The Starkin Crown

by Kate Forsyth

  ‘I’m cold,’ Grizelda said. ‘Let’s go down and get that fire started’.

  Peregrine helped her jump from the tree and then they scrambled back down the path to the beach below. Molly found it hard going but, to her secret pleasure, Peregrine stayed back and helped her down some of the rougher patches.

  ‘Let’s get that fire going!’ Jack said, rubbing his hands together. ‘Brrr, but it’s cold!’

  ‘We’ll need a lot of firewood if we’re to stay warm all night,’ Grizelda said. ‘It’s bound to be damp and misty’.

  Molly’s heart sank. Her hip was hurting so much she wasn’t sure she could walk on it much longer, let alone go scrambling about looking for kindling. Peregrine must have sensed her dismay, for he said, ‘How about you and Jack go and get it, Grizelda? I’ll get the fire started here so Molly can begin to make supper’.

  Grizelda’s lips narrowed and she cast Molly an angry glance, before stamping across the clearing and into the undergrowth, Oskar bounding beside her. Jack went the other way, leaving Molly and Peregrine alone on the shingle. Peregrine called Blitz down and tied his jesses to a branch, slipping the leather hood over the falcon’s fierce, bright eyes so he would rest and be still.

  ‘Here, this’ll make a good table,’ Peregrine said then, slapping a broad, flat rock. ‘If you sit here, you can start preparing supper’. He pulled a smaller rock over and settled it so Molly could sit down. ‘I can make a fire quickly enough. Just so we can get supper on. There’s plenty of kindling about’.

  The prince busied himself gathering twigs and rushes and breaking a dead branch over his knee while Molly lowered herself down awkwardly. She was glad he had not mentioned anything about her hip. Molly hated anyone to make a fuss of it, liking to pretend she was as agile and capable as everyone else. She opened her sack and drew out some leeks, a bunch of smoked haddocks, some rashers of streaky bacon wrapped in cloth, a bunch of withered purple carrots, and a small crock of dripping. She drew her knife and began to roughly chop the leeks and carrots.

  Within minutes, the prince had a crackling fire going.

  ‘Do you need water?’ he asked.

  She nodded. ‘Don’t fill it from the marsh, though; the water will make us all sick. There should be a well here somewhere’.

  Peregrine found the well easily enough, and lowered the iron pot down on a rope to fill it. Soon it was boiling away merrily on the fire. Molly threw in the ingredients and then bent to draw off her boots and stockings, putting her icy feet close to the flames to warm up. Peregrine came to sit beside her, feeding the flames with handfuls of dry moss and driftwood.

  ‘I’ve made you something,’ she said shyly. Sliding one hand into her pocket, she drew out a ring made from bog-oak and passed it to him. It had been carved into the shape of a small shield, with a bird etched upon it, wings spread.

  Peregrine bent his head over it. ‘You made it from that piece of driftwood you found on my birthday,’ he said in delight, sliding the ring onto his finger. It fitted perfectly. ‘What’s the design? It looks like some kind of bird’.

  ‘It’s a phoenix a-rising from flames. You know, like what you said to the council. That we should all put aside our old emblems and make a new one, a symbol of the new land that will be born out of the ashes of this one. I thought you could use it as a seal ring. You, know when you are king’. Her cheeks hot with embarrassment, Molly stopped talking and ducked her head.

  ‘I see, it’s been carved in relief. That’s why it took me a moment to recognise the design. I’ll get a candle out of my pack so we can try it out’. Eagerly Peregrine pulled his pack towards him and rummaged through it until he found the stump of a candle. He lit it, then dribbled a small blob of wax onto a scrap of parchment. He then pressed the face of the ring into the wax. When he drew it away, there was the perfect impression of a phoenix rising from flames.

  ‘It’s beautiful!’ he said. ‘Thank you so much!’

  He seized her hand and drew her forward so he could kiss her cheek, then sat back on his heels, studying the bog-oak ring with delight. Molly turned back to her pot, feeling the warmth from his kiss spread all the way down her body to her bare toes.

  ‘What’s all this?’ Grizelda demanded stridently. She stood just outside the circle of firelight, her arms filled with kindling, her narrowed gaze moving from Peregrine’s face to Molly’s. Oskar stood beside her, hackles raised.

  ‘Look what Molly made for me!’ Peregrine cried, getting to his feet. ‘It’s a seal ring with a phoenix carved on it. Isn’t she clever? And it’s made from bog-oak, the same wood that the fen-men’s brooches are made from. It’s hundreds, maybe even thousands of years old. It’s a symbol of the new order. When I am king I shall seal every new law and proclamation with it, and when I do, I shall always think of Molly of the Marshes, who made it for me’. He smiled brilliantly at Molly, who blushed even redder and turned away, pretending to look for something in her sack, so no-one would see her face.

  ‘Lovely,’ Grizelda said flatly and dumped her load, practically on top of Molly’s bare feet. ‘Always assuming that you can find the spear, rouse the boo-bogey, vanquish all of the queen’s armies and seize the throne’.

  The light went out of Peregrine’s face. ‘I can but try,’ he said quietly. He bent and drew a small silver bowl out of his pack. ‘I’ll look now and see if I can discover where the spear is. I’ll never be able to sleep otherwise. Then I can go and retrieve it early in the morning’.

  He filled the bowl with water and then sat cross-legged on the shingle, staring into the glinting liquid. ‘What is lost must now be found, take my luck and turn it round, show me the vanished spear, let my vision be clear,’ he intoned. His expression changed, growing more intent, then triumph and gladness flowered. ‘I know where it is! I know exactly where it is! I need to dig, though, it’s buried down in the peat’. He looked up, grinning broadly, and emptied the water over his shoulder.

  ‘I have a scraw-cutter on the boat,’ Molly said eagerly. ‘That’s a special spade for cutting down through the peat’.

  ‘You should have brought it,’ Grizelda said in an accusing voice. ‘Robin will want to dig up his spear first thing, won’t you, Robin?’ She smiled at him, looking quite dazzling pretty, and he smiled back.

  ‘I’ll go and get it,’ Molly said, her spirits suddenly and unaccountably low. With the help of her crutch, she got to her feet and paused for a moment, but the prince was busy describing to Grizelda exactly what he had seen in his vision. Molly sighed, looped up her skirts through her belt, and began to limp down the beach. Although the sun had set, the moon glinted on the water and showed the dark silhouette of the boat, rocking gently at anchor. She began to walk out to it, feeling her way forward with her feet, the rocks of the old causeway just below the surface of the bitterly cold water.

  ‘Why, Molly!’

  She heard Peregrine’s call and turned back. He was standing by the fire, one hand stretched out to her. ‘It looks … it looks like you’re walking on water!’

  She gazed at him in bewilderment, wondering at the joyous light in his face.

  ‘It’s a sign,’ he said. ‘Now I know all will be well’.

  A smile leapt to her lips. She met his gaze and nodded. ‘Yes. All will be well now’.

  Then she turned and walked out to the boat, walking upon moon-silvered water.

  CHAPTER 22

  A Toast to Success

  PEREGRINE TURNED BACK TO THE FIRE, SMILING. A GLOW OF happiness filled him.

  Only when a blind boy can see and a lame girl walk on water shall peace come again to the land, and the rightful king win back the throne …

  And he had just seen a lame girl walk on water. He had seen where the spear was hidden. He knew where Lord Grim slept. Tomorrow he would find one and raise the other, and set out to free his parents, and win back the throne for his father. He wondered briefly about the blind boy, and when that part of the prophecy would reveal itself, but trusted it would
all become clear in time.

  Grizelda had sat down by the fire, her skirts tucked up so she could stretch her long legs to the flames. Oskar lay beside her, his head on his paws. Slowly she unbound her hair, letting it fall down her back in smooth golden waves. Taking her comb from her pack, she began to draw it through her heavy locks in long, slow strokes. She smiled at him.

  ‘So tomorrow you’ll find your fabled spear. Do you really think you’ll be able to use it to throw down Queen Vernisha and seize the crown?’

  Peregrine frowned. ‘I won’t be seizing the crown, I’ll be winning it back for my father, the rightful king’.

  ‘Of course, I’m sorry’. She sighed. ‘A lifetime of propaganda is hard to forget. I’ve only had a few days to learn the right way to think’.

  He felt sorry for his sharp words. He came and sat down next to her, stirring the soup in the pot.

  ‘What then, Robin?’ she asked, leaning close to him, putting one hand on his arm. He could smell her sweet, heady perfume and wondered again where it came from. Had she carried a bottle with her the whole way? Starkin girls, he thought, and smiled to himself.

  ‘What shall you do, when you have defeated Vernisha and won back the crown? You have been fighting so long, what will you do with peace?’

  ‘Oh, there’ll be plenty to do,’ he replied buoyantly. ‘New laws to make, and old ones to abolish. Like punishing people for listening to songs and stories! And the roads should really be fixed, they’re a disgrace’.

  ‘But what will you do for you,’ she insisted softly. ‘Surely you will deserve some reward’.

  Peregrine glanced at her, puzzled. ‘I suppose so. What, do you mean a new horse? I’d rather have Sable back again’.

  ‘And you’ll need to make new alliances. Forge new relationships’. She looked away, her eyelashes dropping to form perfect golden crescents on her cheeks.

  ‘Yes, I guess we will’. Peregrine turned to look for Molly, wondering if she was all right.

  ‘Your father will want to make new treaties,’ she said, a shade of impatience creeping into her voice.

  Peregrine shrugged. ‘I guess so’.

  She put both hands on his arm, looked him straight in the eyes and said, in a slow, clear voice, ‘No doubt he’ll want you to marry well, to cement these new alliances and treaties, and to ensure there’s an heir to the throne, one that has the requisite bloodlines to ensure the support of the starkin lords’.

  Suddenly her meaning became clear to Peregrine. He gulped, and stood up abruptly. ‘Maybe. Probably. I’m not sure. Plenty of time to worry about that!’ Blitz moved restlessly on his branch, bells chiming.

  ‘Don’t you think it would be better to plan for all contingencies now?’ she said persuasively. ‘The starkin lords only supported Vernisha because her blood was pure. If you could assure them that your heirs would be of starkin blood, it could make all the difference. Whatever happens tomorrow, you will need the starkin lords’ support if you wish to rule all of Ziva’.

  Peregrine took a deep breath. ‘There is much in what you say,’ he answered carefully. ‘And I am sure my parents will consider how best to win the starkin lords’ support once they have won back the throne. However, I know that my parents would never try to force me into a marriage for purely political reasons. You may not know that their marriage was a love match, and has been blessed with much happiness. They will want nothing less for me’.

  She touched his wrist gently, smiling coyly. ‘But such a union does not have to be for purely political reasons’.

  He pulled his wrist away. ‘No, it doesn’t. But I certainly would not wish to promise marriage to anyone until I had fallen in love. Which I hope very much will happen one day’.

  Peregrine hoped he had made his meaning clear. From the sudden anger on Grizelda’s face, he thought she understood. There was a moment’s awkward silence. Peregrine was trying to think of something to say to ease the tension when Grizelda drew a deep breath.

  ‘Well then, that’s that. I think we should drink a toast to the success of your mission’. She turned and rummaged in her pack, drawing out two delicate silver goblets and a black leather bottle.

  Peregrine was dumbfounded. ‘Is that Molly’s mead?’

  She smiled. ‘I knew you liked it, so I thought to bring some for you’.

  ‘Does Molly know?’

  She flushed with annoyance. ‘Well, no, but surely she’d not mind. She was happy enough for you to drink it last night’.

  Peregrine gestured to the silver goblets, which she had set up on the stone table. ‘Have you been carrying these around with you all this time?’

  She smiled. ‘Well, I wasn’t sure if the Erlrune’s would have all the necessary luxuries of life. I wasn’t expecting to end up in a bog!’

  Peregrine smiled rather absently. She uncorked the leather bottle and poured some of the sweet-scented golden liquid into the goblets. ‘It does smell like summer, doesn’t it,’ she said, smiling into his eyes. He looked away, flushing.

  ‘To better days!’ she cried and passed him a goblet. He took it and she raised her goblet to his, and drank deeply. Peregrine looked down into the goblet. Did the mead seem rather cloudy? Did it smell rather rank? He did not drink.

  ‘It’s bad luck to refuse a toast,’ she said lightly. ‘Drink up’.

  She drank another mouthful, keeping her eyes on his. Holding her gaze, Peregrine lifted the goblet to his lips, noticing how pale she had grown and the faint sheen of sweat on her brow. Her pupils dilated.

  ‘No! Your Highness! Don’t drink!’ Jack sprinted from the grove of trees, dropping an enormous load of kindling and dragging his sword free of its scabbard. Startled, Grizelda spun around, her own mead spraying in a golden arc. Jack was only a few strides from her, murderous rage in his eyes, his sword swinging high.

  ‘Kill, boy!’ Grizelda screamed. ‘Kill!’

  Oskar launched himself forward, snarling, leaping for Jack’s throat. At the same moment Grizelda turned on Peregrine and slammed her hand into the base of the goblet, smashing it into Peregrine’s face. The mead sprayed into his eyes, burning like acid. Peregrine screamed in agony. Falling to his knees, he lifted his hands to his eyes, unable to see a thing.

  Chaos all around him. Peregrine could hear the savage sound of a dog snarling, jaws tearing. He could hear Jack screaming hoarsely and Blitz screeching. A few hard thunks, and then a high-pitched yelp. ‘Oskar!’ Grizelda screamed. Then quick footsteps ran past him and he heard splashing. The pain in his eyes and face was intense. He struggled to his feet, trying to see, but his vision was nothing but a red haze.

  ‘Jack! Jack!’

  A low moan. A few whimpers. Silence.

  The iron door to the queens’ cell scraped open. ‘Up you get, my lovelies,’ the gaoler jeered. ‘The queen is ready to pass judgement on you’.

  ‘I am the queen,’ Liliana said quietly. ‘You would do well to remember that’.

  ‘I wouldn’t go saying that to her Majesty’s face, sweetheart,’ he replied, bending so he could haul her to her feet. ‘She has a nasty habit of cutting out people’s tongues’.

  Liliana jerked her arm free of his grasp but said no more. She felt sick with fear. It had been hard to keep despair at bay after Pedrin had failed to convince Vernisha to swap them for her daughter. The six days were almost over and still they had not managed to escape their dungeons. Tom-Tit-Tot had tried to steal the keys to their cells, but had been chased with a halberd and had lost the very tip of his tail. Liliana had been able to heal his tail, but the indignity had upset the omen-imp, as had his failure to rescue his master. It was an impossible task, though. The castle was stuffed as full of soldiers as a Yule cake was stuffed with currants and candied peel.

  Outside the cell, the low glare of the smoky torches made Liliana flinch and cover her eyes. Rozalina gripped her arm and together, shorn heads held high, the two queens made their slow way along the corridor, prodded from behind by sharp halberds. Another c
ell was opened by one of the gaolers, and Merry and Zed came stumbling out. Like their wives, they were dressed in animal skins and both wore rough hats with donkeys’ ears sewed to them. They looked grey and exhausted, but did their best to walk with their heads high and their backs straight. They smiled at each other but were not allowed to speak or touch.

  Up endless winding stairs the four prisoners clanked, the shackles and other cruel confinements locked again in place. They shuffled down the long corridor into the banqueting hall, where a crowd of courtiers were once again stuffing themselves on a gargantuan feast. Liliana saw roast boars’ heads, venison pies, frumenty, a fricassee of baby kid and bacon, oat biscuits smeared with smoked fish, meatballs with onion sauce, gilded peacocks, cheese and quince dumplings, and a vast steamed stingray served with oysters. Her stomach growled loudly and saliva sprang into her mouth. Even though Tom-Tit-Tot had done his best to bring them food and drink, it had not been easy for him and it was many days since she had last had a full meal.

  Soldiers poked and prodded them up the hall with the sharp points of their halberds. Liliana imagined she was wearing a sweeping gown of golden silk with cascading sleeves, and that she was having difficulty walking because of her high-heeled crystal slippers and the crown of glowing jewels upon her head. The stink that came up from her own body made this fantasy difficult to maintain, but she did her best.

  Vernisha reclined on her throne, gobbling down oysters that Lord Goldwin was feeding her, a false smile pinned to his face. She was dressed in an extraordinary gown of purple silk, cut very low across her bulging décolletage and sewn with enormous purple flowers. Her pug dog was dressed the same, purple velvet slippers on his feet. Vernisha’s hair had been styled in extravagant ringlets, which stuck out from under the dazzling starkin crown.

  She leant forward at the sight of the four prisoners in their filthy animal skins, her fat cheeks creasing in a smile. She snapped her fingers at Lord Goldwin. ‘Bring me my marchpane. My night is about to get much sweeter’.