Prince of the Icemark

  She walked to the door, gathering Saphia en route. “If you have no objections, I’ll take the commander with me. There are elements of training for the Sacred Regiment I wish to discuss with her.”

  Princess Athena watched with interest as Saphia did everything short of clinging on to the doorjamb as she desperately tried to stay. She could be heard arguing and objecting all the way down the corridor, until the Basilea’s stern voice said something with quiet force, after which a silence fell.

  “I can feel her sulking from here,” said Athena.

  “Yeah,” Redrought agreed and laughed, before he blushed again.

  Cadwalader had brought him a rat. It lay in all its mutilated glory in the very centre of his bed, and recognising it as the love-token it was, Redrought lifted it with reverence, quietly threw it into the wood-stove and shut the door.

  Cadwalader himself lay asleep on his back, with his legs in the air, on the only comfortable chair in the entire campaign tent. Redrought quietly fetched a stool and sat down as he tried to think through what had just happened with Princess Athena. If he was completely honest with himself, nothing much had happened at all, apart from the fact he’d managed to talk to a girl of his own age without making a total fool of himself. A bit of a fool perhaps; a lot of a fool probably, but not a total fool.

  He felt almost as elated as he had when he’d first stood in the shieldwall on the training ground and not been the first housecarle who’d buckled and allowed the whole defensive structure to collapse. He felt almost as proud as he had when he’d ridden his first war horse. After all, he thought, girls were almost as dangerous. They may not have teeth as big as gravestones or sharp hooves shod with iron, but they had vicious words and friends to whisper with, and worst of all, they could giggle!

  But now his mood changed abruptly and he began to take a much more pessimistic view of his time with the Princess – she was only humouring him; she was just being polite; she’d rather have been anywhere else other than talking to him. Just as he was getting into his stride and settling in for a good dose of self-pity, Kahin arrived wearing a new collection of clothing that made her look like a galleon in full sail.

  “I see the cat’s nicely settled,” she said, nodding at Cadwalader in the comfortable chair.

  “Hmm . . . yeah,” Redrought answered distractedly.

  Kahin went to the entrance of the tent and issued orders. Within a very short time two more comfy chairs had been found and positioned in the King’s tent. The Royal Adviser was well aware that she could have moved the cat, but it was beneath her dignity, and besides, she’d no idea where he’d been, though she had every suspicion it was somewhere unhygienic.

  “So,” she said, sitting down heavily. “What’s the problem this time?”

  “Problem?”

  “Well, there must be a reason for you having a face like half-chewed baklava that’s been spat back onto the plate!”

  “Like wha . . . ?” Redrought shook his head and held up his hands. “Don’t bother to explain. And anyway, there’s not a problem.”

  “No? So you always look like this when you’re happy?”

  Redrought refused to answer and stared sullenly at the floor.

  “Well it can’t be the war, that’s going as well as wars can at the moment; and it can’t be Cadwalader because he’s here safe and sound and undoubtedly full of something unspeakable. And neither can it be the allies, Mrs Basilea’s been forced to accept your strategies, thanks to her daughter . . .” Kahin suddenly paused and shot a piercing glance at Redrought. “So the only other thing it could be for a boy of your age is girls . . . or perhaps other boys.”

  “Don’t be stupid!”

  “So it’s girls then,” said Kahin decisively. “Who exactly? Not one of the trollopy kitchen drudges who’ll give their favours for a crust of bread?”

  “Kahin!” Redrought exploded, truly shocked.

  “All right, so it must be Princess Athena,” said the Royal Adviser, secretly amazed and pleased that he’d managed to get anywhere with the haughty young warrior.

  “It might be Athena,” Redrought eventually admitted.

  Kahin chuckled in delight and rubbed her hands together. “Well done! How far have you got?”

  “What do you mean?” the boy asked guardedly.

  “Well, are you officially courting? Have you ridden out with her . . . ?”

  “Ridden out with her?”

  “Yes, I’m sure I’ve heard that aristocratic types that are interested in each other will go for rides in the country and the like.”

  “What sort of rides?” Redrought asked carefully.

  “On horses, I presume.”

  “Oh.”

  “Have you, then?”

  “What?”

  “Ridden out.”

  “No. I’ve only had a sort of . . . talk with her, and most of the time Saphia was with us, until the Basilea took her away.”

  “The Basilea took her away? That’s interesting; in fact, that’s very interesting and encouraging,” Kahin said happily.

  “It is?”

  “Well, of course it is! It sounds like Basilea Artemis has become a bit of a matchmaker. She’ll be hoping for a betrothal as soon as possible.”

  Redrought looked suddenly weary. ”What makes you think Basilea Artemis wants me to marry her daughter? . . . and anyway, who said anything about marriage?!”

  “Well of course she wants you to marry her daughter! You’re King of the Icemark! What better marriage could there be? Two Royal Houses conjoined by a wedding contract and any children could be heir to both domains.”

  If Redrought had been drinking he’d have spat out a mouthful in shock. “Children!? I’ve hardly spent more than a few minutes alone with Athena and you’re talking of children!”

  “Time enough,” said Kahin archly, then paused. “I, er . . . I suppose you know how . . . ?”

  “Of course I do!” Redrought stormed, blushing more deeply than he’d ever managed before.

  “Just checking.”

  “Well, don’t. It’s embarrassing.”

  The next day Redrought sat waiting for Princess Athena. He’d followed Kahin’s ideas about the mating rituals of the young ruling classes to the letter, and had invited the Princess for a ride. He was sitting astride his war horse Hengist in a secluded copse away from the city, and he was convinced he’d still be sitting there and waiting when the sun went down.

  Kahin had done her best not to interfere, but her maternal instincts had got the better of her, and she’d spent a happy morning selecting Redrought’s wardrobe and advising him about modest and proper behaviour between men and women. She would have been happier if a chaperone could have been arranged, but in the end decided that times of war and dynastic emergencies made any sort of third party not only unnecessary, but even unwanted. Put simply, the House of Lindenshield needed an heir, and when the last surviving member of the family was fighting a war, then the need became even greater. The old Royal Adviser had watched Redrought tripping over his own feet in a welter of nervousness and adolescent incompetence and realised Athena’s virtue was in no danger of being compromised anyway.

  She’d finally waved him off an hour earlier than necessary, and wondered if criminals on the way to the gallows would have looked happier.

  Redrought now waited as patiently as he could, chatting to Hengist, squinting out over the plain to the city just in case he could see anyone coming, and watching the bird life flitting amongst the branches. Birds seemed to have it easier; they just answered the needs of nature – eating, securing mates, building nests . . . In the end he came to the conclusion that if he and the Princess had been birds Athena would have been a sleek falcon of some sort, beautiful and fierce, whereas he’d have been a shitty-arsed fowl with feathers like rags and a face and beak designed for extracting worms from dung.

  Before he’d set out earlier, Kahin had suggested an armed escort, but the young King had quashed that idea immedia
tely. Not only had the Vampire King and Queen been heavily defeated and so were not in a position to offer any threat, but the idea of trying to talk to a girl while in the company of a squadron of cavalry was too much to bear. All those listening ears, pretending not to listen! They’d have more privacy if they stood in the middle of Bendis on market day and handed out written transcriptions of their conversation.

  Another few minutes passed with all the speed of the hours between lunch and tea on a wet Sunday afternoon in January. Redrought found himself plaiting Hengist’s mane, and slapped his own hands away while looking around furtively to make sure no one had noticed, even though he was alone.

  “Enough!” he suddenly exploded, and he was just about to gallop back to the camp when a small voice enquired, “Enough what?”

  Hengist reared and squealed as Redrought snatched at the reins. “Eh? What? Oh, it’s you!”

  “Were you expecting anyone else?” Princess Athena asked.

  “No . . . it’s just that I thought you weren’t coming.”

  “Yes, I’m a little late. I’m sorry. I set out in good time but I decided that my dress wasn’t quite right, so I went back to change.”

  Redrought examined her. She was riding one of the small, fiery ponies of the Sacred Regiment, and she was wearing a blue velvet gown edged with red, which for some reason wouldn’t release its hold on his eyes. He’d never seen her in a dress before and he was fascinated. There were all sorts of shapes and curves that the Princess’s armour and military gear had hidden.

  “You look . . . erm . . .” His hands fluttered like drunken moths in the air as he tried to find the right words. “You look . . . really . . . nice.”

  “Thank you,” she said primly. “So, where are we going?”

  Redrought had prepared for this. “I thought we’d ride towards the Great Forest and just see how far we get.”

  “Fine,” she said and rearranged her skirts. It was then that Redrought noticed she was sitting oddly. Both legs were on one side of her horse and one was raised slightly higher than the other. It looked as though she’d dislocated her pelvis.

  “What’s wrong with your legs?” he blurted before he had time to think.

  “Nothing,” Athena answered. “I’m riding side-saddle.”

  “Oh,” he said knowledgeably. “Erm . . . what’s that mean?”

  “It’s a method of riding in which both legs occupy the same side of a specially constructed saddle,” she answered, sounding like some sort of training manual.

  “Right, right, yes, of course . . . Why?”

  “Because it’s considered more ladylike.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes.”

  Half of Redrought’s cavalry was made up of women and he’d never seen any of them riding side-saddle. He’d seen none of the Hypolitan cavalry doing so either. He opened his mouth to point this out, but catching sight of Athena’s proud profile, he remembered whose daughter she was, and thought better of it.

  “All right. Well, shall we go?” he finally asked, and waved his hand vaguely towards the distant Great Forest.

  Athena urged her pony forward, and the little beast immediately shot ahead, leaving Hengist to plunge after it. But once Redrought had drawn level and was alongside her, he realised he was looking down on the Princess from a huge height. It was like trying to have a conversation with someone while he sat on a shed roof and they stood in the yard below. He called a few comments down about the weather, and Athena nodded and smiled and sometimes called back, but it was no good. It would have been easier to write a letter.

  “Look, can we get off these bloody horses and walk?” he eventually said.

  “All right,” the Princess agreed. “But it’s a long way to the forest.”

  “We don’t actually have to get there, it’s just a place to aim for while we . . . you know . . . talk.”

  “Fine,” said Athena, and nimbly jumped down. Redrought followed, and soon they were leading their horses and walking in silence. The young King desperately searched for a suitable topic of conversation.

  “I . . . er . . . never got the chance to thank you properly for your support in the council the other day . . . you know . . . about the invasion of The-Land-of-the-Ghosts.”

  “It was the only sensible option,” Athena answered briskly. “You’re perfectly right; Their Vampiric Majesties and the werewolves will be back and after revenge within a year if we don’t deal with them now.”

  “Right,” Redrought replied, realising how difficult it was to have a conversation of agreements. He began yet another search for a topic, when the Princess stopped.

  “What’s that ahead on the path?” she asked. They’d already left the copse behind, and were following a small winding trail that meandered across the plain in the general direction of the forest. Redrought followed the Princess’s pointing finger.

  Cadwalader!

  Normally Redrought would have been delighted to be met by the warrior cat while out riding, but somehow large, black, rather pungent moggies didn’t sit well with . . . whatever it was he and the Princess were doing.

  “I think it’s my cat,” Redrought finally admitted.

  “Oh, is he friendly? I’ve only ever seen him a couple of times; the first being in the Great Hall at the victory feast, when he caused a bit of a . . . stir.”

  Redrought had no idea if the cat was friendly with other people or not. The huge animal was friendly with him, and his war horse Hengist, and in a way he was friendly with Kahin and Grimswald, but apart from that, the only contact he’d ever seen the cat make with other living creatures was in battle, and that tended to be a little bloody.

  “I’ll introduce you,” Redrought finally said. “I’m sure he could be friendly, if he wanted to be.”

  By this time they’d almost reached Cadwalader, who’d taken up a position in the middle of the path. Hengist whickered down his nose in recognition and the huge cat gave a throaty meow in reply.

  “Hiya, Caddy!” Redrought said in his customary greeting, and Cadwalader purred thunderously as he leapt from the ground to the young King’s shoulder. “Now, I want to introduce you to somebody. Somebody who’s a warrior like you and somebody who’s . . .” Redrought shot a nervous glance at Athena. “Someone who’s a friend of mine . . . a very good friend, I hope. So I want you to be her friend too.”

  The cat turned to look at the Princess, his eyes narrowing as he muttered to himself. Then, without warning, he suddenly leapt onto her shoulder. Athena hardly flinched, proving her warrior status, and now that she’d passed the test Cadwalader decided to purr and rub his cheek against hers.

  “Hiya Caddy,” the Princess said, echoing Redrought’s words precisely. “I’m honoured that you’ve chosen my shoulder to sit on.”

  “Yeah,” Redrought said thoughtfully. “Usually he only sits on mine. You must be really special.” He suddenly realised what he’d said. “I mean, obviously you are special . . . really special . . . erm . . . I mean . . .”

  “Thank you,” Athena interrupted with a smile. “And Cadwalader’s really special too. Perhaps the same could be said about his owner.”

  Redrought felt his toes curling in his boots in an exquisite combination of deep embarrassment and pure pleasure. Thinking that Athena may somehow guess about his toes, he then thought it’d be a good idea to hum a little tune as a diversionary tactic, but it came out as a loud falsetto squeak, which made Cadwalader stare at him in puzzlement. The young King desperately searched for something to distract attention away from himself. Turning, he looked back towards the city and caught a fleeting glimpse of someone throwing themselves down into the long grass. He immediately reached for his sword, but Athena laid her hand on his arm.

  “There’s no need; she’s been following us for some time now.”

  “She . . . ?” His puzzled frown cleared. “Oh, Saphia, you mean.”

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps we should let her think we haven’t seen her,”
Redrought said quietly. “It can be difficult when things that have been with you for years begin to change.”

  “Friendships, you mean?”

  “Yes . . . not that I think . . .”

  Athena laid her hand on his arm again. “You’re a kind boy, Redrought. Not many would consider the feelings of others at a time like this.”

  He didn’t dare ask her precisely what kind of “time” she meant, but he had his hopes. They walked on in silence while Cadwalader purred hugely and swatted at the flies that always seemed to accompany him. Occasionally the hands of Princess and King accidentally touched as they walked along, and each time Redrought jumped as though getting a shock from one of the Fabulous-Lightning-Machines that travelling fairs had sometimes brought to Frostmarris when he was much younger.

  Behind them Saphia followed furtively. She hated herself for what she was doing, but somehow couldn’t stop herself doing it. She’d watched her friend slowly succumb to the dubious charms of the Icemark King, and despite using every weapon she could think of, from sarcasm and humour to reminding Athena of the depth and age of their friendship, she’d been unable to prevent it. And now here she was creeping along through the long grass like some footpad. She didn’t even know what she was trying to do, other than having a vague notion of breaking up the new relationship before it could establish itself properly. But again, she had no idea how.

  She didn’t hate Redrought for what was happening. She just felt left out, abandoned and deeply sad. Athena had been her greatest and best friend ever since they were very little girls. They’d trained together, fought together, wept together, and now here was this boy who, despite having a face like weathered granite, had somehow wormed his way into Athena’s life and pushed Saphia aside.

  She crawled on resolutely, trying to keep the other two in sight. They were drawing ahead, having the advantage of being able to walk upright, and she was just negotiating her way around a stand of brambles that blocked her path when she got entangled in the thorny branches, ripped her tunic and cut her arm. The wound was pitifully small compared with some of the injuries she’d suffered as a trooper in the Sacred Regiment, but it seemed to somehow represent and sum up everything that’d been going wrong in her life since Redrought had raised the siege around Bendis.