Annatrice of Cayborne (11 page)

“These wounds were from a fall, my pony took flight, and I fell upon a bush of thorns.”

Annatrice was a poor liar. Charleroux rolled back and looked up at the ceiling.

“You shall have no such dramas with Majestic; she is a fine mare with impeccable breeding.”

Annatrice agreed hoping her tall tale had ended the thread of the conversation.

“When I receive receipt of my request, we will have to ride out to a location of his choosing. I should like you to come for obvious reasons; I trust this to be agreeable?”

Annatrice nodded, it was agreeable. To finally meet the opposing King would be quite a moment. Her research had led her to believe that he was a just and wise ruler, not without a taint or two on his record but worthy of removing the tyrant of Araman.

When Annatrice rose, she realised that Charleroux's servants had been busy during the night. A wardrobe of fine clothes had been gathered. She had left Fontayne with almost as little as when she entered. It was obvious that her husband was making efforts to appease her and earn her favour. The pressure he exerted was tangible, she felt that despite his most courteous behaviour, the expected end product was obvious and Annatrice could see where it was all heading. Whether it was Tragian who took her by force under pain of death or Charleroux who attempted to charm her to his bed, the end result was the same. Annatrice viewed Charleroux's efforts to be equally as abhorrent but she could not deny that some part of her felt compelled to offer herself to him; after all she had cajoled him into the marriage in a bid for her freedom. She prayed that if it came to that then her husband would be a tender lover unlike the despised King. She was also quite aware that Charleroux must also have made great sacrifices in order to 'buy' her from the King's custody. Tragian never gave away anything in his life. Annatrice wondered what riches or privileges her husband had ceded in order to claim her as his own.

Annatrice spent the morning discovering her new surroundings and meeting her husband's staff. Both they and their master were confounded that she took the time to speak to them and ask them questions about their lives and work. All the while, Charleroux paced around his home nervous about the forthcoming meeting with King Deo Canthi, if his new wife failed to deliver, he would be looked upon unfavourably and stood to lose his promised wealth and maybe much more. At mid morning, Charleroux's trusted messenger returned with news of Deo Canthi's position. Annatrice was ushered out of the door and to the saddle of her awaiting horse, it would be a long ride and Charleroux dare not be late.

Lord Charleroux rode with a compliment of six soldiers. The path to their place of conference, a ruined fort on the shores of Kellington Lake close to the Suleyman border. It was not a dangerous route but when it came to the safety of the noble, nothing was left to chance. Two riders led the way, the other four accompanied Charleroux and his wife who lingered some minutes behind the forward party.

Galloping hard in extended bursts tired the horses quickly and at certain points, Charleroux pulled them up for respite. As the horses supped the cool waters by a moorland stream, Annatrice dismounted to take in the views of the desolate but breathtaking scenery. The winter sun could barely be felt over the frigid wind that whistled across the eroded hills. Rounded peaks of solid rock jutted from the ground as if smoothed by the hand of a powerful god.

“Not much farther now.” Charleroux said as he dismounted, brushing himself down in readiness for the King. Annatrice embraced herself; she was cold despite the warmth of a sheepskin cape.

“May I warm you?” Charleroux gallantly offered although there was no altruism in his gesture. Annatrice accepted his offer, her skin was blue, and the speed of the horse combined with the frosty air was a chilling combination. Charleroux embraced his wife and her face was buried into his chest.

“Tell me Charleroux, what did you offer Tragian in return for my hand in marriage?” Annatrice felt compelled to ask, she wished to know her price. It seemed unlikely that even with all of Charleroux's wealth; he could have prised her free with mere coin. Charleroux paused for a moment, he was uncomfortable and Annatrice could feel that he did not want to share the information.

“There is little point in lying to you is there?” He said in resignation, knowing that his thoughts were hers for the taking.

“No, not really. I know Tragian, I know he would ask for much in return for little, that is his way.”

Charleroux looked down upon his wife.

“I would not say that I have gained little in this case, you do yourself a disservice my lady. However, I cannot conceal the heavy weight of burden your hand in marriage has placed upon me.”

“Then speak it and be done with it.” Annatrice impatiently hurried the pontificating noble.

“I could not offer my wealth to the King for it is his wealth to take. That is what it is to be a king. He demanded only one thing of me, one terrible thing of which I am deeply ashamed. However, knowing that it would not be long before he was stripped of his throne and sent to the dogs, I accepted his bargain.”

Annatrice could sense his embarrassment and shame at his actions but could not quite clarify what they were.

“And this promise?” She persisted in her inquiry.

“I promised that if ever bore a daughter then on her thirteenth birthday, she would be presented to the King for his...indefinite pleasure.” Charleroux could not bear to look into Annatrice's raging dark eyes. This was not only his child that he abandoned to pure evil depravity but hers also.

“How sure you are that your plot will succeed to promise such a thing!” Annatrice barked. The soldiers who tended their horses shuffled uncomfortably trying not to be party to their master's argument. Annatrice grasped Charleroux's face to draw his undivided attention, an action that defied his standing as a noble and the man of the house.

“How could you waive your daughter's rights so callously, so easily in order to fulfil your most base desires? Do you not know what torture lay ahead for her behind those castle walls?” Annatrice cried out, the anger of her time at Tragian's mercy once again emerging with little to hold it back. Charleroux grasped his wife's hand and pulled it away from his face.

“No! I do not and cannot! How could I? All I know is that Tragian will be long dead before I bear a child and even so...it might be a son?”

Annatrice was wholly unconvinced by her husband's thoughtless gamble.

“Maybe Tragian is not as doomed as you would believe. For your sake I hope he is, for if he casts off this coup and rises to even greater power, I shall have your head before I send my daughter to his parlour.”

Annatrice snatched her arm away from Charleroux's grasp and remounted her white mare.

“Come, let us meet this Deo Canthi and pray he is of sound mind unlike some of his followers.”

Annatrice's wrath was an embarrassment to the noble who shook with anger at his humiliation. He looked over to the soldiers who turned their glances away as to not see his rage.

“Well? Do as your new master says!” Charleroux yelled at the confounded soldiers who hurriedly mounted. The irony in his voice was lost on the simple men who protected him but it was clear for Annatrice to hear. Charleroux climbed on to his large and powerful stallion and kicked its flank with unreasonable force. He hoped that when all was said and done, this would all be somehow worthwhile. The girl was compelling but she brought out the worst in him and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Charleroux's party emerged over the summit of a small hillock and their silhouetted shapes were clear to see to those who watched with vigilance from the base of the ruined fortress. Castle Trushen had been left in tatters as a reminder to all those who had forgotten the sacrifices of previous pointless wars. Its close proximity to the Suleyman border had at one stage made it a vital defence structure in times of great hostility. Peace between the nations had reigned since but the uneasy pact was not as hardy as the giant stone walls of the fortress and they had fallen, crumbled into dust.

Charleroux held his soldiers at the peak and looked out over the valley. The long thin Kellington Lake offered superb fishing, but now was not the time to be exploring its depths. Looking for a flag of acceptance before riding on, it was not long coming and Annatrice felt a pang of nervousness in her gut as she could not in truth tell how this conference would pan out. A small triangular flag had appeared above the walls, flapping in the swirling winds, its orange colours significant in that it was the Royal Standard of Deo Canthi.

The party kicked on down the hillside and Annatrice prepared herself. Taking a small concealed dagger from her saddlebag, she fumbled at it, stuffing it into her sheepskin overcoat. She had the powers to determine truths and falsehoods; it would be foolish to enter such an arena without a tactical advantage.

As they closed in on the ruins, Annatrice only then realised the imposing scale of the remaining walls. This was not some nobleman's keep; it was an outpost home to a legion of soldiers. Even the charred scorch marks upon the castle walls were still evident and Annatrice imagined the blazing inferno that ended the fortress' usefulness. Rounding the structure, it was clear that one of the outer walls had collapsed completely and to enter the hollow interior, it was no longer necessary to enter through the giant gateway. Annatrice quickly spotted movement from within and a small group of horses could be seen and the reflective chink of plated armour too.

Charleroux's party were quickly halted and examined by a small cluster of mounted warriors, their weapons drawn. Ushered forward, the soldiers burning eyes seared Annatrice's skin with their persistent gaze and the feeling of unease grew significantly as she passed through the outer walls and into the courtyard, still strewn with large chunks of rubble.

Little was said as Annatrice and her husband dismounted. The King was not immediately noticeable by his presence. She could feel their caution and their fear, it relaxed her, and at least she was not alone in her worries. A muscular and bearded soldier pointed to a small building which was situated in the corner of the yard, it may have once been used as a stable, Annatrice reckoned. Under watchful eyes, Annatrice and Charleroux approached the building leaving their own guard behind to tussle with the King's soldiers in a game of silent, mental warfare. Charleroux motioned to hold his wife’s hand but Annatrice did not feel it appropriate despite the comfort it would have offered. Rounding the corner, Annatrice set eyes on two men who sat on wooden barrels, supping at a flagon of thirst quenching liquid. On arrival, they both stood, one young, slender and fresh faced, the other elderly, bearded and rather fat in comparison.

“So...Charleroux, we meet again.” Boomed the bearded fellow, his sheepskins not quite befitting a king; however he was probably in disguise.

“T'is a great honour as always to once again greet you, Sire.” Charleroux bowed with a respectful enthusiasm. Annatrice remained stood upright. In her experience, she had no compunction for pandering to royal protocols. The young man beside the King drew a loud intake of breath at the lack of courtesy from the young woman.

“And this is Annatrice of Fontayne?” The King continued, not so taken back by the girl's lack of conformity.

“Annatrice of Cayborne, Sire. Fontayne was a dwelling not of my choosing.”

Annatrice was firm in her desire to be regarded in the appropriate manner.

“So I hear. I can only imagine the horrors of serving under Tragian, yet here you stand, healthy and with a fighting spirit?”

Annatrice's first impression of the King was agreeable. He conversed with her with an air of mutual respect. She liked that.

“And so you seek to be compensated for this incarceration with the head of the King? A befitting end to such a tyrant no less.”

Deo Canthi's aide nodded in agreement yet said nothing.

“I seek not only his head but his credibility. He murdered my father and discredited him for his own gains. He has obtained the throne through foul means; he is not the rightful ruler of Araman.”

Deo Canthi laughed.

“You speak with such authority for one so young, I am intrigued. And who do you believe the rightful ruler of Araman to be?”

Annatrice knew this was a loaded question, but she had no desire to appease him by telling him what he wanted to hear.

“It certainly is not you, my Lord however when there are few nobles with the appropriate level of virtue, I believe the lesser of many evils will suffice.”

The King did not say anything but looked down upon this impetuous yet courageous child. Charleroux sunk into a deep funk having been so discourteously cast down and knowing full well that she knew of his desires to rule.

“Hmm.” The King wheezed, seeking an appropriate response. Charleroux leapt to Annatrice's defence.

“I apologise Sire, for she is young and does not know her place, I will punish her accordingly on my return.”

Annatrice offered a sideways look to her 'husband'.

“Hah.” She uttered in contempt. The King once again spoke.

“Charleroux, you would strike such a brave young woman for speaking her mind? Shame on you. She belittles you with her sharp tongue and her keen intellect. She would make a fine queen one day.”