the long corridor to our own small Banqueting Hall.
“I’m not.” I replied.
“But you told Lord Bulya…”
“She stopped and pulled hard on my hand to swing me around to face her penetrating eyes.”
“Shakira. I am leaving tomorrow but I am going to review a different kind of army.”
“Tell me who, then.”
I knew it was useless trying to resist her inquisition. She would only
be deeply hurt if I didn’t confide in her and the aftermath of that could last weeks, months or even years!
“Oh, alright. But when we are settled down.”
“Alright.”
Gregor was waiting with a lit torch as we approached. I often wondered how he knew we were coming. He must hear the footsteps or something. It was one of his tricks which delighted me and so I did not want to know his secret.
“Good evening Lord. And Princess.” He bowed very low to the lady. The use of the title Lord was not an insult, he had served me since I was a young man, and a Lord, and even now I was still a Lord, as well as the King. I didn’t mind its use.
He turned away from us and held open the great red curtain that sealed off our private chambers and we followed him in. From one of the fruit bowls on a table as we passed, Shakira shot out a hand and grabbed an apple, green and shiny, and bit loudly into it as we walked on.
Through clenched teeth she said, “I am going to bathe later.”
“Not again! That is the second time in two weeks!” Bathing was the latest trend, brought in from Europe and Shakira had taken it to extremes, bathing every few weeks. Before this new trend, most women only bathed twice in each year and many men, only once.
“I am going to bathe every week from now on!”
She seemed delighted with her plan and looked, smiling, at the surprise it produced on my face.
“Every week!” I said no more. These evenings together, always produced surprises, I was used to it now.
We reached the carved oak door to my chamber and Gregor opened it for us to enter.
“You may leave us for the evening Gregor and the Princess’s Maid Servants too.”
“Oh no! I need just one for the bath. Please ask Natalya to arrange a bath for me, Gregor”
“Yes, Your Highness. Goodnight Sire. Goodnight Your Highness.”
With that he was gone and we were almost alone. I did not feel vulnerable. I trusted Gregor with my life and he would not leave his quarters next to our Banquet Hall. Also he had a mastiff to help him, if trouble came. The mastiff was called Little Bear, I had named him when he was a puppy, but now he was bigger than Gregor. The naming had caused many hilarious scenes over the years.
I sat on the great bed, while Shakira climbed on to it behind me to help me off with my clothes. I was glad to be rid of them. My full-length tunic, in grey, red and gold, hid a corset of mail, uncomfortable to wear at Banquets. I felt it necessary though; my great-grandfather had been killed by a knife at just such a Banquet. When, at last it was off and I was dressed only in a cotton under-vest, which reached to my knees, I leaned back into Shakira’s lap and threw her over me, squealing. She pummeled my knees with her fists.
After giggling and struggling with each other for a few moments we settled down to talk about my plans for tomorrow.
I lay, leaning against a few piled cotton pillows, while she sat to my side, legs folded elegantly underneath her purple, quilted gown.
“I am all ears.”
I smiled. “This is my plan. Korim, as we know, has annexed a tract of land, roughly 1400 verst long and 140 wide along the edge of the mountains. We know he came in through this pass here.” I drew in the silk sheet in front of her. “This is the only way in, at this point on our border. I have some knowledge of this area. I have had a local tribesman come to me and draw me maps, and I know this area here…” I said, drawing a semi-circle against one of the long sides of the triangle which marked the entrance to the pass, “is a good area to build defenses. I am betting, as winter draws on, Korim will build a stronghold here.”
“But why don’t you attack him now?”
“Two reasons. One is that my army is not yet built up to full strength. The second is that I want to wait until winter. Wait. We will not attack now and Korim will believe he has won this land permanently. He will request reinforcements from other tribes, probably mercenaries, but they will not arrive until the spring. In the meantime he will want to stay where he is and as I say, he will strengthen his position with some kind of stronghold. This will take some weeks to build, however and I have spies who will inform me when he has started. I have prepared a small special force, which I will inspect tomorrow. This consists of my very best men, a few nomads, who are loyal to me and a large number of prostitutes. They will be equipped as if they are a complete tribe, even with a few old men and woman with them, and they will travel too, and stop at Korim’s army, sometime very soon. In the meantime, the first two Battalions to recover will be sent up here,” I said, pointing behind her back to an imaginary pass, much further northwest, “through that pass and down the other side of the mountains. They will send their own spies to watch Korim and will report back when he has started building. When building forts, one always starts with the walls so I have instructed both sets of spies to start counting the days from when the first stake is driven into the ground. Seven days from then, at midday, the northern army will attack and the soldiers disguised as nomads will attack from within. I have no doubt that they will have gained access. Korim’s Army will be hungry for women by this time.”
“At the same time, I, with the main part of the army will attack from the south. That is my plan. What do you think?”
“Hmmm. I don’t approve of the prostitutes but it is a bold and cunning plan. And I think it will succeed. You are a very clever man.”
“And unscrupulous!” she added, pulling a moue. “Now I am going to bathe,” she said and climbed off the bed to walk to the door.
I sat there, quietly musing over my plan for some time. There were weaknesses, there always were, but it was a good plan. My main concern, which I hadn’t mentioned, was the matter of the loyalty of the general in charge of the northern Army. Who could I trust? I had pondered this for some time but still could not decide.
There was a gently rapping on my door.
“Who is it?”
“Your Highness. It is I.” It was Shakira’s Maid Servant. I could hardly hear her through the thick door.
“Come!” Normally she would not be permitted, even to open the door to my Chamber but I felt too lazy to get off the bed.
“The Princess has requested your presence in the bathing room, Your Highness.”
“Oh. Thank you. Has she dismissed you?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Well. Goodnight then.”
“Goodnight Your Highness.”
I waited until the door had closed, counted to thirty and then I got off the bed and walked down the corridor to the bathing house, for such it was in years gone by, a roman-style bath, as I remember. Shakira had me put a great bath, carved from a single piece of marble, in the middle of the tiled floor. As I opened the door, steam rushed around my face and I could see nothing. Then the mist cleared slightly and I could make out her rosy face, blonde hair piled on top of her head, peering over the edge of the great tub.
I stayed at a distance out of decency and waited for her latest request. It was not normal for a man to share a woman’s bathing rituals but I was sure there was some purpose to this.
“Yes?”
“You needn’t stand so far away. I want to talk to you. Come closer.”
I walked up to the tub, close enough to see the point where her neck met her chest but no lower.
“Oh you silly man! We have no secrets. We have been lovers for some time now. Come and scrub my back.”
I let out a sign, almost a whistle, and stepped forward. There was so much steam I could actually see very little so I felt comfortable perching on the tub edge and picking up the long handle attached to a mediterranean sponge. I started merrily scrubbing away as she talked.
“Did you see any women who took your eye tonight?”
“Nooo. Of course not.”
“Not even the lovely Natalya?”
I paused, just a moment too long before answering “No.” It was always a torture to be honest with her, at her request, but not to say the wrong thing.
“Hmm.” She lifted her knees out of the water. “Now could you scrub my knees please?”
I leaned forward but in doing so I could see, for a moment her breasts, distorted under the water, as the mist cleared. She handed me a bar of tar perfumed purple soap and I soaped her knees with it. My cotton garment was almost completely soaked and very uncomfortable, now.
“You must be getting wet. Why don’t you get in?”
“No! It’s not time for me to bathe.”
“Hmm. Is not my figure more full than Natalya’s?”
“I suppose it is, yes.”
“And do you like it?”
“Yes.”
“Then I am more beautiful than she is.” It was a statement.
“Yes.”
“Good. Now you can do my back.” She rolled over and for a moment I could see her whole shape, so lithe and smooth. The line of her spine made a lovely S-shape as she twisted, completing the turn.
“Lower,” she said.
I soaped over her buttocks, while she talked.
“Have I put on weight there?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“That’s enough, I think. My toes are getting wrinkly. I don’t want to be wrinkly for you.”
She turned back over and sat up to kiss me. The soap has made some white bubbles –there was so much of it – and as I kissed her, she dabbed some on my nose.
“You look like a dwarf,” she said and giggled. “Can you pass me my robe please? I will be along in a few minutes.”
I went back to my chamber and undressed. I blew out all the candles in the eight-stemmed candelabra on the fire sill, leaving just the two small candles either side of the great bed. I was completely naked, as I got into the bed, under a single, thin silk sheet. I thought, ‘we will be hot tonight.’
It seemed ages before Shakira returned and I had puzzled many things before then. She slipped under the covers wearing a silk gown, imported from Japan. She lay against me and put her small hand around my neck. Suddenly she kissed my cheek. It was a quick kiss.
