Cisadai, Week 31 – 16th Anapal, 2nd Anapcis 1209
Wynfeld’s Office
THREE WEEKS LATER, Wynfeld broke the red seal, telling himself it was a coincidence but not believing it. There, in Richardson’s careful hand, was a summons to see his King. Stomach churning, he folded the letter and put it carefully away. With his commission in his breastplate, in case he had to rescind it, he made his way to the Palace, going over the events of the previous day.
The thronged streets didn’t calm him, nor the quiet corridors. Should he admit he’d failed immediately? Or should he let his King lead? He knew which Simkins thought best, but there were days he wasn’t so certain.
The Outer Office fell silent as he entered, which did nothing for his nerves as he waited. Richardson gave nothing away, Jacobs and Kenton busied themselves with their tasks. The only sound was the scratching of quills and the soft breathing of those wielding them.
When Richardson asked him to wait in the Audience Chamber until the King was free, he was only too pleased to do so. The cloying atmosphere made it hard to breathe.
Six minutes later, he watched the Steward leave with a frustrated gait. Something had rattled him. Was their King in a bad mood? Richardson crooked a finger at him.
Once in the Inner Office, Wynfeld blurted out, “Sire, I think, first and foremost, I’m going to have to tell you that I’ve failed. The men won’t accept the changes I’m proposing and, given the delicate nature of their work, I didn’t feel it was right to force the change.”
Adeone rose, crossing to a window. He surveyed the scene: the lawns and gardens below invited him to take a walk. He ignored the invitation.
“That’s unfortunate and disappointing. Landis thought this might happen. What is your summation of the consequences if we were to force it through?”
“Basically, Sire, gathering intelligence would stop. I’m to blame. I said that it would be accepted.”
Adeone simply raised an eyebrow. “Not just you. Tell me what happened.”
Wynfeld did. However trustworthy Beaver had become, telling him that his unit would remain in Oedran, but others would be moved elsewhere had been risky. Telling the other sergeants even less had probably been stupid. Somehow – an unintended utterance, no doubt – the corporals had discovered his plans, or guessed enough. Their visit, polite though it had been, clearly said they didn’t want splitting across the empire.
Adeone listened carefully. Wynfeld’s agitation was clear but nothing was broken irreparably. As the captain finished, Adeone said, “We just need to take a fresh look at the situation. What are your immediate thoughts?”
“Leave the men as they are, promote or transfer those who wish to take that route, then fill their places. There isn’t anything else I can see. Sergeant Jones has proved if we get good men elsewhere, we get good information here. The Exarch wants to keep him in Garth when his regiment moves.”
“Yes, that’s why I asked to see you. Can you keep him in Garth?”
Wynfeld started. It hadn’t been about the semi-mutiny in his regiment. The King didn’t know what was happening there. He let out a breath and then tried to cover his relief. “Your Majesty, technically, Jones is still my subordinate. I only seconded him.” After a moment’s consideration, he continued, “Are there any free captaincies in Garth, Sire? He was tipped as the next captain for my regiment. I posted him for insubordination, but he has made a fresh start.”
“I’m sure a captaincy can be manipulated between now and the beginning of Geryal – when his regiment is set to march to Lufian.”
Wynfeld paused for the briefest second. “Sir, does the Exarch have a guard? Could Jones be moved under his direct eye?”
Adeone resumed his seat. “Interesting. You are saying there is the possibility of setting a guard up for the Exarch and having Jones in charge?”
“Yes, Sire, or at least as a captain to liaise with the militia at Garth more permanently. I know from experience how frustrating it is when a new regiment has to learn the ropes of protecting someone of high standing. It isn’t quite like anything else the militia undertakes. There is also the fact that the Exarch is a descendant of your great-grandfather. With Princess Lilith still alive, it would look better.”
“Are you trying to tell me how best to protect my governors and family?”
Wynfeld was about to apologise when he saw a spark of amusement in Adeone’s eye. “Does it not come under my remit, Your Majesty?”
“In a roundabout way. It would also open up eleven or twelve more captaincies for your men; would it not?”
“The thought had not occurred to me, Sire.”
“Stop twisting the truth in front of your King, Captain Wynfeld. It isn’t the wisest of ideas. Look for more men to promote and ask Richardson to arrange a meeting for me with General Paturn. I want you and the Major there as well. In the next week would be best. Was that all?”
“I think so for now, Your Majesty.”
“Probably best to save the rest for later. I’ve got a meeting with the Chief Merchant coming up. I’ll need all my strength for that.”
* * *
Wynfeld reached his office and closed the door on Drave’s curiosity. Over the course of the day, he found four sergeants happy to be promoted, had their files copied and distributed to the General, Major and his King – all of whom were privately impressed with the detail Wynfeld had collated over the winter of 1209.
He studied the pedigrees of the twelve King’s Representatives the following day: eleven of them governors of provinces, the twelfth overseeing much of Anapara, from the original capital city of Paras in the north, but not technically a governor. All were lords, but only Tyler Galwood at present had the FitzAlcis connection so closely.
Wynfeld studied the family tree of the FitzAlcis and realised how fragile its branches were. The laws of kinship for the FitzAlcis, drawn up after the Age of Tyranny – ironically to protect distant relations – meant only descendants to great-grandchildren of a king would be considered FitzAlcis. True, it included children in the female lines, but tradition debarred them from the crown itself.
Only three men, therefore, had any claim on the crown: the Princes and Lord Scanlon. All others were descended from female lines and therefore debarred. A shock ran through him as he saw plainly for the first time how dire the situation was. If Scanlon usurped the crown, there was no-one left to challenge him.
Female descent widened it to two more men. The Exarch’s father, who was the great-grandson of King Aldous Aneurin through his mother Princess Lilith. The King’s acknowledgement of the Exarch as kin didn’t make his claim certain, though it might keep lawyers in drink.
Peaga Rathgar was the last man. The only grandchild of Lady Amara – who had been born Princess Amara and then, on her marriage, had declared she would take her husband’s rank. Wynfeld wondered what arguments there had been about that behind closed doors. She was someone you didn’t mess with and she had to have started somewhere.
Speculation had been rife when Scanlon had dropped the title Prince. Was there a trend? Precedents being set? Now, considering the family tree, Wynfeld wondered if Scanlon had been planning to takeover even then. Was the Justiciar trying to draw attention away from himself? If their King and Princes were to die, his friends amongst the Lords of Oedran would be seen to persuade him, just a simple lord, to accept elevation. Scanlon would appear to be saving the empire. If that was his plan, it was certainly a dangerous game and one that could easily go wrong. He’d have to be sure that the Lords of Oedran would push him to accept the crown and not fight for it themselves.
The regiment already kept a watching brief on the Lords of Oedran, but it might be worth observing them more closely and remembering that plans had probably been put in place a long time ago.
Wynfeld mentally extended the range of his protection to the Galwoods and Peaga Rathgar. At some point Scanlon would try to harm them, he was sure.
* * *
A few days later, Wynfeld was again sitting in the Inner Office discussing plans for his regiment and the sergeants to promote.
His King opened proceedings in a rather unorthodox manner, “Go on then, Wynfeld, what have I got to do this time?”
Wynfeld said, “My ideas are merely recommendations, Your Majesty.”
“Yes, recommendations I find myself agreeing with and following. Remind me to research the old hues. I can’t remember if smooth-talker was amongst them but, maybe, you’re an aeromancer instead…”
“Sire?” Wynfeld was truly confused. Why on Erinna was he like a weather forecaster?
“You seem to be able to tell which way the wind is blowing. Now, the four men wishing to accept promotion… I am not proposing to promote all of them at once. The General said to me earlier that it would appear highly suspicious and I agree. It is unheard of for four sergeants to be promoted from the same regiment at once.”
“I had been thinking the same thing, Sire,” admitted Wynfeld. “Two could ask for transfer because they ‘dislike my method of command’, Sire. That should allay suspicions about them. We tell them privately that their promotion is going ahead, but deception is needed. We post them to the provinces where they will obtain their captaincy. The other two promotions could we could handle traditionally.”
Unaware of the numerical pun, General Paturn remarked, “Someone will still put two and two together, Wynfeld.”
“Most likely, sir,” admitted Wynfeld; “however, if they are convincing actors and do a good job, then people won’t question it for quite some time, and then only after enough time has passed for the men from my regiment to have set up good networks.”
“It’s still not believable, Wynfeld. I don’t want to lose good men because of decisions made rashly or quickly without thought for appearances from an outsider’s perspective. Lord Scanlon is perceptive. As soon as men start moving from your regiment, he’ll have them followed and watched.”
“What do you suggest, General?” enquired Adeone mildly.
“I suggest the men request transferring properly, one at a time and months apart, Sire. They are not sent directly to their intended province but rather to regiments that will reach them later. Send one, for example, to Garth to reach Lufia. One to the Macian Isles to reach the Pale Lands and so on. Even make them move a couple of times. It must seem accidental that they end up where they do. Anything else and there will be questions. The men must be out of Oedran long enough for people to forget that they were ever here and served under Wynfeld. We can alter some records but not men’s memories. The army is an oddity. It’s so large that you constantly bump into the same people, even when that should be impossible.”
“Major?” requested Adeone.
“I agree with the General, Your Majesty. Especially on the last point. The assumption that men will never meet again could lead to problems.”
“Wynfeld?”
“Everything that’s been raised is valid, sir. The men transferred could be the second or third incumbent to act as a liaison captain. It would give us time to get their record in Oedran changed. That is, if the posts are going ahead, Sire.”
“There will certainly be one for Tyler Galwood. General, you’ve had a couple of days to consider that proposition; might I now have your honest thoughts on it?”
The General said seriously, “I wish it had been my idea, Sire. It is a stroke of genius. We eliminate risks to your Representatives at the same time as getting spies in every palace, residence and citadel in the empire’s cities.”
Adeone smiled. “Then you must congratulate Captain Wynfeld – for the idea was his, not mine. Then, gentlemen, if the new captains aren’t all to be from Wynfeld’s regiment straight away, I suggest we find more sergeants to promote or current captains to move. Might I suggest those men close to retirement? Or, perhaps, heirs who are merely working in the army until they can laze about all day?”
Wynfeld caught his King’s eye, amused; both knew the men in the final category simply lazed about all day anyway.
Paturn didn’t miss the spark pass between the two men and he had the odd feeling that the afternoon of the Queen’s death had drawn these two men together when every convention should have put them miles apart. He realised that the King hadn’t had a reply to his questions. “Yes, Sire, they would seem obvious men to go for. I shall look at the files directly I get back to barracks.”
“Thank you, General. The sooner you can, the sooner we can make a start promoting people and moving them round the empire again. Thank you, gentlemen. Wynfeld, stay a moment, please.”
After the General and Major had left, Adeone said, “I will say this for the General, he’ll accept change, eventually.” He idly twisted a filigree ring on his right hand. “Queen Ira would be proud of what you’re achieving.”
Wynfeld saw a brief flicker of grief pass over his King’s face. “I’m sure she’d have forgotten I existed again, Sire.”
“I thought you knew the late Queen better than that, Wynfeld. She never forgot anyone.”
Wynfeld smiled and Adeone saw the truth of the deprecating comment. Wynfeld had known it but hadn’t wanted to admit to it or the praise.
“You’re right, Sire. I hear Her Grace found work for all the household of her youth when her father died.”
“She always said it was the least she could do. That you’d all cared for her so well, it was now time to return the favour. Some have moved on again, but some, like Jack, have stayed. He was asking after you as soon as I said I’d met you.”
“I was like a nasty cough he couldn’t shake off when I was a lad.”
“I think all children are like that to adults,’ said Adeone thoughtfully. “You should visit him at some point. I’m sure he’d be pleased to see you.”
“I might just do that, Sire. See if he’s got a more successful cough linctus.”
“If nothing else, you might well find yourself roped into helping him in the stables in your spare time. What little you have.”
Wynfeld noted the unspoken thanks for the hard work he was putting in. “Nothing changes by sitting back and accepting what’s there, Sire. Sooner or later all conscientious people work too hard.”
“I know that, Wynfeld. Don’t exhaust yourself though.”
“Nor you, Sire.” Wynfeld had said the words before he knew they were out. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. That was out of line.”
Adeone regarded him. “Yes, it was. I thank you for your concern though. Oh, you might be interested to know that Lord Scanlon has informed me that he’ll be in Garth for the law review at the beginning of next year. That means he’ll be sitting on their courts. I thought your ever-efficient Jones might like warning.”
“Thank you, Sire, I shall certainly pass on the information. I’m sorry for the remark.”
“One apology is enough, Wynfeld, at least for these circumstances. Now, I should get back to my desk. I shall be in contact. I’d like to know if you’re having any luck locating the men who attacked my life, but it can wait for another day.”
Closing the door as he left, Wynfeld realised that the King hadn’t moved towards his desk. It seemed he was still taking Ira’s death harder than he would admit.