To Be King Page 3

  Isobel's white brow was still furrowed, but her father saw that she had become more amenable to his arguments when her brothers had been mentioned.

  "Kayetan might make a splendid duke, but I think all the fighting spirit we had has gone to you. Don't you want something different for him, and Ludo? Nothing can thrive in the middle of war except hardness, and they are a different breed. They will thrive in peace."

  His daughter was now eyeing him levelly. "Why don't you tell me what has been asked of you?"

  The duke nodded: "First I will tell you what has been offered: all my lands, of course, and all the lands of the northeast, up to the frontier. Fertile lands in the east, Sourreigne and Deerholt. These are beautiful lands with a good stretch of coast. I can content our nobles with parts of these lands and still have a lot for my descendants. Perhaps there will be much more than we could have dreamt for them."

  "What do you mean?"

  Duke Benedikt looked at Isobel’s hand in his, the hand that he needed to give to Lathia: "To establish bonds that may not be broken between north and south, to create a kingdom more powerful than has ever been seen and to make our duchy almost equal to that kingdom, what is required is that you should marry Prince Tameas."

  Isabel's first reaction to what she didn't like was often harsh. She stood up and glared at her father like the gorgon she had often been called. "Marry that puppet? A prince who stays at home when there is war? I would rather throw myself from the tower!"

  "My girl, I have often told you not to be so hasty! You have a good head, once you are past your rages. Think of what it would mean!"

  "Dishonor and ridicule for your people, and vile submission for me, who am your daughter!"

  “Isobel, try to reason…”

  “This is why you believe that false king, because you are giving me away to him as a hostage!”

  “As a princess,” her father countered in a tone which showed that his patience was at an end. “And as the future queen of a great kingdom!”

  “I want nothing with that kingdom! I want my land, my life!”

  Duke Benedikt stood up and faced the gorgon. He wanted to waste no more time. "I have given you my reasons and I won’t repeat them, but neither will I force you to marry. Give me your final answer now, for I must descend and announce whether we are going to war or to a wedding!"

  THE STATEROOM

  In the state room there were the lords and knights who had just returned with Benedikt, showing no tiredness after their long ride; and there were some of the lords who had stayed behind, men too old for war but still powerful through their lands, their coin and the armies they could raise.

  Benedikt prayed that all would accept his news, especially the old lords, who could probably browbeat the young hotheads, their sons, nephews or grandsons, into accepting the new order of things.

  As he took his chair, he looked at the men who had been present at the negotiations with Tibold, after their first conversation alone: the men who had looked at maps with them, asked for certain lands, rejected others. There were Lord Wilmot, Harry's father, Lord Hamnet, Lord Garratt; the three of them and Benedikt represented the greatest amount of souls in the duchy and the largest stretches of land.

  Benedikt's ancestors had given those families their lands, which they had helped him win through fighting. These were the lords intelligent enough to understand that from now on war would be the wrong way of life, that those who chose war for its sake were the people who would lose, be conquered, and disappear.

  The duke sat, raised above the waiting men, and considered them for a short moment before speaking. "I am sure you have wanted to know why there was no battle, and what the long conversations between Tibold and me were about. We have decided against war."

  There was murmuring among the knights and some of the younger lords, and Lord Wilmot hushed them. Benedikt could not help glancing at the face of his champion, Harry. His scowl was already deeper and his eyes more unruly than even Isobel's had been.

  "There is no reason for Stonemount to fight a protective war against Lathia. Tibold doesn't want our lands."

  There was louder murmuring this time. Knights shifted on their feet and looked at each other, while the lords who were hearing this for the first time seemed to be listening very attentively.

  Benedikt raised his hand, asking for silence, and was pleased to see that he was immediately obeyed. He had been at the head of every battle they had ever fought, and they deeply respected him for his courage and his fair rule, and obeyed him as their duke and military commander.

  "Lathia won't be coming for us, I say, and we won't be going for them. We are going to unite."

  The room now exploded in surprised exclamations. Harry had moved to the foot of the steps that led to Benedikt's chair and leaned forward, his foot on the first step. If I make him mad enough, he might climb up here and put his dagger in my throat, Benedikt thought. Harry was as loyal and honorable a man as could ever exist, but what the duke was about to say would be the one thing to make him lose his head completely.

  "It has been agreed that we will have one third of the kingdom that Tibold now possesses, and Stonemount, and that we will be his friends and allies."

  "You trust The Pretender?" one of the old lords cried.

  "We shall have the best of all guarantees: we shall seal the agreement in blood─ the blood of our children, Isobel and Tameas, who shall be joined in marriage."

  The reaction to this was not what he had expected. There was complete silence. Benedikt could almost hear the stone around him breathing, but he held fast.

  "Intolerable submission!"

  The loud, hoarse cry had to come from Harry, and it was no surprise that he used the same word as Isobel, submission. Sometimes Benedikt though they were two halves, one masculine, the other feminine, of the same person. They had the same indomitable spirit, the same hasty judgments, and the same hot head.

  "Harry!" Lord Wilmot took a step towards his son. "Be quiet and listen to your liege!"

  "I won't be quiet!" Harry cried. All the other knights and lords had stopped talking and their eyes were on Harry. He addressed Benedikt. "I ask your leave to speak!"

  The duke knew that, after this news, Harry would speak whether or not he had leave. And it was best if he brought his irrational anger out in the open. Benedikt knew, too, that in comparison with Harry all other knights, even the most hardened ones, would be moderate in their opinions about this alliance. It was good that Harry should show unjustifiable passion, as the others might find themselves backing away from his exaggerated feelings and towards Benedikt's cool, shrewd decision. Benedikt was betting on the high likelihood that his men were tired of war, and could agree to peace if the terms were advantageous. They did not have an Isobel to lose.

  "Harry..." Lord Wilmot's voice had a warning and a plea in it.

  Harry ignored his father, looking at the duke. "Your Grace?"

  "Anything that Sir Harry wants to say will be heard, by all of us!" said Benedikt.

  Lord Wilmot did not move; he looked towards his son, waiting to smack him down if he went too far.

  "My liege, why must we accept this peace?" Harry asked passionately, his handsome face turned up to Benedikt. "Why must our lady, your daughter, be given away to a craven prince, a man who will not show his face in a field of battle, but who instead cavorts with whores and plucks at the lute?"

  "Harry!" It was Lord Wilmot again.

  "I will speak, father!"

  "You have spoken! Now you must be quiet and listen to the wisdom of older men who know better than you!"

  "Zounds, so I am not too young to die or kill, and yet am too young to think or say what I think?”

  Harry turned and climbed another step. Lord Wilmot threw his gloves at his son. "You will show your back to your father, boy?" he shouted, his face turning purple.

  "Lord Wilmot, let Harry speak," Benedikt asked. He didn't want one of his greatest allies to fall dead of apoplexy at h
is feet. Lord Wilmot still looked at his son with bulging eyes, as he tried to steady his breathing.

  "It's unworthy to sue for peace," Harry continued, with just as much passion as before. "It's unworthy to ally ourselves with Tibold and let him call himself king. It's unworthy that the coward, Tameas, shall be a step above you, Your Grace, when this...contract is sealed. We may have less men and less weapons than him, yet we have better men. We could refuse him, and still live in the uneasy peace of neighbors who respect each other's strength. And when Tibold dies and Tameas thinks he is king, we can take everything from him as we would sweets from a babe. He doesn't deserve to rule over anything, except his disgraceful impulses!"

  "Sir Harry, your opinion matters to us." Benedikt used 'us' on purpose, to remind the boy who he was. He loved Harry, but he wasn't going to go back on his word to Tibold because of him. "Yet it cannot change our counsel, which was the product of much deliberation."

  "I will set fire to all the land before the Lady Isobel goes to that fool's bed!" Harry bellowed.

  "You traitor!" Lord Wilmot said as loudly. His face was now almost black with fury. "I will take your hot head off your shoulders myself, if you dare speak treason!"

  But it was Benedikt who calmly delivered the blow that was needed. "She has consented."

  Harry's eyes became as big as platters, and then they narrowed under a lowering brow. "She cannot have!" he said, but his voice had lost its volume.

  Benedikt only looked at him. Harry's fury was now directed elsewhere, at Isobel, but she could take care of herself, and it was best if the two young people fought with all the passion of their nature, and forswore each other. Anger would help them not to suffer as much as they otherwise might. These were the terrible things that rulers needed to think of, when they played at politics.

  Harry bowed to the duke abruptly, turned on his heel and left. Lord Wilmot also bowed and started to follow his son, "What will you do, Harry? Harry, take hold of your head! Don't shame your father any more!"

  As Harry marched outside the stateroom, he heard his father's strangled cry, "Harry, you parricide!"

  AN OATH

  There were the spurs again on the stairs, sounding like battle axes against stone rather than ringing happily as they had done only an hour before.

  Isobel prepared herself to face Harry. She must stand her ground.

  He burst into her room, "Did you agree? Did you?"

  She lifted her chin. "I did!"

  "You lying woman!" Harry snarled.

  She slapped his face, hard, and the fury in his eyes increased. "I won't put my hand on you. If you can take leave of me to lie in the bed of that worm, then you deserve each other!"

  "How dare you, Harry?"

  "You promised yourself to me!"

  "Never in words, never in so many words! Don't call me dishonorable! You don't know why I..."

  "I don't want to know!" he shouted in high rage, his face an inch from hers. "You promised with every look, every touch, every kiss. You swore! You are a liar!"

  That was the worst he could call her, and he knew it.

  "I will strike you again!" she threatened.

  "Do you think it hurts?" He took out a dagger from his belt. "Use this, then. Drive it in here, just above my stomach, it will hurt more than the heart, it will take longer for me to die!"

  He took her hand, placed the dagger in it and moved it towards him. She let it drop to the floor, but couldn't pull her arm out of his strong grip.

  "No!"

  He shook his head at her slowly. "No. No, you don't care enough for me even to kill me."

  "Harry, how can you say this?"

  "Then hear my oath..."

  "No, Harry!"

  "You are right, not here," he agreed. "Not where you made promises you didn't keep!"

  He turned, flung the door open, and started to run down the stairs.

  Dorthe came to the door, "Oh, where is he going? He will do something mad!"

  Isobel pushed her aside and ran down the stairs after Harry.

  She saw him crossing the courtyard ahead of her, heading for the gates. She ran after him, little caring about the people watching them, as he left the castle and walked through the muddy streets with long, determined strides.

  He was going toward the church, and he had spoken of an oath. She had to get there before he made any promises before God, because she knew he would fulfill whatever madness he swore to.

  She ran faster and faster, and Harry walked into the church just a few moments before her.

  The priest was there and turned in surprise to look at the knight.

  "Father, I will take vows! I want to join the church!"

  The priest looked at Harry in confusion. "But Sir Harry..."

  Isobel had arrived at the door and ran inside. A light dawned in the priest's eyes. A lover's quarrel ─ and the house of God was no place for it!

  "Father, I want to swear here never to touch a woman, never to love a woman..."

  Isobel had reached Harry and was pulling at his jerkin, though he kept on facing the altar. "I will take my vows NOW!" Harry cried.

  She put her hand over his mouth, "Be quiet, Harry! What you say here can never be unsaid!" Isobel turned to the priest. "I need to speak to Sir Harry alone!"

  "This is the house of God..." the priest began, raising his finger.

  Her strong voice thundered from stone to stone, frightening the birds on the roof. "Get out!"

  The priest ran out, hardly knowing what he did. Few people stood before Lady Isobel when her choler was up, as the booming voice coming from such a sweet-looking girl frightened everyone. Only Sir Harry or her father ever confronted her.

  Harry had shaken her hand off and kept walking to the altar as she held onto his sleeve, trying to detain him.

  "How will you swear such a thing?” she asked. “You, a priest? You, alone all your life? Harry, don't break my heart."

  He turned to her, "Why not, when you have broken mine?"

  Tears shone in his eyes, and she was sure that they were the first that had made their way there since he was a baby. She felt her own eyes moisten.

  How could two people love each other as much as they did, and yet be parted? What world was this? Why couldn't they stand as they always did at Stonemount, repeal their enemies, and vanquish them? Would it not be better for them to die defending each other, defending her brothers, their home?

  Harry read all that in her face, and he took her in his arms, saying urgently. "Don't do it, Bell, don't ever do it. Stay with me, be mine! Trust me!"

  She closed her eyes as their foreheads met. It was the sweetest moment of her life, and the most bitter.

  "I can't. We have no right to be happy, not over everyone else who would still need to die and suffer..."

  "I would let everyone and everything perish to be by your side, even if I died myself the next day," Harry said through gritted teeth. "Don't you see there is no one for me but you, and there is no one for you but me?"

  "I know it with everything I have! But I can't!"

  He left his forehead against hers as he mastered his emotions and then said, "I know I won't change your mind, once it is made up. But you are right. Why should I deny myself the happiness of loving a woman, of having children? Why should I become less of a man because you are marrying less than a man?"

  His words were like hooks of steel tearing at her. Suddenly he took the back of her neck in a firm grip and gave her a long, fiery kiss as they stood before the cross. She felt his lips and let the tears spill out of the corner of her eyes because there was desire in that kiss, but there was also a pure love which God could not hate.

  Finally Harry lifted his mouth from hers and said in a voice choked with emotion. "Before God I swear..."

  "No, Harry..."

  "Before God I solemnly swear, that unless you come to me a free woman, this kiss is all you will ever have from me!"

  He let her go and turned to the huge crucifix, kneeli
ng and making the sign of the cross. "May God strike me dead if I go back on this oath."

  He stood up and left, without looking at her.

  WHITE MEADOW

  The day before his future bride, her father and his court were to arrive, Tameas took advantage of the spring weather to visit his mother's tomb.

  It was a long but pleasant walk to the wooded meadow where her effigy lay: the fields were already dotted with flowers and he picked some as he went, reflecting wryly that anyone who saw him would have something to add to the list of his failings. But it was a custom of his to leave flowers to his mother, because she had loved them.

  Queen Gisela had been dead for fourteen years, driven to her grave at thirty-one by her inability to produce another male child, or any child at all after Tameas. Though the boy she bore was as healthy as they came, it hadn't been enough for Tibold or his counselors, whose plans depended on ensuring a safe and peaceful succession.

  Gisela had been all too aware that she was thwarting this great plan, and she had known that Tibold was right, that all that he was trying to achieve by entering the wars and creating a kingdom could be gone in the blink of an eye. She had seen it happen in Whitebank, her father's duchy: they had gone from prosperity to nothing in the space of a few years, and it was Tibold who had come to the rescue of her native land, after he had beaten back the invaders and defeated the warring lords.

  She wanted to point out that Tameas was strong and unusually clever, but it was also true that strong people could be carried away by a cold or fever, by food poisoning, bad water or a clumsy fall.

  Her youth had been consumed with trying to conceive again, and failing. At the end, it had been consumed with something else, some deeper sadness that left her sitting by the window all day, looking outside. It was a gentle sadness, a sadness without reproach. She had died begging her son to always love and obey his father.