The door opened and a guard stepped in to bow “Majesty, there is a courier come hot from King Armando.”
“From the king!” Alisande was on her feet “Show him in on the instant!”
The guard stepped aside and a small man stepped into the room, dressed like a caravan guard, still covered with the dust of the road. His whole body seemed to droop with fatigue, his face was gray with weariness, but he fought to hold himself erect. He pulled a scroll from a pouch at his side and presented it to Her Majesty with a bow… and almost fell over. Matt stepped forward, straightening him with a clap on the shoulder. “You’re a brave man, to bring word through, against such odds.”
Alisande looked up from the scroll. “There is nothing here but what I already knew… that the Moors have broken out from their enclave in the south and marched against the king and his armies.”
“Yes, Majesty,” the courier said, every word weighted by weariness. His accent was thick enough to make him hard to understand. “The scroll was only for men to read, if I was captured. The true message is on my tongue.”
“Speak, then!” the queen ordered.
“Tafas bin Daoud has launched a lightning attack on the North,” the courier said. “His men charged out from every direction, numberless as the blades of grass on the plain. He has conquered half the province of Vellese in one day, with five battles twenty leagues apart. His horsemen are lightly armored, but they came against the king’s knights five to one and worried at them like hounds at a bear until they brought the knight down.” His voice broke; he dropped to one knee. “Oh, Majesty, ride quickly! For if you do not come straight to the king’s aid, all of Ibile will be lost!” He tottered and nearly fell, but Matt reached out and caught him in time. One of the guards stepped forward and pulled the man to his feet.
Alisande turned to Matt with the determined, absolute certainty of the monarch. “There is no longer room to talk of a personal mission, Lord Wizard. The war has come to Merovence. We must march.”
Mama was incensed. “Why must I stay to guard the castle, Ramon?” Fear shadowed her eyes. “O my beloved, what shall I do if you never return to me?”
Papa took her into his arms, murmuring, “Be sure I shall come back, beloved. With so fair a lady waiting for me, how could I let armies stand in my way?”
“Then why should I not go, and you stay!”
“Because in the Middle Ages, the office of women was to stay and hold the castle… and that because their men cannot bear to risk them in battle.”
“But we are expected to risk our men, whom we love as our lives? Why does not Mateo’s wife have to stay, then?” But Mama knew the reason very well.
So did Papa. “Because she is the queen, and by the magic of this universe, only the sovereign can know with certainty which terrain to choose and how to manage the battle. From what they say, I believe she will do as a modern commander should, watching the battle from high ground and directing the movements of the troops in relative safety.”
“Why must she wear armor, then?”
“Because none can be sure she will not have to fight, herself… on a hilltop or not, she may be attacked, or ambushed as her army travels. You must stay here with Saul, my love, to be sure there is a castle to which our daughter-in-law may return when her war is won.”
“It is still most unfair,” Mama grumbled, but she let Papa’s caresses soothe her anyway.
The soldiers milled about in the courtyard, knights and courtiers riding through them, bawling orders.
Against the range of kitchens, provision wagons were loading their last stocks of food and ale. Another set of wagons loaded extra weapons from the smithies. There were no camp followers, especially no prostitutes… yet. Alisande would not have them, maintaining that her soldiers would not exploit women.
It galled her to know that the prostitutes would materialize every night they marched, as if from thin air.
She sat astride her mount by the gatehouse with her dukes, gazing out over the courtyard, impassive face hiding the warring of emotions within her… sadness at leaving her home, eagerness for the journey and for action. Matt stood nearby, arguing with Saul.
“Look,” the Witch Doctor said, “how about we make a deal? You stay home, and I’ll go with the army.”
Matt shook his head. “Your wife doesn’t have to march with the soldiers. Mine does.”
“Yeah, but it’s not fair to leave you to take on all the danger by yourself! At least you could let your dad stay home as resident magician, and let me go!”
“Angelique would never forgive me.” Saul’s wife was Matt’s trump card, and he played her unmercifully.
“How about your mother? Why should she have to risk her husband when Angelique doesn’t?”
“Because she’s related to the queen, and Angelique isn’t… and because her baby is grown up now.”
Saul took a deep breath, striving for composure. “Look, let’s try to be reasonable about this. If your parents hadn’t dropped by, who would have had to stay to defend the castle?”
Matt started to answer, but Saul said quickly, “Never mind. Don’t answer. Dumb question.”
Matt relaxed with a smile of amusement. Saul growled a good-bye and turned away. He knew very well that if Mama and Papa Mantrell hadn’t appeared on the scene, he would have been stuck with being castellan without any hope of debate.
Then he turned back, holding out a small gray sphere pierced with holes. “At least take one of my communicators! That way, if you get into too much trouble, you can call for help and I can at least send a spell!”
“Thanks, but I’m supposed to be incognito.” Matt smiled even as he held up a palm to ward off the talisman. “If I’m wearing a bauble that suddenly starts talking, it might make peasants and soldiers a little wary of me.”
Saul didn’t say anything, just glowered. He hated having to admit the other guy was right.
“As long as I don’t look like a wizard,” Matt explained, “people may trust me. If I look magical, nobody will tell me anything.”
“Okay, okay! At least take a good long look every time you pass a puddle, though, will you? I can send a message that way if all else fails.”
“Deal.” Matt held out a hand. “I always did like to take a little time for reflection.”
Saul winced, but shook his hand anyway.
So the army rode out across the drawbridge with the queen at their head and her Lord Wizard right behind her with his father beside him, and with Saul, Angelique, and Mama waving from the battlements atop the gatehouse.
The army’s campfires made a very orderly galaxy, a spiral that lapped into five separate circles with the queen’s pavilion at its center. Inside that tent, she forced herself to submit to her own intuition born of the magical link between monarch and people, queen and country.
“I hate the thought of it,” she told Matt, “but the certainty grows within me that I must needs have a vanguard, a small party going before the army to prepare the way… and that it must be you, that none other stands even a chance of success.”
Matt held himself very still, though his eyes widened. He wasn’t used to Alisande saying someone else was right when she was in monarch mode. Of course, she hadn’t said she was wrong, and hadn’t quite said that he was right… but it was enough. “I’ll sneak out while nobody notices,” he promised.
“I would go myself, but… “