Havant looked around with interest as he walked into the chamber. The towering statue of Primus – which had borne more than a passing resemblance to King Edwin – was gone, replaced by a simple stone altar. Hark and his monks had scrubbed the walls clean, then carved incomprehensible runes into the stone. Four of the monks were kneeling in front of the altar, the remainder standing by the walls. The sense of ... promise ... was almost overpowering.
“Your Highness,” Hark said. Havant tried not to jump. Hark was standing right beside him, yet ... he hadn’t heard the man approach. Rufus would have laughed at Havant’s lack of awareness. An assassin didn’t have to get so close to stick a knife in him. “We trust you are pleased?”
“Indeed,” Havant said. Hark had kept his promises – and more. The death of King Edwin had allowed Rufus to claim the throne. “And are you pleased?”
“The brethren are already preaching in the streets,” Hark said. The Red Monks had demanded the right to proselytise openly, in exchange for their assistance. Havant had no idea why the Golden City had banned the Red Monks – and had even tried to wipe them out – but he didn’t care. Power was power, after all. “Many are flocking to our temples, shunning false gods and worshipping ours.”
Havant shrugged. Who cared what the common folk believed? As long as they were respectful, and worked hard, it didn’t matter what they believed. And he didn’t care what the priests thought, either. King Edwin had been a fool to allow them as much independence as he had. It wasn’t a mistake Rufus intended to repeat. The Red Monks would be tolerated as long as they behaved themselves.
“Very good,” he said. “But we may soon have to fight to keep our throne.”
Hark leaned forward. “Our Lord is with us, Your Highness,” he said. He gestured to the altar. “We cannot lose.”
“Let us hope that you are right,” Havant said. He’d been in enough battles to know that anything could happen, even when one side appeared to have a decisive advantage. “Your prayers would be welcome.”
“Our Lord is with us.” Hark’s eyes gleamed with fanaticism. “We will not lose.”
Chapter Nine
Prince Reginald, Lord William admitted sourly, was a very energetic young man.
William had expected that it would take the prince weeks, if not months, to put together a fleet and an army, particularly if the latter was nearly two-thirds mercenaries. Instead, the prince had somehow managed to force the mercenaries to work together and assemble a fleet in just under two weeks. They would be in trouble if the Summer Isle managed to put together a defensive fleet of its own, Prince Reginald had cheerfully admitted, but that was unlikely. It was more likely that the weather would force them to turn back if one of the channel gales blew up during the crossing.
Two weeks, William thought. It took him two weeks to put together a force capable of challenging his father.
It wasn’t a pleasant thought. William had no illusions about just how much Prince Reginald disliked him. He’d known that even before the wretched sorceress had turned ... had turned him into a frog. The whole experience was nothing more than a jarring series of impressions, each one sharp and utterly unrelenting, haunting his dreams while he slept. It was sheer luck that no one knew what had happened, save for the handful of people who’d been in the room when the bitch had cast the spell. But William knew that wouldn’t last. And once the story got out, his reputation would sink faster than a rock in water. Everyone would be laughing at him.
He paced to the window and peered towards the docks. It was dawn, the first glimmers of light flickering over the distant horizon. They would be boarding soon, boarding and heading out to sea ... and then, setting sail for the Summer Isle. William had done his best to slow the headlong rush to war, pointing out the importance of logistics, but Prince Reginald had been determined to move as fast as possible. And he had a point, William conceded. The usurper – Reginald had threatened to whip anyone who called Rufus Hereford a king – could not be allowed more time to dig in and prepare for war.
And besides, the longer we delay, the more dangerous the crossing, William reminded himself. The Summer Isle is practically inaccessible in winter.
He looked down at his hands, trying to hide the shaking. It had taken everything he had to keep the rest of the council from noticing that his confidence had taken a nasty blow. He knew – of course he knew – that there were better swordsmen than himself. He’d never been the finest blade in King Romulus’s nobility, even as a young man. But magic? The sorceress had snapped her fingers and turned him into a frog. It ... it wasn’t fair. How was one meant to defend against magic? He didn’t even have a protective amulet he could wear to keep himself safe!
And the prince thought it was funny, William thought. Dull resentment burned within his breast. Prince Reginald and the sorceress – Isabella, if that was her real name – had spent too much time together, over the last two weeks. It worried him, more than he cared to admit. A sorceress was de facto the social equal of a high-ranking noblewoman – no one would dare to suggest otherwise – and would make a worthy mate for a king. What happens if she marries him?
He tried to tell himself, firmly, that he was being paranoid. King Romulus would be unlikely to agree, if his son wanted to marry a sorceress with a questionable background. William had set his patronage network of spies to work, trying to ferret out her secrets, but they’d found almost nothing dating back longer than six months. Isabella had appeared out of nowhere, to all intents and purposes, and gone to work for Lord Robin, the so-called Lord Robin. She was a trained sorceress, obviously, but there was little else for his agents to find.
And Reginald may have to marry someone on the Summer Isle, William thought. He’d done his research. Emetine Hereford was available, but so was Roxanne Goldenrod. And Earl Oxley had two daughters ... any of the four might make suitable brides, if the prince wanted to secure his conquests. He might not be interested in a sorceress.
He shivered, helplessly. The court wizard was dead – and so were far too many other magicians. William didn’t know which of the stories to believe. The Golden City couldn’t have been destroyed by a god, surely? And yet, it was clear that very few magicians were left alive. A powerful sorceress might just be able to carve out a kingdom for herself – or her husband – if she wished. It was an unnatural thought, yet ... it haunted him. And even so, he couldn’t report it to his master. King Romulus would ask questions, time and time again, and then laugh when the truth came out. William had been reduced to a frog ...
There was a tap on the door. “Come!”
He turned as the door opened, allowing Equerry Caen to step into the room, closing the door behind him. William fought to keep his expression under tight control. He’d always disliked the young man, even though he understood the value of a decent whipping boy. Someone had to take the blame, after all, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the king or his son. There were times when William wondered if he was King Romulus’s whipping boy, in fact if not in name. He might take the blame for something one day ...
“My Lord,” Caen said. His voice was polite, but there was a hint of amusement behind the words. Caen had watched him being reduced to a frog, after all. “The Prince wishes you to be informed that we will embark in thirty minutes.”
William nodded, curtly. The rank and file were already onboard, of course, cooped up below decks while their social superiors enjoyed what few entertainments Humber could provide. It would have been easy to ride to Havelock – the capital wasn’t that far away – but Prince Reginald had refused to allow his councillors to leave Humber. William suspected it was nothing more than spite. It wasn’t as if Reginald bothered to pay attention to anything William said.
“I’ll be on my way shortly,” he said. “Inform the Prince that I will attend to him onboard ship.”
Caen bowed. “As My Lordship pleases.”
William glared, feeling a hot flash of pure loathing. Caen’s voice had that hint of amusement, a
gain. If something happened to his patron – if something happened to the prince – William would make sure that Caen’s fall from grace would lead him straight to the gallows. It wasn’t as if Sofia’s husband – whoever he turned out to be – would have any interest in keeping Caen. William would make Caen pay ...
He pushed the thought to the back of his mind as Caen withdrew. William would go with the prince, of course. It was his duty. And who knew? Perhaps he could find evidence that the prince was planning to turn on his father. And who knew where that might lead?
His hands trembled, again. He ignored them.
***
“The prince really has done a good job,” Isabella said, as the company walked towards the flagship. “This is amazing.”
Lord Robin grinned. “And we’re being paid very well too,” he said. “Even if we lose ...”
“Good,” Big Richard grunted. “I don’t want land or property.”
“You never know,” Dolman said. The swordsman smirked. “Some poor noblewoman whose husband was killed during the fighting might just want you for her man. Or she might be given to you, as a reward for your services. And then you’ll be defending her property for the rest of your life.”
“And milking it,” Mandan put in. “You’ll be calling yourself Lord Richard.”
Big Richard glared at them. “And is that likely to happen?”
“Anything can happen,” Isabella said, although privately she rather suspected that no self-respecting noblewoman would want Big Richard anywhere near her. “How many men have made themselves kings in the last five years?”
She smiled to herself. Prince Reginald had promised vast tracts of land – or heiresses with vast tracts of land – to knights, soldiers and mercenaries who proved themselves brave and loyal men. The only problem, of course, was that they’d have to win the war before they could claim their land – and, worse, do it in a manner that ensured the original owners didn’t have time to switch sides. Prince Reginald wasn’t foolish enough to seize land and property from men who’d chosen to support him. No one would take his word seriously again.
And handing out land and heiresses will keep his men bound to him, she thought. And in a decade or two no one will care how the land was acquired.
“We have to take the land first,” Lord Robin said. “Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves.”
Isabella nodded in agreement as they reached the massive ship. It wasn’t the biggest vessel she’d seen, but it was definitely the largest in the fleet. Dozens of sailors were swarming over the rigging, checking and rechecking everything before the prince and his councillors arrived. Isabella wasn’t sure if the councillors should be sharing the same ship, but she had to admit it made a certain kind of sense. Prince Reginald couldn’t take the risk of one of his subordinates going on to win the Summer Isle, then declaring independence from Andalusia.
What a snake pit, she thought, wryly. It’s just like home.
She walked up the gangplank and onto the deck. The ship moved slightly, very slightly, below her feet. It would be worse on the open waters, she reminded herself. She wished, all of a sudden, that she’d learnt how to fly. There were spells that would allow her to breathe water, if necessary, but she’d never liked them. And they had dangerous long-term effects.
A sailor met them at the top of the gangplank. “Your cabins have been prepared, My Lords,” he said. His eyes skimmed over Isabella without quite seeing her. “I’m afraid you’ll have to double up.”
“That is quite understandable,” Lord Robin said. “Will we be ready to depart on time?”
“The tide is still coming in,” the sailor said. “We should be ready to depart in an hour, if everyone is onboard.”
Isabella nodded to herself as the sailor led them towards the nearest hatch. Prince Reginald struck her as being smart enough to understand that no mortal, not even a powerful magician, could command the tides. He and his councillors would be onboard ship at the right time, she was sure. She took a breath, then regretted it instantly as the sailor opened the hatch. A foul smell wafted out.
You’ve been in worse places, she told herself, firmly. And you’ve slept in them too.
“Partner up,” Robin ordered, once the sailor showed them the cabins. “Isabella, you’re with me.”
The sailor looked as if he wanted to say something, but – thankfully – he had the sense to keep his mouth shut. Isabella smirked at him, making him flinch. It wasn’t the first time she’d been mistaken for a man, thanks to her leathers. But everyone knew a sorceress called Isabella had joined the fleet. Thankfully, most people would presumably believe that the sorceress would be staying close to the prince.
Which isn’t something I’d want to do, she thought, as she stepped into the cabin. I need to be able to move freely.
She felt a flicker of dismay as she looked around the cabin. It was tiny, the beds so small that she couldn’t help wondering if they’d been designed for children. She was smaller than Lord Robin and she’d have trouble sleeping comfortably. It was going to be worse for him. But she supposed it beat sleeping on the deck or in the holds. The infantrymen below decks would be having a very unpleasant time.
I’ve slept in worse places, she reminded herself, again. She dropped her bag on the bed, then muttered a protective charm. And I don’t have to stay in the cabin.
Lord Robin grunted in dismay. “How long is this voyage meant to take again?”
“Depends on the weather,” Isabella said. “Optimistically, one day; pessimistically, six days ... or forever.”
She groaned as she saw the chamberpot under the bed. It wasn’t going to be a very pleasant trip, even assuming good weather. And if they encountered bad weather ...
“It’s worth the risk,” Lord Robin said. “Think of the rewards!”
Isabella shrugged. Lord Robin and Big Richard might get lands, if they wished, but it would be harder for Prince Reginald to give her lands. Unless, of course, she married an heir instead of an heiress. And even then ... she shook her head. She didn’t want lands. But what did she want? She wasn’t sure herself.
Look around the island and find out if there’s any truth to the rumours, she told herself, firmly. And worry about the future when it comes.
***
“Your Highness,” Lord William said. “The last of the soldiers have embarked.”
Reginald nodded, curtly. William had been in a snit over the last few days, although it hadn’t been enough to keep him from sitting on the council and making a nuisance of himself. Damn the man ... it wasn’t as though he contributed anything useful. The risks he whined about? There were always risks in war. Reginald knew that as well as anyone else. He could do everything right and still lose.
“Very good,” he said, as he looked around the deck. The rest of his council were already below decks, hopefully catching up with their sleep. “Admiral Tanoan, are we ready to depart?”
“The tide is in,” Tanoan said. He was a gruff man with decades of experience sailing the waters around Andalusia, liked and respected by the entire waterfront community. Reginald had made Tanoan an admiral as soon as he’d joined the fleet. “We can depart on your command.”
“Then let us depart,” Reginald said.
Tanoan turned and hurried away, barking indecipherable commands to his men. The sailors went to work, releasing the ship from the docks and hoisting sail. Reginald watched, feeling a thrill of admiration for the sailors as the ship got under way. He was sailing for the first time in his life.
He lifted his eyes, picking out Humber Castle. It looked imposing from a distance, even though he knew it wasn’t anything like as defendable as he might have wished. He was going to have to do something about that, sooner or later. He’d informed his father of the risks, but Humber was very low on his father’s list of priorities. The small city simply wasn’t very important, not compared to Havelock.
The boat lurched, a shudder running through the wood as she inched between the ha
rbour walls. Waves started to slap against the hull, now they were past the breakwater. Reginald felt a flicker of fear, mingled with excitement. He’d never been allowed to go sailing before – it was one of the few things his father had flatly forbidden – and now ... now he was excited and nervous. He understood battlefields, but ships ...? A single accident could drown him as easily as any of the men in the hold.
“Your Highness,” William said. “With your permission, I think I would like to go below.”
Reginald eyed him, mischievously. William was looking pale ... was he seasick? Reginald weighed the irritation of William’s presence against the possibility of making William very uncomfortable, then decided it wasn’t worth the bother. He dismissed the older man with a nod and turned his attention back to the receding shoreline. Small boys were clearly visible on the rocks, fishing or scooping up small crabs to supplement their diet. One of them made a rude sign towards the departing ships, clearly confident that none of their crews would recognise him. Reginald smiled and waved at the little scamp, then dismissed the matter with a shake of his head.
He wasn’t too surprised, to be honest. Humber had appreciated the money he’d brought into the city, but the city fathers hadn’t enjoyed the bar fights or violence on the streets. And even though he’d made a show of punishing soldiers or mercenaries who took advantage of the civilians, he knew there were limits to their gratitude. They couldn’t decide if they welcomed the prospect of more trade with the Summer Isle or feared what would happen if their city became more important.
The wind blew stronger. He took one last look at the city, then turned to peer forward. The Summer Isle was clearly visible in the distance, shadowed cliffs mocking him with their impassable walls. A handful of smugglers had told him that it was possible to disembark men under the cliffs and climb up, but not – alas – an entire army. They had no choice. They had to land near Racal’s Bay.
The Promised Lie Page 9
