Homage and Honour (27 page)

“I have to
say,” said Philip Ross, sitting back in his chair with a weary sigh
after reading through the documents from beginning to end, “that,
in my mind, there is no doubt as to the veracity of the Duke of
Cocteau’s claim. Such documents would have been pretty nigh
impossible to forge. You tell us the Larg agree to the truth of
this?”

“You have the
family in your possession?” asked David Gardiner, pulling the
genealogical chart towards him.

“Yes I do,”
replied Henri pointing out her name with a manicured finger, “the
Princess Anne, her husband and three of her children.”

“And this one?”
The Lord Marshall pointed to the name Jessica.

“That is her
eldest, she had left the family home before we got to them.”

“This Anne will
accept the throne?”

“She will,”
affirmed Henri, seeing no need to tell them of her reluctance. He
looked at Sam Baker, “do you accept that what I have shown you is
the truth?”

The old Duke
didn’t answer, Sam Baker was so angry he didn’t think he could
utter a coherent word. All his plans and those of his father had
come to naught. If the other Dukes and the Lord Marshall agreed to
the absurdity of offering the throne of Murdoch to a Vadathian
family he would not be the grandfather of a king, instead, Murdoch
would have a Queen, and one who would be indebted to Henri
Cocteau.

“We must put it
to the vote,” announced Jeremy Graham. “Remember, we need six in
agreement before the motion to accept the Crawford family as heirs
can be carried.”

The Dukes
voted.

Jeremy Graham
counted. Five hands were raised, those of himself, Cocteau,
Duchesne, van Buren and the Lord Marshall.

“No’s?”

One hand was
raised, that of Sam Baker.

“Abstentions?”

The two who
indicated their neutral position were the Dukes of Brentwood and
Gardiner.

“We need six,”
announced Philip Ross.

“I’ll agree if
the Duke of Baker does,” was David Gardiner’s surprising offer.

“You have
little choice,” said Lord Marshall Ross. “Anne Crawford is the true
and legal descendant of Elliot the Founder and it can be proved,
has been proved, to our satisfaction and to the satisfaction of the
Larg.”

There were
murmurs of agreement from most of those around the table.

“There is
nothing that says that the king needs to be legitimate,” Sam Baker
growled, “it is the blood that is important.”

“Your grandson
Richard’s claim is via a bastard line. Letters and confessions
witnessed by those now dead are not enough.”

“If I do agree
and I am not saying that I will or will not, why does it need to be
this Anne Crawford who ascends? She is a woman, she cannot rule in
fact. Would it not be better if she was passed over in favour of
her son?”

“He’s only a
little boy,” Henri Cocteau contested but he was inwardly
congratulating himself. Sam Baker was coming round; he just knew
it.

“A Regency
Conclave,” he chided, a far better proposition than the government
being placed in the incapable hands of a crop farmer from Vadath
who knows little of our ways.”

“He can learn,”
asserted the Duke of Cocteau, hiding his glee.

“Murdoch needs
a strong King, not a feeble Queen!” Sam Baker was bent on
continuing to voice his disappointed displeasure.

“You were not
so vehement about your objections to a female when Elliot died,”
noted Raoul van Buren in a mild voice.

“It was
different then,” said the belligerent Sam Baker, “we have a choice
now and I say the throne should be set on Xavier, not his mother.
The father can sit on Conclave if that will sweeten the pill but
the government must remain in the hands of those of us with
experience, not foreigners from a country part-ruled by creatures
with four legs and paws.”

“He has a
point,” said Jeremy Graham.

“We should
consider this,” agreed Tom Brentwood.

“There is
nothing to consider,” said Henri Cocteau, “the true heir is
Anne.”

“The true
heir,” Sam Baker corrected him, “is the late king’s sister if you
want to make a fine point on it. In fact, I think it would be
better she than a farmer’s wife from Vadath.”

“A nun. Under
oath to God.”

“Has she been
asked?”

“She was asked
and refused,” answered Henri Cocteau. “She waits on us and will
abdicate her rights in favour of Anne Crawford and not her son. Her
cousin Alexa will do the same. No Sam, it has to be Anne and
remember, she won’t rule personally. Her husband David is a fine
man and will be guided by us.

“It must be
voted on,” insisted Sam Baker with a dogged determination not to
give in easily. Who says that the throne should be offered to the
late king’s sister?”

“Don’t be an
idiot man,” cried Henri Cocteau with heat.

“I vote for an
adjournment,” said David Gardiner. He was sick of all this
bickering, he had a headache and he wanted out of the stuffy
Conclave Chamber.

“No
adjournment,” declared the Lord Marshall, “it must be decided, now,
tonight.”

“I have the
solution to the problem,” offered Jeremy Graham, “anyone want to
hear it?”

“Anything that
will get this concluded,” growled Philip Ross.

“May I suggest
that My Lord Baker’s granddaughter be betrothed to the boy
Xavier?”

“Xavier will be
Crown-Prince, not King,” whispered Sam Baker in an aside to Tom
Brentwood. “I like this little.”

“Better half a
cake than none at all,” he replied.

“Well?”
prompted the Lord Marshall.

“Well what?”
asked Sam Baker.

“Will you agree
to Anne Crawford’s claim if your granddaughter Michaela is
betrothed to Prince Xavier?”

“If I do agree
I will insist on some further conditions,” Sam Baker countered.

“What
conditions?” asked a suspicious Henri Cocteau, groaning.

“The throne
must first be offered to Elliot’s sister.”

“Agreed,” said
Henri, secure in the knowledge that the nun would refuse the honour
and the Patriarch would be unlikely to absolve her from her vows
even if she did not.

“If she
refuses, you can offer the throne to Anne Crawford with the proviso
that Michaela and Xavier are betrothed, a binding betrothal,
sanctioned by the Church and one that may not be dissolved without
full Conclave approval. This is my final offer.”

“Accepted” said
Tom Brentwood with relief.

“Witnessed,”
shouted both Jeremy Graham and Philip Ross.

“And I insist
that Prince Xavier be betrothed
immediately
to my
granddaughter, in the said binding contract.”

“Agreed,”
answered a pleased Henri Cocteau. Anything – anything to get this
over with. “You will abide by the majority?” he further
pressed.

“I will,”
agreed Sam Baker through clenched teeth.

“And the other
two children?” asked Tom Brentwood. “What about them? I am of the
opinion that if Sam here gets the boy, that the daughter, Annette
isn’t it, should be betrothed to my son and heir. If this is agreed
upon then my vote changes from abstention to yes.”

“Agreed,” said
Henri Cocteau.

“And I will
take the youngest for my own grandson,” said David Gardiner with a
smile.

Henri Cocteau
agreed to it all, hardly believing that the full Conclave had, in
the end, voted for Anne. He knew also that betrothals could be
broken so it would cost nothing to assent, binding contract or
not.

Now that the
succession was decided, Sam Baker had other concerns.

“Who exactly is
he, this David Crawford, husband of this Anne?” he asked and,
fixing Henri Cocteau with a direct glare, added, “I assume that as
Anne is married you will ask that the husband sit on Conclave on
her behalf?

The answer was
of paramount importance to the Dukes of Murdoch. A female, a queen,
could never have any direct part to play in the governance of the
kingdom.

When young
Queen Susan had been set upon the throne, it had necessitated a
change in the law. A Queen Regnant, the Conclave of Lords had
decreed, could be nothing more than a figurehead and the
perpetuator of the bloodline. It was a queen’s husband who would be
expected to sit in the guiding seat of the Conclave as Lord Prince
Consort.

“He was a
farmer you say?” There was a derisory sneer in Sam Baker’s
voice.

“He knows
nothing about how to rule,” added the aggrieved Tom Brentwood who,
with the imminent death of Susan, would have to resign as
Regent.

“He will
learn,” was William Duchesne’s response.

“But what of
his descent, his own bloodline?”

“He is not of
noble blood as you see it,” answered Henri Cocteau and he turned to
his son with an inquiring look, “do you know anything of his
antecedents?” They had rehearsed this.

“I do,” Charles
answered, “and he claims descent from one of the most renowned
women of the North, Tara Sullivan no less.”

“Never heard of
her,” grunted Sam Baker.

“But you will
have listened to the ballads of Tara and Kolyei, the first duo to
vadeln-pair. The peoples of Vadath sing of her often. The two of
them wrote the ‘Early History of Mankind on Rybak’ and I know there
are copies of it here in the palace. I’ve read it myself.”

“I’ve read it,”
volunteered Lord Gardiner, “my tutor was a great fan of their
writings. This husband of Anne is a descendant of hers?”

“Indeed. Tara
Sullivan married one Peter Crawford around the time of the Larg
invasion of Vadath and they had a number of children. David
Crawford is descended from their son, also named Peter. This second
Peter married the only daughter of Gerry Russell and Jessica
Howard.”

“
The
Jessica Howard?”

“Yes, Jessica,
the half-sister of Elliot the First and Princess Ruth, yes.”

“Russell? Not
one from that family that breeds the horses?” asked David Gardiner
with interest, his eyes gleaming.

The Russell
steeds were well known, even in the Kingdom of Murdoch. They were
the best, everybody said so and also the most expensive, as the
Duke of Gardiner would tell anyone prepared to listen. David
Gardiner was a great aficionado of horseflesh. William Duchesne
could see him coming round to the idea of David Crawford being the
ideal man to represent his wife on Conclave.

“Thought all
such people vadeln-paired with these Lind of theirs,” was all the
comment he contented himself with.

“Not all, only
the ones the Lind find suitable,” answered the Duke of Duchesne,
“and I think you will find him most knowledgeable.”

Sam Baker was
determined to have the last word, “doesn’t mean he’ll be a good
ruler.”

* * * * *

Lokrhed (Third Month of Summer) –
AL157

Crisis (12)

“Brentwood’s
feeling sore. He is the Lord Regent for Susan and with his son
taking the Brentwood seat he had two votes guaranteed. Now it’s
only one again but he’ll come round in time. It’s Baker and
Gardiner you must watch out for. Sam Baker will try to lure the
others away from your support, not to supplant your wife if that’s
what you are thinking, but to put your son in her place now that
the betrothal is signed. He’ll give you trouble,” said Charles
Cocteau to David Crawford. “I wish we had not been forced to agree
to it, it gives Sam Baker leverage.”

“I don’t
understand.”

“The betrothal
is a binding contract, Xavier and Michaela will be married in all
but name,” explained Charles. “If something were to happen to Anne
and to you, as Xavier’s father-in-law and as he would be still a
minor, he would automatically become Lord Regent. It would be even
better for him in some ways than if his grandson Richard had taken
the throne. The boy is fifteen, a year, perhaps two, from
dispensing with a regency and ruling alone.”

“Xavier is only
seven,” said David, understanding the ramifications at last.

“You get my
point, well done! You are beginning to think like a southerner.
There might be hope for you yet. Now, have you come to any decision
as to your household appointments? Not the domestics, they will
continue as usual, but the others?”

“I’m a simple
farmer me. Go on, what appointments?”

“Ladies-in-waiting, Governesses, Arms Master, Captain of the Guard,
Secretary, Treasurer. The list goes on forever.”

“It is like
something we learned in lessons about ancient times.”

“Did I not say;
this
is the ancient times all over again? It was designed
so,” said Charles with some humour. “The petitions will start soon
enough, as soon as Susan dies and Anne is declared Queen but the
most important is the Secretary, someone who knows government, the
court and can stop you from making too many mistakes.”

“You?”

“I thought
you’d never ask,” Charles said with a pleased smile, “and I would
be delighted to accept the post if that is your wish. Now, we must
continue with our lesson David. You
must
understand the rank
protocols.”

“I think I’ve
got the hang of it,” a frown of concentration marked David’s brow.
“At the top of the tree is the King or the Queen. If it is a Queen
Regnant her husband precedes her in all matters of state although
not on the ceremonial side.”

“And is called
the Lord Prince Consort. As you will be.”

“It’s all so
complicated,” complained David, “in fact, it is crazy.”

“Our nobility
is very sensitive and proud of their positions, this trend is much
to do with their origins in the early days and it is what lets our
society function. As I’ve explained before, nobles are always
trying to better themselves, arranging good marriages for their
sons and daughters. The ordinary citizens want to be granted noble
rank, however low.”