Reign of the eagle, p.102
Reign of the Eagle, page 102
At last, they found a little gully, and at the far side, there was a rocky overhang that provided barely enough room for the horses. A little exploration proved that at either end of the overhang, separated by a dozen yards, there were two little caves, each large enough for one or two people.
“Obviously you two should take this one,” Hildred said, gesturing toward Rada and Walter. “The princess and I can take the other.”
Rada looked a bit uncertain, and perhaps a little alarmed. “Um...maybe all four of us could fit here.” She glanced at Elwyn. “It might be...safer.”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” said Hildred. “We’ll never get four people in here. And you two are married, so it makes sense for you to stay together.”
She was right; there was no denying it. In a few minutes, Elwyn and Hildred settled down and arranged their blankets in the other little cave. In the cold, it made sense to sit as close together as they could, under the same blankets, sharing their warmth. Elwyn could feel the girl’s breath on her cheek, and the curve of her little breast against her arm. She squirmed and tried to move apart.
“I’m sorry about this,” said Hildred, looking downcast. “I’m just a burden, aren’t I?”
“No, you’re fine,” said Elwyn. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“So am I,” said the girl. Smiling again, she slipped a leg over one of Elwyn’s and rolled closer to embrace her.
“We’d really better get some sleep,” said Elwyn.
“I’m still cold. So are you.”
The girl fiddled with the toggles of Elwyn’s riding dress. And then her hand was inside, reaching down the front of Elwyn’s underdress, and into her chest cloth. Those cool, slim fingers kneaded and tugged, and then, with a single fingernail, traced around and around Elwyn’s nipple.
“Oh, Hildred,” moaned Elwyn. “I’m trying to be good.”
“You can always try again tomorrow,” the girl said, as she leaned in to nuzzle against Elwyn’s neck.
“Good point,” said Elwyn, as she started undoing the toggles of Hildred’s dress.
Chapter 12
Kishori was barely in Keelweard an hour before she heard the rumors. People claiming to be the young Sigor king and his sister had visited the duke. And someone who said he was Caedmon Aldred had been with them. People at the taverns and inns thought it very odd, and more than a little suspicious, because these “royal” visitors had now disappeared again. Some people wondered if they had been frauds and had run away when they were found out.
The queen’s men back in Formacaster had given Kishori the name of a man to see in Keelweard, but she wanted to look around on her own first. The less she depended on these people, and the fewer of them who knew her name, the better.
At an old inn called The Ploughman, she was talking to one of the bar wenches about the rumors, when the girl suddenly pointed across the room and said, “If anyone knows the truth, it’ll be that fellow over there.”
Kishori looked and saw a big, strapping fellow with dark brown hair and creamy skin, poring over a stack of parchment while sipping a mug of ale. “Who’s that?”
“That’s Rodger Cuthing, our duke’s son and heir.”
Kishori bought a bottle of whiskey and then sidled over to the empty table right beside Lord Rodger. “You look so serious, my lord. Wouldn’t you rather enjoy yourself a little?”
He looked at her and grinned. “I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to some of that whiskey, if you’re offering.”
It had been a long time since she’d been forced to do this in order to eat—back in the starving days before she had met her husband. She didn’t like to think about those days, and she didn’t want to do anything that she couldn’t tell Jon about. But at the same time, she had to get back to him before she could tell him anything. And she couldn’t get back to him until she finished this job.
She poured Lord Rodger a glass, and they drank a toast to “New friends.” He told her he liked her dress; she’d chosen it specifically for the low-cut bodice, and judging by the way he was staring, that was exactly why he liked it.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked. He put a hand on her knee.
“Of course, my lord. You know, I’ve always wanted to see the palace here.”
His hand slid up her thigh. In her mind, she said, “Oh, Jon. I’m so sorry. I’ll make this up to you.”
“As it happens,” he said, “we’ve got plenty of empty guestrooms at the moment. What are you doing this weekend?”
She reached over and toyed with the laces of his shirt. “I don’t believe I have any plans. And...I hear your guests have all left.”
“Which guests are these?” He pulled away from her.
“Perhaps I was misinformed,” she said quickly, trying to move closer again.
He finished his whiskey and stood, gathering his stack of parchment together. “Thank you for the drink, madam, but I’m afraid I have remembered an important appointment.”
“Oh, blast it all,” muttered Kishori, resting her head in her hands as he rushed away. She was badly out of practice, and she’d been far too forward. She wouldn’t have made that sort of mistake a decade ago.
That was the closest she came all day to learning about the duke’s mysterious visitors, and by nightfall, she had to accept that she needed help. So, following the directions the queen’s men had given her back in Formacaster, she went across town through a heavy snowstorm to a grubby little alleyway, where a peeling red door led up to a tiny apartment over a cobbler’s shop. The stairwell smelled of boiled cabbage and mildew, and the plaster was flaking onto the floor.
The man who opened the door, however, was dressed in rich black velvet, and had a neatly-trimmed black beard. He was not fat, precisely, but there was enough spare flesh on him to make it clear, along with his clothes, that this sad little apartment was not where he usually lived.
“You must be Kishori,” he said. “I was told you might drop by.”
“And you are...Elberic?” she asked.
“Elberic, Sohn von Ulric,” he said, with another little bow. “At your service, madam.”
He was an Odelander, but his Myrcian was perfect, without a hint of an accent. The queen’s men had said he worked for Bischof Lothar and was the Glaube Church’s agent in Keelweard. But for the time being, at least, he was on the Gramirens’ side.
He poured her some thick black malt beer and they sat at a rickety little table, talking by the light of a half-hooded safety lamp. She told him about her encounter with Rodger Cuthing, and how she had failed in her attempt to seduce his lordship.
“It’s just as well,” said Elberic. “No doubt this was Earstien’s doing—a way for you to preserve your chastity. There is no need for such extreme measures.”
Kishori would have been annoyed, but she had a feeling he was probably right. “So, were the Sigors really here or not?”
“They were most assuredly here,” said Elberic. “I spoke to some soldiers who witnessed the young king giving a comically bad extemporaneous speech. If he and his friends had been imposters, they would have been better prepared. They have left now, though.”
“And where did they go?”
Elberic frowned into his beer. “I am not entirely certain. One of our people in Newshire thought that Edwin was at Rawdon, but that appears to have been a case of mistaken identity.”
“Too bad.”
“Yes, it is. In any case, one of our men who came west through Allenford told me a most alarming story this morning. Apparently, some of our fellows—if we can call them that, for they were little better than bandits—were surprised and slaughtered in a church. The survivors claim they were overpowered by a small party of travelers, and that one of the party was armed with a royal sword.”
That was the best lead Kishori had gotten all day, so she spent the night on Elberic’s floor, and then early the next morning, they rode east up the river road as fast as their horses could carry them. By late afternoon, as the sun was stretching out their shadows over the snowy road in front of them, they spotted Allenford, and they hurried over to the little stone church.
Something horrible had happened there. Eight new graves had been dug in the frozen earth, and inside the sanctuary, Kishori and Elberic found the preost directing a group of deacons and parishioners in cleaning up blood that had been splattered everywhere.
“Uleflecht protect us,” said Elberic, bowing his head. “Who would do such a thing, desecrating a house of Earstien?”
The preost heard and rushed over. “To be honest, these fellows—Earstien grant them Light—got what was coming to them. They dragged those poor girls in here, and their bodyguard, too, and I wouldn’t even like to think what horrors they were going to inflict on them all.”
“Poor girls?” asked Kishori. “What did these girls look like, exactly?”
The preost described them: all three on the shorter side, with dark brown hair. One of them had darker skin, “Like you, madam,” he said, looking at Kishori. “And you, too, sir,” he added, nodding at Elberic.
Did he mean the woman was Sahasran? Or did he mean Odelandic? Kishori was often mistaken for an Odelander back in Montgomery.
Elberic asked about the knight who had been with the women, and it seemed he had been a big fellow, well over six feet, with huge arms.
“Are you sure there wasn’t a boy, too?” Kishori asked. “He would have been thirteen or fourteen. Maybe a squire to the knight, perhaps?”
The preost shook his head. “No, madam. Only four of them. I’m quite certain of that.”
Some of the townspeople disagreed, though. They said there had been eight people, or ten, or two. Someone had seen strange lights in the sky and swore there had been a sorcerer with the party that escaped. But one thing everyone agreed on, however, was that the group had escaped to the east, into the woods.
“Heading toward Leornian,” Kishori said, half to herself, looking away over the fields. It made perfect sense. The Duke of Leornian had long been a Sigor supporter. He had suffered terribly for it, and everyone knew he was no friend to the Gramirens.
As Kishori and Elberic wandered back to their horses, the Glaube agent said, “I’m sorry you had to see that. The blood and gore in there, I mean.”
She gave a rueful chuckle. “Believe me, that’s not the worst I’ve ever seen. I was in the Loshadnarodski War.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So was I.”
“No! Really?”
“I was a fool, and I left the seminary for a time to join the Myrcian army. They were recruiting mercenaries and I wanted...adventure.”
“I was on the other side, I’m afraid,” Kishori said.
“Then perhaps your fight was more honorable than mine.”
“I suspect not. It was dreadful.” She shook her head, feeling the shame all over again.
“At least in the end, it led me back to Earstien,” said Elberic.
“In the end, I met my husband,” said Kishori, smiling, as they reached the horses.
Elberic gave her a hand into her saddle. “Then it was a blessing in disguise for both of us.”
Chapter 13
For four days, Rohesia had contemplated how she could uncover the person who had nearly plunged her dear son into the clutches of the Gramirens. She had listened to every word of palace gossip, and yet, she had learned nothing positively. The fact was, no matter how clever she might be about a great many things, she was no investigator or spy. She required professional help, if only to eliminate suspects. She needed Robert Tynsdale.
There was an old bench with a hollow arm at the end of the beach of the Prince’s Palace where the city street ended. She sometimes left messages there for Robert, but since the night of Edwin’s visit she had not been permitted outside, even on the beach or courtyard. Without that bench, however, she knew not how to contact Robert.
The question clearly became how much she trusted Joanna.
Since that wonderful and terrible night, she and Joanna had talked quite a bit. The young woman insisted that she could be trusted, and even explained why she had been wearing shoes when Rohesia had found her—she had wanted to be ready should Rohesia decide to flee and wanted her to come along and help with the children. In spite of Joanna’s apparent sincerity, Rohesia wasn’t sure she believed her entirely. Joanna always seemed rather indifferent to Alice and Helena.
Honest or not, though, Rohesia could ask no one else to deliver the letter to the bench. Fortunately, she still had some of Faustinus’s special paper.
As a wedding present, her friend, the Immani hillichmagnar, had given her a special journal. He had spelled it so that no one would be able to read what was written inside. And if she tore a sheet out and wrote someone’s name at the top, only that person would be able to read anything else she wrote. Since her captivity here in Rawdon, he had sent another of these journals through the embassy. (He
used the same spell on the letters that he, Vita, and Presley sent her so that they might be as frank as possible.)
She looked around the tapestry room, still able to see in her mind Edwin standing there, so grown up and handsome. In reality, she watched Joanna chatting with Alice and Helena on the thick Sahasran carpet in front of the fire. Rohesia lifted the lid on her portable writing set sitting atop the small folding table Rachel allowed her. As casually as she might, she delicately tore a page out of the journal, and arranged her inkpot.
Sir Robert Tynsdale
I have been in a state of extreme agitation since Edwin’s visit, of which I am certain you are aware. I must know who at the palace betrayed him. Everyone seems a possible suspect to me, until some other factor is considered, and I think them innocent. Aldrick and Rachel hate me enough to do almost anything, but even Aldrick acknowledges the danger to himself of admitting he received Edwin here.
I still do not fully trust Joanna, but I also have no proof against her, and she swears her innocence. She did know of Edwin’s presence, however, because Sir Russell informed her, so members of Aldrick’s guard are indiscrete, if not treacherous.
Rohesia paused to look out the window at the beach. It was another cold day, but no snow was falling. Sir Oliver was out there, walking with his hands behind his back. He leaned closer to his companion several times to listen to what he said. Both men nodded and when they turned to start back toward her, she saw that the other man was Sir Franklin Porcher. This was not the first stroll she had seen the men take in the past few days. She had recovered from the shock of that first time when Joanna had told her the man’s identity, but she still went cold at the sight.
Although they remain imprisoned in the dungeon here, I also have grave concerns about Sir Alan and particularly Sir Franklin Porcher. Sir Franklin often walks the beach with Sir Oliver George, who is not merely the captain of the Gramiren forces, but the man leading the investigation. I need your help solving this horrible mystery, Robert, but I am confined to the palace and must trust Joanna to deliver this letter. I do not know how we might communicate in future, but I had to try to find a way.
Even though I have not been able to speak to you, I know you are doing all that you might in aid of my son. Please remember that I am eternally grateful for all that you do.
With hope,
Rohesia Sigor
She looked the letter over to make certain she had nothing else that must be added. She could spend hours detailing all her suspicions, but she feared that every second counted. And, she reminded herself, Robert was the expert at this sort of thing. Perhaps he already knew more than she did. It would not surprise her in the least.
“Joanna,” she said as she folded and sealed the letter. “I need you to do something for me. It is of the utmost importance and secrecy. Can I rely upon you to see it done?”
Alice had moved to the window on the other side of the room to read, and Joanna jumped up from where she played with Helena and a set of old wooden blocks that Rachel’s children no longer cared for. “Of course, your majesty. I meant it when I said I want to help you.”
Rohesia hoped that was so. If she took this letter to either Aldrick or Sir Oliver, neither of them would be able to read it, thank Earstien. But Joanna would be able to reveal the secret of the bench and that Rohesia was in contact with someone in the city. She could see no other option, though.
So, Rohesia told Joanna how to open the arm on the bench at the end of the palace grounds. And then she prayed.
ROHESIA WOKE TO A HAND pressed firmly over her mouth. After a few heartbeats of panic, her eyes adjusted to the dim moonlight and she recognized Robert. What time in the middle of the night this must be, she could only guess. Never before had Robert dared to sneak into her room, so she had to assume he had found her letter and come to help. Thank Earstien!
“Your majesty, please forgive the liberty, but I thought it important to come in person,” Robert whispered. “And I have brought an ally. Allow me to get your robe, and we will await you on the other side of the room.” He finally removed his hand and passed her the robe hanging on a hook just to the side of her bed.
Coming awake more quickly than she ever had before, she had her robe wrapped around her and joined the men in less than a minute. Of course, if she had not been fully awake already, the shock of the identity of the other man would have finished the job. It was none other than Baron William Aitken, the usurper’s former chief henchman.
Rohesia reminded herself that the man with fading red hair and a pinched, rat like face had nominally been an ally for some years. Before she, Edwin, and Elwyn had fled Formacaster as Broderick was making his move to seize the throne, Broderick had ordered Baron William to murder Edwin in his bed. The man had not been able to carry out the command. From that moment forward, thanks to the help of the spies sent by Vita and Faustinus from the Empire, William had been a double agent supporting the Sigor cause. When Broderick discovered this during the Siege of Leornian, he had ordered William to kill himself. From what she had heard, he had been on the verge of doing so when Intira Stylianos helped him escape. She and her contacts in the Empire had been keeping him safe ever since. As far as Rohesia knew, he had given up spycraft and meddling in Myrcian politics. But Baron William and Robert had a long, complicated history, so if William chose to become active once more, it did not surprise her that he should be with Robert.
