“Why would a Castali noblewoman ever need to read?” added Lady Bertine. The elderly secretary might have been an old battleaxe, but she was a loyal Alshari battleaxe, and she did not care for Shirlin’s tone one bit.
“Perhaps to deal with long nights with Castali noblemen?” offered Lady Esmara with a wicked snicker. “I’ve heard that they just don’t have—”
“The issue,” Countess Shirlin said, loudly and rudely interrupting, “is not whether or not Castali noblewomen can read, but whether Alshari noblemen can pass a slut in the corridor and not act like a hound!”
“If you can find a man who doesn’t act like a hound around a perky pair of pumpkins, let me know!” one of the younger petty nobility moaned. She was one of the new crop of young Alshari noblewomen hosted at the palace over the summer to offer them an opportunity to lay claim to ‘once being presented at court’ to their future husbands. Most would be gone back to their farms by midsummer. Considering her lack of perky pumpkins, she would likely be one of them.
“All men act like hounds,” Lady Pleasure opined. “It’s one of the more reassuringly consistent things about them. It’s their nature. Just as it is our nature to take advantage of their nature.”
“By hiking a skirt to any bravo in the corridor?” accused Shirlin, contemptuously. “How does that add to the respect of the ladies of the court? It’s insulting!”
“Would it be better if these ladies were the subject of their crude attentions?” asked Lady Pleasure, smoothly indicating the junior noblewomen at the other table. “You would imperil their virtue, and their chance at a good marriage, rather than allow those better suited for it to contend with the lusts of the men of Vorone?”
“No woman needs to use her sexuality to prove herself powerful!” insisted the Countess. “It demeans us all. Surely if you had a real duchess in court, she would say the same! How can we, as women, win the respect of the men when they see us in comparison with those sluts?”
“Would you deny us one of the few advantages we have?” Lady Pleasure implored the Countess.
“A woman has far more to offer a man than what’s up her skirts!” fumed the Countess, angrily.
“Such as . . . ?” invited Lady Pleasure, sweetly. “Tell us what sweet allure a woman has for a man, that doesn’t involve her feminine charms!”
Pentandra never would have stepped into such an obvious verbal trap, particularly not with the avatar of the Goddess of Love and Beauty, but Countess Shirlin was out of her element . . . and she didn’t understand just who she was arguing against.
“Well, companionship, obviously!” answered the Castali woman, sputtering at the cool challenge to what she saw as obvious social boundaries.
“He can get a dog for that, my dear,” Amandice dismissed, amused. “And be better served thereby. What else?”
“Why, to have someone to share his fortunes and his burdens,” offered Shirlin, who in her uncertainty had reached for the traditional. Those were words directly from the common marriage vows celebrating the institution.
“Do you really desire to share a man’s burdens?” asked Lady Pleasure, pointedly, “or do you wish merely to appear to . . . while making alternative plans? Be honest, my dear, there’s no one here but us girls,” she urged, mockingly.
“Is that not the point of uniting in matrimony?” Shirlin returned, haughtily.
“That’s the point you shove into his gut,” Lady Pleasure agreed, casually. “But it’s not often the reason a wife seeks a husband. Indeed, in my experience, the last thing a woman wishes to do is take on burdens that are not hers. And a man can confess his cares and burdens to a priest, if need be - he doesn’t need a woman for that.
“As far as his fortunes, well, few women can resist spending their man’s money on his behalf, so there is little benefit accrued to a man in that. Do you have another suggestion?” she asked, sweetly.
“Well, to cook and clean for him, and raise his children!” Shirlin said, crossly, looking around the room for any trace of support. Or sympathy. She found little of either, after her abrupt tirade and insulting attitude.
“Men can clean for themselves – ask any sailor or soldier,” dismissed Lady Pleasure with a sip of tea. “Nor are they incapable of cooking, though few possess any art in it. As far as raising children, how many men do you know who are eager to become fathers before their nuptials?”
“I’m speaking about after their wedding!” the Countess shot back, angrily.
“Yet you list only the things that allure a man after he is wed, not before,” offered Sister Saltia, thoughtfully. “A man could care less of a woman’s companionship, position or her willingness to share his burdens. What he desires is . . . devotion. Physical devotion, perhaps, but he seeks devotion in a woman, first and foremost. I shall never take a man as husband, but even I understand that!” she said, scornfully.
“What, then, has a woman to offer a man before he consents to wed her? What of value?” Lady Pleasure continued, amused, addressing all the ladies in the tea. “If she has wit, then he rarely has enough himself to recognize it. If she has position or wealth, he will be despised amongst his fellows for coveting it through marriage.
“One might offer that merely being in her presence and gazing upon her smile is sufficient recompense for his trouble . . . but only until we’re old enough to bleed,” she said, viciously. “Then the truth comes out!”
Everyone laughed at that, even Countess Shirlin, although her heart wasn’t in it. She was still searching for conversational leverage in this unconventional court. Nor did she feel defeated, yet. Still she strove to win the debate.
“So then why permit such deviance in the palace?” asked the Countess. “It encourages disrespect, licentiousness, and unworthy behavior amongst our men. This is why we need to see His Grace wed, and quickly! Else the people will begin gossiping about the court, and eventually His Grace himself! As Her Majesty says, ‘the people rely on the grace and decorum of the nobility to give their world stability’.”
“Funny how that noble sentiment doesn’t seem to include political assassination or subversive plotting,” Pentandra observed aloud, ostensibly to herself. “One might think of those things as adding to instability, if one is as unsophisticated in such matters as I am.”
“Do you wish to see this ancient palace turned into a brothel?” demanded Shirlin, angrily. “For that is the way you are headed, with these wild women roaming and rutting like animals!”
If the Countess had crossed a line with Pentandra over Arborn’s origins, with Lady Pleasure the boundary was the nature of her girls. She was justifiably proud of them and what they had learned, despite the nature of the education, and she was highly protective of them. Lady Pleasure would hear no ill of her precious Maidens.
“My girls do not ‘rut like animals’, Amandice said through clenched teeth. “They conduct themselves with dignity and respect, as ladies, regardless of their social class, or what they might be doing. Or whom,” she added.
“Your girls?” asked the Countess, astonished and confused. “What do you mean ‘your girls’?”
“Those ‘little sluts’ you are complaining about running all over the palace are mostly employees of the House of Flowers, on Perfume Street,” Sister Saltia reported, dutifully. “Which is the top revenue-producing and tax-paying businesses in that region of town,” she added. “And it is owned entirely by Dowager Baroness Amandice.”
“Yes, my house alone has paid over three hundred ounces of silver this month as our rightful tax,” Lady Pleasure pointed out to the Countess with satisfaction. “Yet all of my girls have volunteered their time and energy during their days off to advance the Wildflower Festival unpaid, in a show of civic responsibility. Tell me, Countess, do the Castali whores take such pride in their towns?”
“Why, no—yes—This isn’t about Castal!” the confused old bag finally bellowed, as she battled against the confusion the goddess’ words inspired. “This is about Alshar
, and from what I see -- and will report to Her Majesty -- the state of the court is deplorable! We must find a bride for this poor boy, and soon, else the court risks descending into chaos under such . . . lurid influences!” she finished, glaring at Lady Pleasure.
“I don’t really see much compelling reason for our lad to wed, actually,” Sister Saltia said, thoughtfully, between sips of onion soup. She was truly enjoying the social battle unfolding in front of her. For a change she wasn’t the subject, and she delighted in watching the conflict between her social betters. “While some additional revenue from dowry lands would be nice, it would also dilute his focus on affairs in Alshar. Assuming you have someone from outside Alshar in mind,” she asked the Countess, innocently.
Pentandra resolved to play a few rounds of dice with the nun, later, and purposefully lose. It was a brilliant question, and gave the ladies of the court a wealth of information about the Countess’ - and the Queen’s - motivations.
“Oh, my yes!” agreed Shirlin, grateful that the matter she’d come to Vorone about was being taken seriously by someone at court. “Her Majesty has proposed a great number of potential matches, each from a distinguished great house or suitably ancient line,” she said, removing a scroll of parchment from a pouch behind her back. She unrolled it and began scanning through the names. “We have an outstanding selection of matrimonial prospects, here, the real cream of the Castali lands . . .”
“Now why under heaven would our lad get himself attached to a Castali bride?” asked Lady Bertine, scornfully. “When there are plenty of pretty Alshari maids at his beck and call?”
“These are all ladies of suitable station and birth,” Countess Shirlin answered, stiffly. “All of whom have been properly vetted for rank and class. Real noblewomen, as befits a sitting Duke,” she finished, triumphantly.
“Vetted by Grendine, you mean?” Lady Bertine scoffed. “Better to be a bachelor forever than wake up a husband with a rat tail in his ear, like his dame!”
“That’s Queen Grendine!” demanded Countess Shirlin, crossly.
“I think His Grace can keep his own counsel on his romantic life,” Pentandra informed the busybody countess, her face amused by her discomfort. “He’s barely been in power a season, yet. Let him get used to power a little before he is forced to share it,” she suggested, reasonably. She really didn’t want an all-out social war between courts, but she also didn’t want Anguin to be no more than Grendine’s puppet, either.
“And allow this . . . this debauchery to continue indefinitely?” the Castali noblewoman sniffed, her lip curling into a sneer.
“Debauchery?” scoffed Viscountess Threanas, speaking up for the first time in a while. “My lady, I came to Vorone as a maid, during the rule of the Black Duke. I assure you, the antics you object so strenuously to are a simple and wholesome pavane compared to the orgies Enguin the Black used to hold here!”
“Orgies?” asked Sister Saltia in a whisper. “What’s an orgy?”
“That was long ago, and I’d assumed Alshar had progressed since that time,” Countess Shirlin replied, stiffly. “It was assumed that the ladies of Alshar knew how to keep their men in order!”
“Our men do not require keeping,” Pentandra said, coldly. “And it is insulting to them to insinuate that they do. I, for one, can think of no compelling reason for His Grace to seek a wife, so early in his reign. He is a young man, newly come to power. Allow him to enjoy it as long as he can before the considerations of dynastic life intrude.”
“Do you want him to sire bastards?” sneered Countess Shirlin angrily. “Because when you mix stupid sluts and horny nobility, you’re going to get bastards!”
Pentandra watched Lady Pleasure’s face turn from mild amusement to barely-controlled wrath. That was an exceedingly sore subject for the courtier, and she was not about to be trifled with over it.
“Bastards?” she said, softly, her tone belying the look in her eyes. “When a child is created out of love – or even out of base commerce – he is no less a man for his parents not having wed.”
“Some of the greatest heroes in the Duchies were bastards,” reminded Sister Saltia.
“And they often carrying the strength of the line more fully than legal children,” pointed out Lady Esmara, clearly thinking of someone in particular, and fondly at that. “That can be a lot of strength,” she added, dreamily.
“If one scorns the laws of Trygg, perhaps one can concede that point,” the stuffy old noblewoman snarled. “To flout the rules of marriage so blatantly invites the displeasure of the goddess!”
“Which goddess?” Lady Pleasure asked, pointedly.
“If the lad doesn’t wed, he cannot violate her laws,” Sister Saltia pointed out, fingering her dice in her left hand. “The Laws of Trygg concern only the responsibilities a husband has for his wife and heirs, and vice versa. They do not apply to the unwedded,” she said, authoritatively. “As there are ample means of legitimizing a bastard, it may well serve the duchy best if Anguin’s bachelorhood persists. We can always select an heir later from one of his descendents. I don’t see it as a problem if he doesn’t wed.”
“If he doesn’t . . . wed . . .” Shirlin began, but trailed off. Pentandra picked up on the conversational thread and could not help but pull at it until the Countess, herself, unraveled.
“If he doesn’t wed . . . what?” she prompted the woman, sharply.
“All manner of problems result!” Shirlin continued, stiffly. “He will lack an heir, for one thing!”
“He has two young sisters, either one of whom can marry,” Lady Bertine dismissed. “There is no succession crisis, here.”
“Well, to strengthen the state alliances,” Shirlin offered, more carefully.
“With the rebels in his own land, or with the foreign queen he’s not particularly well disposed to?” asked Bertine. “Which should his people support? Which will they support?”
“Look,” the Countess said, growing desperate in the face of such widespread opposition to her mission, “any of these noblewomen would make excellent duchesses, and any of them would strengthen the alliance between Castal and Alshar!” she burst out, slapping the scroll on the table, rattling the crockery with the force.
“And put a spy in His Grace’s bed for the rest of his life,” sneered Lady Pleasure, shoving the scroll back at the countess. “Thank you, Excellency, but no. Alshari women will see to the Alshari duke finding his bride . . . in due time. When he is ready. And not at the direction of his murdering aunt!”
Countess Shirlin stared darkly at the baroness. It was clear she was not pleased with the direction of her mission - or the tea - had taken. In the face of such vocal opposition, she retreated to the one basis of power and command she felt available to her.
“Her Majesty is not going to be pleased that her nephew lives in such deplorable conditions, with such unsteady and uncertain advisors!” she nearly spat as she roughly rolled the parchment and put it back in her pouch.
“What pleases Her Majesty,” Lady Pleasure said, sweetly, “should never be spoken of in polite company.” That caused a storm of whispers around the table. “And to be brutally frank, the affairs of Alshar are none of her concern.”
“But she was raised in Alshar! In this very court! Of course she has concerns about how it comports itself!” protested Shirlin angrily.
“And she’s moved on,” Pentandra said, coming to the defense of her fellow courtiers. She may have had issues with each of them, individually, but they all shared an essential and basic loyalty to Anguin, either personally or institutionally. In the face of such a threat, Pentandra was gratified to see the ladies responsible for running the government were unwilling to use the incursion from Castal as a means of advancing themselves. When their lad was threatened, they rallied together to his defense.
“She has her own court. This is Anguin’s. She might think that her pointy hat means that it is hers, too, and can be ruled by proxy through such base tools as corrupt
Baron Edmarin and . . . others,” Pentandra said, her eyes lingering pointedly on the woman’s irate face. “But in that belief she is mistaken.”
“The ladies of Alshar jealously guard our lad,” Threanas added, finding support in the eyes of every other woman around the table. “We have only recently had him returned, and the very last thing we would permit would be for him to be subject to the romantic whims and political schemes of his . . . aunt,” she finished, turning the last term into a slur. “Not when her interest has, historically, not always been in the duchy’s best interest.”
“Why, Her Majesty has always had her homeland’s best interest in mind!” scoffed Countess Shirlin.
That declaration produced such an unanticipated and unstoppable gale of laughter amongst the Alshari ladies that Shirlin looked around, confused and sputtering, while they sought to marshal themselves.
“Grendine had an international reputation for having it out for Alshar since she was a girl in this very palace!” laughed Viscountess Threanas. “Shall we review the result of her compassionate interest? A third of the duchy taken by Castal, a third in rebellion, and a third invaded and occupied. Thus far, her protection of Alshari interests has been . . . checkered, at best. How shall we endure more of this woman’s benevolence?” she wailed, tears coming out of the corners of her eyes as she laughed.
“This is hardly the way a loyal subject speaks of her monarch!” insisted Shirlin, who was out of productive and reasonable arguments in the face of united opposition.
“We are loyal to our duke, Excellency,” Lady Bertine insisted, forcing herself to stop laughing. “Whomever His Grace elects to swear fealty to, in his wisdom and guided by the gods, well, we will follow him.
“But this bloody-handed woman who wears three-fifths of a crown? She does not rule in Alshar. She hates Alshar, though she seeks to impose her will here. She may reign over Alshar - that is not my decision. But she does not rule Alshar. Duke Anguin, may the gods preserve our brave lad, does!”
Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) Page 58
