There were soft scratching sounds back from the table as notes were made. "No. Absolutely not!" DeVane shoved his chair back and stood. "I won't – "
"General," Sam said, speaking quietly, "I'd hate to lose you; I understand you're a fighting officer. But the Queen and I will have obedience. Unless you sit down, sir, you will command nothing in this war but a labor battalion."
"Floating Jesus…" DeVane hesitated, then sat down.
"Thank you, General, for yielding to necessity."
"And what… necessity, Monroe, do you find for us?" Lords Sayre and Cooper both looked only politely interested.
"Contribution of those goods and household fighting-men you and the other river lords can spare, short of ruin."
"Plain speaking." Michael Cooper looked at Sam as pleasantly as an old uncle might. "I do wonder, though – your pardon, Majesty – I do wonder whether this apparent emergency might be being used to take our rights away, and leave us helpless before the future's crown."
"Milord," Sam said, "I'm sure that any ruler, except Her Majesty, would find you too formidable to attempt any such thing."
Lord Cooper smiled. "Nicely said. But why am I not comforted?"
"Why, because you are alert to your interest, sir."
"As I am, Monroe," Sayre said.
"Yes – both alert to your interests, as all river lords will be. Which is why I have no doubt at all that the units of East-bank army – now concentrating above Girardeau – will receive drafts of five hundred men-at-arms from every major estate on the river. And have no doubt also that six hundred barrels of barley grain, six hundred crates of dug potatoes, and two hundred crates of iced chicken-birds or fish will be delivered immediately from each estate – or proof positive shown why that cannot be done… The estate that withholds, will be fined in acres forfeit to the Crown – and those acres never returned."
Silence.
" – And this, milords, not punitive, but absolutely in your families' interests, since, should he win, the Khan will take care to destroy you and yours. Despite, by the way, any secret assurances his… emissaries… may have made to the contrary. Unlike Her Majesty, Toghrul will never allow the existence of any independence."
"So," Sayre said, "you grant us this… benefit."
"Yes, milord. And in addition – since the river lords are to be so generous – neither the Crown nor the armies, nor the Fleet, nor the people-Ordinary, will demand their heads for treason."
"… Such favors," Lord Cooper said. "How will we ever repay them?"
"I dread discovering that, sir," Sam said, to some amusement around the table. "And now, gentlemen, if Her Majesty and Princess Rachel will bear with us, we have the tedious professional questions of Warm-times' logistics – timing, transport, and supply." A stir of staff officers and aides, rustling paper turned to fresh pages. "Leaving aside my army, since supplies, remounts, and reserves should already be coming behind it, how can we get onto the river ice south of Lemay 'fustest with the mostest'?"
Smiles at that around the table. No soldier, no sailor, but knew that fine Warm-time phrase.
… Three hours later, a stack of written orders in various scribbles – dire and demanding news to executive officers, supply officers, field commanders, ships' captains, civilian sutlers, shipyard owners, and the accomplished of many guilds – stood before the Queen.
She put her hand on top of the stack, riffled through the pages with her thumb. "Well-enough. Not too much nonsense here." Then she stood, and everyone stood with her. "But drive your people, drive them, gentlemen – otherwise the Kipchaks will use this paper to wipe their asses."
The Queen turned to go, but the Princess stood waiting until Sam came to her and offered his arm.
"… Thank you, Rachel."
"For yielding," the Princess said, "to necessity?" And they followed the Queen and her ax-girl out of the Room of Conference.
… Lord Cooper walked back to the small stove, stood warming his hands as Sayre came to join him while their people were at the table, making certain of hand-copies.
"Cold…"
"Yes. She won't have this chamber heated."
"And your opinion, Cooper?"
"My opinion… My opinion is that we have no choice but to give our men and our goods, while giving is in fashion."
"Obviously. I meant, your opinion."
"Oh. Well, we certainly have a king in all but future's crowning. Then – unless he dies before – it will be… bend."
"We're bending already," said Lord Sayre.
"I'm sick of walls."
"Mother – "
"Sick of them!" The Queen was examining short spears, two assags, peering close at the grain of their hickory shafts, flicking their gleaming heads' razor-edged steel to hear it ring.
Martha, on orders, was packing leather duffels with warm woolens and boots, harsh furs… and, in a separate case, two light, nasaled pot-helms – one with gold fluting at its crown – and two long, heavy, chain-mail burnies, both very fine, custom-fitted, and with each of their thousands of tiny rivets welded, not simply hammered home.
"Mother…" Princess Rachel, upset as Martha'd never seen her, reached out to touch the Queen's hand – and had hers impatiently batted away. "Mother, listen to me. You have men whose business is going to battles, and seeing, and reporting back. You are needed here, not up on the ice."
"Oh, the boy-Monroe is busy enough, here. And Brady, pompous old fool."
"You're going because you want to, Mother – and no thought to the Kingdom or anyone else!"
"And you care for the Kingdom?"
"I do, and I care for you."
"And showed it never!"
"Mother, that's not so… You are not easy to deal with."
"Then stop dealing with me. – Martha, what the fuck are you doing over there? Get us packed."
"Taking your old knife, Majesty?"
"I'm carrying my old knife, yes. That's Trapper steel – best steel. I only wish I could take my bow, but this draw-shoulder won't bear it anymore." The Queen struck her shoulder with her fist, as punishment.
"Mother – "
"Rachel, if you don't stop bothering me over this, I'll lose my temper."
"Then lose your fucking temper, you selfish old bitch!" Princess Rachel's face was flushed red. "You don't know who loves you, who cares for you!"
Martha stopped packing and stood still. She sensed, throughout the tower chambers, others standing still. There was silence enough for the wind to be heard very clearly, hissing round the tower's stone.
"Now…" the Queen said. "Now, Daughter, you begin to please me – and don't spoil it with crying. I'd better not see a single tear."
"You won't," the Princess said, though it sounded to Martha as if tears were waiting.
"Comb-honey," the Queen said, and set her spears aside, "you should know I loved your father, and mourn him every day. And love you the same… But this is no season for a queen to hide in her tower. Our people need to see me on the ice."
"But not fighting."
"Certainly won't, if I can help it. I don't care to make a spectacle of myself. A silly old woman, stiff in the joints."
"You are not." Princess Rachel went to her mother like a child. The Queen seemed startled, then opened her arms. A hand, strong and long-fingered, scarred from battles long ago, stroked her daughter's hair.
Martha left the packing and left the room. She was certainly allowed tears, if the Queen didn't see them.
CHAPTER 22