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CHAPTER SEVEN

THE QUEEN’S BANNER

One week after the Battle of the Ottarn River


They traveled fast towards Armagh.

Rick sent his office caravan and most of the baggage west with Tylara. A bodyguard of his mercenaries accompanied her. “Godspeed, my love,” she called as Rick, Warner, Bisso, and an escort of Tamaerthan mounted archers rode southward towards Castle Armagh, the strongest fortress of Drantos.

He had a new orderly, a young Tamaerthan squire named Haerther. Choosing him had been easy enough. Haerther was cousin to Tylara, and at the proper age for the position. It was more difficult leaving Jamiy behind. Jamiy was a crofter’s son, not born to be a squire, but he had been faithful in his duties.

“Lord, I regret that I can no longer be your shield,” Jamiy had said. “It was my life to follow you. What will become of me now?”

“You’ll be on sick leave at least half a year with that arm,” Rick said. And probably lose it if I don’t authorize penicillin. Maybe even after I do. “At full pay, of course. After that, we’ll see. Would a place in the Chamberlain’s staff be to your liking?”

“Lord, I cannot read.”

“So you have a year to learn,” Rick said. “It’s time my children started reading. As soon as you’re able, learn with them. I can use a reliable man to help watch over them. Yeah.” He waved to Tylara to come join them.

“My love, Jamiy is worried about his future now that he can’t carry my shield.”

“I saw him save your life in the battle at the Ottarn,” she said.

“Not for the first time. Nor even the last,” Rick said.

Tylara nodded significantly at Jamiy’s bandaged arm.

“Then we are his debtors.”

“Agreed, so I had an idea. With your consent I’ll appoint him an officer of the bodyguards for the kids. That way he can be with them in their lessons. Learn to read himself. Good thing, knowing how to read.”

Tylara smiled.

“A splendid suggestion. Jamiy, does this please you?”

“With all my heart, My Lady. If I cannot guard My Lord Rick, at least I can help to keep his children safe. My Lord, you are most generous.”

Generous, Rick thought. Take a kid with a plain case of hero worship, get him maimed, and have him grateful for a sinecure. Hero worship, with me as the hero! Damn flattering. The worst of it is, there really isn’t anybody else who can do what I’m doing. Well, that’s one less thing to nag me. Jamiy’s smart, and God knows he’s loyal. I can stop worrying so much about Makail and Isobel when I’m away. At least I’ve gained that much.

* * *

Armagh was a stark castle in a stark land.

Before they reached it they passed through the madweed fields. Work in those marshy fields was hard and dangerous, and Rick knew of few volunteers. Many died of rabies or other infections from the crazed animals that lived in madweed patches. Prisoners earned double time served for work in the fields and even then had to be forced to it. When there were too few prisoners, there was no alternative: peasants and serfs became temporary slaves, paid well—Rick insisted on that—but guarded by soldiers and forced to their work. It was bad enough that there were other soldiers to watch the guards.

The scent of the fields was palpable. It reminded Rick of a combination of a locker room and a slaughter house. As they rode past, sullen heads rose from the madweed patches to stare curses at those free to ride through without stopping. Rick felt their eyes on his back as he rode on. They hated him, and with good reason. And what could he do about it?

I wouldn’t blame the slaves for running. Cultivating madweed’s hard work. Dangerous, too. But if we don’t grow the stuff, we’ll have nothing for the Shalnuksis, and they’ll bomb the planet just to keep it in the Stone Age. And if I tell myself that often enough, maybe I’ll believe it’s all right to be a slave master. Maybe.

* * *

Trumpets sounded as they rode up to the long causeway leading to the castle. Armagh stood high on a mound above a fully moated bailey laid in a swamp, and the approach was well defended by water and quicksand. Rick looked up at the banners above the main gate.

“Bloody hell, that’s the Queen’s arms! Warner, last I heard, the whole damn Royal Court was at Edron.”

“Yes, Sir, they sure were there when we set out north.”

“Well, she’s here now.”

“Sure looks that way, Colonel.”

“Hmm. It’s my castle—”

“Yes, Sir. But don’t I remember you advising the Wanax to take refuge at Armagh if things got sticky?”

“I suppose I did.”

“So he took you up on it and sent the court here. If he’d sent you a message, and I’m betting he did, you’d have been already on the way east before it got to Dravan.” Warner turned the palms of his hands upwards. “I doubt anyone back in Chelm thought it was important enough to chase you down with it by semaphore. You were on the way to a battle, Colonel, and moving like hell. To rescue your wife. Why would anyone think you gave a hoot about where the Royal Court was?”

“And it never came up when the King and I met? Yeah, I suppose it could have been that way. I expect it was,” Rick said. “All right, they’re invited. But it still makes them my guests. Not the other way around.” And why do I care that her banner is higher than mine? Like King Richard in The Talisman . . .

“Maybe not,” Warner said.

“Eh?”

“Sir, lots of places have laws making the queen the official hostess any place she’s at. Wouldn’t surprise me if Drantos is one of them. For sure she’ll be the highest ranker in the joint. Not to mention her father’s connections.”

Her father. Wanaxxae Octavia’s father was Publius, son of Marselius Caesar, and likely enough to be Caesar in his own right in no great amount of time. An educated and pleasant girl with good manners, Rick thought, but she’d grown up in a Roman household, well accustomed to intrigue and politics. She’d be better at those games than the Wanax himself, and it was best not to forget it.

“Who comes?” a warden shouted.

“Open the gates for the Warlord of Drantos,” young Haerther shouted.

“Approach and be recognized.”

“Hell, you see it’s us,” Bisso shouted. “Rand, that you? Open the bleedin’ gates!”

“What the hell is Rand doing on guard duty?” Rick muttered.

“Elliot’s testing him, would be my guess,” Bisso said. “You can be pretty sure Sergeant Major isn’t going to take any big chances. We weren’t expected, but even so there’ll be somebody watching him.”

“I suppose.”

“Come forward alone, if you please, Colonel.”

By the book, Rick thought. Make sure nobody’s holding a knife in my ribs. It also made him a perfect target.

There was a small door, just large enough for one man to pass, set in the main gate. It opened slowly. Rick had to dismount and lead his horse to get inside. I could send someone in first. Just to test things. Sure, and show my troops I’m getting paranoid about my own men.

He stepped forward through the gate without visible hesitation.

“Welcome, Colonel.”

“Thanks, Henderson.” Rick was relieved to see Sergeant Henderson at the end of the gate passageway. He shook off the feeling of suspicion. “All’s well. You can let the others in.”

“Yes, Sir.” Henderson gestured, and the main gates swung open. “Good to see you, Sir.”

“Good to see you, too.”

Everything seemed in order. Henderson held Rick’s stirrup so that he could remount. Warner rode up alongside him.

“Colonel,” Warner said. He pointed through the gates to the outer courtyard beyond.

“Romans,” Rick said. “Well, that’s no big surprise.” Marselius had sent a detachment of Romans as personal bodyguards for Octavia. They were rotated periodically.

“Yeah, Colonel, but that’s no ordinary Roman trooper,” Warner said. “That’s a Praetorian officer. Damn all, First Cohort, First Praetorian Legion.”

“Marselius Caesar’s guards? He can’t possibly be here,” Rick said.

“No Sir,” Warner replied. “I wouldn’t think so, but—Hah. The rest of them are Second Praetorians, Publius’ guards.”

“A lot of them,” Rick muttered. “First Cohort of the Second, so Publius himself must be here. But what’s a Tribune of the First doing here? I can’t believe Marselius Caesar is here. For that matter, what the hell is Publius doing here?”

“I can go back and ask Henderson,” Warner said.

“No point. We’ll find out soon enough,” Bisso said. “They ain’t exactly putting out the welcome mat for us, Colonel. It’s your castle, and here we come with news of a victory, but nobody’s rushing out to meet us. We rode fast getting here, but I bet messages have arrived from the Wanax before us.”

“Well that makes sense,” Rick said. “He’d want the Queen to know he was safe. Of course the Wanax wouldn’t have any reason to know we were coming here.”

“Maybe he wouldn’t have any reason, but it sure looks like they knew you was coming,” Bisso said. “And he’d sure know the Queen was here.”

“And you’d think the Queen would want to know details, no matter they know the king’s safe,” Warner observed. “Colonel, Sergeant Bisso’s right, they knew we were coming.”

“And we still get a chilly reception,” Rick said. “In my own damned castle.”

They rode in silence across the outer courtyard to the main gates. The drawbridge had already been let down. The guards removed their hats in salute as they rode past into the inner bailey. Grooms waited there. So did Sergeant Major Elliot.

Elliot saluted as Haerther leaped down to hold Rick’s stirrup. Rick could feel eyes watching him from the castle walls.

“Report, Sergeant Major.”

“Sir. Welcome to Castle Armagh. Thirty-eight days ago we received messages to the effect that the Queen and the entire Royal Court had been instructed by the Wanax to take refuge here. The Queen and court, including your people from Edron and the University, arrived eight days later. Having no instructions to the contrary I admitted them and assigned them the most suitable quarters available.”

“Which means my suite,” Rick said.

“Well, yes, Sir. I did hold on to your office and the sleeping room next to it, but the Queen and her people have the big master suite, and that whole south wing for that matter. I’ll have to put you in a west wing guest suite.”

“I’ll just move into the sleeping room next to my office. Nothing else you could have done, Sergeant Major. Approved. Who all came with the Lady Gwen?”

“McCleve, Sir. Lady Siobhan. Couple of Drantos scholars and apprentices, but they’ve gone on to their homes. The Tamaerthan faculty members can fade into the hills if they have to, so they stayed behind. So did the Romans. Campbell’s in command there. He stayed to try to keep the place going. He’s got a garrison of Roman troops and clansmen working together. I’ve got his reports in the orderly room, Colonel, being copied before I sent them on to you.”

Copies, Rick thought. Bureaucracy, and it’s needed. He looked around at a growing number of castle functionaries.

“I take it I’m expected,” he said. “How?”

“Eight days ago we heard by semaphore you were headed east to rescue your wife,” Elliot said, in a low voice that wouldn’t carry. “Nothing after that until a Royal Messenger got in about five hours ago, Colonel. Went straight to the Queen. I waited to hear, but I got no word for a couple of hours. Then one of the Romans came to say you were expected sometime this afternoon.”

“A Roman. Not one of the Queen’s people?”

“No, Sir, and that bothered me enough I put Rand and O’Brien with Henderson at the outer gate, and formed the rest of the troops here. I tell you, I was relieved when your lad there announced you as Warlord. I’d about half decided the Wanax tried to fire you or something.”

“It’s or something, Top,” Rick said. “But let me get this straight. There was a messenger from the Wanax, but he reported to the Queen. Not to you.”

“That’s it, Sir.”

“But you’re the castellan.”

“Me or Henderson, depending on which hat I’m wearing, but yeah, Colonel.”

“So you don’t know about our victory?”

“Not details, Sir. The Roman officer said the Wanax had won a glorious victory at the Ottarn Ford, and would be coming here with the army in a bit more than a ten-day. Then he said, sort of like an appendix maybe, that you’d been at the battle and could be expected shortly, probably today.”

“And you haven’t had any formal notice from the Queen’s people?”

“No, Sir, not unless you count a Roman officer as being a queen’s messenger.”

“Bloody hell. She might think that way. She is Roman after all, but—. Okay, about the Romans. We saw Praetorians. Publius is here?”

“That he is, Colonel, and whatever’s the problem with the Queen, his officer sounded glad enough you’re coming. You’re invited to dine with him after you make your respects to the Queen.”

“Then I’d better get to that. Who else is here?”

“The civil cabinet, the treasury lords, the ladies of the court, like that. But Lady Gwen’s here with some of the University people,” Elliot said. “If anybody knows what the Queen’s thinking it’ll be her.”

“Right. And Romans? Warner spotted a First Praetorian officer.”

“That’ll be the escort for Lucius,” Elliot said.

Lucius. Marselius Caesar’s freedman, and probably his best friend.

“If Caesar sent Lucius, it’s going to be important. Any idea of why he’s here?” Rick asked.

“No Sir, not a bit.”

“How long has he been here?”

“About three days longer than Publius, Colonel. He got here first, about two weeks ago. Wanted to see you or the Wanax or both. When we told him the Wanax was north with the army and you were back at Dravan, he dithered about which way to go, and while he was dithering Publius came up with his Praetorians. He never said what he was doing here, either, but given the Queen’s his daughter I sure wasn’t going to question his right.”

“Where did you put them?”

“Sir, I pleaded there was no suitable room left in the castle, what with the Queen here and all, and Publius allowed as how his troops would get by fine camping in the outer bailey. Which suited me just fine, too.” Elliot lowered his voice. “Didn’t much suit some of the ladies of the court, though. Little hard to have secrets when everybody’s got to pass two sets of guards.”

“All right. Well done.” He looked out at the castle troops, mostly sword and crossbowmen old enough to avoid field duty, and a few musketeers training cadre. “You can dismiss the troops, and I’d better get cleaned up. Do whatever formalities it takes to get me a gracious audience with the Queen. And everybody’s to be on their best and most formal behavior, Sergeant Major.”

“Yes, Sir. Trouble with the Wanax?”

“It looks that way. He was losing that battle when I got there.”

“And you won it for him,” Elliot said.

“He sees it like that. It may be simple jealousy, may be something more serious. Anything else I need to know?”

Elliot frowned.

“Madweed production’s well above normal. Rand’s done a damned good job on that, Colonel. Looks like he was the right man to put in charge of it.”

“Interesting.” There was no need to say that Rand had been given the assignment as a punishment.

“But it may compound your problem with the Wanax.”

“How is that?”

“It didn’t become clear to me until I talked to Rand after he was living with the inmates working on the madweed. Turns out a lot of our prisoners are actually refugees picked up for petty theft, cattle rustling, that sort of thing. Stuff people who are starving do.”

“How is that a problem?”

“We treat them too well.”

“What do you mean?”

“So look at it from the perspective of a peasant refugee. Even before the Demon Star appears, they’d be worried about crop failure, plague, being overcharged for taxes, or just being molested by the local lord. Then the Time comes and the water goes away. Either they starve or, if they’re working good land, the local warlord kicks them off it and then they starve.

“So they hear things and head up here, where we’ve got fertilizer, irrigation, and iron plows. We’ve got great crops, so no one starves. We’ve got cotton to export, bringin’ in quite a bit of cash. We’ve got good hygiene and medicine, hell we have a population explosion here, Dravan and Ferdon. Lots of kids who normally wouldn’t have made it through childhood are alive and thriving. Meanwhile, you’ve set the example for governing without corruption, so your people don’t get hit with the usual shakedown and backsheesh.

“Now growin’ madweed ain’t no joke, but it’s a lot better than choking on dust in the south and Rand’s worked out procedures to minimize the risks.

“Meanwhile,” Elliott continued. “Lewin and Apelles have moved forward with the Hestia fertilizer water.”

That had been a battle. The first time Sergeant Lewin had smelled ammonia rising up from the caves under the castles, he had suggested using it as fertilizer. The problem was that it came from the Protector plant whose roots made ice in the caves and were used to preserve food for the Time. The plants were sacred to the priests of Yatar and the new Church. Rick had had to convince Apelles that in order for them to fill the caves with food they’d have to get a better crop going and that took fertilizer. Then it became a question of balancing growth with necessary storage. At least it was easy to convince the local farmers to use ammonia diluted in water by naming it after Hestia, goddess of family and fertility, known as the Mother of Christ in the new faith. If this batch worked out, Rick intended to send a search party to the Littlescarp and look for caves where the Protector plant was growing.

“Between the Demon Star,” Elliot went on, “Hestia water, seagull crap, irrigation, and iron plows, we’ve doubled the plantings this year and bumper crops in each.”

With Tran’s long years, almost seventy percent longer than Earth’s, growing seasons were almost twice as long as on Earth. The problem was that in normal times the winters were more than twice as long. Now winters were steadily shorter and the growing season was increasing in length but storms were ruining crops.

“Okay,” Rick replied, “I’m still not seeing the problem.”

“Colonel, our prisoners live better than most serfs. Our peasants live better than most yeomanry. Add in the fact you recruit and reward merit in business and the army regardless of class and no wonder we’ve got a population explosion. Did you know prisoners are volunteering to come here? Many who’ve completed their sentences are choosing to stay on as sharecroppers in the cotton fields. Some are even volunteering to come back to work on madweed ’cause they know you’ll pay them.”

“What about those sullen faces I saw in the madweed fields?” Rick asked.

“They know you’re a softy,” Elliot said with a chuckle. “Ever know anyone who’s happy to work someone else’s field? Besides it’s still dangerous and backbreaking work. But word’s spread and the bheromen are worried that some of their serfs are leaving their fields for ours. Even if that ain’t true, you’ve got the richest county in the kingdom, probably all of Tran, and getting richer steadily.”

“I have enough trouble with the Ironheads as it is,” Rick said. “I knew raising our new model army from the peasants and middle class was troubling them. I didn’t realize until now I was threatening their livelihood so directly.”

“On top of that,” Elliot continued. “Word’s gotten out that we’re actually seeking the advice of the village elders and councils and stuff like that.”

What seems to be natural to us is threatening the whole political system, Rick thought. I wanted to avoid the whole chapter of wars related to industrialization, but I just don’t see how we can survive the Time without these reforms . . .

“Okay. No contacts with the Galactics, or you’d have told me. Anything else?”

“Nothing that can’t wait a few hours. Pile of reports over the semaphore from Major Mason. There’s more Westmen coming down the passes, but nothing he can’t handle, or he says it’s not. Of course, last he knew you were on the way to join the Wanax, and he might not be sending me everything he knows. And the Romans have been getting official messengers all week, Colonel. Frumentarii, I’d guess.”

“Nothing they cared to share with you?”

“Not yet.”

“You got any feelings about that, Top?”

“Not really, Sir. Them Roman intelligence officers do a good job of reporting once they put things together, but they do take their own time digesting stuff. Never known one of them to leak a report until he thought he had a good picture. Not to us, anyway.”

“Careful about not blowing their sources,” Rick agreed. “Okay. I’m off to the baths. Get a semaphore off to Mason telling him we won at the Ottarn, and I’m here, details to follow. Oh, and priority: Lady Tylara is on her way home to Dravan.”

Elliot nodded and didn’t say anything.

Of course, Rick thought. Elliot knows all about Tylara and Caradoc and

“It’s fine, Top,” Rick said. “Tylara’s my wife again.”

Elliot nodded again.

“I’d guessed, Colonel.”

“How?”

“It’s the first time I’ve seen you look happy in a year,” Elliot said. “By your leave, Sir.” Elliot turned and walked swiftly towards the orderly room.

* * *

Rick lay on his belly while two bath attendants pummeled his sore muscles. One advantage to having the Queen come from Rome, he thought. Roman baths go where she goes. They hadn’t had a chance to build a real bathhouse, but they’d rigged up a pool and hot and cool rooms. Roman baths had done wonders for hygiene. Not to say comfort, Rick thought.

His reverie was interrupted by Haerther’s apologetic cough.

“Your pardon, My Lord, but the Lady Gwen waits in the outer apartments.”

Gwen. There was only the one bath, and bathhouses were an exception to the local nudity taboos. The Romans would rather mix the sexes than go without their baths . . .

“Tell her I’ll be dressed shortly. Is she alone?”

“No, Lord, the Lady Siobhan is with her.”

That settles one question. She won’t be expecting me to invite her to join me. Alone. Thank God. The last time we were alone together—he fought off the memory. A little too disturbing.

“I’ll be along presently.”

Siobhan, Rick thought as he dressed. An Anglo-Norman name, probably fourteenth century. Just what was the makeup of the expedition that brought an Irish girl with an Anglo-Norman name to Tran? I’ll have to set Warner thinking about it. Lady Siobhan was Mason’s betrothed, an arranged marriage. Be a good match for his second-in-command.

* * *

Gwen Tremaine looked older.

She’s got every reason to, Rick thought. Three kids by two husbands in a land without anesthetics. One husband dead, the other God knows where off in the galaxy. It’s a long way from a Southern California university. Still a fine looking girl. Teeth and skin still good. Short, but you forgot that soon enough. William James wrote that Mary Ann Evans, sometimes known as George Eliot, was short and had bad teeth and half an hour after he met her he was in love with her, and so was every man she ever met.

Maybe Gwen wasn’t quite in that league, but she had a good start. And was the only Earth woman within twenty light-years or more. That made her even more attractive.

“My Lady Siobhan. Gwen, it’s good to see you. Both of you.”

“You too,” Gwen said. She hesitated. “Have you heard anything? From the Galactics?”

Rick shook his head. “You’d be more likely than me. I take it you’ve no word from Les?”

“No, but when they said you were here, unexpectedly, I thought maybe—I mean, you do keep your transceiver here, and—”

“No, nothing. Which reminds me, I’ll be taking that west when I go. Bloody shame your set and mine won’t talk to each other.” Communications equipment was the one glaring lack in Rick’s organization. Rick had set up a semaphore system to send messages throughout the kingdom, but he had no better way than his enemies did to transmit orders in battle.

“Maybe this time the Shalnuksis will bring me some decent radios. Or Les will. I still don’t know what happened to the HF radio set we brought with us from Africa. It disappeared along with the lawnmower and the coffee maker when Parsons was in charge. I suspect one of the missing mercs took them when they deserted.”

The last radio message Rick had received was to surrender to the Cubans. Then the set went dead when the flying saucer appeared.

“I told Les we needed radios before he left,” Gwen said. “But he didn’t make any promises. I suppose he’ll want to check with Inspector Agzaral.”

“I wish I could do that,” Rick said.

Gwen frowned questioningly.

“Check with Agzaral.”

“Not much chance of that, is there?” Gwen asked.

“Only through Les. But Gwen, Agzaral didn’t warn me about hiding technology.”

“He didn’t warn me, either.”

“More to the point, Les didn’t warn you either, and given he loves you and you’ve got his child, you’d think he would if that was important. You had to work that out on your own.”

“Yes, and it wasn’t easy. But Rick, skyfire isn’t a legend! Every time there have been technology advances here, it’s been bombed back to the Bronze Age. It’s the only explanation for why Tran hasn’t advanced beyond medieval technology. Anything higher gets bombed. Every time!”

“And you’ve been scared, and I don’t blame you, but we’re way past the less spectacular technology, like better candles and better plows. Change was inevitable once you taught your students how to think for themselves and other people started looking at the advantages we have. Like gunpowder. We had to have it, and there was no way to keep it secret once I used it.”

“And I get frightened every time I think about it. But gunpowder could have been discovered by Tran people.”

“While for damn sure the Shalnuksis would know where we got radios,” Rick agreed with a nod. “It doesn’t matter, it’s not like we can build them anyway. Bloody hell, what did Marconi use for receivers?”

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t very portable,” Gwen said. “Wasn’t that before vacuum tubes? Crystals?”

“Could be. We don’t have anyone who knows vacuum tubes, either. Transistors and integrated circuits are way beyond us, but I could make vacuum tubes if I knew what to do with them. There’s a filament that’s negative, and a plate that’s positive, and a negatively charged grid in between that you can use to control the flow of electrons to the plate, and I don’t remember where I learned that. What I need’s an old ham-radio manual from the 1940s.”

“A power source wouldn’t hurt either.”

“Well, yeah. Fat chance I’ll get anything like that from the Shalnuksis, but I know the principles. We can make generators. All we need is time with some peace and quiet.”

“There are a lot of things we could do with time and some peace and quiet,” Gwen said. “Including building one of those vacuum tubes you just described and setting Warner to fooling around with it.”

“The fooling around would require building meters,” Rick said. “We don’t have the tools, or the instruments to tell us how to build the tools or—oh hell. It would be fun to try, but I don’t suppose I’ll ever have any time for that kind of thing. Pity you didn’t get to do a week’s technology shopping before Les brought you here! Anyway, Gwen, the situation here in this castle—hell, in Drantos—is a bit complicated.”

“Yes. I’ve spoken with Larry Warner.”

“Ah. Good.” So she’d know about his problems with the Wanax. Better still, Warner would have told Gwen about the reconciliation with Tylara. One less complication to worry about. “Are you still friends with the Queen?”

“As much as she has friends,” Gwen said. “She’s in a tough spot.”

“Tell me about it.” Rick clapped his hands. “Tea,” he said. “Or would you prefer wine?”

“You have a good sherry in your cellars,” Gwen said. “Hunter’s. Perhaps a glass of that with tea?”

Rick nodded to the steward.

“Let it be so.” He waited until the servants had left. “We’ll see what he brings. I don’t know how much English these people have picked up,” he said.

“Not much,” Lady Siobhan said. “Not as much as I.”

“Yeah, but you’re getting pretty good at it, My Lady,” Rick said. Siobhan was tall and fair, brown eyes and long hair the color of honey. She was younger than Gwen but older than most unmarried ladies of the court. At the University she functioned as Rector Gwen’s office manager, and unofficially as dean of female students.

She blushed slightly. “Thank you. I am glad to see you, My Lord, but I had hoped for another . . . ”

Rick nodded understanding.

“I had to leave Lord Major Mason in command at Dravan so I could come rescue my wife. I’m sure he’s as disappointed as you are.”

“Or perhaps he’s forgotten me. I have heard nothing from him for a long time.”

Fat flipping chance, Rick thought.

“He spoke of you daily, and how would he know you were here, My Lady? I didn’t, until I got here today. I thought all the Court was in Edron. And he isn’t comfortable sending messages to you by semaphore. I think you need have no concerns about his continued regard for you.” That got him a smile and a slightly darker blush. Good.

“The move was sudden,” Gwen said. “Morrone’s scouts said there were enemy light cavalry operating in the University area, and I decided this would be a good time to visit the Court in Edron. We hadn’t been there long when we got messages of enemy action not far away. We were making preparations to defend Edron when word came from Wanax Ganton that we were to move the entire court to Armagh at once. There was something about accepting your invitation. Didn’t he send you word at the same time?”

“No. Of course he had no way to know I’d come east. If he’d sent me a messenger at the same time he sent you orders to move, I should have got it before I left, but maybe not. Was there some immediate threat to Edron?”

“None I heard of,” Gwen said.

“Curiouser and curiouser.”

“We didn’t find it particularly curious,” Gwen said. “Morrone had lost a major battle, half the border lords had gone over to Strymon, and Strymon’s army was moving south faster than it had any right to. Tylara was captive, and you were way back west. This is the strongest fortress in the realm. Rick, I don’t see anything more sinister than simple prudence.”

“You’re probably right.” Rick nodded. “Only why didn’t he tell me when I saw him at the Ottarn? Oh, well, he’s a bloody king. He doesn’t have to.”

“And he does have a lot on his mind,” Gwen said.

“So. And you don’t find any of this odd? Everything all right with the Queen?”

Gwen shook her head.

“No, it’s not. It’s nothing I can put my finger on, but I used to be her closest friend. Now I never see her alone, and while she’s friendly enough, we never talk about anything important.”

“And all that started when you moved here.”

“Yes. And she has no reason to be suspicious of me. Or of us. Or does she?”

“None I know of.” Rick shook his head. “Is it possible it’s the other way around? She’s ashamed because she knows we have some reason to be suspicious of her. Or maybe worse, of her husband? Or her father for that matter.”

“Rick, I never thought of that,” Gwen said. “Funny, I never thought of you being more nasty suspicious than I am.”

“Didn’t used to be. Command does that to you,” Rick said. “Now what are the Romans doing here? Both of them, Publius and Lucius?”

“Damned if I know.” She shook her head. “Lucius showed up, clearly not expecting the Court to be here, hoping to see you.”

“To see me.”

“Yes. His official story was either you or the Wanax, but he didn’t make much effort to find out where Ganton might be, and he was about to set out west to Dravan when he got a message and decided to wait.”

“Message from whom?”

“I’d guess Publius. It was brought by a Second Praetorian officer.”

“Okay. So Publius sent him word to stay here and wait for him.”

“That’s certainly my guess. Rick, Lucius is friendly, and I love to chat about history with him, but he sure hasn’t let me in on any secrets.”

“Think he knows any?”

She chuckled.

“He came here for something, and since he’s been here the frumentarii have been flowing in. They may or may not see Publius, but they always spend hours with Lucius.”

“So he’s looking for me, gathering information by the ton, but he won’t talk to you.”

“Yes. Not about anything serious, anyway.”

“And Publius?”

Gwen looked away.

“He came looking for Lucius, but he knew the Queen would be here,” Gwen said. “She was surprised to see him.”

And I think she’s blushing. Curious.

“Does any of this make sense to you?”

“No.”

“Me either. Okay, it’s time to see the Queen.”

“Just you,” Gwen said. “I wasn’t invited.”


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Framed