by Gahan Hanmer
"Finally, I wish to announce my will," the king continued with an effort, "that the kingship pass into the hands of my only son, Renfrew, and that he assume the reins of government on his eighteenth birthday. Queen Jenna will retain the scepter and preside in the hall of justice until then. To aid her in every capacity and to facilitate her decrees, I name as first minister my loyal friend and brave servitor, Sir Jack Darcey, now Lord Darcey, prime minister of the realm. I have spoken."
There was an instant reaction, like the buzzing of a thousand bees, as Albert's decree spread to the crowd outside. Then silence fell as quickly as it had been broken.
"I have one more thing to say." Albert's voice was turning to paper also. "And that is that I have loved you all deeply, each and every one of you, and I only regret that I cannot stay with you longer. There has never been a king who had such loyal and wonderful subjects. Be faithful now to the queen. Farewell, and God bless you all."
Somewhere in the crowd someone began to sob quietly. Then there was another and another and another. Those of us in Albert's circle instinctively drew close around him now, for Death was reaching out his bony arm.
"Albert, you can't do this to me," said Jenna. "I absolutely forbid you to die." Her voice was so soft, it was difficult to tell whether she was teasing or quite serious.
"My dear," said Albert, his voice now more like ashes than paper, "it was not my intention. Please forgive me." Then he turned his eyes to me. "Jack, I'm counting on you. Support the queen. Take care of my son. Nurture my kingdom. Be persevering. There is nothing more I can do. There is nothing more . . ."
And he was gone.
Chapter Thirteen
In the very same moment that Albert died, everything changed. I could almost hear the change, like a massive door slamming shut on what had been before but wasn't anymore. I could certainly feel the change, and it felt like fear. Albert had supported a certain kind of reality based on his principles, his spirit, his warm heart, his nuttiness, and everything that made him what he was. The moment he died, that reality collapsed into dust and blew away.
There was still a kingdom. There were rivers and forests and meadows and farmlands, a castle and a monastery, all different kinds of people and animals and homes; everything a kingdom had to have. But it wasn't Albert's kingdom anymore. It was a kingdom up for grabs.
True, Albert had named an heir. But the teenage king had no power. The queen looked lovely in the part, but she had little interest or aptitude for government. And then there was me: dilettante, drifter, failure. I was to stand alongside the queen and facilitate her decrees. In other words, I was supposed to makes things work. Hell's bells, how about saving my own skin? If I had hair all over my body it would have been sticking straight up like a cat who'd been dropped into a kennel full of hungry mastiffs.
Out of the corner of one eye I was counting Lord Hawke's men. He had ridden in with twenty, but there were a good deal more than that now. Out of the corner of my other eye I was watching Lord Hawke, and wishing I was far away from there. In the silence of that hall, broken only by the sound of mourning, I had an eerie sensation akin to the one I had had in the duke's manor house. It was as though someone was laughing—harsh, high-pitched, shrill laughter—laughing at Albert's last words, laughing at the new government, and especially at me.
"Do something," said Jenna. She said it quietly, hardly moving her lips.
I covered my mouth with my hand, pretending to scratch my lip. "What would you like me to do, your majesty?"
"I'm sure I don't know. But we can't just stand here, can we?"
She had a point. Many of the people in that room were oblivious to everything but their sorrow; the rest were watching us. We were the brand-new rulers, and people wanted to see what we were going to do.
"Those weren't really Picts, were they?"
"No, I don't think they were."
"Kill him," she whispered.
"I like the idea," I whispered back, and that was true, "but how am I supposed to do it?"
"How should I know? You're the killer. Just do it. Is it so hard to kill a man?" She was looking at what was left of Albert.
I cast a covert glance at the duke and figured the odds on a sudden rush with sword and dagger. It would be a very hard chance. There was no surprise factor with the duke and all his men looking our way. How could I possibly cut my way through so many to get to the one I wanted? It couldn't be done single-handedly.
Where was Leo? He should have been back long before now. Where was Gordon? None of the men from our guard team had returned from their search for the mage. What had happened to them? There was the palace guard, of course, but they looked like a pretty tame bunch compared to Lord Hawke's warriors, and they weren't used to taking orders from me. How would they respond if I suddenly announced that we were going to jump the duke and his boys and kill as many as we could? Yeah, sure, Lord Jack!
"Well, then?" whispered Jenna.
"I'll do it as soon as I can," I replied, and oddly enough I meant it. Provided the duke didn't get me first, I was going to kill him the second he let his guard down.
"Émile, please help me," said Jenna. "What should we do with the king?"
Émile moved closer to Jenna, wiping his eyes. He looked pale and gaunt and I could feel how much he was suffering. "He ought to lie in state for a time, your majesty, so that people can make their farewells. Hélène and Marya Mage can attend the body, and I will arrange for a suitable bier here in the hall."
"Where do you want the body taken, Émile?" I asked him.
"The king's chamber, I would think, my lord," he said, glancing at Hélène, who nodded. Good old Émile. He never missed a beat. Lord is what Albert had made me, and so lord was what I already was to him. But I felt more like a fat rabbit in a barnyard full of hungry cats.
I called to a group of men in Albert's livery. "You men carry the king upstairs to his chamber."
"Nay," said the duke, and his voice carried to the far ends of the hall. "Who are you to command those men?"
I didn't know how to respond except by repeating, "Carry the king upstairs to his chamber!" I said it rather sharply this time, praying I could override the duke; for if I couldn't, the game was his, check and mate.
"Obey him not!" shouted the duke, and the men, who had started for Albert's couch, stopped in their tracks. I could see them trying to decide which course would get them into the least trouble; clearly, their fear of the duke carried more force than their loyalty to the dead king's wishes. Glancing around, I noticed that the duke's men were spreading out through the hall, taking up strategic positions everywhere and elbowing Albert's poorly armed palace guard out of their way.
"You men!" shouted Jenna, stamping her foot. "Have you gone deaf? Carry the king to his chamber!"
"Do as the Queen commands," echoed the duke, and the men scurried forward to take up the couch.
"Gently there, you knaves," snapped the duke. "What do you think you are carrying?"
Visibly rattled and afraid of being scolded again, the men now made an elaborate pantomime of carrying the couch with respect.
Fear was spreading through the castle. The hands that carried Albert's couch were trembling, and so were mine. The duke was so far ahead of the game, there seemed to be no way even to slow him down. Within minutes of Albert's death he had pushed me out of his way as successfully as his warriors had supplanted Albert's palace guards. Every moment that the duke remained unchallenged, his power grew and mine declined.
But what could I do or say while Albert's body was being slowly carried up the stairs? Even the mourners were hushed as the king's body departed. Now the death couch turned the corner and disappeared from our sight, and there was a kind of gasp or shudder that ran throughout the hall. I felt it too. Everything Albert represented was merely memory now unless some champion could reestablish it. Between dark mountains, amid the trackless forests, cut off from the rest of the world and even from time itself, the fate of the kin
gdom hung suspended; and in the torch-lit arena of the hall, Lord Hawke seemed to have no opponents.
Suddenly a voice broke the appalling silence, a voice that I had never heard before. There was a little gallery at one side of the hall. Musicians might have used it during a dance; or perhaps the royal family occupied it during feasts. It was slightly raised and surrounded by a railing; and it was there that our nobility had gathered to witness Albert's death.
"Lord Hawke," said Marsha Bennett, "is it your intention to overturn the king's decrees before his flesh is even cold?"
The duke was clearly angry to be confronted, but he made an effort to speak suavely. "Lady Bennett," he said, clasping his hands on his breast in an angelic gesture that was perfectly chilling, "it is my duty, now that the king is dead, to stabilize the situation for the good of all."
"Yet you are precipitous," said Lady Bennett. "What, I ask you, is so unstable in this situation that it cannot wait until the king is decently buried, and until those of us who remain have had a chance to confer?"
Lord Bennett looked embarrassed. "I'm sure the duke knows what he's doing, Marsha," he said, and he tried to take her hand.
Lady Bennett smiled at him, but she withdrew her hand. "Thank you, Terry. I am certain Lord Hawke knows exactly what he's doing. But I do not know what he's doing because he hasn't bothered to tell anybody, and now I wish to know." She turned back to the duke with a patient and inquiring look on her face that said she was prepared to keep after him all night until he gave her a straight answer.
"Lady Bennett, I believe that King Albert has made a grave mistake in his dying dispensation."
She laughed at that. "Yes, I think that is obvious from your behavior. Kindly tell us more."
It was impossible for me to tell whether I had some support against the duke from Lady Bennett, or whether she was just being catty and urbane about his manners and his lack of protocol. Still I was impressed by her fearlessness and I knew that my first impression of her as a remarkable person had been correct.
"To be more precise, my lady," said the duke with a ghastly smile, "I cannot permit this interloper who arrived a week ago to assume power to which he has no right."
She nodded. "This is better, Lord Hawke. I'm sure we're all pleased to be sharing your confidence." Then she turned and smiled at Harvey Griswold who smiled back and nodded.
Did Lady Bennett and Earl Harvey find all this amusing? My anger came up in a rush, and I made no attempt to suppress it because it was such a relief from the depression and helplessness into which I had been sinking. What the hell was the matter with Harvey, sitting there with his legs crossed and that complacent smirk on his face at a time like this? Was he so cynical that he could take all this for his amusement?
Now I looked out into the faces of the common people, those I could see by the light of the torches. Some still wept, but the others, in the main, looked dazed and depressed, and worst of all, resigned. Like the men who had carried Albert away, they were waiting in their fear to do whatever would threaten them the least.
Perhaps I might have done the same, but I knew I was already targeted as an obstacle to be eliminated. For me there was no place of safety to retire to. Mostly though, I think it was the game of footsie those nobles were playing around the death of my friend that suddenly drove me mad.
I was surprised to find my sword in my hand. Reaching for it is not in my recollection. Already I was advancing across the flagstones, my weapon whipping the air in front of me and glittering in the torchlight. Surprise was very much in my favor, for startled soldiers and commoners too were scrambling to get out of my way, and through their stumbling, chaotic retreat, a path was opening straight to the duke.
He drew his broadsword, and that made me grin, for it was much too heavy and too slow to serve him against the light and nimble blade that was dancing in my hand. Up went the broadsword over his head, and now his weight came forward, aiming one cleaving blow to chop me in half. There was a scream in the air, but whether it came from my mouth or his or many mouths at once, I never knew.
Something hit me behind the knee and I fell. Pain exploded in my elbow, searing my arm from my shoulder to my fingertips. And my sword! Where was my sword? Then a blow to the side of my head made me forget what I was looking for. There had simply been too many of them.
Now I knew that Death was coming for me too, and it wasn't all right and it didn't make sense and it sure as hell didn't make me want to forgive anybody. Twisting on the floor, lashing out in all directions with my boots and my bare hands, I fought to ward it off for just one more second if I could. I barely heard the voice that seemed to come from so far away that said, "Stop! Don't kill him. Bring him to me."
Hands were grabbing me roughly and hauling me to my feet. I managed to twist my body and jab one of the men in the stomach with my elbow. He went right to his knees, and then I was flailing and kicking at all his buddies who jumped on top of me and beat me into a worse mess than I was before.
"I said bring him here!" roared the duke, and now a half-dozen of his men carried me bodily across the floor and forced me to my knees in front of him.
"Look at me, Darcey," he said, and one of his men grabbed me by the hair and yanked my head back. I had to cough up some blood and spit out a couple of teeth. My clothes were torn and spattered, I was injured inside and out, and I knew there was no limit to the bad things that could happen to me now.
"I'm not going to have you killed," the duke said softly, just between him and me and soldiers who were holding me, "because that would be too easy."
"Let him go!" said Queen Jenna. I couldn't turn my head to look at her, but I could hear her voice shaking.
"Forgive me, your majesty," said the duke, "but this madman just tried to kill me." No one made a move to let me go.
"That is my prime minister, and I wish him here with me!" Dear Jenna! She was doing her best, but her power was just as imaginary as mine.
"The prime minister?" said the duke in mock surprise. "But your majesty, this isn't the prime minister."
"Let him go, I command it!" cried Jenna, and she stamped her foot. God love her, I would never forget it.
"Your majesty, I assure you there has been some mistake. This is merely the court fool dressed in someone else's clothes. Where did you get these clothes, churl?" he said to me, leaning down to bring his face closer to mine. His eyes were dancing with his triumph, and I guess he wanted me to appreciate it. "Well, it's no matter where you got the clothes. A fool's a fool. Strip him down. You there! Fetch me the mummer's trunk, and be quick about it!"
Before I knew it, they were stuffing me into a different suit of clothes that smelled as though it had been in that trunk for many months. This suit was all different colors and had a hat to match with little bells on it. Finally they thrust a stick into my hand topped with a padded jester's head that was wearing a little hat just like mine, bells and all. Why the soldiers thought it was so comical, I don't know. But by the time they were done changing me, they were all chuckling over what they had done, and now they pushed me out into the middle of the hall.
I wandered around in a circle wondering what to do, and the bells on my clothes jingled whenever I moved. One of the soldiers laughed, and when I turned to stare at him, that made someone else laugh. What was so funny? Looking around, I noticed that Lady Bennett had her hand up to her mouth as if she was trying not to laugh. The duke was laughing silently, his arms folded across his chest. The soldiers were nudging each other, and even some of the peasants were starting to laugh.
Finally, guided by my intuition, I reached behind, and I realized what the joke was. My jester clothes had a flap in the back like kids' pajamas. The flap was undone and I was exhibiting my white moons to the audience. I guess that was kind of funny, especially since I didn't realize it. A laugh is a good thing, and it was just what everybody needed. The sweetest king that ever lived had just been murdered, but now they had my bare ass to laugh at, so everything w
as all right again. In one little corner of my poor, tired brain I felt very discouraged with the human race. What was the use of trying to do anything for people anyway?
It took a few seconds to button myself up behind, and the laughter subsided, but they were all still staring at me. What I wanted was a magic mirror to show them all how they looked to me at that moment, but all I had was that jester's head. So I threw off my hat, yanked the fancy collar of my costume with all its pleats and bells up over my head, and drew my head down between my shoulders. Now the only head they could see was the one on that stick, and it must have been eerie-looking in the light of the torches, for suddenly it was very quiet in that hall. Peeping out with one eye through the neck-slit of my costume, and stepping silently around the perimeter of the open space that was my little stage, I turned the stick this way and that and took my time while the head on the stick looked them over slowly and carefully one by one. It was very gratifying to see people shrinking into themselves when the eyes of that floating head came to rest on them.
The hat with the bells had fallen off that stuffed head, and suddenly I noticed that the face looked more than a little like Albert. It had the same nose and the same brow; even the chin was similar. I grinned maliciously to myself, and in a voice that had long been familiar to me, and which was easy enough to imitate, I said to them all, "Oh, don't be so vulgar!"
Several people screamed and children started to cry. I believe everyone in that hall was as wiped out emotionally from the events of the day as I was myself. "Do you think that the dead can't see?" I put the question to them in Albert's voice, turning the head this way and that, taking them all in, and adding a little nodding gesture that was characteristic of Albert when he was being persuasive. "Do you think the dead can't talk? I can!"
