It seemed the war was all but won. Bells of thanksgiving pealed out from every monastery, and the palace thronged with cheering courtiers. I found my sometime-companion Lord Barkin in the crowd, a professional soldier who had fought at Exton Scales and was now coronel of the Queen’s Own Horse. Barkin was a bustling man, with graying hair and beard, and briskly he explained the fighting to me on a table, with cups representing enemy forts, spilled wine the rivers, and knives the thrusts into the enemy’s country. He was all admiration for Henrico’s cunning strategy, using his person and the royal banner to distract the Hogen-Mogen from his son’s larger army.
Harvey Meens came up to me as we viewed this improvised map. “Quillifer!” he called. “You are an unprincipled, hedge-born lewdster!”
“Very possibly,” I said absently, for I was absorbed in Barkin’s explanation of the Hill of Menne. Then Meens seized my shoulder and pulled me around to face him, and I saw that he was red-faced and furious. The scent of brandy tainted his breath.
“I just overheard two of Elvina’s friends saying that you intend to get her with child!” he shouted.
I looked at him narrowly. “In point of fact I do not,” I said.
“Do you expect me to believe that they lied?” he demanded. “Or do you say that I lie?”
“I say that someone misunderstood what someone else said. I do not say that person was you.” I looked at the hand that still clutched my shoulder. “Now kindly unfist my doublet.”
Lord Barkin took a step to place himself somewhat between us. “Sir,” he said to Meens, “this is not a suitable conversation for a public place. Your sister’s reputation—”
“My sister’s reputation is not to be ruined by this bedswerving cullion!” cried Meens.
“Instead it is to be ruined by a drunken, bellowing brother?” said I. Other people were staring, and I could imagine this scene being re-enacted in every parlor in the city by the next day. “I advise you to cease this ranting and find some quiet place where you can grow sober.”
“You filth!” he said. “You break every law of decency!”
By now my own temper had snapped. I stepped close and spoke in a lowered voice. “I do not intend to be lectured on morality,” said I, “by someone who pimped his sister to an old man in exchange for office.”
At that point he tried to hit me, but Lord Barkin seized his arm, and together we wrestled him into immobility. “I challenge you!” he said.
“I do not fight sots,” I said.
“And we’ll fight fair!” he said. “Nothing to do with boats or sails or oceans—none of your tricks!”
“If you want to fight me,” said I, “you’ll have to sober up first.”
By this point I was feeling little but disgust. Not for myself, or Meens, but for Orlanda, who must have prompted this challenge. Three duels in a row, I thought, showed a complete failure of invention.
“You’ll fight me! You’ll fight me!” Meens tried to throw us off and failed. He was a big man, and I think he was used to being able to manhandle people as he saw fit, and his inability to wrestle free frustrated him.
“You married your sister to an old man,” I hissed into his ear. “What did you think was going to happen? Erquem is wiser than you, and he understands his situation full well.”
“I’ll tell him!” Meens said. “He’ll keep Elvina away from you!”
“Cause a scandal,” said I, “and see if you can keep your office. Erquem arranged for you to have it, and he can take it away.” I thought that a threat to his office might give him pause, for advancement at court seemed all that he truly cared about, but instead he continued to struggle.
By and by a captain of the guard came, and we were separated. Meens was escorted to his lodgings in one of the palace buildings, and a guard placed on his door to make certain that he stayed there. I thanked Lord Barkin for his aid.
“That fellow is going to ruin himself,” he said.
“I think it will still come to blows,” said I. “There is a spirit of malice behind this that does not originate with Meens.”
He raised a graying eyebrow. “You have been with this lady?”
“Lady Erquem is not behind this,” said I, “nor is she with child.” Or so I hoped.
“There were rumors about Westley,” said Barkin. “That some figure at court was behind his challenge.”
“I think the rumors are not wrong,” said I. I turned to Barkin. “I care not what a drunken man says, but if he repeats his remarks when sober, I may be obliged to take notice. If that is the case, will you act for me?”
Barkin’s upper lip twitched. “Against such an ill-sorted ephebe as this? Gladly.”
“I hope I will not have to call on you.”
But of course that hope would be dashed. Of that I had every confidence.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Harvey Meens’s emissary arrived at Palace Ribamar the next day: Dom Emidio Custo de Fabragal, one of his sister’s friends and a poor knight with fewer ducats in his pocket than letters to his name. He had frequently accepted my hospitality, and I found his appearance on this errand a trifle offensive.
He had found me in a fey mood, having meditated on Orlanda and her intrigues all night, and I made Dom Emidio’s challenge more difficult by bursting into coarse laughter at several of his more florid passages.
“ ‘Offense to his family’s honor!’ ” I scorned. “What honor is there in selling a sister?”
“Please, Dom Keely-Fay,” said Dom Emidio. “I am charged to bear this message.”
“Do not then lose your bearings, for what you bear is beyond all bearing,” said I. “But tell me—was Harvey drunk when he sent you?”
He hesitated. “I believe he was sober.”
“Well then.” I waved a hand. “Continue.”
He went on for a while about my offensive conduct, and then I laughed again.
“Tell me,” I said. “Has poor Harvey ever been out on the field of honor?”
Emidio stiffened. “He has not said so.”
“Yet I have been out twice, and been victorious both times. Do you not think that in all fairness Harvey should challenge two other men before plaguing me with this business?”
“I have no opinion, Dom Keely-Fay.”
I waved my hand again. “Continue.”
I had thrown him off his stride, and he stammered as he demanded the name of my second.
“I hope you will tell Harvey that I am sorry he has agreed to be a cat’s-paw in this conspiracy,” I said. “He should not have listened to what other people took good care he should hear.”
“I do not know what you mean.”
“I mean that Harvey is being prompted by another,” said I. “And so, by the way, are you. The plot may be aimed at me, or at Lord Erquem—I know not. Yet the both of you should know that if I am to fight Harvey, I will stab him in the front; but those for whom he acts may not be so nice.”
“I do not understand you, Dom Keely-Fay. But I must ask you for the name of your second.”
Really, I thought, this fellow was a harecop, and a thick harecop at that. There was little point in continuing.
“Lord Barkin will stand for me,” said I. “You may ask for him at the stables of Queen Berlauda’s guard.”
“Dom Keely-Fay.” He bowed, and as he left the room, I called after him.
“After this matter concludes,” said I, “you should watch your back.”
I doubt that Orlanda cared about these fools enough to kill them after she had used them, but I intended to sow doubt and mistrust between Meens and his emissary, and I hoped this might do the job.
Yet Meens was persistent. Emidio met with Lord Barkin on his behalf, and Lord Barkin followed my instructions and asked for the encounter to take place on a small boat on the lake at Palace Ribamar. After consultation with his principal, Emidio said that the fight should be on land, with targes and broadswords. Lord Barkin returned with my suggestion of top-mauls on the m
ain yard of one of the ships on Alicio’s lake. This was declined with scorn, Emidio saying that they would not fall for one of my infamous tricks. Rapiers and daggers were offered. I replied with the proposal that we fight with cannon at a distance of two hundred yards. I doubted that Meens would accept, but if he did I was reasonably confident that I could load a falconet more quickly, and aim it more accurately, than Meens.
The very outrageousness of this suggestion paralyzed them for two days, after which they returned to the idea of broadswords. I, through Barkin, countered with pollaxes.
I meant to mock the entire business, of course, and Meens along with it, but I meant also to delay. The longer the negotiations went on, the more time Meens would have to reconsider his position. But my main purpose in delaying was to give a messenger time to deliver my letter to Elvina.
I had written her as soon as the challenge was delivered, explaining the situation and suggesting that she show the message to her husband, and then had sent the message by mounted courier. The problem was that I knew not which of their properties Lord Erquem had chosen to visit, or even if he was in Duisland or Loretto. I asked Rufino Knott to inquire of Erquem’s servants remaining in Longres Regius, but they seemed not to know either. So my messenger galloped off on his trail, and I set myself to delaying the fight as long as I could.
In the midst of the negotiations I received a note from Lord Edevane asking me to attend him. I rode to the palace on the heels of a freezing winter wind, and found him in a room adjacent to Berlauda’s apartments. Windows overlooked a formal garden of winter brown, and on the opposite wall mirrors in ornate gilded frames reflected the wan sun. A draught stirred the crystals that dangled in glittering streams from the chandeliers, and Edevane’s clerks wore fur-trimmed robes as they dealt with documents tied with red or blue ribbon. Edevane had no separate cabinet, but had set ornamented screens around his desk at the far end of the room, near the hearth. His little enclosure was very warm, and his face was ruddy from the heat as he rose from his desk to greet me.
“You are cold, Lord Warden,” said he. “May I offer you a hot tisane?”
“I thank your lordship,” said I.
We sat, and after the tisane was brought, he came to the point.
“This business with the lord cofferer has been brought to my attention,” he said.
The scent of mint rose from my tisane. “This inane business is hardly worthy of your attention, my lord.”
He scowled at me, his dead eyes growing hard. “An affray between Her Majesty’s servants is hardly insignificant!” he snapped. “And it is made worse when those servants are guests in Loretto, and when the matter touches our ambassador’s honor!” His chin gave an indignant jerk toward his shoulder. “I have spent more time trying to resolve the matter than I care to.”
A warning rocket shot up my spine. “I am heartily sorry that you have gone to such effort, my lord.”
In truth I had not approached him because I had not wanted to owe him any favors.
“I have interviewed the lord cofferer,” Edevane said, “and I found him most intransigent. He is determined to fight you.”
“I have given Meens every opportunity to withdraw his challenge,” said I.
Again Edevane showed irritation. “I told him that Her Majesty would scarcely look kindly on her office-holders quarreling with one another, but he was deaf to my reasoning, and kept babbling about family honor. I think he may be mad.”
“Truly,” I said, “a spirit of malice seems to whisper into his ear.”
Suddenly Edevane was alert. He regarded me from behind the gold-rimmed spectacles. “What do you mean?” asked he. “Is there a conspiracy behind this, as there was behind Westley?”
“Not that I know. But if there is one, it may be directed against Lord Erquem more than against me.” I sipped my tisane. “But truly, I think Meens listens to the same fell spirit as Wilmot, a spirit that drives him to madness and violence.”
He cocked his head. “Do you speak of an actual spirit?” he asked.
“My lord, I know nothing of spirits,” said I. “But I think we have many voices in our brains, and we should take care to listen only to those that serve our true interest.”
I had hoped by this an oblique warning against Orlanda, who had as much told me that she was influencing Edevane. But Edevane understood a different meaning from what I intended, and leaned forward. “And what is our true interest, then?”
“For a royal servant,” said I, “that interest would be peace and prosperity for the realm, and the safety and health of the monarch.”
“Peace?” Edevane said. “Does that mean you oppose our war with Thurnmark?”
“I have privateers; I hope to profit by that war,” said I. “But I meant domestic peace, peace within the realm.”
“Well,” Edevane said. “Meens is useless to Her Majesty now. Kill him if you find it necessary. At least I will not have to write a duke to tell him how his son met with misfortune.”
“I hope I will not kill him.”
“Spare him, then, but Meens is hopeless either way.” Edevane’s eyes turned to the papers on his desk. “I hope you will forgive me, Lord Warden, but I must return to Her Majesty’s business.” He picked up a paper and viewed it, then put it down. “Lord Warden,” he said, “if I were to offer you advice, that advice would be to stop sleeping with the wives of the nobility.”
“Truly,” I said, “it seems fraught with inconvenience.”
“Women may be had for a few crowns in Longres,” he said. “I am informed they may be found on the Via Cocotte, and that their brothers will not intervene.”
“I thank your lordship for that advice,” I said.
I paid a call upon you on my way out, but you were not in your apartment. I did not visit Cocotte Street on my way home.
* * *
Negotiations with Dom Emidio continued, but after ten days or so I could tell that Lord Barkin was running out of patience. He was a martial man, and not himself inclined to mockery or foolishness, but rather accustomed on the field of battle to drawing sword and galloping straight to the fray. I did not want to earn the contempt of my second, who of course was in charge of my life during the negotiations, so when the offer of halberds was rejected in favor of falchions, I surrendered to the gods of necessity.
“If we cannot agree on weapons, then let us each have our choice,” I told Barkin. “I will bring my pollaxe, and he may have whatever he pleases.”
“That will not be seen as fair,” said Barkin. “Weapons must be matched.”
“I don’t see why,” I said, but then I made the suggestion I’d been pondering for some time. “Let us fight on the roof of the Monastery of the Nine Disciples in Longres. And let a variety of weapons be scattered about the roof, so that we may each take what we like when we arrive.”
“Arrive?” Barkin asked. “What do you mean?”
“Let us start an equal distance from the monastery,” said I. “It’s as near the center of town as no matter, and we can each start from one of the gates. He may have his choice, and I will take the gate opposite.”
“You mean to start the fight with a race?” Barkin was more intrigued than astonished.
“A race across the rooftops,” said I. “For if anyone touches a foot to the ground, he must pay a penalty.”
For the previous few days I had explored the narrow lanes of Longres, and I thought I had worked out a way to defeat Meens without being brought before a judge on a charge of homicide. For once I gained the roof of the monastery, I could hold it against Meens, and keep the man from getting a weapon at all. I might have to cut off a few fingers to keep him from getting a grip on a cornice, but I would not have to kill him.
It must be said, as you look at me in that skeptical way, that I cared not whether Meens lived or died, but I did not wish to explain to Elvina how and why I had spilled her brother’s blood.
“I hardly believe that Meens or Dom Emidio will accept thi
s,” Barkin said. “They will suspect a trick, and they said they will not agree to any sort of trickery.”
“You must grow very angry with Dom Emidio,” I told him. “Say that his principal is delaying out of cowardice, and that if he means to fight at all, he must agree to our terms.”
“If I call that gentleman a coward,” Lord Barkin pointed out, “he can challenge me.”
“I’m sure you will find more delicate language that amounts to the same thing. But you must be harsh with Emidio, and harry him into accepting.”
“They might equally accuse you,” Barkin said. “After all, you have delayed.”
“Who will the world believe?” asked I. “A fire-eating veteran of the duello, knighted for heroism on the field of battle, or some farmer from Fornland?”
Barkin mused on this, and a smile touched his lips. “I believe I know just how to handle this,” he said. “Leave the matter to me.”
* * *
And so it was that three mornings later, I waited by Longres’s East Gate, shivering in my leather jerkin. The sky grew pale overhead, the stars fading one by one, but down in the street it was dark, illuminated only by the fitful light of the lanterns that home-owners were required to place above their doors. The scent of their cheap lamp oil stank in the night air.
Quillifer the Knight Page 35
