The Conqueror (17 page)

Might as well be a good sport about
it—

“
I know you are all just as
surprised and delighted as we were—” Sylphie’s voice cracked a bit
and she had always been kind of a slow reader.

“
Oh, Gods.”

His voice was low, but there were one
or two chuckles from the front row, where he suddenly comprehended
that the chief conspirators had taken seats. They sat their
admiring their handiwork, nodding at the chieftain as he glowered
in mock anger. He lowered his brows, stared sternly, worked his jaw
back and forth and they collapsed in giggles.

Finally he must relent, possibly even
listen.

All of this must have a point, as
someone very wise once said.

If truth be told, he was a mite
relieved to see Theodelinda, for surely she wouldn’t have come all
that way for nothing. He’d been waiting for some sort of
response.

If only his mother
could
speak,
something he had always taken for granted in himself, not even
realizing what a special gift it was. She was maundering on and on
and on, and he bit back any signs of rising impatience. Sylphie had
butchered every joke she had ever attempted, a fact which had never
discouraged her from trying again.

Get to the point,
mother.

“
...and, as some of you may
know and many of you might have heard, and for those of you who
have not, Theodelinda is cousin to Queen Eleanora of Winderemere.
That’s one of our neighbors to the south, in the wonderful country
of Windermere. She’s not married and not betrothed to anybody, at
least not so far as we know...? That’s right, isn’t it,
Theodelinda, my dear?” There was a rising inflection on the end of
the question as she turned her body to look over Lowren’s head at
the person in question.

She was rewarded by a quick head-shake
from the Princess herself as Lowren’s jaw dropped in spite of much
training over the years and he wondered just what in the hell these
terribly headstrong women were planning.

For surely they were up to something,
even as the mental picture of a laughing Eleanora hovered front and
center in the chaotic midst of his busy little mind.

***

“
Oh, blast and damnation.”
He kept it under his breath.

And again, the cups were
filled and yet another toast was raised. Generally, Lowren
preferred quiet drinking although he rarely did it alone. But the
place was a madhouse tonight. By his personal reckoning they had
already eaten at least three times. Lowren had never been
interested in hospitality,
per se.
It was a necessary evil, and he could enjoy it
from time to time as one might. Sylphie was in charge of protocol
insofar as it went around here, making people comfortable and all
of that.

Hopefully she knew what she was doing
in this particular instance.

Just when he’d been looking forward to
an early night.

***

There were times when
Lowren could cheerfully admit that he and his people were
barbarians in fact as well as name. There were other
times when he would have bristled with indignation
and put his hand on his hilt. He would have demanded a retraction
instantly, on pain of death, of any man who dared put forth such an
assertion.

People were grabbing at him from
behind.

He was beginning to wonder if he had
maybe had one ale too many, and he almost scowled and said
something. It was his mother and Theodelinda, taking an arm each
and trying to convince him to get up.

“
Oh. Sorry. Are we going
somewhere?”

“
Come, Lowren. We must talk
to Theodelinda, or she will begin to feel
unappreciated.”

“
Oh. Well, we wouldn’t want
that, would we?” Lowren became aware that he was rather loose in
the legs and slurring his words. “Oops. Sorry. Theo.
Delinda.”

That didn’t sound very good. He made
some movements as if to free himself.

They let go, and he pushed himself
up.

This wouldn’t do. Although the little
voice in his head was unwelcome at times, there were times when you
just had to listen.

Air, that’s what he needed.

Thank you, father. For all
that kingly advice over the years.

It was good advice and there were times
when you should take it—your own advice, that is.

“
Sorry, Theodelinda. I hope
you are enjoying the festivities.” His head swam a bit and the air
was much warmer and a lot smokier only a couple feet above where he
had been sitting.

He stood there as Sylphie took charge
of their guest. Lowren, feeling a bit foolish, followed along.
Going by noise alone, no one would miss them.

They weren’t holding much back, were
they?

At first he sort of
wondered where, but his mother had thought of everything and it
appeared that a small room near the front of the hall had been
cleared. Spare chairs, empty barrels, a few weapons and shields,
or
something
was
kept in there as he recalled, stuff the moths wouldn’t hurt but the
rain and dampness would.

There was a pretty good rug on the
floor, and the place had been neatly swept out. There were several
of Sylphie’s precious oil lamps burning in the corners on small
stone tables.

There were a half a dozen of their
better chairs in a semi-circle, a table sagging under the weight of
flowers in water, and the usual crystalline service set on a silver
tray. He spared a brief thought for Theodelinda’s traveling
party—there was no way she would have ever ridden alone. Quite a
number must have been involved in the deception. They had to be
around there somewhere.

They would be in the village, he
reckoned, except for one or two of her most trusted
maidens.

They paused just inside the room as
Sylphie spoke to a servant and a couple of his men who just
happened to be stationed outside the door.

“
Again, Theodelinda. I
really am sorry.” He’d had a long day, and it was hard work
sometimes. “I really wasn’t expecting such, ah—such illustrious
company.”

She nodded judiciously at the choice of
words. A minute or two of fresher air would no doubt help. It had
become quite a fugue in the great room, with at least a hundred
guests, possibly a few more than that, and of course they had all
of the fires and braziers going at this time of the
year.

A person was sort of cooked on one side
and frozen on the other, and this only a few feet away from the
fire. The smaller room was almost cozy, with all the lamps going
and the embroidered hangings blocking out the damp wooden
walls.

Lowren held her chair, and then his
mother’s as she proudly eyed Theodelinda. Lowren at one time might
have had two minds about his mother sitting in. Quite frankly, this
time around he was going to need her help.

Theodelinda was no rival king, strong
of arm, feeble of mind and long on ambition. This was no dispute
about a boundary, a perennial spring, a pasture somewhere, nor was
it about a slain kinsmen, nor two, nor a blood-feud, with relatives
on both sides of the dispute.

Anything could be solved with a little
thought. It was what he had always believed.

“
Well.” Thankfully he had
put Theo in the middle, a bit hard on her if she turned to look at
Sylphie, but it was better than him doing it all the time. Sylphie
was not going to be ignored.

Lowren sat on the left side, and he put
his hands together and went through a little knuckle-cracking
routine. It was an unconscious habit going back many years, to when
he was just finding his strength.

It wasn’t that long ago, either—when
mere strength and agility was enough to get what you
wanted.

“
So. My Queen, that is to
say my cousin Eleanora, would like you to know that she is
favorably disposed to further discussions with you and your people,
your Majesty, Lowren of Lemnia.”

She grinned at Sylphie, looking proud
and a little scared by these words. Sylphie knew a pivotal moment
when she saw one. Other tribes would come in with them now. As
Lowren described it, Windermere Castle was an important element in
the overall strategy—which was bloody stalemate at best. Their
ships and grain were essential to his plan.

This was what had always impressed
Sylphie about her son. He didn’t promise victory, only survival for
most of the people, and only in the long run, and only if they all
stood together at times of crisis. He didn’t talk in terms of
punishing the enemy, or conquering foreign lands. He didn’t drag up
old claims and grudges, being content with what he had. He was not
bent on revenge for past injuries. The Windermere treaty would be a
cornerstone of this policy, rather enlightened even for this day
and age.

Sylphie thought it was just this sort
of honest assessment, plus his very presence, which had been enough
to convince Eleanora.

“
Discussions?” Lowren was a
little disappointed, although he tried not to show it.

“
She feels we can work
things out, and come to some sort of mutually-agreeable
arrangement.”

“
Oh, incidentally, Lowren.”
Sylphie patted his left forearm. “She really did bring a barrel of
gold, just a little earnest money. We can pay the troops, pay the
smiths and armorers, the ship-builders...anything we
need.”

Lowren nodded thoughtfully, alcohol
fumes rapidly evaporating now. A barrel of gold could simply be a
brush-off, a salve to their consciences rather than a serious
attempt to bind their fortunes in war. He had a fleet of forty or
in a pinch, fifty long ships. He had a half-dozen more building.
Those were at an early stage, with barely the keel laid and some of
their planks cut.

They had enough seasoned logs picked
out for the masts.

The gold would be very welcome indeed.
Winter was six or seven months long, and the shipwrights, fitters
and carpenters of all types, could probably use the
work.

“
Very well.” His head was
clearing rapidly. “Ah...so what’s the catch.”

His mother gave him a sharp look but
this was his kingdom now and she didn’t know everything.

He ignored his mother for the moment,
searching Theodelinda’s eyes very carefully.

It was like both of them knew what he
was thinking. It was like they were going to let him have a bit of
his manly dignity back...

A wry grin went over Theodelinda’s face
before she tore herself away, and she gave Sylphie another quick
glance before her face became serious.

“
Well, Lowren. You might
not get everything you want. But, you will get much of what you
need. Some, but not all of what you require must needs be paid for.
Some of it will be our own little contribution. As for some of our
friends, our allies and trading partners, it is our impression that
the great majority of them will be cautiously pleased.”

It had been a few weeks. They’d
certainly had time to consult with at least some of their
friends.

He grinned right back.

“
Then I too, am cautiously
pleased.”

“
There’s just one more
thing, Lowren.” Syphie was sticking her oar in—and clearly favoring
Theodelinda and pushing her own point of view in some
way.

He looked at his mother.

“
Oh, oh. Yes. There’s
plenty more—all of which can be worked out in fine detail. And we
must not lose any time—” Something about the look on Sylphie’s face
stopped Lowren dead in his tracks.

“
No, this is a more
personal matter.”

“
Oh, really?” His mind was
fully alert now.

There it was again, the image of
Eleanora, laughing and holding his hand and looking like nothing he
had ever quite seen before. Perhaps that might even happen, he
thought in a strangely bitter mental aside.

“
What do you mean,
personal?”

“
It’s a bit awkward, acting
on my own accord in this matter, and as an ambassador on official
business from Windermere at one and the same time. But we’re
interested in a match, a suitable husband for one of the Queen’s
ladies.”

Lowren sat up. It was just the thing to
cement a union or alliance between the two states. Gold, a marriage
of state, and at least some kind of a semi-official visit from
Windermere. It might be just enough to tip the balance in one or
two other rather delicate negotiations. He had good relationships
with the Carducci for example, and yet they were distinctly
skittish in the talks he’d held so far with them. They were a lot
closer to the Khan’s territory, a factor that probably carried more
weight than the sword of Lowren and a few thousand riders who may
or may not be there when needed.

“
Of course. I’m sure that
would be wonderful, ah. Who exactly needs the husband, and what
sort of a man was she looking for?”

His mother stifled an ominous-sounding
giggle.