| |
The cicadas screeched in the trees as he walked down from the little mansion along the stream. A few of the guests sat on the banks, talking and drinking, but the Duke of Pinshire himself sat alone in the tea house, trying to tune his lute.
“I was wondering when I would see you,” he said, looking up and nodding to William. “I’m on your list, am I?”
“The captain general wishes to know how you will be voting when the Gemot is recalled.” There was no point in beating around the bush. The meeting would be that evening, and most minds were already made up.
The duke sighed. “I wish I could think of a reason to vote for Edwin; I really do. Poor boy has been through a lot these past few months. It doesn’t seem fair to take his crown away, too.”
“And yet...,” William prompted.
“And yet, I keep thinking the Sigors have brought this on themselves. They’ve run the country off the road and into the ditch. I think it’s about time we have a new dynasty.”
This was more or less the same thing he’d heard at the houses of a great many previously-neutral noblemen. Even people who had supported the queen were saying Broderick might as well be given a chance to rule, since the Sigor family had done so badly. Fairly or unfairly, the battle was blamed on Rohesia and Edwin, and the fact that they had run off in the middle of it seemed like rank cowardice.
Duchess Susana, the duke’s wife, came in, and on hearing what they were discussing, said, “I think it’s shameful the way Princess Elwyn jilted poor Young Broderick. People who do that sort of thing can never be trusted, as far as I’m concerned.”
William wondered what the duchess, and the rest of Formacaster society, would say if they knew the true reason why Elwyn hadn’t wanted to marry the boy. But he kept it to himself. The princess had enough problems in her life right about now. She didn’t need everyone laughing at her, too.
After leaving the Duke of Pinshire’s house, William made his last stop—the home of his old friend, Vincent Carling, Earl of Hambledon.
“Well, you already know how I’m going to vote,” said Vincent. “I wish to Earstien I didn’t have to, but there’s nothing else to do. Broderick is basically king already. He just needs the vote to confirm it.”
“There’s no point in sticking your neck out for people who can’t help you,” William said.
Vincent frowned. “That’s not a very chivalrous attitude, but I suppose that’s how it is now.”
William tried to make him feel better. “Everyone says Broderick is a great leader.”
“Yes, he is. But Koarthak was a great leader, too, if you think about it.”
“You probably shouldn’t go around saying things like that.” Comparing the soon-to-be king to the original dark hillichmagnar wasn’t very politic.
“I’ll say whatever I like. Broderick can have my vote, but he can’t make me be happy about it.”
They talked a little about their homes in Haydonshire for a while, and then William got up to leave.
Vincent called him back, though, and said, “One more thing. Be very careful of those people. The Gramirens, I mean. If they can overthrow a king, they’ve got no loyalty to anyone.”
“I’ll bear that in mind,” said William.
That evening, Broderick arranged to have William serve as one of the officers of the guard at the Gemot. So William got to see all the pageantry as the nobles of Myrcia trooped in to take their places. There were a few notable absences, like the Dukes of Leornian, Newshire, and Keelshire, as well as the Earl of Hyrne. Some of the attendees, like the Earl of Stansted, looked as if they had been dragged there in chains, and they very nearly had been.
William had spent much of the previous evening in a very frank and open discussion with the Earl of Stansted. The earl had finally agreed to attend and to abstain from voting. He didn’t quite keep his word. When it came time for the vote, he raised his hand for Edwin—one of only four men who did. William could have been angry with the earl, but the vote in favor of Broderick was so overwhelming that it didn’t end up mattering anyway. And as Broderick himself had remarked that morning, it looked better to have a few dissenting voices. It made everything appear fair and open.
The outcome was no surprise to anyone, and in fact the celebration in the Palm Court had already started by the time the actual vote took place. Many of the most enthusiastic partiers were the young knights and ladies of Anne Meriwether’s set. The poor girl was lingering on, still in dreadful pain, at a convent outside town. But none of her former friends looked as if her fate bothered them at all.
William made his rounds through the party rooms, observing the festivities but not participating in them. He had done as much as anyone to put Broderick on the throne, but now that the man was there, William didn’t feel any great sense of accomplishment or elation. He had been doing his job, and now this particular assignment was coming to an end, to be followed, no doubt, by others in their turn. It was hard to feel any excitement about the future, knowing that one of those assignments might well be a renewed attempt on Edwin Sigor’s life. And maybe on Elwyn’s, too. Who knew how bitter Muriel and Broderick might be about their son losing his chance at a key dynastic marriage?
Off the Palm Court, in a quiet corner of the library, he found Broderick the Younger, sitting and reading an old book.
“It’s Kallias,” he said, showing the title page to William.
“They say his Strategos is the best preparation a young man can have for ruling,” William pointed out. He’d never read the famous Thessalian treatise on political theory, but he knew a great many people had.
Young Broderick shook his head. “This seems like it’s where my father learned everything he knows. It’s all about how to stab people in the back.” He shut the book and put it aside. “I’d rather not be like that, though.”
“Then you don’t have to be,” said William. “Someday when you’re king, you can do whatever you want.”
He left the library feeling a bit more optimistic. Broderick and Muriel might not be the sort of people one would wish for in a king and queen, but at least they had managed to produce a son who was a much better person than either of them.
The next morning William woke in his empty apartment to find someone had pushed an envelope under his door in the middle of the night. There was nothing written on the outside, but he noticed the seal was in the shape of a lily. He opened it eagerly and found two letters.
One, signed by Lily, he set aside. The other was from Gwen, and he read it through four times in a row. She told him about the little cottage she and Robby were living in, and she assured him their neighbors were lovely people, and that the farm had everything they needed, except, of course, for him.
Robby asks about you, and I tell him you’re doing very important work for the king. How was the Gemot? I hope everything turned out the way you wanted it to. The neighbors all say Baron Broderick will make a good king, but I tell them I don’t know anything about politics. It’s probably safer that way, don’t you think?
Please come see us when you can. I miss you every night, and all day, too.
Love,
Your Gwen
He folded the letter carefully and put it in the inner pocket of his tunic. Then he turned to Lily’s note. She gave him precise directions for how to find Gwen and Robby’s cottage, and advice as to the best times to visit in order to avoid the attention of the neighbors. She also told him how to send letters to his wife—it was a bit convoluted, sending the messages through another person first. Finally, she had a request:
I was also hoping you might write to me from time to time. I don’t need anything special, and I certainly wouldn’t dream of asking you to betray confidences. But a few short lines describing what people at court are doing would be nice. Anything at all that you could send would be very helpful.
In short, she wanted him to be her spy at Wealdan Castle—her spy on Broderick. Her letter didn’t say so directly, but that was clearly what she had in mind.
A few months earlier, he would have dismissed the idea out of hand, and in fact he would have made a mental note to have a very, very frank discussion about loyalty with Lily, the next time he saw her. But he saw his loyalties a bit differently now than he once had. Loyalty was reciprocal, or at least it should have been. There were certain things that a master didn’t ask his servants to do and still expect them to look at him the same way afterward. Things like trying to kill a little boy, for example.
In contrast, Lily had done exactly what she had promised to do. She had gotten Robby and Gwen out of Formacaster, and she had seen to it that they would never be in danger again.
So he went to his desk, got some parchment, some ink, and a quill, and started a letter about the Gemot. It was no more than his duty.