To Be King Page 4

  It had not taken much more than rudimentary arithmetic for Tameas to understand, when Tibold married Lady Elinor in haste and a girl was born a few months later, what his mother's sadness had been about. Clearly Tibold had been dallying with Lady Elinor before Gisela's death, and Elinor was not just a tavern wench or a whore, she was a court lady, one he had probably wanted to marry while his wife was still alive.

  Tameas had not been able to forgive his father. Perhaps he never would. He could not forget how his mother had dwindled away; he could not forget that there were few enough people like her in the world and that now she was gone, killed by her husband's relentless ambition.

  The prince passed by woodcutters who took off their caps to salute him, accepted a drink of water from them, talked a little about their work and kept walking towards White Meadow.

  He could see that he was being followed, and not very discreetly. Someone behind him and to his right was creeping from tree to tree, and making a great deal of noise. He smiled and didn't turn around.

  Something wonderful had come out of his father's marriage to the cold, conniving Lady Elinor: his half sister Agnetta. At times Tameas thought that his mother's spirit had entered the girl as she was born, returning to be with him, because there was hardly a creature on earth kinder, cleverer or more loving than Agnetta. Whenever he thought that the world was full enough of horror, lying, cheating and greed he would think, but there is Agnetta.

  Tameas hastened his pace and quickly hid from view behind a tree, waiting. He heard the steps behind him falter, shift, then quicken in his direction, and when they were near, he jumped out and grabbed the slim form that passed him, lifting it from the ground,

  "No!" Agnetta cried. "You haven't known all this time I was behind you?"

  He laughed, setting his sister on the ground. She stood long and thin as a reed in her purple linen dress, her dark hair falling in curls about her.

  "You make more noise than an angry boar charging," he told her.

  He picked up the flowers he had dropped, and saw that she had been gathering some as well. Her hand slipped into his as they kept walking.

  "I do not!" she protested.

  "You do, Highness. How do you like being called that?"

  "I feel I ought to be taller, somehow!"

  "I feel I ought to be drunker," Tameas laughed, "to accept that silly title. Why are you following me?"

  "I wasn't, not at first. I was going to see how the dowry is coming along."

  "The dowry?"

  "The wedding chest. For Lady Isobel."

  "What are you talking about? If there is a dowry, isn't it from her family to me? I shall need a lot of gold, or whatever they have in the north ─ pewter?─ to put up with a shrew, you know."

  "Tommy, you haven't even seen her yet, and you are already supposing she is something horrible!"

  "Well, if she isn't, I will be pleasantly surprised; and if she is, I am prepared!"

  "What if she isn't, but you convince yourself that she is?"

  "In any case I would be prepared."

  Agnetta threw a sharp look at her brother. "You are afraid to like her."

  Tameas made a sound of derision. "What is in the treasure chest, then?" he asked.

  "Come and look!"

  Agnetta pulled her brother by the hand as she ran toward the gates of the convent of St. Anne, after whom she had been named.

  The cloister was cool and silent, and Tameas thought that, had he not liked the sins of the flesh so much, it might have been a good thing to be a monk in a place similar to this, just reading manuscripts, or writing them with a slow quill.

  The prince-monk. He smiled. People ought to be happy that he liked his vices.

  Two nuns came forward to meet with Agnetta, their immaculate white robes flowing. They led brother and sister into a large room with vaulted ceiling and large windows. Several other nuns were there, cutting cloth, sewing, embroidering. On a large table there were many garments. Agnetta rushed to them, holding one up.

  "Oh, Tameas, look! It's just perfection!" she whispered.

  She was showing him a white nightgown, made with linen so fine that it was transparent. Even Solomon was not arrayed as one of these, Tameas thought.

  "It's beautiful," he said, trying but failing to imagine the cockatrice in it. He had no idea how she looked. He said in Agnetta's ear, "Make sure there is a very thick one, in case she is hideous."

  Agnetta took hold of his hand, which he had set on her shoulder, and twisted his thumb a little viciously. "She's not hideous, the songs say she is beautiful."

  "Maybe the minstrels are frightened of saying anything else..."

  Agnetta ignored him and went on to exclaim over everything that was on the table: light cloaks with hoods, nightgowns, veils, beautiful dresses of the most varied shapes, necklines and colors.

  "We sent for the linen and cotton to be dyed in Tanner's Wharf," the nun who had met them said. "They do it best there."

  "Of course! And the colors are so rich! It wouldn't do for our princess to be dressed in faded hues!"

  Tameas leaned against the wall and watched his sister's delight. There was no fear of the girl who was coming, no jealousy, no envy. There seemed to be no dread that Isobel might occupy her brother's affections, because Agnetta knew that Tameas could never love her less. There was, however, something that he did not like.

  When she looked at him, he was frowning.

  "What is it?" she asked as they left the convent.

  "I don't know," he said. "You're all...pretty, and like a little woman!"

  "Am I?" She got in front of him eagerly. "Am I pretty and a little grown up?"

  "Don’t be happy about it!" he said, and sidestepped her to keep walking.

  She took his hand again. "Oh, but it has to happen...!"

  "It doesn't," he muttered.

  "Why not?"

  She only got another frown and reflected that an older brother could be worse than a father sometimes. Yet she understood that she ought to change the subject: "Now there is the business with the jewels..."

  "I am sure I should be giving her those, no?"

  "Yes, it will all come from you, but I am arranging it! And she is to have emeralds, rubies, sapphires. Oh, she will be so beautiful!"

  Tameas said nothing. He couldn't say that it would be enough if she were pleasant, if she were not the harridan people said she was. Was there anything worse than strife at home, he wondered? Though princes could not choose whom they would marry most of the time, it was a hard thing to have no love in one's life.

  He was no model of perfection either, he mused. The poor northern girl would get a wastrel, as everyone called him. He had been faithful to Alyon for the two years they had been together, but he was also faithful to his cup of wine, and his disenchanted view of the world.

  They were in the meadow now, and his mother's stone effigy, recumbent amidst a circle of trees, gleamed in the sunlight. It was a magical place, as he had wanted it to be when he had told his father that this is where his mother should be buried, not in some dark and damp crypt.

  The trees around them were all in bloom, and all of them were white. He laid the flowers on the arms of the sleeping statue with its noble profile and bent to kiss the cold forehead. Agnetta laid her own flowers with his, and her fingers traced the effigy's hand. Neither said anything for a moment, though Agnetta put her head on his shoulder, and he put his chin on her head.

  Afterwards, she sat and he lay under the weeping willow for a while. Peacocks screeched as they appeared. This might be paradise, were it not for the dead queen lying in her final silence.

  "Cotton or wine?" Agnetta asked.

  Tameas smiled. From the time she was a little girl who could hardly talk, Agnetta had loved to play with his hair. She would always ask him, cotton or wine, and when he picked one she would proceed to run her fingers through his locks and give her version of his choice. There was not much difference between cotton or wine, whi
ch had always made the whole exercise seem even more amusing.

  "Cotton today, please."

  She started to tug gently at his hair,

  "When you are king, Tommy, I don't want you to marry me away very quickly."

  "Not like poor Lady Isobel, you mean?"

  "Well, not like any maiden who needs to be married. I know that father won't, I made him promise."

  "Do you want to be an old maid, then?"

  "I want to stay as long as possible with you."

  He pushed out his lips in a sort of pout: "Well, I am sorry, then, because father will be king for a long while, and then I will be king only so that I can find the very ugliest man in all the kingdom. I shall give very specific instructions that he should be hideous and have hair on his back, rotten teeth and fat hands. And when this man is finally found, and I think he is hideous enough, that's whom you will marry."

  She laughed. "It will take a while, then, for you to make sure he is the very most hideousest man."

  "It will," he agreed. "And in the meantime, there shall be a law, a very strong edict from me, saying that the princess, my sister, shall never be allowed to marry any name that begins with Don..."

  Agnetta pulled his hair in earnest and screamed.

  Tameas sat up and pointed at her, "Ah!"

  Her face was as purple as her gown and she covered her ears. "Be quiet!"

  She got up and started running as the peacocks scattered. Tameas shouted after her, "You love him!"

  She shrieked louder than the peacocks as she ran.

  ON THE STEPS

  The day came when the royalty and the nobility of Lathia must stand on the steps of the castle to welcome their new princess and, God willing, future queen.

  The nobles were arrayed in all their glory which, to them, was a sign of respect to their visitors. The women had outdone each other in finery and the men wore their golden chains, their plumed caps and their most elaborate sleeves and hoses.

  Tameas had voiced the concern that the people arriving had simpler tastes and might feel overwhelmed by this reception, might even feel that they were being put to shame on purpose. They might, Tameas had said, either feel offended or look on them as prettified birds showing their colors in front of a castle that had been built for its harmonious proportions, rather than for its usefulness.

  His father had taken what he was saying as some sort of barbed insult towards the people who were now to join blood and armies with them, and had embarked on a lecture about the importance of this union.

  He had decided to be quiet thereafter. He didn't, as he might have done only a few weeks before, exaggerate what was being asked of him. He didn't dress in a double-colored hose, or a shiny doublet, or wear a cape fastened by a brooch, or a little cap jauntily set on his head; a little cap with bells, like the fool he was expected to be.

  In spite of all the ironic things he had said about his impending marriage, he would make an effort so that it didn't start out disastrously.

  It was nevertheless rather with the apprehension of someone who sits at a jousting match, ready to witness a collision, that he stood a little ways from his father, with Agnetta by his side and Donnet behind him. There would be a collision of cultures, that much he knew.

  He had never been in the north, but everyone knew they were plain people. Sir Jochim, who was from the Midlands, on the frontier with Stonemount, had confirmed to him that there was not much in terms of finery, entertainment or luxury there.

  Queen Elinor, stately and stern, was looking around to ensure that everyone was in the right place, and that all looked as they should, when in fact she ought to be ordering the welcoming party to change into more modest clothes, Tameas thought.

  But it was too late. The noise of hooves outside the gates signaled the arrival of Duke Benedikt, and it was hardly necessary for the pages in livery atop the gate wall to start blowing their trumpets in a flourish as they did.

  Duke Benedikt rode in first, accompanied by his lords, each with the arms of his house on his jerkin and saddle, followed by the noble born knights and the rest of his party.

  There were about fifty people in Duke Benedikt's retinue, a goodly number, but nowhere near the amount of souls that would have followed Tibold, were he to go on the same expedition. The northerners rode into the enormous stone courtyard, where they all fit amply.

  Behind the Duke rattled a wooden cart with closed curtains which apparently held the future princess. Tameas felt a tug of sympathy at the sight of the cart, with its rough, faded cloth at the window, which was probably the best that they could get in Stonemount. He felt sympathy for this girl who was probably no happier than he was at having to get married, and who was about to withstand the scrutiny of his arrogant people.

  The cart stopped at the foot of the steps and Benedikt and his lords dismounted. The duke went to the cart, opening its rickety door, and a hand emerged from it. Tameas felt his sister's grip tighten on his arm, and Donnet moved closer to him in expectation.

  The hand was followed by a small foot, clad in a plain flat shoe, and the appearance of Lady Isobel was obscured for a moment by a gigantic white headdress.

  "I forgot they wore those things," said Donnet, sounding a bit disappointed.

  Tameas had half forgotten too, or at least had not known that any headpiece could be so enormous. It looked as if the Lady Isobel was wearing a ship on her head. However, she was finally clear of the cart, having stepped onto the cobblestones, so she straightened her back and raised her head.

  "Oh!" The soft exclamation came from Agnetta, "But she is lovely!"

  Indeed, her face, under the headpiece and the wimple, was beautiful. She had a radiant skin that looked as if it were illuminated from inside, like a diaphanous white cloth lit by a bright candle, soft eyebrows that indicated that her hair, once freed, would be fair, eyes so blue they were almost violet and plump lips.

  The Lady Isobel was a beauty.

  She was joined by what must be her nursemaid, a middle-aged woman who stood as near Isobel as their headpieces allowed, scanning the welcoming party with serious but fearless eyes. Tameas returned his future father-in-law’s smile, and beyond him, he perceived a handsome knight who was shooting javelins at him through his eyes. Oh, good, he thought. The man either hates the politics involved in this union or lusts after the duke’s daughter ─ or both. He almost sighed at how tiresome it was all going to be.

  Once the cart had moved on, there they all stood: a brightly colored, dark-haired throng of people on the steps, and a group of black-clad, fair people on the cobblestones with one spot of white and sad gray in the middle, the lady who had come to be married.

  "She is anxious," Agnetta whispered to Tameas, watching Isobel as she stood motionless, her eyes downcast.

  "It's pride," Donnet wagered.

  As if hearing what they had said, her eyes rose to consider the people before her, and the expression in them was not sweet. She seemed almost angry as a scowl distorted the little anyone could see of her forehead.

  "And there she is," Tameas muttered.

  "Be good," his sister begged.

  Suddenly everyone started to move: the king and queen descended a few steps towards the duke and he climbed a few to meet them, holding his daughter by the arm. Tibold motioned urgently with the hand that had stayed behind his body for Tameas to join him and the prince did, pulling Agnetta. Donnet stayed behind, watching the scene with raised eyebrows.

  There were exclamations, questions about the trip, words of welcome, words of thanks. Then Tameas and Isobel were in the unenviable position of meeting each other for the first time under everyone's gaze.

  He bowed to her as only he knew how, but she didn't curtsy. He rose to find her beautiful eyes looking him up and down as if he were something outrageous, and there was no smile on her face as there was on his.

  The prince rather wished, at that moment, that he had worn the cap with bells, for he might have danced a jig to outrage her fur
ther. Her rudeness returned his usual sardonic manner to him.

  "Welcome to Lathia, m'lady," he said, bowing again on purpose.

  "Thank you, m'lord," she replied, still frowning, still without a smile. Her accent was not as bad as he expected. It was a little sing song, but not harsh.

  Tameas pulled Agnetta forward, "This is my sister, Princess Agnetta."

  It was hard to resist Agnetta's smile, and when Isobel looked at the girl, her lips did form the slightest of curves, and her eyes seemed to soften. It seemed, Tameas thought, that she was determined to like anyone better than him.

  She looked behind her and motioned her own brothers to join her. "These are my brothers, Kayetan and Lodewicus."

  The two boys looked as if they would cause mischief at any excuse and that made Tameas smile inside; at least they might be amusing. He was thankful for the distraction the children afforded them, for the necessity of greeting the duke, and for Tibold's celerity in asking them all to enter the castle.

  They started to climb the steps, black garments mixing with bright; but there hadn't been many smiles from the guests, and Tameas thought they were rather more like a party of sulky crows than people arriving for a wedding.

  They, at least, found no need to pretend that this was a joyous occasion.

  LATHIA

  The country around Lathia was very different than any place Isobel knew, even miles before they ever arrived at the city proper.

  She had ridden on horseback from Stonemount for most of the way, only entering the cart when they approached their destination. Duke Benedikt had thought that it would be better to present a more delicate first impression of his daughter, rather than the woman who could withstand days on horseback without complaining. This was especially important considering that she was to meet Prince Tameas for the first time and he was, according to reports, a lazy and effete man.