Myrddin walked through the door to his private suite, the king he’d helped raise and Bronwyn, Baroness of Durham, behind him. He glanced around and frowned. His pretend mistress had begged off the evening’s feast on grounds of weariness (not to mention bone-deep soreness and bruising from their weeks of travel), but he’d expected to find her ensconced in one of his padded chairs reading a book from his small library. Certainly, she couldn’t still be in his magically heated bath (one of his few extravagances), could she? Yes, he’d been told by Peredur, the man-at-arms that had carried her up to his suite, that she’d almost wept with joy on learning of its existence, but he’d strictly forbidden her to take any of his precious books into the bath with her after he’d hastily used it in preparation for dinner. He’d noticed during the previous few weeks they’d spent together that even when she was in intense pain from the travails of travel by horseback, she’d craved intellectual stimulation — she’d been incapable of simply losing herself in contemplation of the passing scenery. No, she wouldn’t still be in the bath after hours with nothing to do but think, even as sore ... Right.
“If you’ll excuse me a moment, Your Majesty, My Lady,” he said to the two behind him, then walked over to his bedroom door.
Sure enough, the teenage brunette was lying on his bed propped up on her elbows and reading one of his books, her shapely backside covered by one of his robes — apparently the only thing she was wearing in the room comfortably heated by a Franklin stove. Myrddin cleared his throat.
Nabiki jerked, her head whipping around, only to relax when she recognized him. “Don’t do that!” she ordered in the Anglic that she’d practiced so assiduously over the past weeks.
“And what are you reading so intently you didn’t hear me come in?” the Court Wizard of Caithness asked, arms crossed but grinning.
“God’s House,” Nabiki replied. “You mentioned the Order of the Knights Hospitaller is one of your neighbors that might intervene, so when I found this one on your shelves I thought learning about how their New Jerusalem was established was just what the doctor ordered.”
“An excellent thought, but you’ll have to put it aside for now — the King and Baroness of Durham are here to hear what I’ve learned.”
“Right, showtime,” Nabiki murmured, twisting to sit up, then hastily closing the robe when it fell open and glaring at Myrddin when he grinned at the sight.
“Hurry up and dress, we’ll be waiting,” Myrddin said, beating a hasty retreat — he knew Nabiki was no threat to him even if she’d actually been that angry, but she still had a glare to weaken knees.
“That’s ... quite a story,” King Conall mused as he lowered his mug of chilled beer, after Nabiki and Myrddin finished their tales and observations. (The ale came from Myrddin’s cold box, the only place he could get it chilled, usually. His acquired taste for cold drinks didn’t really justify the cost of acquiring a cold box himself in the middle of a civil war ... unfortunately.) He glanced apologetically over at Nabiki before focusing on Myrddin. “Do you believe that this Miyo is actually a prophetess? That the prophetess Deborah has really contacted her?”
Myrddin shrugged. “I’m a wizard, not a priest, and I’d never met the girl before her vision so I can’t personally say how she may have changed. Certainly, Father Andre seems to think her claims are genuine, but that is a matter for the Church. You have his letter to forward to Archbishop Siccius.”
King Conall nodded. “True. And since the Keldara also seem to believe her, to the point that they are permitting their maiden daughters to train for war, we’re going to have that unit of ... ‘pikes’, you called them? ... and skirmishers by the campaigning season. Yes,” he continued thoughtfully, “that could be just what we need to break open the military situation — troops no one else knows we have, trained in the Megalos style of infantry warfare. I’m less certain, though, of Sir Morgan’s suggestion that we hold off the actual campaign until the end of the season. Certainly, he is right that it will likely cause the rebels to relax their guard and limit the time both they and ... others ... have to react, but his plan’s success depends on the ability of these ‘martial artists’ to open a path for our troops into Castle Sterling. Can they?”
“Absolutely,” Myrddin confirmed. “Genma, Ranma, Konatsu and Elder Cologne all showed me what they could do. It’ll take a little planning, but they can do it.”
Conall gazed at his old mentor, and finally nodded. “All right, let’s wait until Sir Morgan’s usual yearly visit in a few months to see what he has to say about his pikemen. If our former sergeant of the legions has a good report, we can use his plan. If not, with the current stalemate it’s not like we were planning any other attacks this year — nothing but some skirmishing around the edges, hoping to get lucky.
“But I’m not so sure of the second part of your plan,” he admitted, frowning. “These ‘Grand Councils’ you’re proposing.”
Myrddin suppressed a sigh. He’d been afraid of this — his son in all but name had been fighting (sometimes literally) for years to return the kingship to its previous level of power after the long regency. And rightfully so, without that central control and oversight Caithness was in danger of disintegrating into independent baronies and lordships, to be easily overpowered by the empire they’d broken away from almost two centuries before. But there was a difference between sovereign power being centered in Carrick Town and it being centered in the king.
“You Majesty,” he said, “if we are to get Lord William of Wallace trust you enough to return to the fold, any gesture we make will have to be serious. This will give him and the other nobles a say in royal policy while balancing them against the common people. And nothing in what we are offering will actually require you to take their advice, just let them know about any change you propose in laws and taxes ahead of the fact and give them a chance to debate it and let you know if they think it’s a good idea. You power remains undiminished, this simply slows the process down a little.”
“Really?” The king grinned at his mentor. “I saw you palm that card, old friend. It will take a strong king indeed, who rejects the judgment of a majority decision of these two councils.”
“True,” Myrddin agreed, “but if majorities in both councils think something is a bad idea, perhaps the king shouldn’t push it through anyway? And certainly, it would help to learn that a law will be unpopular before it is implemented instead of after. As well, consider taxes — raising taxes will always be unpopular, but if you can convince the Grand Councils that it’s necessary the common people are more likely to accept it.”
“That ... has possibilities,” Conall mused. “Yes, spreading the blame would make things easier — especially if the commons’ own chosen representatives choose to go along. But how long would it be before these Grand Councils decide that changes to laws and taxation require their consent, and not just advice?”
“Generations, and then only if conditions are right.”
At Nabiki’s interruption, wizard, king and baroness all turned to look at her. “Explain,” Conall said after a moment.
Nabiki shrugged. “It’s true that England’s own joint Grand Councils, called Parliament, eventually gained the power you say, and became known as the Mother of Parliaments as a result,” she replied. “But that wasn’t because it was the only such council around — just about every major monarchy in Europe had one. It was just the only one that took the power and made it stick. And that took a century of almost constant foreign wars with the taxes needed to fund them raised through Parliament. By the end of that century, it was simply assumed by everyone that raising taxes required Parliament’s consent.”
“So even if that does happen down the road, we are only taking the first steps,” King Conall said thoughtfully.
“Right, and the first steps of a road that may not be taken. And even if it is, will that really be a bad thing? England went on under King and Parliament to build the largest empire Earth had ever seen, for as long as it lasted. And the nation that replaced it as the world power had no king at all, just a parliament. Either way, anything we do is going to cause problems for the next generation, and we have our own issues — as your book says, ‘sufficient to the day is the evil thereof’.”
The king’s eyebrows lifted at the reference to “your book,” but he nodded. “That’s true, if a bit cynical. And I do have to agree that the offer may well allay William of Wallace’s concerns. My Lady, what do you think?”
Baroness Bronwyn hesitated. “I’m not so certain. He is a proud man. Wouldn’t he see this as an even more extravagant bribe? If this is to work, we’ll need ... something more. It can’t just be an offer.”
“Myrddin? You were the latest to meet him,” Conall said, glancing at his mentor.
Myrddin considered, and finally nodded. “Baroness Bronwyn has a point. So, don’t make it an offer. Instead, crank up the printing presses and send announcements of the first meeting of the Grand Councils on, say, the fall equinox to all the loyal lords and barons and their major towns, and then send a personal invitation to Lord William. Have your representative arrive in Wallace about the time we’re knocking on Castle Sterling’s front door.”
“Excellent idea, I like it,” King Conall enthused, grinning broadly. “All soft diplomacy, and an invitation not a bribe — and at the same time we’re recovering the lording to his southeast, cutting off him and Baron Ferrier to the south off from the rest of the rebels—I doubt they’d be able to convince Lord Walton of Simonton to their south to get off the fence, and there’s no way they are going to hack a new road through the forest to the southeast between them and Denton, not good enough for moving armies. I wouldn’t be surprised if Ferrier’s love of ‘efficiency’ brings him back into the fold. If we can get Simonton off the fence in our favor that’s pretty much a certainty, Ferrier isn’t going to want to have armies marching into his lands from south and east at the same time. We’ll have to see if we can smuggle announcements and an envoy down to Simonton....”
His enthusiasm dimming, he added, “Of course, next year we’ll have the legions pouring across the border into the southeast to rescue the other three rebel lords, but maybe that will get the wizards out of their towers in our support ... ? Maybe we should hold the first Grand Council in midsummer of next year, and ask Archbishop Siccius if we can use the Adseveration Cathedral for the meeting ... that would give us a more centralized place on neutral ground, and put us directly northwest of the legions’ southern road into Caithness....”
Shaking himself free of his thoughts, Conall turned to Bronwyn. “But that’s next year. This year, if any of our enemies in Megalos get a hint of our plans, they might choose to preempt us by another thrust for Carrick Town. I know the reputation of your barony for chewing up armies usually has them trying to push through Fordham to your north, but the Megalan opinion of female knights, much less baronesses, may lead them to think that this time you would be the easier target — and with my own forces moving against Lord Towne of Sterling, I won’t be in a position to help.”
“The Megalan opinion of female knights and baronesses?” Bronwyn asked with a rueful grin. “It’s only been seventy years since your great-grandfather knighted Lady Dame Devin for valor on the battlefield, and he was about as ‘eccentric’ as you can get and still be functional. It took years for her to find someone else willing to knight Dame Teress. And then there was everyone’s reaction when I married Sir Wickham and didn’t turn the job of managing the lording over to him....”
Her voice trailed off suggestively, and Conall shrugged. “There’s a difference between ambivalence and outright scorn,” he replied. “You need to be ready.”
Sobering, she nodded. “I will be.”
“Good enough.” Then the king took a deep breath and straightened. “But while I can’t offer any real aid for a defense that may not be necessary, I can offer a knight — Sir Geoffrey. Could you use him?”
Bronwyn stiffened, then after a long moment forced herself to relax. “Yes, of course, he is a highly skilled fighter and inspiring leader. I will have no trouble at all finding work for his hands.”
“Good ... and thank you.”
The room fell silent for a long moment before the king nodded. “So, if we are going to summon a Grand Council, we’ll need something to talk about. I suggest asking about support for reconquering Fort Defiant from the orcs, both financial and men-at-arms. That will make the Fort’s refugees in Wallace happy and make Lord William more likely to rejoin us....”
Nabiki waited where she stood, very grateful to be out of her chair even if her trembling legs were threatening to dump her on the floor at any moment. While the chair had been as comfortably padded as any she’d known on Earth, that hadn’t stopped the pain of her travel-raw and -bruised muscles from growing as the discussion went on and on. It hadn’t helped that as soon as the discussions got down to details she’d been lost in a sea of unfamiliar names, she assumed both people and places, and she’d decided against slowing everything down by asking for background every time a new name popped up.
Myrddin closed the door behind their departing guests and glanced back at Nabiki, then hurried over to offer her a shoulder to lean on, an arm around her waist. “Let’s get you to bed, I think your day’s been long enough,” he said, steering her into the bedroom. “Mine certainly has been.”
Nabiki heartily agreed, and grabbed her fresh night clothes from where a servant had left them while she was soaking in the bath. “So what’s the story with Sir Geoffrey?” she asked as she staggered behind a screen to change.
“Picked up on that, did you?” Myrddin asked, and laughed at the disgusted sound from behind the screen. “I suppose it would have been hard not to. He’s just what Baroness Bronwyn said — a man any noble would be happy to have serving under him, or her in this case, especially when a serious fight is coming at you. He’s also the younger brother of Lord Towne.”
Nabiki paused in the middle of pulling on the chemise that passed for a nightgown — sexy it wasn’t, but that wasn’t something she minded considering the circumstances. “Wait, Lord Towne? The Lord of Sterling, the lording we’re going to overrun?”
“That’s the one.” Myrddin grimaced. “I know, it’s very medieval. I don’t know if Sir Geoffrey is serving the King out of true loyalty, or simply to insure that the lording won’t be lost to his family if the rebels lose. Either way, Conall has been careful to avoid pitting him directly against his brother. But now, the only major push we’re going to be making this year is directly against his family, so —”
“—we need to get him out of the way, without offending his sensibilities,” Nabiki finished.
“Exactly. And what about you? I thought you were planning on pretending to be a Christian, but with that comment you made about ‘your book’....”
“I was going to,” Nabiki agreed. The chemise on, she carefully stepped out from behind the screen so that Myrddin could use it. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about that first night after Miyo’s vision, her baptism, and when she spoke to the Keldara elders. I don’t know what it was, but there was something ... there. Something ... I don’t know, I felt ...” She broke off, at a loss for words to describe the experience, and shrugged. “Let’s just say that I’m considering the possibility that there might be something to it. And so, I’m going to be treading very, very carefully — whether in the Old Testament or the New, the Christian God has a low tolerance for hypocrites and pretenders.”
“Not a bad thought,” Myrddin agreed as he waited until Nabiki was safely on the bed they were going to be sharing. Walking behind the screen, he began to strip off his own clothes. “I’ve seen many strange things since I first arrived in Yrth all those decades ago, and not all of them could be explained with magic. It’s always best to tread carefully around anything claiming to be divine.”
He fell silent, and Nabiki pushed back the covers and crawled into bed as she waited for him to continue. On top of all the other miseries of her journey, she had never been really warm the entire time. And even before that, she couldn’t say that Sir Morgan’s little keep was exactly toasty. From what she had seen on that trip she had expected the same here — the Franklin stoves had been a pleasant surprise, but the problems of weatherproofing in the various inns they stayed in (when they weren’t sleeping in tents) had meant the stoves were fighting a losing battle. Not here. Between that and the pile of blankets, he was looking forward to her first warm night in months, and beginning to wonder if becoming a wizard’s lover for real would be so bad if she got to continue enjoying the side benefits.
When Myrddin failed to pick up where he left off, Nabiki finally asked, “And what’s the story with the King and Baroness Bronwyn?”
“Story? What story?” Myrddin asked.
“I mean, what’s going on between them? And don’t tell me that it’s nothing, I have a lot of experience picking up on budding romances, even if they are one-sided.”
Myrddin sighed as he finished pulling on his own night robe before walking around the room to blow out the lamps and join his putative lover in bed. “The king wishes there was a budding romance,” he replied. “But she’s one of his nobles, and he has to be careful how he treats her to avoid charges of favoritism. Raising her from a Lady to Baroness was pushing the limits — even as competent a ruler as she has proven to be, that caused some whisperings. So he’s been reduced to occasional hints, which she apparently fails to notice. In the eight years since her husband’s death, she’s been devoted to her son and apparently oblivious to any male interest.”
“Ah, just like Ranma only without all the excitement,” Nabiki mused, and Myrddin chuckled as he thought of the stories she had told him during their journey. They had all seemed incredible, but considering the abilities the martial artists had shown him they were remotely believable. Yawning, he snuggled into the bedding and was just fading off when Nabiki asked, “And what do we tell the servants?”
Sighing with exasperation, he asked, “Wha’?”
“What do we tell the servants?” Nabiki repeated. “Sex is kind of messy and smells, and I imagine they are familiar with all the signs — they are going to know that we aren’t doing anything, and they gossip.” She thought back to some of the choicer pieces of gossip she’d gotten from the Kunos’ servants, not that she’d made much selling them. People hadn’t been all that interested in the lives of the rich and loony, in part because they’d had trouble believing just how loony they’d been. She wondered briefly how the kendoist and gymnast had made out in the collapse, before shoving the painful, useless speculation aside.
Beside her, Myrddin was trying to think through fatigue-induced fog. She was right, he hadn’t thought of it, and he should have — he’d been extremely careful with what servants he’d involved in hiding Conall after his father the previous king died until his coronation, after all. They would — his thoughts broke off with a jaw-splitting yawn. “We’ll talk about it in the morning,” he murmured. “With the condition you arrived in, they won’t be surprised if nothing happens for a few days, we’ve got time.” And with that, he relaxed and faded into sleep, Nabiki soon following to dreams of a Lord Tatewaki in Sir Morgan’s keep pursuing Keldaran versions of Ranma and Akane.
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(Posted Mon, 05 Mar 2012 02:40)
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