Homage and Honour (29 page)

Tana picked up
on what he was thinking. She shrugged as she walked down the
corridor and into the common room that separated the boys’ wing of
the barracks from the girls’.

That morning a
couple of early risers from the boys’ corridor were sitting waiting
to watch the reaction as everyone came in.

With delight
Tana perused the noticeboard. She and Tavei were to go on
attachment with the Eighteenth Ryzck and Beth and Xei were going
too.

* * * * *

“Why is it that
sometimes I get the impression that our Lind compatriots know far
more than we do?” Weaponsmaster Rhian turned a quizzical eye
towards Lynsey, Susa of the Vada.

“You feel
sometimes that you are being manipulated into making the decision
they think is best?”

“You’ve got it!
That’s precisely what I do feel, sometimes, most definitely.”

“And this is
one of those times?”

“Don’t you
think so? Now why would you and against what we all know is your
better judgement, let young Beth and Xei accompany Tana and Tavei
with the Eighteenth? She may be good with a knife but her
sword-work! I ask you! I was going to suggest a less dangerous
attachment.”

“Tadei
suggested I did,” admitted Rhian.

“And did he
mentally lean on you, even by a little?”

“He might
have,” answered Rhian, “not that I noticed anything especially.
Why?”

“I was
wondering,” the Susa answered, “I suppose I’ve known from the first
that I’m being manipulated in some subtle way, but it’s never
bothered me, in fact I don’t even think about it.”

“Maybe you’re
being encouraged not to think about it,” Rhian countered, “perhaps
it’s because I’ve been noticing it happening rather a lot lately,
ever since the Larg have been making their presence felt. Perhaps
there hasn’t been any need before. I wish I understood more about
it.”

“Forget about
it Rhian,” advised Lynsey.

It wasn’t until
late that night that the Susa’s thoughts returned to their
conversation. Were they being carefully manipulated by their
four-pawed friends? But before Lynsey could think deeper about the
conundrum, she suddenly felt so sleepy that she couldn’t be
bothered thinking any more. She fell asleep and when she awoke the
next morning the discussion between her and the Weaponsmaster
didn’t seem all that important and worth more thought.

* * * * *

Rakrhed (Fifth Month of Summer) –
AL157

Crisis (13)

The little
white coffin was lowered into the grave. All the Dukes, their
wives, their children and representatives of the lesser nobility
were present.

Patriarch
Jerome preached a simple message of peace and reconciliation, a
message not lost on those present.

Tradition
demanded that the next king be declared at once and homage, fealty
and allegiance given and received within seven days.

Beside Count
Charles Cocteau on the fringes of the gathering stood David
Crawford, a tall, silent figure dressed in simple grey.

“Sam Baker is
the one to watch out for,” cautioned Charles, “he’s still angry
that his grandson is not to be the king, in his eyes the marriage
of his granddaughter to Xavier is only a small consolation.”

“Is that why
your father smuggled us in?”

“He would get
rid of both you and your wife if he could. With the betrothal
signed and witnessed for Xavier and Michaela he could take control
and the other Dukes would have no alternative but to acquiesce.
None want another civil war, not with the Larg sniffing around our
borders.”

“What happens
now?”

“We will attend
the wake feast in memory of Queen Susan then everybody who is
anybody in the kingdom will gather in the great hall to acclaim our
new queen. The entire court is anxious to meet her.”

“Do we
attend?”

“The wake
feast? No, my father has told me to take you to the retiring
chambers to get ready. The Lord Marshall will announce her to the
court, the messenger will be sent to the chambers. The rest you
know about.”

“The
children?”

“Will watch
from the musicians’ gallery as arranged.”

“Your
assessment of the danger?”

“The Lord
Marshall has undertaken to protect you. He is very efficient. He
has his own reasons for making sure the succession runs as
planned.”

“Who is that
seedy-looking boy standing beside Lord Baker?”

“That is
Richard, the grandson. His nose is out of joint; his grandfather
has been telling him that he is the secret heir to Murdoch since
the plague struck and the late king’s family started dying. The
Bakers have always been eager for power, an ambitious family from
the earliest days. You will find him and his grandfather both hard
men.”

“Your father
does not trust him.”

“My father
hates
Sam Baker, always has.”

“I’ll be
careful,” promised David.

“You will need
to be if you want to survive. Father will help you all he can, also
William Duchesne and Raoul van Buren. They supported your wife’s
claim from the first. Jeremy Graham will too. He is the most
pragmatic and sensible man I have ever encountered and the Lord
Marshall would support a fly’s claim if it stopped internal strife.
That gives you a majority if you need it. My father explained the
ratification rules?”

“In the absence
of a ruling king on the Conclave, I need an eight to three majority
to get anything through,” intoned David. This lesson had been
drummed into him.

“You’ll
manage,” said Charles.

David wasn’t
comforted. He changed the subject, “who is that tall man dressed in
midnight blue, close to Sam Baker?”

“That’s the
Brentwood heir, Tom,” answered Charles. “He’s probably the
unluckiest man in the room.”

“Thought that
was me,” David half-joked.

Charles
grinned, “unlucky in love. First he asked for the hand in marriage
of William Duchesne’s daughter Colette but she preferred Gardiner’s
brother James, a love match I heard. Second, he was betrothed to
Graham’s younger daughter but she disappeared. Then he asked for
the hand of the late Eloise van Buren but her father, quite
naturally, preferred the royal match. I have heard that he has
tried for his cousin Julie, now it is your Annette’s turn. If he
doesn’t marry soon he probably never will.”

As the
wake-feast drew to a close and the eulogies to the late queen were
uttered (there were not many of them), tension in the Great Hall
mounted. You could have heard a pin drop as the Duke of Brentwood
rose to his feet.

Silence is
golden was a saying a nurse had taught Charles as a boy but this
silence, Charles realised, wasn’t golden, it was apprehensive.

What was going
to happen now that Queen Susan was dead and the direct line of
Murdoch extinct? The Dukes of the kingdom and the Lord Marshall
stood ranged on the dais. At the end of the row stood a
tight-lipped Sam Baker.

At the rear of
the huge room stood David Crawford, standing in the middle of the
Duke of Cocteau’s retainers.

“Here it
comes,” was his resigned aside to Charles Cocteau.

Duke Tom
Brentwood cleared his throat, “Gentlemen,” he began.

* * * * *

“How many
ladies-in-waiting does it take to make a queen?” asked an
exasperated Anne Crawford of Lady Cocteau some three days after she
had been proclaimed Queen of Murdoch.

“There does
appear to be rather a lot of applications,” that lady answered, “I
suppose their brothers and fathers feel that everyone is starting
on an even keel after your accession with no ill-feeling towards
one family or another going back decades.”

“But how do I
choose? How many?”

“Six to eight
is normal and please try to be fair.”

“You choose,”
said Anne impulsively, “I don’t know any of them.”

“You need
experienced ladies,” said Lady Cocteau thoughtfully, “also some
younger ones with a bit of fun about them. Queen Susan, God rest
her soul, was too young to have ladies, but Princess Gemma, she
had, let me see, five or six if I remember rightly.”

* * * * *

“Are any of
them petitioning?”

“Gemma’s ladies
were mostly Brentwoods, natural I suppose since she came from that
house. Lucille died in the epidemic but there are her aunts, Celine
and Mary. Celine I think has just hit her mid-thirties and Mary a
year younger. They might well be ideal. They’re not going to marry
now and they’d guide you. They’re a bit serious at times.”

“If they can
stop me from making blunders I can cope with a little
seriousness.”

“It would also
be politic to appoint them. Then Gemma had Sheila Ross and Eloise
van Buren but they died last year too; they were good fun.”

“Who else?”

“There is Duke
Brentwood’s little daughter Colette but she’s only small; she might
be an idea as a companion for the children. Princess Annette needs
some company her own age but let us get your ladies chosen
first.”

“Could
you?”

“Could I
what?”

“Be one of my
ladies? I couldn’t think of anyone I’d like more.”

Lady Cocteau
shook her head with regret.

“I am afraid
not, your ladies must either be unmarried or widowed. I am
neither.”

“Can’t you be
anything?” asked Anne, who had come to rely on the calm,
resourceful and often witty Lady Cocteau over the last tendays.

“I could take
on the position of Royal Governess,” Lady Cocteau offered. “Any
noblewoman can accept the post as long as her husband is
agreeable.”

“Would Duke
Cocteau?”

“I think I can
persuade him,” said that Lord’s wife with a mischievous glint, “it
would be good to live at Court again. Regarding your ladies, after
due consideration, I agree with you; leave the choice to me. I’ll
sift through them and pick out the best of the bunch. I take it
you’d prefer to have a fair mix?”

Anne looked
blank.

“Of all noble
ranks,” explained Lady Cocteau, “they don’t all need to be
contessas or baronesses, do they?”

“Rank doesn’t
mean all that much to me as you know,” smiled Anne.

“I’ll do my
best. Now, to the children. If I do become Governess, Prince Xavier
will come under my charge until he reaches the age of twelve.
Governors will take over then.”

“Did you tell
me that? I’d forgotten,” confessed Anne.

“No wonder with
the amount of information you’ve had to assimilate, still it’s
usual that Princes and Princesses have noble lads and lassies
appointed to them during their childhood.”

“So we have to
pick out more names?” complained Anne, “and do it without offending
any of the leading families?”

“We shall
manage. May I suggest that for Princesses Annette and Ruth we look
for girls their age or a little younger? Our choices for Xavier’s
companions must be ratified by Conclave. He is our future King and
it is a well-known fact that a king’s boyhood friends will become
most influential when he comes to the throne. The Dukes will be
vying with each other to get their sons or grandsons placed at
Court.”

* * * * *

“Some are
saying that there are too many Brentwoods in the royal household,”
was Charles Cocteau’s comment to the newly created Lord Prince
Consort.

“Then they
should father some more children,” answered David with some heat.
“If I meet one more noble intent on furthering his influence
through his offspring it will be one too many.”

“Quiet and
steady does it,” counselled the Lord Marshall, “we’ve been at peace
for so long, they’ve had nothing else to worry about. I prefer this
bickering to them being at each other’s throats. You have to keep
the peace, the situation stable. We must not show weakness to those
watching from outside our borders.”

“The Larg?”

Philip Ross
nodded, “intelligence reports state that Larg numbers have
increased fivefold in the last decade.”

“How do you
know?” asked David, “I’ve never heard that the Larg were overeager
to welcome humans into their pack ranges.”

Philip Ross
shrugged. “I have, shall we say, an ‘accommodation’ with my
opposite number in the North.”

“In Argyll?”
exclaimed David.

“Not
exactly.”

“Susa
Lynsey?”

“The very
same.”

David eyed the
youngest Lord Marshall ever appointed in the Kingdom of Murdoch
with interested respect.

“How did this
come about?”

“You know my
father was Lord Marshall before me and my grandfather before
that?”

“Aye.”

“My father Alan
became Lord Marshall in AL140, around the time a fair number of the
Larg were sniffing around our borders. He understood the danger.
They weren’t happy when Count Graham Duchesne annexed what is now
the Lordship of Graham in AL84 but contented themselves with, shall
we say, voicing their displeasure? My father believed that when the
Larg grew strong again they might decide to take Graham back and it
proved difficult to beat them off. Pure supposition but he worried
endlessly about it. He knew of the Avuzdel, the Lind intelligence
group and that they might be able to unearth what the Larg were up
to. He sent a secret envoy to Vada to ask for their help.”

“A dangerous
move,” noted David.

“A treasonous
move,” Philip corrected him, “formal relations with Argyll were in
existence in Elliot Four’s day but Vadath was thought of as the
arch-enemy and the Vada worse. Some of the Dukes still think so,
Baker, Brentwood and van Buren, Gardiner less so. Anyway, he made
contact with the then Susa of the Vada, I can’t remember his name
and since then intelligence about Larg plans and movements has made
its way to us. Two years ago when Father was forced to retire and I
was appointed Lord Marshall, he told me about the
accommodation.”