The Idiot King

by Patty Jansen

  “I am not one of your approved candidates, is that it? Can I mention that at the ball on the night before the fire, all of the approved candidates danced with him, and most of the girls thumbed their noses at ‘the idiot prince’? Some even ran back to their mothers crying. They would not have fished him out of the harbour. They would not have put up with his strange comments.”

  Neither of the men she faced had unmarried daughters of the right age anyway, and the problem had been deeper than that: the king had fallen out with the Council of Nobles over the king’s encouragement of the Church of the Triune.

  And she realised something even more terrible: maybe Roald was meant to have died in the fire or drowned in the harbour. She had assumed that he had jumped in the water to escape fire and that, being a strong swimmer, he’d judged the water a safe escape. Could it be that someone had pushed him? Maybe this was all part of a plot to get rid of not only the Church of the Triune, but its most vocal supporter. Maybe they had wanted to replace Nicholaos with one of the king’s Burovian cousins.

  Heart thudding, she looked into the old and haughty faces of the two men opposite her. They appeared quite civilised, but especially with nobles, appearances never told the entire story.

  “Why don’t you ask the king what he wants.”

  Johan Delacoeur scoffed. “He’s not in a state to—”

  “He is not dumb if that’s what you were going to say.”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  Yes, that was exactly what he was going to say. “Roald?”

  He sat bent over his book, but his eyes weren’t moving. He held his hands clamped between his knees, and a muscle in his forearm kept alternately tensing up and relaxing.

  “Roald?” She put an arm over his shoulder. Drops of sweat pearled on his forehead. He smelled sweaty, too.

  “I was rude to them,” he said.

  Fleuris LaFontaine snorted. “He was, too. I don’t know where a prince learns that kind of language.”

  “They were rude to my women,” Roald said. “The maid and the witch. No one is rude to my women.”

  “I know. It’s all right.” She spoke very softly, hoping that the men couldn’t hear her well enough to understand.

  “You’re mine. Nellie is mine. They can’t be rude to you.”

  “It’s all right, really. Calm down, please.”

  “Your Majesty,” said Fleuris LaFontaine.

  “Tell them to leave,” Roald said.

  “They won’t listen to me. You’re the king. Tell them.”

  “I can’t talk to them. They’re rude. Father says I can’t talk to rude people.”

  Johan Delacoeur cleared his throat. “Your Majesty . . .”

  Johanna turned around. Why couldn’t he see that she was busy? “The king will talk to you if he wants. Right now, he asks me to tell you to leave.”

  Johan ignored her. “Please do tell us, Your Majesty, if you would prefer to wed a woman of your status—”

  Roald got up from the table so suddenly that Johanna had no chance to stop him. He faced the two men.

  “They are my women! You can’t take them away from me. I forbid you to take them away from me. I’m the king, you have to listen to me and do what I say. I want you to leave. This is my room for me and my women.”

  “Roald, it’s all right. Calm down.”

  “No, it’s not all right. They are here to take you away. I don’t want you to go. You’re mine. I love you.” His cheeks had gone red.

  “Roald . . .”

  He turned back to the men, whose eyes were wide. Johan Delacoeur’s mouth hung open.

  “You hear that? I love her. Now, you leave. Get out of here. This is my ship. Go, go, go.” He more or less pushed them up the stairs, Johan Delacoeur first and then his colleague.

  Fleuris LaFontaine stammered, “Your Majesty, I’m sorry to have caused offense. It was not my intention—”

  “Go, go, go!” Roald was almost shrieking now.

  “Come, my friend,” Johan said from the top of the stairs. “We know we’re not wanted.” He met Johanna’s eyes. “I can only say, young lady, that this is a very bad move—”

  “Go, go, go! Stop talking. Stop making noise. Yap, yap, yap, yap. Get out of here.”

  Fleuris LaFontaine had reached the top of the stairs, his face red from exertion. Men of his standing did apparently not run up narrow and steep stairs.

  They pushed the cover shut, and Johanna was left alone with Roald.

  They looked at each other.

  Johanna stifled a snort of laughter.

  “You think that’s funny?”

  “I think you were brilliant.” There would be consequences, but the sight of those two portly men scrambling up the steps was not one she’d forget quickly.

  “You liked it.” He said that in a tone as if he could barely believe it.

  “Yes, I did.”

  He started laughing, too. “Did you see how scared they were? How I chased them up the stairs?”

  Johanna laughed out loud. She put on an arrogant voice. “Your Majesty, wouldn’t you prefer to wed a woman of your status?”

  Roald giggled and snorted.

  “They could hardly be more crass about what they wanted. And you know what the funny thing is? Ha, ha, ha. They don’t even have any daughters.”

  Roald squealed with laughter.

  Nellie poked her head in. “Well, I’m glad you’re having fun. Those men were most rude.”

  Johanna was laughing too much to reply.

  “Well, I’m getting dinner ready,” Nellie said, and closed the cover to the hold.

  Poor Nellie. When was the last time she’d laughed?

  Johanna let herself fall on the bed and Roald dropped next to her. She heaved a satisfied sigh, staring at the rough underside of the hold cover.

  Then wriggled an elbow under her so that she could look at Roald.

  “You’re all wet.”

  “Yes, the weather outside is horrible.”

  His eyes were fixed on her. The light from the lamp fell sideways on his face. His beard had gotten a lot denser, which made him look more like a king every day. She stroked the rough hair. There were blond hairs and darker ones and fox-red ones.

  She whispered, “I love you.”

  “No, you got that wrong. I should say that to you.”

  “Yes, but I love you, too.” And strange as it sounded, it was the truth.

  He frowned. “No one has ever said that to me.”

  “Not even your mother?”

  He shook his head. “You really love me?”

  “Yes.”

  His expression was so shocked that it made her all weepy. “Come on, Roald, you’re making me cry.”

  “You can’t cry. I’m supposed to make you happy.”

  “You do make me happy. They’re happy tears.” She kissed him softly on the lips.

  From one thing came another, and when Nellie came a bit later to say that dinner was ready, Johanna and Roald weren’t quite ready for dinner.

  ‎

  Chapter 9

  * * *

  IN THE NEXT few days, it rained a lot more. The river broke its banks on the eastern side as well as the western side and started encroaching on the camp. Some people in the lower parts of the meadow had to move their tents, which made the higher side of the meadow very crowded.

  With the help of Captain Arense, Johanna found two young men who agreed to be scouts and check on the situation in Saardam. Master Deim helped organise a small dinghy, and Johanna leant them a harness and two placid sea cows so that they could come back again.

  Johanna watched them go with a pang of apprehension. The river was an expanse of churning, muddy water and the men had to harness the animals just to be able to control the little boat. If they were hit by a floating tree trunk, they would have no chance. But both men assured her that they could swim and she knew both of them had experience with boats. Still, who knew what they’d meet in Saardam?


  Johanna attended one more Council of Nobles meeting where she proposed that to cheer up the people, there would an official wedding ceremony at a date to be announced soon.

  The nobles didn’t like it, but there was nothing they could do when Master Deim, Joris DeCamp and Captain Arense all supported the idea. She sure hadn’t seen the end of their protests, but for now the nobles were outmanoeuvred.

  A few days later, Johanna was in the camp talking to some of the women about things the refugees collectively needed to barter in town, like better clothing for the wet weather, shoes, and a cart and horse. A young lad came rushing in to tell her that a man in the Baron’s red livery had gone to the Lady Sara. Johanna’s first thought was: news from Saardam. She hurried back, sidestepping puddles and areas of mud. By the time she came to the jetty, the man was just coming down the gangplank. He nodded to her when meeting her coming the other way. Wet and bedraggled as she was, he probably thought she was a maid.

  Roald sat staring at a piece of parchment on his desk.

  Her heart jumped. Bad news? Please, no. “What is it?”

  He said nothing, so she looked over his shoulder. No, it was not from Saardam. The letter bore the Red Baron’s family seal. In elegant, curly script it said,

  It has come to my attention that Your Royal Majesty and the consort are planning to hold an official ceremony to celebrate your holy matrimony. We simply cannot allow for a ceremony of import to be held in a cow paddock. We offer the use of our grand hall in the castle for this purpose. Please send your personal servants around to talk about the arrangements.

  The letter was signed Baroness Viktoriya, whose name she had never heard, but who had only been referred to as “The Baroness” whenever people spoke of her.

  Johanna frowned. They hadn’t even set a date yet, and nothing about this wedding was official. If nothing else, this confirmed that someone in the camp was close to the Baron, even if the Baron seemed to avoid her and the nobles of the council.

  “I don’t understand,” Roald said. “We can’t get married. We are already married.”

  “I know, but the nobles want another ceremony because they couldn’t be at the first one.”

  “Oh.” Roald said, and he frowned. “Why? I don’t like ceremonies. I don’t want another ball.”

  “If I have anything to do with it, there won’t be another ball.” But if the Baron’s family insisted on having the ceremony at the castle, there would be a ball with lots of unfamiliar important noble people.

  Worse, she couldn’t see a polite way to refuse the offer.

  Worse still, Kylian would be there.

  And the letter absolutely needed replying to, so Johanna wrote a polite reply that she’d be delighted to visit the next day, but she had to force herself to write that word delighted. Who in the camp had told the Baroness this?

  Johanna wasn’t going to let Nellie go to the castle by herself, so she decided to go with Nellie and two guards the next morning. Both Johanna and Nellie got dressed in their best outfits, which still left a lot to be desired. Nellie was nervous, wanting to know if it was really necessary for her to come, because she was only a maid.

  “A lady-in-waiting,” Johanna corrected, “and you absolutely should come, because I can trust you.”

  Nellie looked nothing like a maid in the old-fashioned dress they had taken from Duke Lothar’s castle. The dark colour of the fabric made her skin look pale and ghost-like. Johanna promised herself that as soon as they were out of this camp, she would get Nellie some proper clothes that did not make her look like a walking corpse.

  Fortunately, the rain had let up a bit, even though the streets in the town were still muddy. The townsfolk wore raincoats of oiled cloth and tall boots. Some children played barefoot in the mud. A couple of foreign guests doing their best to avoid puddles in their best clothes drew a certain amount of attention.

  At the castle, they walked across the heavy drawbridge and announced themselves at the gate, where a guard told them to come with him to meet the Baroness. From inside, the castle looked as austere and plain as it did from the outside. Walls were made from bare stone, and mostly unadorned. Passages were high-ceilinged and empty. Any furniture was made from heavy oak, stained dark. Dark and menacing suits of armour lined the corridors where their footsteps echoed hollow. What little light fell through the windows looked washed out and wan.

  “It’s creepy in here,” Nellie said in a low voice, glancing over her shoulder. “As if those suits of armour are going to come to life and jump on us when we’re not looking.”

  The guard led them into a huge but very dark hall, where many long tables and benches stood in rows. Johanna could imagine wedding guests seated at those tables, laughing and eating. The air smelled of stale beer mixed with a faint waft of roast meat.

  A couple of dark wooden chandeliers hung from the ceiling, but none of the candles burned. Johanna’s first thought was that the hall had nothing like the splendour of the gorgeous ballroom in the palace in Saardam. But it was a hundred times better than holding the ceremony in the muddy field of the camp, which might well be half-submerged if this rain kept up.

  Still, she did not want to accept any more of the Baron’s charity.

  This whole idea of having a wedding was silly. It would be much better to have it when they were back in Saardam.

  But the nobles would see that she’d lied about being with child.

  The sound of a clear female voice disturbed her thoughts. The woman who walked towards her between the tables had the figure of a matron: broad-hipped and large-breasted, with her greying hair piled on top of her head in a bun, held in place by a jewelled net. Her dress was made from thick velvet in the darkest of red.

  “You are the princess Johanna, right?” She spoke with a heavy and very unusual accent.

  “I am. It’s an honour to meet you. Thank you for your hospitality.”

  The Baroness waved her be-ringed hand. “Oh, it is nothing. I’m so excited to host a wedding. My son, he will not get married. I tell him about which girls is looking to marry. Nice girls. Rich girls, but he just say nothing. Every time I ask him, he change subject.”

  Her accent was really unusual, as were her dark brown eyes.

  “Is a pity that you’re already married. I say to him: what is happening to castle and land when your father dies? But he just laugh. Now we receive letters from Aroden, from Burovia, even from Lurezia. The parents tell us: ‘At his last visit, your son was besotted with our daughter. I think it might be beneficial to let them marry.’ Oh . . .” She spread her hands and looked at the ceiling. “By the Holy Spirit, we get one at least every month. Rich men’s daughters, princesses even! My son, he is a nice, decent young man. He does not go break the hearts of all these girls.”

  She sighed and shook her head in a what-has-the-world-come-to kind of way. Johanna thought of Kylian’s attempts to seduce her, and decided not to pierce the Baroness’ bubble of delusion about her son’s decency.

  The Baroness talked and talked and talked. She had the whole thing planned out already. What Johanna would wear, what Roald would wear, where they would sit, which dances would be played, the guest list, and so forth and so on.

  Johanna could make use of the kitchens, she said, as well as the courtiers. It would be a joint festivity for the Saarlander refugees and the esteemed citizens of Florisheim.

  Johanna had been afraid of that.

  But her carefully-worded suggestion to invite mainly people from Saardam “to keep costs down” was swept aside with, “Oh, but don’t worry about the money. It will all be on our account. We love a good feast. It’s at harvest time, so we will have plenty.” And, “Don’t worry that you don’t know many people. I will personally introduce you to citizens of Florisheim. They will be delighted to meet you.”

  Johanna gnashed her teeth in frustration. She didn’t want to be introduced to all the citizens of Florisheim. Maybe some other time she would, but right now, she just wanted to go
home.

  The Baroness’ plans were like a spider’s web: once you were stuck, you could not get free, no matter how much you tried. The Baroness herself sat like a big fat spider in the middle of the web. Sickly sweet, dressed up like a favourite auntie, but impossible to escape from.

  Was there such thing as magic through words?

  Not to mention that the Baron’s feasts were fertile ground for feuds and poisonings, and she wanted nothing more than to get out of that dark room. She glanced at Nellie, who hadn’t been able to get a word in at all, and who looked as desperate to leave as Johanna felt.

  She didn’t want to hold the ceremony in the Baron’s castle. She didn’t want the nobles of Florisheim to be there, because not only did she know none of them, but she would have no idea if any of them would be there for other reasons. The Baron would probably be there, as well as his son who she was trying to avoid.

  Yet she knew she couldn’t politely refuse this offer.

  Worse, this woman just kept on talking.

  * * *

  Finally, Johanna managed to cut off the visit by politely refusing tea “because I have to be back to help my husband with the midday meal.” It was only a half-lie. Roald would happily eat by himself—just the applesauce, and he’d leave the rest—but it finally did the trick. After asking Johanna about her earlier unofficial wedding, and announcing, “We can’t have a king be married in old farmer’s clothes and dirty jacket,” Johanna and Nellie were finally allowed to go. The same guard who had brought them in—and who had been waiting patiently by the door—accompanied them to the gate.

  Johanna kept her silence until they were safely in the market square.

  “Why in all of the heaven’s name does that woman think she owns me?”

  Nellie frowned at her. “What do you mean? I don’t understand. She is just being friendly and helping us. We can hardly hold the wedding in a muddy field.”

  Not you, too. “Nellie, she has no reason for doing this. We are not her relatives. If I’m correct, she comes from the east, the land of wolves. She has no connection to Saardam—”