“Do not speak to me,” he said loudly. “And call me ‘Englishman.’ Do not use my name.”
Jura clamped her jaws shut and cursed the stupid foreigner. With his vile temper and his unreasonableness, she gave him only a week before someone put an end to his life. Good riddance, she thought. Lanconia would be better off without him.
She turned to her stomach and thought of Daire. It would be good to be a virgin on her wedding night to Daire.
“Get up!”
Lazily, Jura turned over in the warm bed. It was still dark. Rowan was standing ten feet away from her, fully dressed and glaring at her.
“Are all Irials as lazy as you?” he snapped. “The wagons are already gathering below.”
“Are all Englishmen as vile-tempered as you?” she answered, stretching beneath the covers.
He watched her intently and his pale skin seemed to grow paler. “Get your belongings and come below,” he said, then left the room.
It didn’t take Jura long to get her few pieces of clothing and her weapons together. The courtyard was loud with prancing horses and shouting men. Geralt, wearing black and on a black horse, was ordering men about. Daire sat on his horse to one side and near him was Cilean.
Jura smiled at her friend but Cilean turned her head away. Jura’s smile faded as she accepted bread and watered wine from a servant.
Rowan was in the midst of the men, his horse ready to go, and Jura had to admit that he seemed to be capable of organizing the expedition and the men seemed to recognize his leadership.
There were wagons filled with goods and Jura saw Lora and the boy Phillip sitting on one of them beside a driver.
“Jura!” the boy called, and smiling, she went to him.
“Good morning,” she said, offering him a piece of bread.
“Do Lanconian warriors eat bread?” he asked solemnly.
“Always,” she answered just as solemnly, and turned to Lora to smile, but the Englishwoman put her nose in the air and turned away. Jura went to her horse, falling in beside Xante as they began to ride.
It took all day to reach the Irial villages. There were other, smaller villages scattered about the Irial land, but these were inhabited by peasants, the lowest class of people, people who fought among themselves, whose family feuds were centuries old. These people had no idea whether they were Irial or Vatell or English for that matter.
But twenty miles from the walled city of Escalon lived the main population of Irials. When a guardsman or woman chose a mate, he/she came from these people. The guards were chosen from these people, and after they were trained, they were sent back to the village to watch and protect the Irials from invasion. In these few square miles was the only serenity an Irial was likely to know. Here children played and women sang and crops were harvested. Here fabric was woven, garments embroidered, and here the sick and old were given comfort and peace. Thousands of the Irial guard had died to protect this place.
Jura rode beside Xante for most of the way but she heard Phillip beginning to complain, so she turned back to the wagon. “Would you like to ride with me?” she asked the boy, and he looked at Lora for permission.
Lora looked as if she were fighting against herself. She turned her head away then gave a curt nod.
Phillip practically leaped into Jura’s arms as she pulled him into the saddle before her. For the rest of the journey she told him stories of the old gods of Lanconia, gods who fought and feuded, gods who had more character than the Christian God Jesus who never so much as spoke back to his mother.
“Why do you hold this pup?” Geralt demanded of her angrily as he reined his horse beside hers. “Do you grow soft toward the English?”
“He’s a child,” Jura said.
“Boys grow into men.”
She gave him a look of disgust. “He is no threat to you. He has no pretensions to your throne.”
Geralt gave the boy a hostile look and rode away.
“I don’t like him,” Phillip whispered.
“Of course you do. He is to be King of Lanconia and he will make a very good king.”
“My uncle Rowan is the king and he is the best king.”
“We shall see about that.”
It was night when the travelers arrived at the village and the wagons had to be ferried across the river, as did the horses and passengers.
The people, bearing torches, came out to greet them and see this Englishman who called himself king.
Many of Jura’s relatives ran forward to greet her. Her status had risen high since she had won the Honorium and married the king.
“What is he like?” they whispered. “Has he given you a child yet?” “Is he as handsome as Daire?” “As strong as Thal?”
They stopped talking when Rowan walked up behind her and Jura saw the eyes of some of her cousins turn liquid. There was a collective sigh.
Jura smiled at them and even felt a little pride. She turned her smile on Rowan. “May I introduce you to my family?” she asked him politely.
Later, Jura’s aunt escorted them to a room in her house. It was a small room and there was only one bed and no window seat.
Rowan seemed very quiet.
“The journey tired you?” she asked.
“No,” he said softly. “It was good of you to care for Phillip. I believe the boy is beginning to worship you.”
“He is a pleasant child and eager to learn. Perhaps he is more Lanconian than I thought.” He was sitting on the edge of the bed and removing his cross garters, and he seemed to be worried about something. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what was wrong but she didn’t. It would be better to stay apart from this man who was her husband only temporarily.
“I assume I am not to sleep with you,” she said.
“What? No, I guess not. There are furs. I’ll make my bed on the floor. You take the bed.”
Jura frowned and removed her boots and trousers and slid into the big, empty bed. She lay awake while Rowan settled himself on the floor in the furs. The air seemed to be charged and she could not go to sleep.
“The moon is bright,” she whispered.
Rowan did not say a word and she thought perhaps he was asleep.
“Jura,” he said softly.
“Yes,” she answered in the same tone.
“Do you ever doubt yourself? Do you sometimes know that you are right, but somewhere deep inside you there is a seed of doubt?”
“Yes,” she said, “I have felt that.”
He didn’t say any more and after a while Jura heard his soft breathing of sleep. She puzzled for a long time over what he had meant but could find no answer.
The next morning all the Irials were awake very early. They wanted to see friends and relatives they had not seen in a long while and they wanted a good look at this Englishman who claimed kingship.
Jura stood to one side and watched Rowan pass through the crowds of people, and she saw the way their faces lit as he spoke to them in their own language. There was no display of the quick temper he showed to her, but instead, here was a quiet, calm, intelligent man who made his presence felt.
“He is as smooth-tongued as the devil,” Geralt said to Jura. “Be careful that you keep your head on your shoulders. Someone must have his wits about him when the fool tries to plunge us into war.”
Jura sipped hot apple cider. “He does not want war; he wants peace.”
“What one wants and what one gets are two different things. If we ride into Vatell land, be ready to fight. Brita will be glad to kill him, since his father killed her husband.”
“Maybe Brita is sick of war also,” Jura said. “Perhaps she would like to see her son again.”
Geralt was aghast. “Do you betray your country for this Englishman?”
“No, of course not. He will never be able to unite anyone, but let him try. Who will follow him? He means to marry Irial and Vatell. What Irial will agree? He’ll be stopped before he starts.”
Xante was standing near them,
and overhearing her words to Geralt, he turned to her. “Look at him. He is surrounded by adoring eyes. They will follow him. Quiet! He speaks.”
Jura watched with interest as Rowan stood on a bench and began to speak. All morning she had heard whispers of “Saint Helen’s Gate,” and so knew the people knew that Rowan had opened the gate. But she also saw skepticism on their faces. They were not going to accept this man merely because of an ancient legend.
Rowan’s voice and his perfectly pronounced Lanconian were almost hypnotic. Slowly, every sound in the audience ceased. No one coughed, no one fidgeted, even the children stayed still and listened.
Rowan talked of a country of peace and tranquillity where men and women could ride for long distances without danger from raiding tribes. He talked of good roads. He talked of sharing between the tribes. The Irials could trade their weavings for Vatell jewelry or Fearen horses. He spoke of an end to the deaths of young men, raiders who stole goods from other tribes. He painted a splendid word picture of the Irials traveling safely across Vatell land and Fearen land to reach the Poilen people, who could share their extensive knowledge of herbs and medicine. There were tears in some eyes when he mentioned the deaths that could have been prevented if Poilen medicines had been available.
“We shall take Poilen medicines,” Geralt said, but quietened when people glared at him.
Rowan said the only way to bring about these glories was to unite the tribes.
“We fight!” Geralt said.
People hissed at him and looked back at Rowan as he waited for silence.
“The Lanconian people must become one,” Rowan said softly, and the people leaned forward to hear him.
He told of his plan to unite the tribes through marriage, then, before anyone could ask a question, he asked for volunteers, brave young men and women who were willing not to die for their tribe but to live for it. He grinned and asked what noble souls were willing to sacrifice all and marry some of those tall, beautiful, nubile, young, healthy Vatells?
Jura and Geralt were almost trampled in the stampede of young people who ran forward to volunteer themselves. Jura stood where she was, overwhelmed by the persuasiveness of Rowan’s speech.
Not so Geralt. He pushed his way forward to stand before the crowd.
“Do you send your children to be slaughtered?” he bellowed. “This Englishman knows nothing of our ways. He will lead you to your deaths. The Vatells will slaughter the Irials.”
Jura watched in horror as Rowan’s three knights attacked Geralt and knocked him to the ground. Jura reacted instantly, as did Xante and two other guardsmen.
Jura grabbed the hair of Neile and put her knife to his throat. “Unhand him,” she said, and pressed the knife into his skin so that a trickle of blood ran into his collar. Neile released Geralt and began to stand upright. The other English knights also released their hold on Geralt.
The crowd had stopped to watch this new spectacle.
Furious, Rowan came down from his bench to stand beside Jura. “Release him,” he said to her.
“He attacked my brother,” Jura said. “I should slit his throat.”
Neile, being held by a woman, was too humiliated to speak.
Watelin shook off Xante’s grip on him. “What he said was traitorous.”
Rowan clutched Jura’s forearm hard until she released Neile, then he pulled her toward a stone lean-to where they could be private.
“Why?” he asked. “Why did you ruin what I had to say? The people listened to me. You are my wife, man’s helpmate, yet you thwart me at every turn.”
“Me?” she gasped. “It was your men who attacked my brother. Was I supposed to stand by and let them tear him apart?”
“I am your king, and when I am attacked it is treason,” he said with patience.
“Treason?” she said, eyes wide. “In Lanconia you have to earn kingship. Thal appointed you but we can pull you down. We aren’t like your stupid Englishmen who accept the son of the king even if he is a drooling idiot. Geralt has every right to speak, as does any man, but Geralt especially, since he is just as much Thal’s son as you are. Besides, he was right in what he said.”
“The Irials are ready to follow me,” Rowan said. “Is it that you and your brother do not want me to succeed? Is that it? If I fail to unite the tribes, the people might want your war-loving brother on the throne. Is that why you work for my downfall?”
“You pompous, overbearing fool,” she shouted at him. “Everyone wants you to succeed, but those of us who live here know it cannot be done. The Irials listen to you, oh yes, you make a pretty speech, you almost had me wanting to marry a Vatell, but if you ride to Brita with those young civilians, she will rub her hands with glee—and slaughter all of them. She would love to weaken the Irials enough to be able to take their land. She needs our croplands.”
“Then I will ride to her alone,” Rowan said. “I will talk to this Brita alone.”
“And she will hold you for ransom, and to get you back we will have to pay dearly.”
Rowan leaned forward, nose to nose. “Then don’t pay the ransom. If I am held captive, consider that I have not earned my kingship.”
“And let a Vatell hold our king?” Jura shouted back at him. “We will wipe out the Vatells for such an insult. We will—”
She broke off because Rowan kissed her. He could think of no other way to make her be quiet, and Jura responded with all the energy she had built up in her anger at him.
His big hand caught the back of her head and turned her head around to give him better access to her lips, and he kissed her passionately, deeply.
“Do not fight me, Jura,” he said against her cheek. “Be my wife. Stand by me.”
She pushed away from him. “If being your wife means standing to one side while you lead my people into slaughter, then I will die first.”
Rowan straightened. “I have a task given to me by my father and I mean to fulfill it. You may think war is the only way to solve this problem, but there are other ways also. I just pray that these Irials get more from their marriages than I have.” He turned to leave.
“No!” she said, catching his arm. “I beg you, do not go through with this. The people trust you. I saw their eyes and they will follow you. Do not lead them to their deaths.”
“There is only one thing I want you to beg me for. Other than that, you are my wife. You are to comfort me when I return from battle, to see that I have hot food and perhaps someday to bear my children. I do not plan to run my country according to a woman’s counsel.” He left the lean-to.
Jura stood inside the dark, cool place for a few moments and tried to settle her raging anger. The man had to be stopped. She knew they would follow him, for they had reacted to him as she had that first day at the river. She would have followed him then if he had asked her to, but now her head had cleared and she could hear him instead of being blinded by his beauty.
She had to do something to stop him. She started out of the lean-to but someone blocked her way. “Cilean?” she whispered in disbelief.
“Yes,” Cilean answered. “Could we talk?”
Jura was aware of the noise of the crowd outside and she felt some impatience to be among them. Perhaps she could stop the people from following Rowan.
“Do you still hate him?” Cilean asked softly.
Jura’s anger was too close to the surface. “I thought you believed I wanted him for my own, that I betrayed my friend to get him.”
“I was wrong,” Cilean said. “I was jealous.”
Something in her tone made Jura calm down. “Jealous? You love him?”
“Yes,” Cilean said simply. “I loved him from the first. He has a good heart, Jura. He is kind and thoughtful and now he is willing to risk all to unite the tribes. He knows he could be killed.”
“And he could take a few hundred Irials with him,” Jura said. “A noble purpose will not save their lives when Brita attacks them.”
“Perhaps she won’t. Pe
rhaps God will help King Rowan as He did when he opened the gate.”
“What?” Jura gasped. “God does not protect bad leaders, he kills them and their followers off. Cilean, you cannot have completely lost your mind. You cannot believe Brita will allow three hundred Irials to cross her borders and send them greetings—except in the form of arrows.”
“I am going with him,” Cilean said. “I heard his shouting to you that he would go alone to her first and I am going with him. You know I spent three years as a Vatell captive and I know a way to get to Brita’s city through the forest.”
“You will be killed,” Jura whispered.
“It is a chance I have to take because what he wants to do is right. And, Jura, mark my words, he will try to do it whether I go with him or not. You should have seen him on the way to Escalon. He rode up to those three Zerna boys as if God had put a protective cloak about his shoulders. And he faced Brocain without a guard, and he demanded that Brocain give him his eldest son. And Brocain obeyed him. Jura, you should have seen him.”
Jura shook her head. “I see him every day and I see the way he makes no attempt to learn our ways but insists we learn his.”
“That’s not true. He knows our language, our history. He dresses like us and—”
“He dresses in clothes my mother made for Thal.”
Cilean stepped forward. “Jura, please listen to me. Give the man a chance. Maybe he can unite the tribes. Think of it! Think of being free to ride without a guard. He talks of trading goods instead of stealing.” Her voice lowered. “And think of trading with other countries. We could wear silk like his sister Lora.”
“That…!”
“Jura, please,” Cilean begged.
“What can I do to help? He can go dancing with Brita for all I care. I just don’t want him leading my people into slaughter.”
“Go with us.”
“What?” Jura yelled. “Go sneaking about where I shouldn’t be and sacrifice my life to the dreams of some fool of an Englishman I don’t even like?”
“Yes,” Cilean said. “It is our only chance. If we can get Brita alone and let him talk to her, I think she might listen. I think the man could talk a mule out of its skin.”