The Princess of Cortova (8 page)

The princess struggled to master her emotions, and Molly looked away, giving her the privacy to do it. But she couldn’t resist adding one more thing.

“Perhaps, together, you might break down that wall and be the better for it.”

Betta drew in a deep breath. “Well, Molly, you have answered my question quite to my satisfaction.”

“Rather more than you wanted, I fear.”

“On the contrary. It was very illuminating. Now, if you will bear with me just a little longer, we shall finish with the chessmen. We’re almost done, I promise.”

“Of course. Go ahead.”

“These last two pieces in the back row are rooks—you can call them castles if that’s easier to remember. They’re second in power after the queen. And that follows a certain logic, since a king’s castle offers him great protection—more than a knight or a bishop could.”

Molly lifted her little ivory tower and turned it thoughtfully in her hand. Was Betta alluding to the fact that Alaric had been drawn from the safety of his castle? If so, was that a threat or a warning? God’s teeth, but this was a strange situation! One moment Molly was as trusting as a child, and the princess was her intimate friend—and the next thing she knew there came a flood of doubt. She looked at Leondas for guidance or reassurance, but he was comfortably asleep in the princess’s lap. Perhaps that was as good an answer as she was going to get.

“And finally,” Betta said, putting down her castle, “we have a whole row of little lumps that look like gravestones. They are your pawns. They can only move one square at a time, straight ahead—except on the first move, when they can move two. Think of them as foot soldiers, out there on the front lines, where they’ll likely be struck down by the first volley of arrows. That’s why you have so many.”

“Because they’re expendable.”

“Yes. Chess is about the strategy of war, and it’s meant to reflect the true conditions on an actual field of battle. But you know . . .” She paused for a moment, and whatever she was thinking about, it seemed to please her. “Just as in the real world, the pawns—the common folk—sometimes rise above their humble origins and go on to achieve greatness. Not often, but it happens. And so our little pawn, if he manages to survive that first onslaught of enemy fire—and is strong enough, and brave enough, or maybe just lucky enough to keep moving through the ranks of the opposing army till he reaches the very last row on the other side—can be promoted to any piece he chooses. Except king, of course.”

“You mean a pawn could be promoted to queen?”

“Most certainly,” she said. “That’s what most players do—but only if their original queen has already been lost. For even in chess, a king may not have two wives.” The princess was gazing squarely at Molly now. “As in real life,” she added.

In the silence that followed, they could hear Leondas purr.

13

A Matter of Payment

PRINCE RUPERT HAD NOTHING
to do that morning, and he was unbearably bored.

His father was in conference with his chief advisers, working out strategy for that afternoon’s meeting with King Gonzalo. Even if they’d invited Rupert to join them—which they very pointedly had not—he wouldn’t have wanted to listen to them blather on anyway. It was all just, “If we offer him this, then what if Alaric offered him that? But we don’t want to seem too eager, so maybe . . .”

Boring.

There was supposed to be a hunt soon, which was something to look forward to. But that was in the future. And right now he thought that if he stayed cooped up in that ridiculous guesthouse for one more minute, he would scream. So he told one of his father’s knights that he was going for a walk and left.

The Cortovans were apparently very keen on gardens, parks, and whatnot. Each of the clusters of villas was surrounded by green space—as if they were in the middle of the woods or something. It was nice, he guessed, but kind of strange. The usual thing was to have a castle with a city around it, and the walls and everything—and then you’d have the park someplace else.

Rupert didn’t care much about flowers one way or the other. There were a lot of them in Cortova too. But then, it was a summery country. Hot and all.

He emerged from the woodsy area that surrounded their villas and came upon another group of buildings. The houses were just like everything else in the summer palace: plain as mush on the outside, no carving or decoration or anything, and open to the weather in the middle. The only difference was that these were smaller.

He heard voices and followed the sound—but stealthily, as if he were stalking a deer, creeping in close for a good shot. What he saw once he’d rounded a corner were the dancers from the other night: the almost-naked ones from that foreign place with the peculiar name.

Only they weren’t naked now. They had on long white robes, like something you’d sleep in on a cold night, and they had skullcaps on their heads. They were arguing with a small group of soldiers. Or at least
one
of the dancers was; he seemed to be their leader. The rest of them stood behind him with scowls on their faces.

Meanwhile, slaves were coming and going in the background, hauling these big leather trunks out of the houses—probably costumes and instruments—and carrying them away in the direction of the stables.

So the dancers were leaving. What were they arguing about?

Rupert decided that this was interesting. He found himself a place where he could sit in the shade and watch them without being seen.

They were shouting now—the head dancer and the head soldier, each in his own language. Rupert couldn’t understand either one, but he could tell a lot just by watching their gestures.

“
Ochorestew!
” the dancer cried (or something like that), his left fist defiantly on his hip, his right hand outstretched, palm up. He was asking for something, but not as beggars do. This was a demand, not a plea.

The head soldier, arms crossed over his chest, shook his head and said, “No.” Rupert actually understood that.
Yes
and
no
were among the very few Cortovan words he remembered from his lessons.

The dancer pointed defiantly in the direction of the royal compound. Then once again he held out his palm, only now he poked it with his finger with such force that you might think he hoped to drill for water there.

“
Gobbledypollywhatever
,” said the dancer. “
Shukkunokku dogwater
.” The rest of the troupe grumbled in agreement. Then all of them pointed at their palms.

Rupert was pretty sure he had it now: they hadn’t been paid!

At all? Not enough? A day late? The king had clearly promised them something, and now they were being sent away without it.

Again the same gestures: pointing to the king’s palace, then to the dancers’ palms.

“
Ortollini mooly novotomoto woostoni
,” said the soldier, indicating first the dancers, then Gonzalo’s palace, and finally spreading his arms wide and gazing up into the sky, as if to take in the whole world:
Once you’ve performed for the king of Cortova, every noble in the land will want to hire you. You ought to be paying us for the privilege!

The dancers, all uncommonly large and muscular men, now began to advance on the soldiers in a menacing manner. Eagerly, Rupert leaned forward. The dancers far outnumbered the soldiers. And though they probably hadn’t been trained as knights, they had these little sickle-shaped swords hanging from their belts; and anyone who’d seen them dance would know how swift and powerful they were.

The head guard held up his hand:
Wait!
He did it two more times:
Wait, wait!
Then as if creeping away from a snarling dog, the soldiers left.

The head dancer watched them go with a mocking smile. But he didn’t move—except to order the slaves to stop carrying out their goods. Then he and his fellow dancers waited, arms crossed, for a fairly long time—certainly long enough for Rupert to grow restless. But he forced himself to stay and keep watching, because he had the feeling that this little encounter was nowhere near over. And if there was going to be a sword fight, he didn’t want to miss it.

So,
he thought,
either the guards have gone back to get the money, or they are rounding up reinforcements.
Rupert would have bet on the latter. King Gonzalo was not the sort to be pushed around by a troupe of naked dancers.

Maybe he’d order his soldiers to chop off their heads!
That
would be something to see!

All the same, it was an odd business, and there was a puzzle in it somewhere. Because everyone knew it was
really bad form
for a king—especially one who’s so bloody rich—not to pay those who are “in his hand.” It made him look . . . miserly. Small.
Poor
. His subjects would despise him. So why would Gonzalo humiliate himself, and get a bad reputation, all over a few gold coins? It made no sense—unless he wasn’t as bloody rich as he wanted everyone to think.

No, surely not!

But then again, the princess hardly had any jewels. Both nights she’d dressed like a . . . like a lady-in-waiting or something. His father seemed to think she’d done it on purpose to show that she was so pretty she didn’t
need
any ornament. But Rupert found that hard to believe. Ladies liked their frippery. It was a well-known fact.

So. What if they really
were
poor, except that they already had all those fancy things lying around—the gold and silver platters, and the candlesticks, and those antique glasses his father was so excited about—and they just brought them out to make themselves
look
rich.

That really was something to think about! Rupert tried very hard to do it.

What if Cortova
used
to be rich but then something happened, and now they weren’t? Just suppose: What would King Gonzalo do? He’d need to get himself some more money, that’s what. And how would he do that? Well, the usual way was to make war: take land and treasure from some other kingdom. But war was famously expensive. You might get away with cheating the entertainers, but you’d bloody well better pay your army. And also there were the horses and the wagons, the catapults and cannons—they cost money too.

So wouldn’t it be easier to find two kings who hated each other and were afraid of each other, and who wanted to ally themselves with you—and bring them together at your summer palace and let them
compete
, like jousters in the lists? Let them fight it out to see who wins, with each one offering a better deal than the other till . . .

Bloody hell—could that be
it
?

The soldiers were coming back now. And as Rupert had predicted, they’d gone for reinforcements. Quite a lot of them, actually. A small army, in fact. And though the dancers trembled with outrage at the injustice, they saw that they were beaten and allowed themselves to be escorted—three knights to a man—out of the summer palace.

Rupert was disappointed that there hadn’t been any beheadings, but his mind was on bigger things now. Long after the dancers and soldiers had disappeared from sight and there was nothing to look at but slaves carrying baggage, Rupert stayed where he was, in his shady spot, thinking.

If his father had nothing to gain—that is, if King Gonzalo really had been leading them on, trying to trick one or the other of them into giving him piles of money in exchange for a worthless alliance—then what should they do? Go home, that’s what! Let Alaric pay Cortova’s debts.

But suppose Rupert was mistaken? If he was, then to leave Cortova would be a very, very bad idea. Because Alaric and Gonzalo would then form an alliance and combine their armies, and that would be the end of it for Austlind. The problem was, you couldn’t be sure.

But wait,
he thought. Hold on. Why were they in Cortova in the first place? To get an alliance . . . because King Alaric was building up his army, and that was a threat to Austlind; and if Alaric got the alliance first, their goose was cooked. Rupert covered his face with his hands, deep in concentration. His brain had never worked this hard before in all his life.

What if you took Gonzalo, and the whole question of whether Cortova was rich or poor, out of the story entirely? Gonzalo wasn’t the problem—Alaric was!

Oh! This was good. He was almost there!

And since Alaric wasn’t married and didn’t have an heir, and since Rupert’s father was next in line for the throne, why not just kill Alaric, blame it on Gonzalo, and go home to rule both kingdoms?

Rupert lay back on the grass, gripping his head in his hands. By all the saints in heaven, he was brilliant, absolutely brilliant!
He couldn’t wait to tell his father!

14

Three Kings, Two Negotiations

Morning session,

King Alaric:

Gonzalo’s council chamber was uncommonly small. The rulers of ancient Cortova did not hold great audiences with vast numbers of their subjects. They only needed a space appropriate for meeting with their generals to plan campaigns of conquest, or for discussing matters of state with important senators, or occasionally for negotiating terms with visiting monarchs—as Gonzalo was doing now.

At the far end of the chamber was a dais, in the center of which sat a handsome throne in the antique style. But Gonzalo had chosen not to use it today. Instead, he and Alaric sat companionably together in the middle of the room, their chairs set at the precise angle that allowed them to look at each other without being forced to stare face-to-face. Between them, on a small, round table, sat a bowl of fruit and two antique glasses filled with honey-colored wine.

Two kings, meeting as equals—that was the desired effect.

“I hope you enjoyed last night’s dinner,” Gonzalo began.

“Yes, it was quite astonishing.”
In so many ways.

“Good, good! We do our best under the circumstances.”

“No great hall, you mean?” Alaric said with a wry smile.

“Yes. Alas.”

He paused then, and Alaric expected Gonzalo to move on to the business at hand. But in this he was disappointed.

“So how goes it in Westria?” he asked. “Settling in nicely on your throne?”

“Yes,” Alaric replied, quite aware that King Gonzalo knew exactly how things had been going in Westria: the unrest among his nobles, the plots, and the threat of war with his cousin. “Very nicely.”

“Glad to hear it! Such a lot of responsibility for a young lad like yourself, and so sudden, too—why, you never even got to finish your training as a knight. Or do I misremember?”

Alaric smiled. “No, my lord Gonzalo. Your memory is perfect.”

“What a shame.”

“Indeed.”

“Well!”
Gonzalo said, leaning into the word for emphasis so it would be clear that he was changing the subject. “You and I have important business to discuss, do we not? And as I have an appointment with King Reynard this afternoon, our time is limited. But we can at least make a beginning. You know, get the old stone rolling down the hill? Then we can go chasing after it tomorrow. What do you say?”

Alaric nodded. Then, in case that wasn’t clear enough, he said, “Yes, Gonzalo, let’s get started.”

“Won’t you try one of the apricots? They’re exceptionally sweet this year.”

“No, thank you.”

“Well, suit yourself.” He settled back in his chair, gave a great, significant sigh, and began, as promised, to “make a beginning.”

“If you don’t mind,” he said, “I think it would be best if I went first—just to make everything clear, you know. Put it out there where the cows can get at it, as the farmers like to say.” He waited for Alaric to nod in agreement, then smiled in that now all-too-familiar way that generally preceded something unpleasant.

“You are aware, of course, that Cortova is blessed with an extensive coastline on the Southern Sea, and the wealth of my kingdom has always come from trade. That was true in the Golden Age of Emperors; but it’s even more so now, as we have no ambitions to build an empire, as my ancestors did. We depend entirely on commerce.

“And so, for many years, going back to my great-great-grandfather’s time, Cortova has chosen to remain neutral. I’m sure you can understand why. If we were to ally ourselves with, say, Gronnigstadt and you were at war with them, you would not want to do business with us—now would you?”

Alaric didn’t like the direction this was tending, and he was more than a little tired of being toyed with. So he left Gonzalo’s obvious question unanswered. He just sat in silence and waited for him to answer it himself.

“Of course you wouldn’t! Worse still, I would be obliged to send troops and money to help Gronnigstadt defeat you—which would be of no conceivable advantage to Cortova. With this in mind, you can surely see that an alliance with Westria would be of no interest to me whatsoever.”

Alaric started and caught his breath. . . .

Afternoon session,

King Reynard:

Reynard and Gonzalo sat together informally, like two old friends, cups of wine and a bowl of fruit ready at hand. The late-afternoon sun streamed in through the windows, turning the marble floors to gold.

“Did you enjoy our humble little dinner last night? I hope you and Rupert were pleased.”

“It was splendid. Thank you.”

“Food not too spicy?”

“Not at all.”

“Excellent!”

A tantalizing moment of silence followed, then, “What a handsome lad your Rupert is—sturdy, you know. Manly.”

“Yes, well, he’s grown up among boys. Rough and tumble.”

“You have
three
sons, I believe.”

Reynard agreed that he did, quite aware that Gonzalo didn’t
believe
he had three sons; he knew it for a positive fact, along with their names, their ages, the color of their eyes, and what they liked to have for breakfast. For some reason, Reynard found this ongoing pretense of ignorance particularly hard to bear.

“And all of them still at home,” Gonzalo continued. “Unusual. You don’t hold with the old thinking that boys learn better if they’re sent away to some other noble house, where they can be trained up for knighthood without their mothers hovering over them and their nursemaids drying their tears?”

Reynard opened his mouth to respond but was too angry to find the words; and by the time he’d thought of a few, Gonzalo had moved on.

“I believe your cousin Alaric was fostered with you, was he not? Though of course he didn’t finish his training—what with the tragedy and all, and his needing to step up and rule the kingdom in his brother’s place.” He stopped at this point, apparently feeling he had goaded Reynard quite enough. Now he smiled as if they’d just been discussing the weather and waited.

“I’m astonished that you should ask me that,” Reynard said. “About my boys—considering that you have kept young Castor home as well.”

“So I have,
so I have
! What a fine pair we are, you and I, such overfond parents. But then, one has to consider who would be the
right
person to take a boy in hand, you know, and train him up properly. And while some run-of-the-mill prince would probably do well wherever you put him, the heir to a great throne must be handled with special care.”

Reynard said not a word. He just stared at his host, wondering what in blazes had been the point of all that. Was Gonzalo hoping that
he
might foster Prince Castor himself? Well, he certainly hoped not, because even on brief acquaintance, that child had struck him as right peculiar. . . .

Morning session, continued,

King Alaric:

“As for my daughter,” Gonzalo said to the dumbstruck Alaric, “she was married to the prince of Slovarno when they were both just children and widowed shortly thereafter. Then, of course, she was betrothed to your brother. In neither case did I seek—or allow—any kind of treaty or alliance to be part of the marriage contract, just the usual financial arrangements.

“Both matches ended poorly. The young prince died of the pox before he even came of age, and then there was that dreadful business in Westria. Sorry to bring it up. I know it must be painful for you. But so it was for my daughter, too. And not surprisingly, after that she expressed the wish to remain a maiden all her life.

“So you see, Alaric, she doesn’t really
want
to marry—you or anyone else.”

King Gonzalo now folded his hands, smiled, fluttered his lashes, and shrugged.

“That’s it?”

“In a nutshell, yes.”

Afternoon session, continued,

King Reynard:

“She doesn’t
want
to marry?”

“As I just said.”

“And you cannot persuade her?”

“But that would be unkind, and I am such a
fond
parent—weren’t we just discussing that?”

“And you have no interest in an alliance without a marriage?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Then,” Reynard said through clenched teeth, “may I ask why you allowed me—no,
demanded
that I travel all this way to discuss a marriage and an alliance that you now inform me you
do not want
? Is it ‘in the
interest of Cortova’ to house, feed, and entertain two royal parties for a week? Or were you just feeling lonely and bored out here in the country and longing for a bit of amusement?”

“Ah,” said Gonzalo, taking an apricot and nibbling at it thoughtfully, then making a show of wiping the juice from his beard with a linen napkin. “I believe we have reached the heart of it now.”

“I believe we have reached the
end
of it, my lord king. I believe it’s time for me to go.”

“Oh, do sit down, Reynard! Don’t be so hasty. And you really must try one of these apricots.”

“I didn’t come to Cortova for the bloody fruit!”

“No, you’re right. You didn’t. But won’t you please sit down? Thank you!

“Now, your question is fair: Why did I allow you to come all this way for nothing? Because, you see, you were so very
eager
, Reynard, so
pressing
; and I wasn’t quite sure how to interpret that.”

“
How to interpret it?
I want a match for my son, and I hoped to ally myself with Cortova. What else could it possibly have meant?”

“Nonsense! A subtle man like you? It might have meant any number of things—a veiled threat, for example: join with me or I’ll bring my army across your border and take what I want.”

Reynard was stupefied. “You can’t be serious!”

“Oh, but I am. And I just thought I could get a better feel for the situation if we were to meet together in person.”

“Bloody hell!”

“But also . . .”

Morning session, continued,

King Alaric:

“Oh come, my dear Alaric—don’t look at me like that!”

“How am I supposed to look? We’ve been discussing this matter since last winter, messengers running back and forth. And now you’ve put me to a great deal of trouble and expense by insisting that I come here in person to discuss the terms of the alliance and the marriage contract. Not to mention the fact that you’ve been secretly corresponding with my cousin at the same time so as to pit us against each other—which was not gentlemanly, Gonzalo, not at all. And now, to top it all, you claim no interest in either a marriage or an alliance? What was that all about?”

“Now, now, don’t be angry, young Alaric. Your question is fair: Why
did
I allow you to come all this way for nothing? Because, you see, you were so very
eager
, so
pressing
; and I wasn’t quite sure how to interpret that.”

Afternoon session, continued,

King Reynard:

The king of Austlind was on his feet again. His face was flushed with anger, and he was breathing hard. “Also
what
, Gonzalo?”

“Also, I began to wonder whether—seeing as you were, as I said,
so eager
and
so pressing
—you might perhaps be willing to
make
it worth my while, and in my interest, to change the way I have heretofore looked upon the subject of alliances. In which case I might—the incentive being great enough—convince my daughter (whom you will surely have noticed is exceedingly beautiful and charming and quite strong enough to bear any number of little princes without giving you the trouble of dying in the process) to marry your son.”

Morning session, continued,

King Alaric:

“And though my daughter’s betrothal to your brother ended quite tragically and was most unsettling to the delicate feelings of a young girl, she is also an obedient daughter, and she will do her duty . . . if, of course, you make it worth my while. To my advantage, you see.”

“You’re a bloody wonder—you know that, Gonzalo? Were you nursed in your cradle by a viper?”

“Come now, young Alaric! There’s no need to get personal about it.”

“Of course not. This is just business.”

“
Exactly!
I’m so glad you understand.”