Ram Thruster

by Georgia Fox

  Although she held on to a slender hope that this would be proven incorrect, she was to be disappointed when her friend confirmed it. "He does play with the ladies, certainly."

  She tried desperately not to care, but it stung. He had used her then, like all the others.

  But suddenly Apollonia added, "Not as much as gossip would have it though. I believe some ladies of the court like to boast of incidents and encounters that never truly happened."

  Ariana felt her heartbeat quicken. "Have...have you...ever? With him?"

  "Sadly no. He doesn't seem to like blondes."

  "Oh." The sick feeling had subsided.

  "Besides," Apollonia placed a hand to her throat as if shocked, "I'm a married lady, majesty."

  Ariana had to smile at that. "I notice that wasn't your first reason."

  Her friend made a sorrowful face that was almost convincing. "My marriage has always been in name only. It is not a great secret that my husband, even when he was still capable, preferred male company in his bed."

  "I had heard that," she replied cautiously, "but I do try not to heed gossip. Sometimes it is difficult to close one’s ears to it, of course." They walked on, but not in the same direction as Ram. "It must have been difficult for you, Lady D'Arbanville, to marry a man with a distaste for the marriage bed." It was not a subject she would usually broach with anyone, but today she simply had to discuss it with someone and Apollonia D'Arbanville was the least likely to be shocked by such a topic.

  "Not really," the lady replied jauntily. "I found other...things...to occupy my time."

  "Such as?" Perhaps she could take up something similar, she thought. Now that she was widowed, it might be a good idea to find a pastime to keep her busy and away from temptations. Clearly she needed something.

  Lady D'Arbanville seemed loath to answer, however. Eventually she said, "Books, majesty. I find books very beneficial."

  Ariana looked at her and got the sense that her friend was being unusually obtuse. "Books?"

  "Er...yes. Books."

  "I did not know you read a great deal."

  "Oh, yes." Apollonia looked around to be sure they were unobserved and then slipped off her hooded cloak and put it over Ariana's shoulders. "I always have my nose in a book."

  It was most confusing, for she couldn't recall the lady reading in her presence and if anyone began reciting poetry or solemn passages of Latin she usually yawned and reached for the wine. Apollonia had lived on one of her father's ships until she was twelve, when the Captain left her behind and went off to war— and to win a knighthood for valor from King Septimus. As a consequence she had not even a basic education and some of the other ladies looked down their noses at her. In Ersadonia most girls born into the upper classes received an education of some sort, even if it was not as thorough as that given to the boys. But Apollonia's quick-witted intelligence was mostly learned from life. Not books.

  "As my husband Lord D'Arbanville says," she added, tying the laces at Ariana's throat, "it keeps me out of trouble."

  Well, that wasn't much help for Ariana. She read a lot now and she was still suffering from strange heated urges whenever Ram Thruster was near. Not that she could admit this to Apollonia.

  "Your books must be better than mine," she murmured, perplexed.

  "I can lend you one, if you would like."

  She nodded and the two women walked on.

  Chapter Ten

  He waited a half hour before he began to realize she was not following him to her chamber. The candles were lit, the bed checked— even the wine by her bed was tasted— and yet Queen Ariana was nowhere in sight. She had deceived him about her destination and that blonde wench with her must be complicit in the crime.

  Ram was furious. He might have known when he saw her in such deep conversation with Captain Revellaux's daughter— a troublesome minx even on a good day. He'd always steered well clear of her sharp tongue and now who knew what she whispered in Ariana's ear. One clever woman alone was bad enough, but two putting their heads together and with no man to keep them out of danger, was a flaming cart on its way to hell.

  One of her other ladies-in-waiting approached holding a tray with a bowl of bread and milk and a candle. "Why are you here?" she demanded, glaring at him with black eyes full of disdain. "Where are the usual guards to my lady's chamber?"

  He recognized her bitter face now she was closer. "Why are you here, Lady Marchand?"

  "It is my job to turn down her bed and undress her majesty. I don't believe it's yours."

  Just as soon as he found her again it would be, he mused. "Why the bread and milk? Is that not a child's supper?"

  She sucked in her cheeks and for a moment he thought she would not answer. Then she hissed, "Her Majesty likes a bland dish to help her sleep when she is troubled."

  "Is she troubled?"

  "Her husband has just died. Perhaps you forgot."

  But Ariana didn't seem too troubled about that. She was more worried about her son's fate. As the woman with the tray moved to pass him again, he stopped her. "I'll taste that."

  Her eyes flared. "Please do." Holding the tray out toward him she waited, her face pinched and cold, but her eyes bright with sinister glee.

  Ram picked up the spoon and swept it through the dish, but he raised it not to his own lips. Instead he held it by her bitter mouth. "Perhaps you'll taste it for me. I don't care for milk unless it comes directly from the breast."

  That strange, eerie light in her eyes disappeared as if a shutter had snapped shut over them. She abruptly dropped her tray, spilling the contents all over the floor and knocking his arm in the process. Ram watched the bowl and spoon spin away, and a large splatter of milk-soaked bread drop to the ground at his feet.

  "Oops," she muttered. "What a pity. Her Majesty will have to wait for another bowl."

  Furious he grabbed her around the throat and watched her eyes widen, her face redden. "I ought to make you lick it up, bitch," he spat. But he released her and she bumped her shoulder to the wall, holding both hands to her thin neck.

  "She doesn't want you here, pig! She never liked you. Begged the King to dismiss you from the palace. Why would you help her?"

  Ram said nothing. He didn't care what Ariana thought she wanted; he knew what she needed.

  "The Queen always referred to you as the beast with cloven hooves and said she had to hold a pomander to her nose whenever you were anywhere in the palace."

  Still he kept his face impassive.

  "Were you not sent away by King Septimus in his last days? Why did you come sneaking back? The Queen has a foul, changeable temper, and if you displease her you'll be sorry."

  Gesturing at the chamber door, he said, "You'd better go in then. She's waiting for you and you won't want to upset that temper."

  The woman threw him one last frown and walked into the bed chamber.

  Ram stepped over the mess and went in search of Ariana.

  * * * *

  The lodging house was down by the quayside. Ariana had never been far outside the palace— and certainly never without an escort or her husband— but she'd looked over the battlements and often wondered what it would be like to visit such a place. To be anonymous for a while and move about among her husband's people, to be part of the churning life beyond the strict rules of the court.

  "Humboldt and his minions will never look for you here, majesty," said Apollonia with a smile.

  "Indeed. But you had better not call me majesty while we're here."

  "What shall I call you then...my lady?"

  She considered for a minute and thought of what her older brother used to call her when she was a child. "Call me Ari."

  "Very well...Ari. I shall tell the landlady that you are a cousin visiting from the north. Stay as long as you like."

  Ariana slipped the hood back from her hair and looked around the small room. It was sparsely furnished but tidy and clean, with a desk and a stack of papers, as well as shelves of books neatly
arranged. "You stay here often then?" she asked. "Your husband does not mind?"

  "I consider this my sanctuary. I never did get accustomed to my husband's manor," the lady replied, carefully pouring wine into two cups from a jug on the desk. "And it is good to get away from palace intrigue once in a while. My Lord D'Arbanville has his own entertainments— mostly hunting, and I have no taste for blood sports. So this is where I come."

  She nodded and took the cup she was offered. Stupidly and selfishly she'd never really thought of what her ladies-in-waiting did when they were not by her side. But of course they had lives. Much more intriguing lives than hers, it seemed.

  "This is also a perfect spot from which to spy on the antics of my fellow courtiers when they are away from the strict halls of the palace," said Apollonia, opening the wooden shutters at the window to let in the dusky light and warm air. "There is not much that goes on below in the town that I cannot observe. All the comings and goings can be witnessed from here. I can tell you all your ladies’ secrets, majesty. And some of them are quite filthy so prepare yourself." With that she laughed merrily and proceeded to light all the candles in the room, using the one lantern they'd brought up the rickety stairs.

  Looking around the rented apartment that overlooked the port and the capital city, Ariana felt rather pitiful that she had done so little with her life, that she'd been content behind palace walls and never dared to seek adventure beyond them. By comparison, Apollonia had lived out in the world and spread her wings. How brave she was.

  "Thank you, Lady D'Arbanville," she said with great feeling. "Thank you for bringing me here." It was like sampling a taste of some drink she'd been forbidden.

  "Please call me Apollonia. I couldn't leave you at the palace to be huddled over by the likes of Elinor Marchand, or pestered by Bonneville."

  Ariana passed the lady that anonymous note she'd discovered yesterday evening. "What do you make of this?"

  Her gaze travelled speedily over the single line penned there. "Where was it left?"

  "On my pillow yesterday evening."

  "Then I would guess Lady Marchand left it there. She is one of Humboldt de Bonneville's creatures now, did you know?"

  "Lady Marchand?"

  "Yes." Apollonia set her cup down. "She's been spying for him lately. Elinor Marchand, I fear, is the sort who will hitch her cart to whomever can do more for her, and Humboldt must have promised her plenty now that the King is gone. I always make sure to lie richly within her hearing so I suggest you do the same, majes...I mean, Ari."

  She nodded thoughtfully. "I will remember that." She'd never liked Lady Marchand much, but had tolerated her, thinking her merely dull and not a very happy soul. Since the lady was hired by her husband when Ariana first came to Ersadonia she'd never bothered to be rid of her, or to replace her with a more amusing companion. In fact, Ariana had often felt sorry for the poor, droopy-faced woman. "But this note tells me to leave the palace and Humboldt seems to want me to stay there where he can keep an eye on me. He was most annoyed this morning because I disappeared last night."

  "Then perhaps she wrote it for herself, wanting you gone. I wouldn't be surprised if she's been in Humboldt's bed by now. He would take delight in having her, since his aim is to collect everything that was once the King's. No doubt it makes him feel closer to the throne, and Elinor Marchand won't refuse him if he promises to keep her in the manner to which she became accustomed while Septimus lived. Her husband won't care either. He's always benefitted, naturally, from a wife who is also mistress to the King."

  Ariana had been watching fishing boats through the window, but slowly her friend's words registered in her mind. "Mistress? What...?"

  The other lady looked surprised and then sorry. "I thought you knew. Forgive me, I am a blabbermouth."

  She closed her eyes briefly and then turned back to the view of the busy quayside. All those folk milling about, not aware of her presence above them. Folk with their own lives, own problems. Things about which she knew nothing. "For how long?" she murmured.

  "For as long as you were married. That's why I thought you knew."

  Lady Marchand was her husband's mistress, and in ten years she'd never suspected. Abruptly she gave a hollow laugh. "I always felt sympathy for the woman as she seemed so sad and depressed."

  "I think that's just the face she was born with. She could scare crows from the battlements with that face."

  Yet Septimus had liked something about it. Ariana bit her lip and let the slight evening breeze cool her forehead. Well, she always knew he didn't love her that way, and that he bedded her to beget an heir. For Ersadonia. There it was again, duty. Both of them had been enslaved to royal duty since they were born.

  But still, he might have told her, instead of letting her go about her day in ignorance with Lady Marchand grimly standing at her side. It was humiliating.

  Would that woman try to hurt her? She might. But if that was her plan, why warn her victim?

  Ariana was surrounded by people who wished her harm, and they were all waiting for an opportunity to strike. Yet she felt calm, the eye of the storm. At least she had a few trustworthy allies.

  "Now what are you going to do about Ram Thruster?" Apollonia joined her at the window and together they looked out at the quayside where fishermen were selling the day's catch from their boats. Seagulls fluttered by as the sun set, their swooping shapes dark cut-outs against the changing colors, their squawking and cawing filling the air as they waited for spare fish heads and any other scraps that might be tossed aside.

  "Do about him? What is there to be done?" She tried to laugh it off lightly.

  "He's not going to be very pleased when he finds you lied to him about your sleeping arrangements this evening."

  "Why should I care if he is displeased with me?" But her pulse quaked at the thought of him storming through the palace searching for her, overturning furniture with his big, rough hands.

  "He is a good, strong, vital man to have on your side." Apollonia sighed lustily and leaned against the open shutter. "If I were you, I'd keep him content. You are, after all, the one woman who could keep that man content. The only woman who could, I think."

  Again she shot the lady a sly glance. "Me?"

  "Don't you realize that you're the reason he won't marry?"

  She felt her heart pounding in her bosom.

  "He's in love with you, Majes... Ari. Ram Thruster has been in love with you for a decade. I thought you knew."

  The room spun yet again as those words— uttered so matter-of-factly— fell around her. She clutched the window ledge, for suddenly the fresh air was too much for her. She was like a fledgling bird hovering on the edge of the nest, fearful of leaving it and yet needing to take that first leap. "How do you know this?" she managed finally.

  Apollonia fluttered her gold-tipped lashes. "Because I observe things, Ari. I'm a watcher. Lord D'Arbanville says I watch too much." She chuckled. "And yet again I am a blabbermouth, spouting things I thought you knew."

  "You watch people?"

  "For example, look down there. All those faces in the street. Men and women of all ages and classes, yet each one keeps secrets. I like to observe from this window and imagine what those secrets might be."

  But Ariana felt too dizzy to look down now. She sipped her wine and let the warmth trickle through her veins.

  "I was a girl just your age when you first came to Ersadonia," the other woman added with a wistful sigh. "And the moment I saw Ram the Thruster looking at you, I knew he had never looked at any other woman that way. I was jealous back then, because I had hoped he might one day look at me. But I recovered from that in time." She lifted her slender shoulders. "I found myself pitying him, because he could not have what he wanted. I pitied you too, because you had no freedom. You were a pretty bird in a cage, and he could only watch you through the bars. He couldn't reach in to hold you. For a sensitive soul like me," she added with a grin, "it was agony to observe."

 
; "Very poetic image," she muttered, sitting quickly at the desk and clutching her cup of wine with both hands.

  "But true."

  "Your husband is right, Apollonia, you do see too much. More than is there in existence, I suspect."

  "You must believe what you will, but I am quite certain of it. Ram has never taken a wife, because his heart belongs to you. He is a man of fierce loyalty and whether he is fighting or loving, I'm sure it is the same way."

  Ariana finished her wine quickly, gaze straying across the desk, searching for anything else to talk about. She saw words untidily penned across paper and reached over to turn a sheet so she could read it. Her eyes widened.

  "Oh," said her hostess. "That's my writing. I suppose you could say that's my secret."

  Ariana knew her cheeks were glowing as she read on. "You wrote this?"

  "Yes. Keep it to yourself though, if you please. If anyone knew a woman was responsible for writing those stories I would be in a vast deal of trouble and bring shame to Lord D'Arbanville."

  "They are...they're..."

  "Naughty books. Yes. Stories of an amorous bent. About men and women. Stories, really, of life."

  "And you come here to write them?"

  Apollonia nodded and brought over the wine jug, quickly splashing more into both cups. "Perhaps you'd like to read some of my work? It sells very well— but discreetly, of course. I must be very careful at all times. There are certain people who would punish me for this and have me arrested." A hard look came over her pretty face and made it deadly serious for once. "Some learned fellows in particular— one of whom you know, but I shall not name him— would decry the work, not only because of the subject matter, but because a woman wrote it. He doesn't approve of women writing. He doesn't believe a woman should be allowed to publish anything and certainly not seditious material like this."

  "Seditious?"

  "In his eyes women should be pure, innocent, naive creatures who know nothing about sex. Men are supposed to know and do it all. We're only there as empty vessels to be filled. We're not even supposed to enjoy it, or else that makes us whores."