Wintertide (15 page)

“Without Lord Dermont to lead them, the Imperial Army floundered when the attack came. It was Sir Hadrian—then
Captain
Hadrian of the Fifth Imperial Mounted Guard—who roused the men and set them to ranks. He raised the banner and led them forth. At first, only a handful of soldiers responded. Indeed, only those who served with him answered his call, for they alone knew firsthand his mettle. Ignoring his meager numbers, he trusted in Maribor and called the charge.”

Hadrian looked down and fidgeted with an uncooperative toggle on his tunic as the others sat enthralled.

“Although it was suicide, Captain Hadrian rode at the head of the troop into the fen field. His horse threw mud and slop, and a magnificent rainbow burst forth from the spray as he galloped across a stretch of standing water. He drove at the heart of the enemy with no thought of his own safety.”

Saldur’s voice grew in volume and intensity. His tone and cadence assumed the melodramatic delivery of a church sermon. A few nobles at the other tables turned to listen as he continued.

“His courageous charge unnerved the Nationalist foot soldiers, who fell back in fear. Onward he plunged, splitting their ranks until at last his mount became overwhelmed by the soft earth and fell. Wielding sword and shield, he got to his feet and continued to drive forward. Clashing against steel, he cried out the name of the empress, ‘For Modina! Modina! Modina Novronian!’”

Saldur paused and Hadrian looked up to see every eye at the table shifting back and forth between the regent and himself.

“Finally, shamed by the bravery of this one lone captain, the rest of the Imperial Army rallied. They cried to Maribor for forgiveness even as they drew sword and spear and rushed to follow. Before reinforcements could reach him, Hadrian was wounded and driven into the mud. Some of his men bore him from the field and took him to the tent of Lord Dermont. There they told the tale of his bravery and Lord Dermont swore by Maribor to honor Hadrian’s sacrifice. He proclaimed his intent to knight the valiant captain.

“‘Nay, Lord!’ cried Captain Hadrian even as he lay wounded and bleeding. ‘Knight me not for I am unworthy. I have failed.’ Lord Dermont clutched his blade and was heard to say, ‘You are more worthy of the noble title of
knight-valiant
than I am of the title of
man!
’ And with that, Lord Dermont dubbed him
Sir
Hadrian.”

“Oh my!” the duchess gasped.

With everyone staring at him, Hadrian felt hot, awkward, and more naked than when Elgar had interrupted his bath.

“Lord Dermont called for his own horse and thanked Sir Hadrian for the chance to redeem his honor before Maribor. He led his personal retinue into the fight, where he and all but a few of his men perished on the pikes of the Nationalists.

“Sir Hadrian tried to return to the battle despite his wounds, but fell unconscious before reaching the field. After the Nationalists’ victory, they left him for dead and only providence spared his life. He awoke covered in mud. Desperate for food and water, he crawled into the forest where he came upon a small hovel. There he was fed and tended to by a mysterious man. Sir Hadrian rested there for six days, and on the seventh, the man brought forth a horse and told Sir Hadrian to take it, ride to Aquesta, and present himself to the court. After he handed over the reins, thunder cracked and a single white feather fell from a clear blue sky. The man caught the feather before it reached the ground, a broad smile across his face. And with that, the man disappeared.

“Now, gentlemen and ladies.” Saldur paused to look each of them in the eye. “I tell you truthfully that two days before Sir Hadrian arrived, the empress came to me and said, ‘A knight riding a white horse will come to the palace. Admit him and honor him, for he shall be the greatest knight of the New Empire.’ Sir Hadrian has been here, recuperating from his wounds, ever since. Today he is fully recovered and sits before you all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must take my seat, as the feast is about to begin.” Saldur bowed and left them.

No one said a word for some time. Everyone stared at Hadrian in wonder, including Albert, whose mouth hung agape.

It was the duchess who finally found words to sum up their collective thoughts. “Well, aren’t you just an astonishment topped with surprises?”

***

Dinner was served in a fashion that Hadrian had never seen before. Fifty servants moving in concert delivered steaming plates of exotic victuals in elaborate presentations. Two peacocks were posed on large platters. One peered up as if surprised while the other’s head curled under its wings as if sleeping. Each was surrounded by an array of succulent, carved meat. Ducks, geese, quail, turtledoves, and partridges were displayed in similar fashion, and one pure-white trumpeter swan reared up with its wings outstretched as if about to take flight. Rings of nuts, berries, and herbs surrounded glazed slabs of lean venison, dark boar, and marbled beef. Breads of various shades, from snow-white to nearly black, lay in heaping piles. Massive wedges of cheese, cakes of butter, seven different types of fish, oysters steamed in almond milk, meat pies, custard tarts, and pastries drizzled with honey covered every inch of the table. Stewards and their many assistants served endless streams of wine, beer, ale, and mead.

Anxiety welled up, as he struggled to remember Nimbus’s multiple instructions on table etiquette. The list had been massive, but at that moment he could remember just two things: he was not to use the tablecloth to blow his nose, and should not pick his teeth with the knife. Following Saldur’s prayer to Maribor, Hadrian’s fears vanished when all the guests ripped into the bountiful food with abandon. They tore legs off pigs and heads from birds. Bits of meat and grease sprayed the table as nobles groped and pawed to taste a bite of every dish, lest they miss something that might be the talk of the feast.

Hadrian had lived most of his life on black bread, brown ale, hard cheese, salted fish, and vegetable stews. What lay before him was a new experience. He tried the peacock, which despite its beauty, was dry and not nearly as good as he expected. The venison had a wonderful hickory-smoked taste. But the best thing by far was the dish of cinnamon baked apples. All conversation stopped when the eating began. The only sounds in the hall were those of a single lute, a lone singer, and scores of chewing mouths.

“…long is the day in the summertime, long is the song which I play,
I will keep your memory in my heart, till you come to me…”

The music was beautiful and strangely haunting. Its melody filled the Great Hall with a radiance that blended well with the glow of the fireplace and candles. After the setting of the sun, the windows turned to black mirrors and the mood became more intimate. Consoled with food, drink, and music, Hadrian forgot his circumstance and began to enjoy himself—until the Earl of Chadwick nudged him back to reality.

“Are you entered in the joust?” he asked. From his tone and glassy eyes, Hadrian could tell Archibald Ballentyne had started drinking long before the feast.

“Ah, yes—yes I am, sir—I mean, Your Lordship.”

“Then you might be riding against my champion Sir Breckton over there.” He waved a limp hand across the table. “He’s also competing in the joust.”

“Then I don’t stand much of a chance.”

“No, you don’t,” the earl said. “But you must do your best. There will be a crowd to please.” The earl leaned over in a confidential manner. “Now tell me, was what Saldur told us true?”

“I would never dispute the word of a regent,” Hadrian replied.

Archibald guffawed. “I think the phrase you were actually looking for is, never
trust
the word of a regent. Did you know they promised me Melengar and then just like that…” The earl attempted to snap his fingers. “…like that…” He attempted again. “…like…” He failed yet a third time. “Well, you know what I mean. They took away what they promised me. So you can see why I’m skeptical. That bit about the empress expecting you, was that true?”

“I have no idea, My Lord. How could I know?”

“So, you haven’t met her? The empress, I mean?”

Hadrian paused, remembering a young girl named Thrace. “No, I haven’t actually met
the empress
. Shouldn’t she be seated up there?”

The earl scowled. “They leave the throne vacant in her honor. She never dines in public. To be honest, I’ve lived in this palace for half a year and have only seen her on three occasions: once in the throne room, once when she addressed the public, and once when I...well what matters is she never seems to leave her room. I often wonder whether the regents are keeping her prisoner up there. I should have her kidnapped—free the poor girl.”

Archibald sat up and said, more to himself than to Hadrian, “That’s what I should do, and there’s just the man I need to talk to.” Plucking a walnut from the centerpiece, he threw it down the table at Albert.

“Viscount Winslow,” he shouted with more volume than necessary. “I haven’t seen you in quite some time.”

“No, indeed, Your Lordship. It has been far too long.”

“Are you still in contact with those two…phantoms of the night? You know, the magicians that can make letters disappear and who are equally adept at saving doomed princesses from tower prisons?”

“I’m sorry, Your Lordship, but after what they did to you, I terminated my connection with them.”

“Yes…what they did…” the earl slurred while looking into his cup, “What they did was put Braga’s head in my lap! While I was sleeping no less! Did you know that? It was a most disagreeable awakening, I tell you.” He trailed off, mumbling to himself.

Hadrian bit his lip.

“I had no idea. You have my sincere apology,” Albert said with genuine surprise, which was lost on the earl, who had tilted his head back to take another swallow of wine.

New musicians entered and began playing a formal tune as gentlemen, including Gilbert and Elgar, took the hands of ladies and led them to the dance floor. Hadrian had no idea how to dance. Nimbus had not even tried to instruct him. The Duke and Duchess of Rochelle also left to join in. A clear line of sight opened between Hadrian and Albert.

“So, Sir Hadrian, is it?” the viscount asked, shifting down to take Lady Genevieve’s vacated chair. “Is this your first time in the banquet hall?”

“Indeed, it is.”

“The palace is large and has an impressive history. I’m sure that during your recent recovery you’ve not had an opportunity to visit much of it. If you aren’t planning to dance, I’d be happy to give you a tour. There are some fine paintings and frescos on the second floor that are exquisite.”

Hadrian glanced at the men still watching him.

“I’m sure they are, Viscount, but I think it might be rude to leave the feast so early. Our hosts might look poorly on me for doing so.” He motioned toward the head table where Saldur and Ethelred sat. “I wouldn’t want to incur their disfavor so early in the celebrations.”

“I understand completely. Have you found your accommodations at the palace to your liking?”

“Yes, indeed. I have my own room in the knights’ wing. Regent Saldur has been most generous, and I have nothing to complain about as far as my quarters are concerned.”

“So you have reason to complain otherwise?” Albert inquired.

Carefully choosing his words, Hadrian replied, “Not a complaint really, I am merely concerned about my performance in the coming tournament. I am going to be competing against many renowned knights such as Sir Breckton here. It is extremely important that I do well in the joust. Some very distinguished people will be watching the outcome quite closely.”

“You should not be so concerned,” Breckton mentioned. “If you are true to the knight’s code, Maribor will guide you. What others may think has no weight on the field. The truth is the truth, and you know whether you live in accord with it or not. From this you will draw your strength or weakness.”

“Thank you for your kind words, but I am not merely riding for myself. A success in this tournament will change the fortunes of those I care about as well…my, ah, retinue.”

Albert nodded.

Sir Breckton leaned forward. “You are that concerned about the reputation of your squires and grooms?”

“They are as dear to me as family,” Hadrian responded.

“That is most admirable. I can’t say I have ever met a knight so concerned with the well-being of those who serve him.”

“To be honest, sir, it is mainly for their welfare that I ride. I only hope they do nothing to dishonor me, as some of them are prone to poor judgment—rash and risky behavior—usually on my behalf, of course. Still, in this instance, I prefer they would merely enjoy the holiday.”

Albert gave another nod and drained the last of his wine.

Ballentyne took another drink as well. He swallowed, burped loudly, and then slouched with his elbow on the table, resting a palm against his cheek. Hadrian surmised that it would not be long before the earl passed out completely.

The monk and the gray-bearded fellow bid the table good night. The two wandered off while debating the Legend of Kile, the significance of Saldur’s story, and the true nature of the man Hadrian allegedly met in the forest.

“Well, it has been a delight to dine with you all,” Albert said, rising. “I am not used to such rich living, and this wine has gone to my head. I fear I will make a fool of myself should I remain, so I will retire.”

The two knights bid him farewell, and Hadrian watched as Albert left the hall without looking back.

Having no one else left to converse with, Hadrian turned to Breckton. “Did your father not attend, or is he seated somewhere else?”

Breckton, whose attention was focused toward the front of the hall, took a moment to respond. “My father chose not to come. If not for the request of my lord here—” He gestured at the earl, who did not react. “I would not have attended either. Neither of us is in a mood for celebrations. We only recently learned that my younger brother Wesley died in the empress’s service.”

Hadrian replied in a somber voice, “I’m sorry for your loss. I’m sure he died with honor.”