Sitting directly across from me was King Nicholas, and next to him was his chief knight, Sir Barnabas. Beside them was Lord Gerald Winfield, who still retained the position of Lord High Justicer, a position he had had for years. In fact he had been the man to preside over the grievance brought against James by the Duke of Tremont after I had killed his son some seven or eight years ago. Thank goodness Tremont isn’t here, I thought to myself. That would have been the pinnacle of awkwardness.
Not that I really ever worried about the Duke of Tremont appearing in court. Since James’ ascension to the throne and my subsequent rise in prominence, he had effectively retired from dabbling in court politics.
The soup course had already come and gone. Servers were bringing fresh bread and a new wine to prepare us for the main course. I had been told it would feature wild duck and a smattering of small game birds, served with wild grasses and some sort of cream based sauce. I had learned a lot about epicurean delights over the past few years, but most of my knowledge involved the part with me holding a fork. All that aside, the royal kitchens were the best in all of Lothion and I was looking forward to the rest of the meal.
“Where did you get this wine?” Nicholas asked, after a server had replaced his glass.
James started to speak before lapsing into a frown. Genevieve took note and spoke on his behalf, “It’s from Turlington, Your Majesty. They call it ‘Wyverlin White’, because it is accented during the fermentation with a marsh plant that grows in that region.” James looked on his wife with visible relief. Though he was a man of considerable charm and power, it was obvious that his wife had many talents of her own.
The King of Gododdin raised his glass in a silent toast to the Queen and sipped it appreciatively. A moment later he addressed her directly, “I must confess, this is the first time I have ever tasted something like this. I am afraid it puts my own gift to you and your husband to shame.”
She smiled, “I am sure you are simply modest.”
James broke in, “Nicholas brought a wagon loaded with select Dalensan reds, my dear.”
I had been considering whether I should attempt to enter the conversation, a chancy prospect when you are dining with royalty, but Lady Rose beat me to it. “I absolutely adore the sweet red they produce there, though I can never remember the name…,” she began. I suspected she was lying; Rose had a mind like a steel trap and rarely forgot anything. She was merely creating an opening to continue the conversation.
The King of Gododdin leaned forward to answer Rose’s question, and as he did I could not help noticing the silver glint of a necklace at his throat. I missed his reply to her, as the jewelry caught my attention, for it was tucked into his shirt. There was certainly nothing unusual about royalty wearing jewelry, but normally it was openly displayed. Without thinking I let my senses explore, following the chain and examining the shape of the pendant it held.
It was the likeness of a balance, the symbol of Karenth the Just. It wasn’t unusual, Karenth had been the most popular deity among some nobility and many rulers, but I hadn’t realized that Nicholas was still a devotee. Considering what had happened in his country; the execution of his royal uncle by the Children of Mal’goroth, and the horrors that had followed, I had thought perhaps Nicholas might have abandoned his faith.
After all of that, the dark god had put half the populace to death on his bloody altars. Though the Children of Mal’goroth had been deposed by the revolt that followed, the shiggreth quickly turned victory to despair. If it hadn’t been for the intervention of the Knights of Stone, at the behest of the ‘godless’ Count di’Cameron, there wouldn’t be much left of his nation.
I kept my observations to myself and turned my ear back to the conversation just in time to catch Penny thanking Nicholas. “Of course my husband and I are both honored that you thought of us,” she said. Her foot jostled mine as she sought to bring my attention back to matters at hand.
Mentally I reviewed the last few sentences they had exchanged and luckily it was enough to keep me from making a diplomatic blunder. “You have me at a disadvantage, Your Majesty,” I told him, “for I have nothing prepared to compare to such a gift.” Along with a dozen other selected vintages, he had just brought up the fact that he was giving us two bottles of Dalensan Instritas, a very expensive and highly sought after wine, especially since the winery that produced it had been unable to resume production for the past two years.
“Think nothing of it!” he insisted. “It is but small thanks for the blood you have shed on our behalf, and a small apology for the terrible wrong that was done to both our countries.” He was referring to the ill-fated invasion by the army of Gododdin. Mal’goroth had forced the war upon them and I had responded by wiping out the entire invasion force, a group of soldiers and support staff numbering over thirty thousand strong. “I would be honored if you would drink a glass on the eve of your annual celebration,” he added.
I was mildly embarrassed at his mention of our annual celebration. Since the defeat of the Gododdin army, the people of Lancaster and Washbrook had begun holding a yearly holiday. There was even some sign that it might be catching on with the rest of the kingdom. Given my mixed feelings about the actual event that the holiday was based upon, I tended to avoid the jubilation that went on, but hearing about it from the mouth of Gododdin’s present king was even more awkward.
My eyes were serious as I fixed them upon him, “Although the people find comfort in celebrating that day, I take no comfort in what I did. Tens of thousands died that day, and while some might defend my action by saying it was necessary, the fact still remains that I slew tens of thousands. If I could wipe the event from the minds of men, I would, but my guilt would still remain.” Penny’s hand tightened on my arm as I spoke.
The King of Gododdin looked upon me with something approaching sympathy in his gaze. “Pardon me for reminding you of that day. I had no idea you held such sentiment. As you know, my father was long dead before the attack was decided upon, and I was in hiding. Though you slew my countrymen, I do not hold you to blame. You did what was necessary to protect your people. Those men knew the risk when they joined Mal’goroth’s army.”
Something in his last words struck a chord in me. “Did they really? I suspect many joined out of fear, and even if they didn’t… what of their families? Many more died than just those I slew personally.” I was referring to the slaughter of the wives and children of those who died attempting to invade Lothion.
A fire kindled in the foreign king’s eyes. “You seem quite sympathetic to those whose only goal was to remove your head from your shoulders. Perhaps you should give yourself more credit. Those men were not entirely innocent. Had they kept faith with the true gods none of this would have occurred.”
“You refer to your uncle’s death, I presume. Did you know that he exchanged letters with my father?” I asked, a bit tensely.
“I did not,” Nicholas answered. “Still it does nothing to change the fact that it was the lack of faith amongst the commoners that allowed Mal’goroth’s followers to depose my father and to do such damage to my kingdom. Their defeat at your hands, and the slaughter that the priests wrought afterward, were the catalysts that showed the dark god’s true nature, and once it was seen for the unforgivable abomination that it was, the people finally rose up and threw off the shackles that bound them. You may lament your action, but my people would still be in chains without it, and I would not be sitting on my throne.” As he spoke Nicholas’ voice rose in intensity.