by Jan Vermeer
Elske said, “I’m not afraid of the hatred of women.”
“The men, too, his Lords, they will despise you and pity him for having such a wife. What will you do, Elske, when people do not smile upon you? For people have ever smiled on you, and been glad of you.”
Elske did not speak her thoughts aloud, for she did not wish to quarrel.
Now Beriel warned her, “You’ll always be a stranger where you live. In my Kingdom.”
They sat across from one another at the table, like two merchants negotiating a trade. Elske answered plainly. “I have never been other than an outsider where I have lived. But my children will be born in the Kingdom.”
“Your children also will be outsiders,” Beriel announced.
“Are the people of the Kingdom as blind, and foolish, as the people of the Volkaric? I cannot believe that,” Elske said, no longer concealing anger; and then she reminded the Queen, “I have given Dugald my word.”
“Your word? What is your word next to my will?” Beriel demanded. Then she lowered her forehead down onto her folded hands, and rested there a long time. When she raised her face, she was resolute, but to what, Elske could not guess. “So you are determined to take from me the most worthy man of the Kingdom?”
“How do I take him from you by marrying him?” Elske argued, reminding Beriel, “It was one of your sisters you spoke of for his wife, not yourself.”
“You cannot be such an innocent!” Beriel cried out angrily. “I know my debt to you, Elske, but you go too far with me in this. Oh, I won’t forbid you. If you will marry against my will, so be it. So. You will be Northgate’s Lady, and I will be sorry for it all the days of my life,” Beriel promised. “And sometimes,” she promised, “you will be sorry, too. For we will be parted now.”
Elske had feared Beriel’s death, but she did not fear to be parted from her now. Her young mistress she would have grieved for, and revenged, but this imperious and jealous Queen had no need of such service as Elske could give her.
“You have been my servant and now you will be my Earl’s Lady,” Beriel said, as if this thought gave her unwelcome amusement. “And who knows what you might be next, when fortune’s wheel has already raised you so high.”
Elske promised what she could. “You will always be my Queen. Your child and heir will always be my royal sovereign.”
“And what husband must I marry to bear his children, that there will be an heir for the Kingdom?” Beriel cried.
“Why not Win?” Elske asked.
Beriel had her answer ready. “Win is one of the people and not even the firstborn son. He has nothing to give me.”
Beriel had desired the throne, and been born to it, and she had earned it, too, but in the matter of her own husbanding she seemed as foolish as any other girl. “Win has no ambition more than to serve you; he will never ask more honors than those you choose to give him. He would never let himself shame you. And he has given you your brother’s tongue, silenced.”
Beriel listened closely to Elske’s words, but still she made protest. “If he hangs? Would you wish me wed to a traitor, and a dead man?”
“No,” Elske smiled. “Not if he hangs.” But why should Win hang, when he was no traitor? Elske would not stand by, to watch Win die; there would be a way to save him, and she would find it.
Beriel acknowledged then, “I have spoken of marriage to Win. You should know that he refused me, for the dishonor his birth would bring to me. He will be my servant, and he will die if I need his life from him, but he refuses to be my husband and bed partner, even though he says his heart is mine, forever, and swears that he will never wed another. So, you see, even if the Priests find him innocent under the law, I may not marry Win.”
Beriel rose now to return to the window where she looked out again to whatever she could see. “Even as we speak here, the Priests argue his life,” she said. “I think they will decide for me. But until that question is settled, I require you with me.”
“I will obey you, my Queen,” Elske said.
“In that, but not in the other,” Beriel said bitterly. She gave Elske no time to answer, but turned on her stick to sweep out of the room.
ELSKE SAT FOR A TIME alone, to understand that if she wished, she might renounce Dugald and regain the Queen’s favor; and to understand that she did not wish it. Also, she thought of Win. When she re-entered the hall, it was crowded with courtiers, both Lords and Ladies, several captains still wearing their light armor, and a few Priests. Servants stood along the walls. People spoke in low voices, waiting, watching the Queen. Beriel sat enthroned, lost in thought.
Elske searched for Dugald in the crowd but could not see him. She heard a woman whisper that Beriel would be crowned now, today, that there were none left to keep her from the throne, for her mother was already sent into exile in the care of Earl Sutherland. Another woman’s voice answered that since this young Queen had rid the land of two evils—civil war and Wolfers—she herself was ready to bend the knee to her. And hope for the best, a third woman added, as we did when the usurper was crowned, only hope, as we must always do who are only observers in the events, we who are women. The first voice whispered that she counted that her good fortune, and the other two laughed softly.
A knocking at the great doors echoed through the hall. The company fell silent and all turned towards the sound. A steward stood before the now-opened doors to call out that the delegation of Priests awaited Beriel’s pleasure. At the far end of the hall, she rose up from her throne, to stand tall and pale. “Give them entry,” she commanded.
Three men in dark robes preceded one who wore a robe embroidered with colored threads, and the company parted to let them come before the young Queen. The last, most important man had a mouth turned sternly downwards at the ends. He knelt before Beriel and his voice sounded like a bell, or a drum, reverberating through the room. “My Queen, we are prepared to give judgement.”
“Rise, High Priest Ellard,” Beriel commanded, and “Bring forward the prisoner,” she called. Win was led in, his hands bound before him and his leather soldier’s shirt stained dark. He wore the dirt of imprisonment, but his face lighted up to see Beriel, and he bowed to her before his guard escorted him up to stand before her.
Elske waited beside the dais, her hands clasped together, fingers wound around fingers. In the whole room, only Win seemed at ease, as if to face the hangman was a matter of little importance, or a joke, as if he had stood so a hundred times before. She still could not see Dugald, not among the courtiers, not among the soldiers, nor at the back of the hall or beneath the windows. She moved closer to Win, close enough to see how he watched his Queen.
Elske had moved close enough to attack the soldiers who stood beside Win, and take one of their knives in their first surprise at being so assaulted, and by a woman. With a knife, Elske could cut the rope that bound Win’s hands, and also give a weapon into his hands. If Win were named traitor, then that was what she would do.
That no one might guess her intentions, she hid her hands behind her back. Something was placed into them, something with a handle, and Dugald’s voice was soft in her ear. “So we are both armed. But I do not think that she will let him hang,” the soft voice said. Elske grasped the knife behind her, and waited.
For a moment, Beriel lingered in front of her throne, her gown cloth-of-gold, her face as stern as the face in a painting, her bandages shining white. When she sat again, the High Priest drew his breath to speak.
All waited to hear.
The Priest’s face was masked as a falcon’s.
Elske wrapped her fingers tight around the knife she held, and considered Win’s guard. The soldiers were young, and paid little attention to their prisoner, being caught up with the great events unfolding before them. Then Elske considered the rest of the company. These Lords were not even carrying swords. Elske guessed that their response to danger would be to protect their Ladies, amid shrieks and curses and rushings to safety. The captains wer
e few, and many from the northern army; those would never attack her, nor Dugald. And Beriel, the only worthy enemy in the room, had but one good arm—besides needing a stick to walk on, for she had but one good leg. Beriel was no danger to her.
“Will you have our judgement?” the Priest asked Beriel.
“We will,” she answered.
“Prisoner”—he turned to Win—“you have put yourself under the shelter of the law for your life or for your death. Do you understand this?” he asked.
“I do,” Win answered, boldly.
“Then I give the law’s judgement upon you.” Now the Priest kept his eyes on Win, as if they were alone. Win listened to the Priest’s words, but watched his Queen. “As to the accusation of treason, the law finds you not guilty, for the reason that the man—Guerric, Prince of this royal house—had usurped his sister’s rightful place, and set out false rumor of her, and moreover for the reason that he had himself plotted the death of a royal Princess. Thus the man was a traitor and death his just punishment. These things are proven and determined,” the Priest said.
The court sighed and clapped its palms together to signify approval. Neither Beriel nor Win responded, however. They remembered the second charge.
“As to the accusation of murder,” the Priest said now. “You slew the man before many witnesses, and never sought to conceal the deed, nor deny it; however, the law finds you not guilty of murder. A soldier may not murder his enemy, or we must hang every man returned living from battle. A soldier kills but does not murder. This is the law.”
Then Win did smile, and so did the Queen. He smiled for her and she smiled to fill up the room with the light of her pleasure.
Elske felt the knife being taken out of her hands so that she might clap, and be no different from her neighbors.
Beriel rose again, then. Clothed in gold she announced to all, “I will be crowned before I sleep again, for my land must not be left without its anointed ruler. I will be crowned this afternoon,” she announced, and the room cheered her.
She allowed them this, then raised her hand for silence again. “There are two,” she said, “and they have served me in my greatest need, at risk of all the little they had. To these two I would offer a Queen’s reward. Elske,” Beriel called. “Where are you, my servant Elske?”
“I am here, my Queen.” Elske stepped forward to kneel down again before Beriel.
“Elske, I will ask my cousin and my Earl that will be, Lord Dugald, heir to Northgate, to husband you, and give to you the protection of his name and his lands,” Beriel announced. “Dugald, this I ask of you, to take Elske for wife.”
People murmured, and Elske felt their eyes on her bent neck. She thought she knew Beriel’s purposes, and she hoped this would be the Queen’s only revenge. And why should Beriel ask for more than that revenge?
“For all that the girl is Wolfer born, and Wolfer raised,” Beriel continued, and at that the courtiers gasped softly, “I am in her debt. I ask you to pay that debt for me. Will you obey me in this, Lord Dugald?”
Dugald answered without hesitation, “My Queen, I will.” This taught Elske the words to use, so when Beriel asked for her obedience also in this matter Elske said in a voice that rang as clear as his, “My Queen, I will.”
Satisfied, Beriel turned to the second matter at hand. “Win,” she called out, though he stood right before her. “Win, son of the innkeeper at the Ram’s Head, who have been true in my service when I did not even know you served me, of you I ask more than you have already given, which has been even the offer of your life. Of you I ask also a marriage. I ask you to take the hand of your Queen,” Beriel called out. “Yes, in marriage, to be her consort and her guard, advisor, husband, Prince. Will you obey me in this, Win?”
His cheeks flamed as red as his hair, almost, but Win could not, without shaming her, refuse; and so he must give his will over to hers. “My Queen, I will.”
Then Beriel called for wine. Waiting, standing before her carved throne, she announced to the hall, “There remains yet one third matter of loyalty that must be settled.”
“She will throw her glove down before them all,” Dugald said into Elske’s ear.
“And how could she do otherwise?” Elske asked softly.
Beriel accepted a golden goblet from her servant and held it out that he might pour red wine into it. The courtiers murmured uneasily, waiting for her next words. When she raised the goblet high, they fell silent.
“Today,” Beriel announced in a voice that rang into every corner of the great hall, “on this day of my crowning, I offer to all of my Lords an amnesty.”
Many voices breathed out sighs of relief and gratitude.
“After this day,” Beriel announced, “this day of my crowning, if you serve me well I will never seek to know what you might have said or done before this day. To this I give you the word of your rightful Queen. But hear me now,” she warned them. “In exchange I require your perfect obedience.”
Beriel turned then, the goblet still raised, to the right, to the left, back to the front, so that she might look down on the whole assemblage and every man and woman in it. The goblet glinted in the light. She said, more solemnly but no less ringingly, “Too many have paid too great a price that I might be your Queen for any to offer me less than that perfect obedience. And I, too, have paid dearly for my throne and crown,” she said. Her blue eyes looked briefly at Elske, and then Beriel made the toast herself. “May this Kingdom flourish under my rule, in all the years I am Queen.”
They all echoed and answered her, “Long life to the Queen.”
Elske’s voice was one among many, in that well-wishing which was also a long farewell. When she could raise her voice to call “Long life to Queen Beriel,” Elske must part from her mistress and companion, since Dugald was her choice. So Elske would make her own gladness after the sorrow of this farewell.
Epilogue
IN THE HISTORY OF THE Kingdom, these things are told:
—How Beriel, called the Warrior Queen, extended the borders of the Kingdom eastwards to the sea at Pericol, and as far south as Selby. How her armies also conquered the barren lands of the west, obliterating the primitive tribe of the Volkaric. In two major military campaigns, the first against Pericol and then into the west, the second—with an army more seasoned by warfare and experienced in success—into the south, Beriel led her forces to victory after victory. Part of the reason for this was her weaponry, since Beriel almost from the first possessed gunpowder. Another factor that contributed to her military success was her soldiers’ loyalty to her. Beriel was as well a gifted strategist and fearless general; she rode into battle at the head of her own troops; she asked no hardship of them she did not herself endure.
—How for five years after her first double victory, over the Volkaric war bands that were preying on the Kingdom and over a rebellious brother, Beriel’s forces went undefeated. That first, most famous, military victory was achieved without a single wound being received by a single soldier of the Kingdom.
—How for the opening years of her brief reign Beriel conquered, but at the end lost much of the territory she had taken. Nonetheless, enough remained in her control to add substantially to the increasing power and wealth of the Kingdom.
—How through Beriel, the Kingdom gained a port on the sea. Although her last years as Queen were devoted to defensive warfare, as the cities of the south fought free of her domination, she held Pericol, and built up its defenses as well as its docks. Pericol remained the basis of the Kingdom’s maritime power. The Queen was among those killed in the great explosion of the magazines there, which destroyed a third of that city; she left a male heir who ascended to the throne when he had attained his twelfth year.
—How the shift from an agricultural to a mercantile economy was begun during Beriel’s reign, not only as a result of the military victories and the growth of Pericol as a center for shipping and shipbuilding, but also with the discovery of copper and iron ores in th
e northern Kingdom. The development of these resources was the work of the Earl Northgate, and made him the most powerful man of the Kingdom, whose personal fortune exceeded even that of the royal house. At the same time, the Earl established around himself a court dedicated to learning and to civilized graces, into which any man of integrity and ability was welcomed. There were those who maintained that the merchants who flocked to trade with the Kingdom did so not so much for the profits as for the honor of being received at Northgate’s court, and the pleasures of time spent there. In the annals of the time, it is sometimes referred to as the Court of Light and sometimes as the Court of Elske [sic]. During the long rule of this distinguished Earl, Northgate was the premier city of the Kingdom.
—How Gwyniver the Great, granddaughter of both Queen Beriel and the Earl Northgate—whose daughter had married the young King thus joining together the two great families of the Kingdom—ascended to her throne at the age of fourteen. The year of her crowning marks the beginning of the Thirty-Seven Year Peace, which extended into the sixth year after her death. Scholar, linguist, diplomat and gifted economist, Gwyniver forged a series of alliances—through marriages, through trade monopolies, through the threat of arms—among the great cities of the south as well as the emerging cities of the north, as far away as Trastad. Gwyniver is also known as the founder of the University, and as a patron of artists, musicians, minstrels, mediciners and craftsmen of all callings. During her reign the laws of the Kingdom were codified and the seasonal sitting of justices in trial instituted, as well as the profession of Speaker for the Accused. She established Pericol as the royal seat, and welcomed Ambassadors from all over the known world, thus continuing the anti-isolationist movement begun in her grandparents’ day. She absorbed customs from other lands into her own government—such as guilds of craftsmen as in Celindon and the local governing Council as in Trastad. She had a reputation for wild courage, and tireless curiosity. Her citizens, from the greatest to the least, all lived without fear of want or of tyranny. In the reign of Gwyniver the Great, the Kingdom’s Ambassadors were welcome wherever they journeyed, received with honor even at the court of the Emperor of the East. Under the rule of this Queen, the Kingdom enjoyed its golden age.
