The Maid's War

by Jeff Wheeler

  “What do you think, Cousin?” Chatriyon asked Alensson, his expression alive with curiosity. He was not a weak-willed man, Alensson knew, but the prince tended to listen to advice endlessly before making a decision. He was very cautious. His inheritance had been reduced to cinders and ash, leaving only a few smoking coals behind. He breathed lightly on them, not wanting the flames to extinguish utterly.

  Alensson turned to the deconeus. “Have you tested her, Deconeus?”

  The man looked affronted. “What? You think I’d waste my time on a mere peasant girl? I’m no fool, my lord duke.”

  “You act like one,” Alensson said, a little hotly. Then he turned to the prince. “I spoke to the girl in a tavern this morning—”

  “A tavern!” Doone scoffed.

  “Where else would she be welcome if not there?” Alensson said. “My lord, listen to her. I tell you, the girl is Fountain-blessed. The Fountain speaks to her.”

  The look the prince gave him had changed. There was a slow budding of hope, but it was clouded over with heavy doubts. “Cousin . . .” he said, shaking his head.

  Alensson pressed his cause. “Just meet her, my lord. You will know, as I did. The Fountain has sent her to save Occitania. To save you.”

  Perhaps they were just the words a drowning man needed to hear.

  Doone would not give ground easily. “How many drinks did you have before you spoke to her, Alensson? How deep in your cups are you already?”

  “Not a one,” Alensson said, offended. “How many have you had?” he asked, nodding to the goblet in the earl’s hand. The prince smirked at the gesture.

  The deconeus shook his head. “I’ve had none myself either, my prince, so I hope you’ll heed my counsel. There are many who parade themselves as Fountain-blessed to dupe believers into giving them money. They come and stand on the edge of the fountains and prophesy some doom or another. Then people come and toss their coins into the water. Before you know it, rogues harvest the coins in the night and make off with the wealth. This girl wants money. And so does this young duke. He’s a pauper himself. Be wary, my lord. Be wary!”

  If the man weren’t a deconeus, Alensson would have struck him for that. He had impoverished himself to the dust to win his freedom, and he’d not be addressed in such a way by a man living in splendor in a sanctuary he’d not built himself. A threat blossomed on his lips, but before he could utter it, the prince abruptly put his arm around his shoulder and directed him away from the other two.

  “You can see my dilemma, can’t you, Cousin?” the prince said. “Word of this girl reached me months ago. I’ve not sent for her, yet she continues to beg for an audience. Should a peasant—a girl, no less!—be on the same footing as a prince? What if she’s deceived you? Don’t be offended. I’m not saying that she has, but after all I’ve lost, after all you’ve lost, don’t you think caution would be the more prudent course? I’m grateful you’ve met her, Alensson. That is helpful to me. You think she’s Fountain-blessed. What convinced you? You know I value your judgment more than those old fools.”

  Alensson turned to face the prince. “I don’t know how to describe it, my lord. Her words ring true, like . . . like a bell in your heart. The conviction in her eyes. She’s not mad. She’s an innocent who’s been called to greatness. I know about camp followers, my lord. I’ve been in war. She’s not like those haughty girls. Just meet her. That is all I ask of you.”

  The prince’s wince was telling. “But if I do, then I risk offending men like Jerson and the deconeus. Men whose money I need to keep court at Shynom. I can’t risk offending them, Cousin. Can’t you see that?”

  He saw it all too well. “Yes, my prince. They’ve given you enough to keep you under their thumb. But not enough to relieve the siege at Lionn. What happens when Deford breaks through it? He’ll flood this valley with soldiers, and then you’ll find yourself defending Shynom. Or will you flee again?”

  He’d meant to provoke his cousin and it worked. The prince’s eyes darkened. “Lionn has held firm for several years, Cousin. You’ve been in prison too long to understand—”

  Alensson shook his head. “What surprised me, my lord, was how little has changed since Vernay. My wife’s father is the Duke of Lionn. She has given me as much information about the siege as one can get from those still loyal to her family.”

  “I’m sure her father’s plight is very concerning to her,” Chatriyon said. The prince was always trying to soothe the feelings of others without committing himself. He was wonderful at empathy. He was terrible at action.

  “I’m not here because of the duke. I have nothing left except the will to fight, and I came here to fight for you, my prince. The siege at Lionn needs to be broken. Surely you do not dispute that! Just see the girl, my lord. Just for a moment. It can be in private, if you prefer.”

  The prince shook his head. “No, no—not in private.”

  The Earl of Doone and the deconeus were creeping forward like rats, trailing them. “My prince, listen to me,” Doone said.

  The prince turned with practiced patience. “Yes?”

  “Send the girl away for good. She’ll bring you nothing but trouble.”

  The prince gave Alensson a look.

  “The Fountain sent her here,” Alensson said sternly. “Let her be tested then. In front of us all.”

  The prince thought a moment and then tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I have an idea. A little game, actually. A test. Bring her in, but not to me. Let her find me.”

  “But your red tunic shows you’re the prince!” the earl complained. “It’s the royal color of House Vertus!”

  “I know, I know!” the prince said glibly. “As would she. So, my lord earl, we will exchange tunics before she comes. Alensson, you’ll wait over there where you can see and hear us. But you won’t be able to direct her to me. If she hears the Fountain, as you said, then she will know she’s being deceived. If not, what a little joke it will be! No one will be able to criticize me then for having allowed her in. Either way,” he said smugly, “I do not lose.”

  The deconeus and the earl exchanged a look.

  “Don’t bother arguing with me,” the prince said. He snapped his fingers and his herald approached. “Bring in the maid.”

  Alensson watched furtively by one of the massive hearths. He did not like the prince’s plan—his heart told him the trick was beneath them—but it did make sense. Besides, it would soothe the various egos involved. Staring across the crowded hall, he watched for her eagerly. At first, he was unable to hear anything over the commotion of talking, but then a sense of quiet came across the room, spreading like liquid from a spilled cup. The lords and ladies in their finery began to whisper as the peasant girl in men’s clothes slowly made her way through the assembly. Genette walked by herself, no one guiding her, her mouth a little open as she took in the decadence of Shynom.

  Jianne appeared at his side, her hands closing around his arm. “What is going on, Alensson?” she whispered to him. “When they let her in, I was told I couldn’t accompany her. Someone told me where you were. Why isn’t the prince wearing red?”

  “Sshhh,” Alensson said to her. “It’s a test.”

  “A test of what?” his wife asked worriedly.

  “To see if she is Fountain-blessed,” he answered. “The prince doesn’t wish to be taken for a fool.”

  “Look how they’re sneering at her,” Jianne said, her tone filled with concern. “This isn’t right, Alensson. They’re making a mockery of the poor girl. You told the prince we met her? He didn’t believe you, his own cousin?”

  “He must show the counsel of his court due consideration,” Alensson answered. Genette was getting closer to them. She noticed them both standing to the side, but she did not come to them. Walking cautiously through the crowd, she looked from side to side until she spied the red tunic.

  “This is unfair,” Jianne whispered sadly as Genette marched deliberately forward. “They’ll make a sport of her.”r />
  Alensson felt a frown of disappointment on his lips. Could he have been wrong? The Earl of Doone had his back to the girl, and he was in quiet conversation with the deconeus and the disguised prince. The prince watched Genette’s approach from behind his goblet, his eyes narrowing as the unkempt, shorn creature approached them. The eyes of everyone in the hall followed her, the nobles’ expressions mirroring the disgust they felt. Some had even grown bored with the ruse and were talking lightly amongst themselves.

  Genette walked directly up to Chatriyon, ignoring Doone completely, and then knelt before the prince, bowing her head. “My prince, thank you for permitting me to see you.”

  Alensson felt a throb of victory and his frown turned into a triumphant smile. His wife squeezed his arm, gasping in surprise. She was what they’d both sensed her to be.

  There was a startled look on Chatriyon’s face as he lowered the cup. “You mistake me, my dear,” he said with a joking tone. “This is the prince.” He motioned toward Doone.

  The girl looked up but not away. “You are my prince,” she said boldly amidst the hush of the room, without any hesitation or even a hint of doubt. “The Fountain has sent me to you, to see you crowned at the sanctuary of Our Lady at Ranz. You are the true king, my lord. And the Fountain has given me a sign to prove myself to you.”

  The prince’s eyes bulged with astonishment. “A sign? What sign?”

  “I must show you in private, my lord. The Fountain does not wish it to be seen by so many unbelievers. There is a chapel yonder with a fountain. May we speak there, my prince? It is there that I must show you the sign.”

  “My lord, no!” Doone warned, his cheeks flushed. “She could be a poisoner! This is a ruse!”

  The maid turned to the earl. “Who are you to challenge my mission?” she demanded. “I am from the village of Donremy. I bring no poison. I bring no weapons.” She turned back to the prince. “Please, my lord. I am a simple maid. But through me, the Fountain will give you the kingdom of your fathers. Believe.”

  The prince glanced across the room at Alensson, stuck between courage and fear. Alensson met his eyes and nodded. This was a moment that couldn’t be ignored. The duke had hoped to be the one chosen by the Fountain to save his people, but it had chosen an obscure maid instead. So be it then. He would support her, and by doing so, support the Fountain.

  “Take my arm,” the prince said, offering his elbow to the maid. And he escorted her, to the wonderment of the entire hall, to the chapel.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Signs

  The atmosphere of the great hall had changed in an instant. Gone were the mocking sneers and the incredulity. A mood of excitement and intensity had settled over the nobles, who began discussing the scene that had just unfolded in their midst. Who was this peasant girl? Where did she come from again? Donremy? Wasn’t that near the borders?

  Jianne glanced furtively at the archway as she stroked Alensson’s arm. “This means another battle, doesn’t it?” she whispered.

  “I hope so,” Alensson answered truthfully. He instantly knew he’d chosen the wrong words, and a glance at Jianne confirmed it. There were already tears quivering on her dark lashes.

  “My love, my love!” he soothed, pulling her into an embrace. He stroked her hair. “We both knew this would happen! I am a beggar. I am worse than a beggar. If I’m to repay all who lent money for my release, I must do this!”

  She cried quietly into his chest and he continued to soothe her, wishing they were not in such a public place.

  “I know it, I know,” she answered, shaking her head. She looked up at him through her tearstained eyes. “But I’ve been without you for so long, my husband, and I had hoped that we wouldn’t part so soon.” She traced her fingers along his shoulders. “How are we even going to afford a suit of armor? It is costly going to war, and we owe so much.”

  “The prince will provide,” Alensson said.

  She looked doubtful. “I pray he does. Did it take much convincing before he’d see her?”

  “This court is full of vipers,” he said, growling. “Look how they’ve changed in such a short time. They were ready to claw her for presuming to be here. Now they’ll fawn over her.” He seized her hands. “This is the moment Occitania has needed. You felt it in her as well. After you and Alix came down, you heard her stories about how the Fountain speaks to her. We both listened to her tale before bringing her here. Can you imagine what it must be like? She hears its voice every day, like music audible only to her. The music of the Deep Fathoms.”

  Jianne wiped her nose. She stood up straighter, putting on a brave face for him, and said, “So strange that it spoke to one so young.”

  “How I wish it were me,” Alensson breathed, trying to wrestle down the wriggle of jealousy in his heart. The thought flared for a moment, but he struck it down violently with his mind.

  “I will return to the cottage,” Jianne said, looking up into his eyes.

  “Nay, stay at Shynom!” he insisted. “If the prince summons an army, it will take time to gather them. It will take time to drill and train.”

  “Do you think the prince will do it?”

  He nodded. “He will not miss this opportunity. Look at the hunger in their eyes. They have an appetite for hope. We all do. You must stay with me, Jianne.”

  She winced. “An army isn’t a suitable place . . . for a woman. There’s so much swearing, so much lewdness. I . . .” She blushed furiously. “I wouldn’t want to be taken for a camp follower, Husband.” She looked away.

  Her browned skin, her callused hands, were a symbol of all she’d suffered in their marriage. She was right. While the nobles knew that her father was the Duke of Lionn, the rough soldiers would likely treat her with impertinence. Neither of them could bear that.

  “I will return to Izzt with Alix,” she said firmly, seeing the look in his eyes. “Before you go to battle, come and see us. I will wait for you, my husband. I will always wait for you.” She reached up and smoothed a lock of hair from his brow.

  He wrestled with his feelings, with the conflict of wanting her to be near yet knowing he’d worry about her if she stayed. His focus would need to be on training soldiers anyway. In his mind, he recalled that quaint, idyllic cottage overlooking a lazy river, fields of vines, and a stubborn old castle that was all squares and bent angles. It was a peaceful, quiet place. He would like to imagine her being safe there while he fought the prince’s war.

  Cradling her face in his hands, he kissed her mouth. All the chatter suddenly fell away. At first Alensson was puzzled—were the others watching them?—but then he realized the prince had returned.

  Chatriyon’s countenance had completely transformed. All the calculation, defensiveness, and pride had been scoured away. He looked like a man stricken mute with wonder. The Maid was on his arm.

  “This girl has spoken true,” the prince finally said, his voice quavering slightly. There was no other noise in the hall—all eyes were on him, all ears pricked to listen. Chatriyon swallowed, trying to bolster his courage. “I have seen a sign of the Fountain’s will. She is truly called to bless us. Be it known throughout my realm that the Fountain has chosen a maid as its instrument.”

  The prince paused, glancing around the hall, surveying the courtiers who stood transfixed before him. Alensson did the same. Many of them looked doubtful, and some were shaking their heads. “I know that some of you doubt her,” the prince continued. “I know that many of you suspect her. My word will not be enough to satisfy you, so you will test her, Deconeus. In this hall, in front of these witnesses. Test her knowledge of the Fountain. Test her worthiness. Ask her whatever question you wish answered. Then she will be tested by a woman to prove she is a maid.” His eyes searched the hall before settling on Alensson and his wife. “The Duchess of La Marche will do it. Then the Maid will give us another sign that what she has said is true. You are all witnesses this day. You will all bear witness to the Fountain’s will. Occitania belongs to
us, and we are intended to win her back with the sword. This maid has been chosen to lead us into battle against our enemies. Deconeus!”

  Alensson squeezed his wife’s hand hard enough that she pulled it away and rubbed the soreness from it. He glanced at her apologetically and then watched as the deconeus shuffled forward.

  “My lord prince,” the aging man said worriedly, pressing his wrinkled mouth and making his finger rings glitter. “I’ve had no time to prepare! Give me a moment to gather my thoughts.” Beads of sweat popped onto his brow amidst curls of graying hair.

  The prince shook his head. “It must be done now, Deconeus. Test her knowledge! Use the rite of purging. Make her swear an oath by the Fountain.”

  The deconeus wrung his hands. He had clearly not expected such a spectacle, especially after being so vocal in his warning about her. But he gathered himself together and approached the prince and the Maid.

  Even though Genette was dressed plainly, and in men’s clothes, her presence was as forceful, as stiff and formal, as if she were a knight come to report to her ruler. She bowed respectfully to the old man.

  “Tell me, child,” the deconeus said with a shaking voice, “what are the first words of scripture about the Deep Fathoms?”

  It was highly unlikely that the peasant girl could read or had the means to procure a book to learn. But she met the deconeus’s gaze without flinching. “In the beginning was the word of power,” she recited. “And the earth was formless. It was void. Darkness lay over the Deep Fathoms. The water spirits moved upon the face of the waters. And the first word was spoken.”

  The deconeus blanched. “Where did you learn that catechism, child?”

  “The Fountain whispered it to me,” Genette replied. “It has taught me words of power.”

  His brow crinkled with concern and fear. “Are you a Wizr?”