Valour and Victory (39 page)

Luckily the
pace didn’t require Zilla to ask Destry for a canter too often so
she was managing well enough.

“In what way is
the countryside further south different?”

Robain began on
a long explanation, a task that took over two days, so many were
Zilla’s questions. She was determined to learn as much as possible
about her new country before she reached the palace.

To his
surprise, Robain even found that he could answer most of her often
detailed enquiries.

I must have
picked up more than I though. This country, with all its problems,
complexities and contradictions is growing on me. I don’t think I
ever want to leave. I’m glad I accepted Elliot’s offer.

“So what is to
become of these slaves Elliot freed? Are they to be given
land?”

“They’re not
farmers,” he answered, “they are miners mostly. It is their choice,
but he has offered them employment back at the mines they came
from, or another if they feel they want a change. Some of them have
left Fort already. They were getting ready when I left.”

“What’s to stop
the owners of these mines, the ones that don’t belong to the crown
that is, from going back to the old ways?”

“That’s a moot
point. He’ll put someone in charge of the Duchy with instructions
to keep them in line.”

“A sort of town
watch force?”

“Now that’s a
good idea,” he replied, nodding.

“Who do you
think he’ll put in charge?”

“I haven’t a
clue,” lied Robain.

“You must have
some idea.”

“Perhaps Baron
Merriman, he’s Derek’s father and very loyal. The man’s certainly
slated for some sort of honour or position.”

“Derek?”

“You never met
him. He’s the reason I joined Philip, Elliot and James on their
tour. Derek was hurt when Prince-Duke Xavier’s assassins tried to
kill Elliot.”

Zilla gasped.
“You never told me that part.”

“I wasn’t
there.”

“So about
Derek?”

“He was killed
in the desert. Baron Merriman has three other children. The
youngest is called Walter and it is his name Elliot appropriated
while he was in the north. I don’t think he’ll get a Conclave seat
though. He’s only a Baron. Only Dukes, the Archbishop and the Lord
Marshall sit on Conclave.”

“But Philip is
a Baron and you told me he had a seat.”

“He’s the Lord
Marshall, that gives him automatic parity with a Duke. Philip has
become a very important person.”

“It’s all so
confusing,” complained Zilla. “How will I manage?”

“As well as me
if not better,” Robain comforted her. “Remember, you’ll be Elliot’s
Queen. You’ll outrank them all.”

“I think all
this rank business is going to get very cloying,” sighed Zilla.

* * * * *

Robain and
Zilla arrived at Fort tired and very dusty. Robain had kept them at
a steady pace, anxious that they should get to the palace in time
for the Fealtatis Ceremony.

It seemed that
everyone of any standing in the Kingdom and those who thought they
should be of standing was heading for the Citadel.

Every Inn was
full to bursting.

For Robain,
brought up on the ultra-religious Island of Hallam the words ‘no
room at the inn’ took on a whole new meaning. Often their escort
had to make do with beds in the stable lofts and the price of a
room had more than doubled.

Robain and
Zilla made do with dingy little rooms in the attics, the innkeepers
having called the rooms inhabited by their inn-servants into
service.

Zilla’s
disguise was holding. Dressed in plain tunic and trews and with her
hair bundled inside the hat, those who saw her took her for a
friend of Robain, perhaps even a relative.

As they
clattered over the drawbridge that led into the palace complex and
the Citadel the guards waved a cheery greeting, Elliot having
warned them that Robain and friend would be arriving. The
stablehands ran forward to take their horses and Zilla dismounted
with relief. She wanted a bath and some rest.

“Where do we go
now?” she whispered to Robain. “Your room?”

“I don’t think
so,” he replied with an inner laugh. He had spied one Kellen Martin
Taviston approaching, the only person apart from Robain that Elliot
had taken into his confidence about the true identity of the
companion Robain was bringing to the palace.

“Captain
Hallam. Welcome home.” His eyes flicked towards Zilla but he made
no outward move to acknowledge her presence.

“Indeed it
was,” Robain answered with a sly grin. Martin Taviston winked.

“Your rooms are
ready,” Martin continued, “in the New Palace. King Elliot had it be
known that he wanted you close by.”

“Where
is
the King?”

“In conference
with the Archbishop and the Lord Marshall. I believe they are
discussing tomorrow’s ceremony. He said that he would come to your
rooms once you had had time to freshen up. Clothes have been
provided.”

Robain’s
eyebrows rose and Martin drew closer to whisper in his ear. “The
Dowager Crown-Princess Susan. On my advice, Elliot confided in her
last night. She arranged the clothes. She is also most anxious to
meet her future daughter-in-law.” He flicked another glance at
Zilla who pretended not to notice. “If you’ll both come this
way?”

Robain and
Zilla followed him as he led the way through the palace gardens and
towards the private apartments of the royal family.

* * * * *

Zilla and
Elliot

Zilla was
amazed at the beautiful clothes Elliot’s mother had provided and
not a little dismayed. They were of the finest quality and quite
different to what she was used to. To her surprise they also
fitted. She found out later that they belonged to Elliot’s sister
Susan. Elliot’s mother had questioned her son very thoroughly.

What was more,
the maidservant who was assisting her clearly expected her to
choose one of these ornate velvet dresses and actually wear it.

I don’t
think so
.

Ignoring the
maid’s entreaties Zilla walked over to the hanging closet and
looked inside.

That’s
better
, she thought as she spied the alternatives hanging
there. She pulled at one of the hangers on which hung a long
embroidered silk, short-sleeved tunic. Further investigation proved
that there were silk trousers to match and on the shelf, slippers.
The costume was blue, Zilla’s favourite colour.

“I’ll wear
this,” she announced to the astonished maid who didn’t quite like
to tell her that the items were, in fact, a set of
bed-garments.

She did try to
persuade this strange young woman to wear something else, thinking
that the tales she had heard in the servants’ hall about ‘these mad
northerners’ were most definitely true. “Please Madam, I don’t
think …”

“This one,”
insisted Zilla, shaking the offending hanger at her.

I may be about
to become Murdoch’s Queen but I’m going to be myself and being
myself does not include wearing one of these tight-bodiced
monstrosities.

“I would
advise,” the maid tried again.

“This one,”
Zilla’s voice was insistent and the maid bowed to the inevitable
and took the hanger.

Then for the
first time since she and her sisters had been little girls, Zilla
was helped into her clothes.

As the girl
brushed her hair, unknotting the journey-tangles then fixing it
back with jewelled clips, Zilla began to relax. It was a soothing
feeling, the brush sweeping through the tangled tresses.

Once she had
finished, the maid curtsied. “Will that be all My Lady? If so I’ll
go and tell Lord Robain that you are ready.”

“Thank you,
yes, that will be all,” Zilla answered.

* * * * *

The expected
knock on the door was not long in coming.

Zilla stood
up.

“Come in.”

The door opened
slowly, as if her visitor was unsure and nervous about his
reception.

Zilla held her
breath.

The young man
entered and closed the door behind him.

Their eyes
met.

“Why my love,
ready for bed already,” Elliot teased as he recognised the purpose
of the clothes she was wearing.

Zilla’s answer
was a rosy blush.

* * * * *

Elliot

Four ladies
were seated in a semicircle round the fire in one of the smaller
chambers in the palace. All were dressed from head to toe in black,
mourning black. The four had all become widows during the recent
war and more than that, they had lost fathers, uncles, nephews,
nieces, sister and brothers. One of them had lost her eldest
son.

They had
something else in common. They were all four the mothers of the
underage dukes. The oldest of the boy dukes was nine years old and
the youngest six.

It was usual in
Murdoch that when a duke was a child that an adult male of his
ducal house was appointed regent. Problem was, only two of the four
boys had such a living relative. The House of Cocteau had been
virtually extinguished and South Baker was not in much better
case.

“I wonder why
my cousin the King, has summoned us here,” mused the eldest
present, the twenty-eight year old Dowager Duchess-Heir Bethany of
Duchesne and the widow of the younger William Duchesne who had died
with his father on the ridge.

“It must be
about tomorrow’s ceremony,” said the Dowager Duchess of Cocteau,
one Tamsin, four years younger than Bethany and survivor of the
massacre at the Cocteau manor. Her face still bore traces of the
ravages caused by the days she had spent entombed underground.

“And have you
rehearsed the oath with your little Charles?” asked Bethany.
Charles was only six and it was doubtful if he even understood half
of the words that were part of the ritual of the oath.

“I have and
he’s word perfect,” Tamsin assured her with some pride.

“Never mind all
that,” said the Dowager Duchess Harriet of South Baker with some
impatience. “I want to know
why
we are here.” Since the
disappearance of her husband, the unlamented Prince-Duke Xavier,
she had blossomed beyond all recognition.

“It might be to
make sure our respective sons are ready,” opined the Dowager
Duchess Petra of Smith, their fourth member.

Bethany shook
her head. “No, there’s more to it than that. He sounded excited and
yes, secretive too.”

“You don’t
suppose he wants us to stand with our boys when they make their
oaths?” asked Tamsin with a giggle, “I mean they’re all so
young.”

“Never happened
before,” said Petra with a negative shake of her black-coiffed
head. “I’m sure it’s to tell us who is to be appointed regents of
the duchies. So many died during the war he must have been hard
pressed to find one, far less four.”

“That’s a
distinct possibility,” said Harriet, “and I’ve been looking at the
genealogical charts. My Xavier’s nearest male relative isn’t from
my house at all but is Baron Martin Russell, a mere
cousin-in-law.”

“Charles is in
a similar boat. In our case it is my nephew on my husband’s side
and he’s only seventeen,” said Tamsin.

Bethany added
her contribution, “likewise the cousin who is ours, he’s eighteen.
What about you Petra?”

“Same as you, a
cousin but he’s not an adolescent. He will do a good job with young
Richard now that his brother is dead.”

The four sat in
silence.

“I don’t envy
Elliot,” Bethany said at last.

When Elliot
entered the four ladies got up from their chairs and made their
curtsies to which Elliot responded with a courtly bow.

“Be seated
ladies,” he said, taking the fifth seat round the fire.

The four
re-seated themselves and rearranged their black skirts. They looked
at Elliot. The Dowager Duchess-Heir Bethany was right. There was an
air of suppressed excitement about him. His eyes were twinkling
with mischief.

“I expect
you’ve been wondering why I asked you here?”

“We are, we
have been,” said Bethany.

“Ladies,”
Elliot began in an impressive voice, “you and I together are about
to make history.”

The four
confused ladies looked at each other. In what way were they going
to make history? Ladies didn’t make history, men did.

“I have come to
a decision concerning the appointment of the regents for your
sons,” Elliot said and leant forward to whisper his next words.

“Tomorrow, at
the Fealtatis Ceremony, this is what you will do …”

* * * * *

Elliot, Zilla
and Robain

It was standing
room only in the Citadel’s Great Hall. The Fealtatis Ceremony was
about to begin and great was the speculation.

Not only were
the Dukes, old and new, the Archbishop and the Lord Marshall about
to swear their fealty oaths but Elliot had declared his intention
to pronounce on the identity of his chosen wife. Baron John
Merriman was positive it must be his daughter although it was odd
that Elliot had not told him.

Expectancy was
rife amongst others. There were a number of young unmarried damsels
present who might be called on to serve as one of the new Queen’s
ladies-in-waiting.

Also interested
were a number of young childless widows who were looking for a
position as an alternative to remaining at home or declaring a
vocation for the religious life.

Elliot had,
that very morning, also introduced a Council of Advisors, separate
from Conclave. Reforms were in the air. The eight men who would
make up the Council would swear fealty to the King himself and not
to the Dukes from which they held their land.