Duke Andronicus crossed his arms like a man in a fight with his wife. ‘Are you done?’ He turned his head to where his son had just drawn his short sword. ‘Do not threaten our guest.’
‘He’s a useless old fuck. I could gut him and we’d be the better for it.’ Demetrius stood up.
His magnificent sword – blued and gilt with a scene of the crucifixion – rusted away to flakes in a single breath, leaving only the gilt – for a moment – before the whole fell like a dirty orange snow to the floor.
He dropped the hilt as if the rust were a contagion he might catch. ‘Fuck you, you bastard,’ he spat.
‘Your son is our single greatest liability,’ Aeskepiles said, effectively muffling the boy with another small working. ‘Even your own people hate him.’
Andronicus shrugged. ‘That’s as may be. He’s my flesh and blood, and a fine cavalry officer. And I can trust him with anything. Unlike a certain mage.’
‘Don’t be a fool, Andronicus. You can trust me – I have no other place to go. Kronmir admitted that two of his agents know how we planned the coup. And who was in it with us.’
Andronicus stroked his short ginger beard. ‘They need to die, then,’ he said.
‘I’ll see to that. In the meantime, be wary of the spy. He knows too much.’ The magister brought the cylinder down from the ceiling and gave it to the Duke, who read it greedily and cursed.
But when he was done, he met the mage’s eye and smiled. ‘I know you want him killed,’ he said. ‘But he’s ridden from the city with an army, and I’ll have him in a week. In my own country? The thing’s as good as done. Can you handle his hermetical?’
‘I was the Imperial mage,’ Aeskepiles said. ‘I can handle a mercenary company from Alba.’ He leaned forward. ‘Should we move the Emperor?’
‘Why?’ asked the Duke. ‘He’s leagues west of here, with people I trust. The usurper will never get that far. Our report says he’s headed east!’
Harndon – The Queen
Desiderata dismounted from her horse and rushed across the frozen ground, but it was too late.
The Sieur de Rohan stood with a bloody sword, and one of her favourites, Ser Augustus, lay bleeding. The blood pumped from his side and flowed out of his mouth, and it ran on and on, and he lay there. His eyes found hers, and of all things, he smiled.
He opened his mouth, and more blood came out – gouts of it.
She knelt, regardless of the blood and the ordure, and took his head in her lap. ‘What is this?’ she asked.
Rohan laughed. ‘One of your lovers? One fewer, then.’ He bowed his head. ‘My lady Queen,’ he said with a smile.
Ser Augustus looked at her as if she was his hope of heaven, and she reached inside to try-
He was slipping away, like a guest leaving a party without saying goodbye to the hostess, and she tripped after him – through the open woods where they’d been riding, across the open field where the wagon waited with all their hawks, and then into the woods and he flitted on ahead of her, and suddenly she was in dark and broken country. She stopped, and watched Ser Augustus go on – up the dark slope and away from her best effort to throw her golden light to him.
She rose, covered in blood – her white wool dress now scarlet and dark brown. She stalked regally after the Sieur de Rohan. ‘Explain yourself, sir, before I have you arrested.’
‘Arrested? On the word of a woman?’ He laughed in her face. ‘Unlike these others, I merely defend your husband’s honour – as my lord, the great Captal, does on a larger field.’
She was quite calm. ‘Are you accusing me of something, messire?’
‘That is for a greater baron than I,’ he said, and his eyes were lit as if from within. ‘I will merely content myself with cutting the evil weeds from his garden.’
Lady Mary stood at the Queen’s shoulder. She stepped between the murderer and the Queen. ‘I think you are a coward and a murderer,’ she said.
The Galle’s smile slipped into blank rage. His hand twitched.
‘Mary!’ cautioned the Queen.
‘I think you are a coward who seeks to torment the Queen when all of our best knights are away – fighting the Wild.’ Mary took a step towards him.
‘We are your best knights. There is no knight in this beggarly country that can stand against us. Coward? I? I challenged him and I beat him. You Albans pretend that black is white. It is not. He was a coward. His hand shook when he drew his sword.’
‘And you enjoyed that, did you not? I say you are a false knight, a poltroon-’ She leaned forward-
His hand, uncontrolled, shot out and struck her, and she fell backward.
‘Arrest the Galle,’ said the Queen.
‘You bitch,’ Rohan said softly.
Desiderata’s eyes met his for a moment, and she said, ‘You want open war between us? So be it.’
The King sat on his throne with all of his officers present and scratched the ears of his wolfhound. ‘Are you a pack of complete idiots?’ he growled. ‘I demand my officer be released immediately. He committed no crime-’
‘He struck my daughter in front of fifty witnesses!’ roared the Constable. ‘By God and all the saints-’
De Vrailly turned to him. ‘If you desire satisfaction, challenge me, and we will settle this.’
The Count faced the Captal with an icy bow. ‘Whatever odd customs you Galles keep at home, my lord, here in Alba we have laws which bind all men. Your man has broken a slew of them – lese majestie, and assault against an innocent woman-’
‘Who called him a coward, in public, before witnesses – for a woman to do that! That she should dare to even raise her eyes to such a man!’ said the Captal. ‘In Galle, women know their places.’
There was a particularly icy silence while Gaston d’Eu, the usual peacemaker, glared at his cousin with ill-concealed distaste. ‘Do they really, cousin? I think you fantasise.’
The Captal turned his glare on his cousin. ‘Withdraw that,’ he said.
The Count d’Eu settled himself. ‘No. I, the Comte d’Eu, declare that you lie. Women in Galle are every bit as free to speak their minds at court as men. You create a world that suits yourself, rather than observing reality. I will maintain my point of view with my reality.’
The King shot to his feet. ‘Damn the lot of you!’ he roared.
Even the Captal backed away a step.
The King walked past the Queen, who sat in silence, her hands crossed.
‘Your daughter behaved like a fishwife, yelling insults at a knight,’ said the King to his Count. He walked another few steps to the Captal. ‘Your man used a duel as a pretext for murder, and made broad allegations about my wife’s fidelity – did you know about this, Captal?’
The Captal had no trouble meeting the King’s eyes. ‘It is commonly reported,’ he said. And he shrugged. ‘But my man killed your gentleman over a private matter – nothing to do with the Queen or the law. They are both knights – only the Law of War covers them. Ser Augustus was found wanting.’ The Captal shrugged. ‘I have read your laws. If my man made an accusation against the Queen, let her bring her witnesses forth. Otherwise, he was arrested for a provoked attack on a woman.’
‘Do Galles hit women so very often?’ asked the Count of the Borders. ‘None of my training in chivalry covered such a point. Is it a particular part of the Law of War?’
The Captal turned but found the King was standing by the Count d’Eu. ‘And I have been to Galle, and I agree with the Count. So – Captal. Will you face the two of us in the lists?’
The Captal took a deep breath. ‘Of course.’
‘Your cousin and your King – you’ll fight us both?’ asked the King. ‘If you win, you’ll be banned from this court. If you lose, you’ll have been proven false.’ The King was often bluff and easygoing. Some of the men in the room had never heard him take this tone. ‘Captal, you are a fine knight, but sometimes you are a fool. You seem to believe that we are all peers, merely gentlemen with swords, in a sort of endless tournament. Eh?’