The man with the
eye-patch sat silently for a long moment, then said, “Well,
we’ve somehow gained a year. I expected them to hit us last
summer. It is well we prepared, for now they’ll surely come.”
He moved in a crouch as he returned to where a tall, blond man held
his horse. “Are you coming?”
The second man
said, “No, I think I’ll watch for a while. By seeing how
many arrive and at what rate, I may hazard a good guess at how many
he’s bringing.”
The first man
mounted. The blond man said, “What matter? When he comes, he’ll
bring all he has.”
“I just
don’t like surprises, I suppose.”
“How
long?” asked the leader.
“Two,
three days at most, then it will get too crowded hereabouts.”
“They’re
certain to have patrols out. Two days at the most.” With a grim
smile, he said, “You’re not much as company goes, but
after two years I’ve grown used to having you around. Be
careful.”
The second man
flashed a broad grin. “That cuts two ways. You’ve stung
them enough for the last two years they’d love to throw a net
over you. It wouldn’t do to have them show up at the city gates
with your head on a battle pike.”
The blond man
said, “That will not happen.” His open smile was in
contrast to his tone, one of determination the other two knew well.
“Well,
just see it doesn’t. Now, get along.”
The company
moved out, with one rider staying behind to accompany the stout man
in his watch. After a long minute of observing he muttered softly,
“What are you up to this time, you misbegotten son of a
motherless whoremonger? Just what are you going to throw at us this
summer, Murmandamus?”
J
immy
raced down the hall.
The last few
months had been a time of growth for Jimmy. He would be counted
sixteen years old the next Midsummer’s Day, though no one knew
his real age. Sixteen seemed a likely guess, although he might be
closer to seventeen or even eighteen years old. Always athletic, he
had begun to broaden in the shoulders and had gained nearly a head of
height since coming to court. He now looked more the man than the
boy.
But some things
never changed, and Jimmy’s sense of responsibility remained one
of them. While he could be counted upon for important tasks, his
disregard of the trivial once again threatened to turn the Prince of
Krondor’s Court into chaos. Duty prescribed that he, as Senior
Squire of the Prince’s court, be first at assembly, and as
usual, he was likely to be last. Somehow punctuality seemed to elude
him. He arrived either late or early, but rarely on time.
Squire Locklear
stood at the door to the minor hall used as the squires’
assembly point, waving frantically for Jimmy to hurry. Of all the
squires, only Locklear had become a friend to the Prince’s
squire since Jimmy returned with Arutha from the quest for
Silverthorn. Despite Jimmy’s first, accurate judgment that
Locklear was a child in many ways, the youngest son of the Baron of
Land’s End had displayed a certain taste for the reckless that
had both surprised and pleased his friend. No matter how chancy a
scheme Jimmy plotted, Locklear usually agreed. When delivered up to
trouble as a result of Jimmy’s gambles with the patience of the
court officials, Locklear took his punishment with good grace,
counting it the fair price of being caught.
Jimmy sped into
the room, sliding across the smooth marble floor as he sought to halt
himself. Two dozen green-and-brown-clad squires formed a neat pair of
lines in the hall. He looked around, noting everyone was where they
were supposed to be. He assumed his own appointed place at the
instant that Master of Ceremonies Brian deLacy entered.
When given the
rank of Senior Squire, Jimmy had thought it would be all privilege
and no responsibility. He had been quickly disabused of that notion.
An integral part of the court, albeit a minor one, he was, when he
failed his duty, confronted by the single most important fact known
to all bureaucrats of any nation or epoch: those above were not
interested in excuses, only in results. Jimmy lived and died with
every mistake made by the squires. So far, it had not been a good
year for Jimmy.
With measured
steps and rustling red and black robes of office, the tall, dignified
Master of Ceremonies crossed to stand behind Jimmy, technically his
first assistant after the Steward of the Royal Household, but most
often his biggest problem. Flanking Master deLacy were two
purple-and-yellow-uniformed court pages, commoners’ sons who
would grow up to be servants in the palace, unlike the squires who
would some day be among the rulers of the Western Realm. Master
deLacy absently tapped his iron-shod staff of office on the floor and
said, “Just beat me in again, did you, Squire James?”
Keeping a
straight face, despite the stifled laughter coming from some of the
boys in the back ranks, Jimmy said, “Everyone is accounted for,
Master deLacy. Squire Jerome is in his quarters, excused for injury.”
With weary
resignation in his voice, deLacy said, “Yes, I heard of your
little disagreement on the playing field yesterday. I think we’ll
not dwell on your constant difficulties with Jerome. I’ve had
another note from his father. I think in future I’ll simply
pass these notes to you.” Jimmy tried to look innocent and
failed. “Now, before I go over the day’s assignments, I
feel it appropriate to point out one fact: you are expected, at all
times, to behave as young gentlemen. Toward this cause, I think it
also appropriate to discourage a newly emerging trend, namely,
wagering upon the outcome of barrel-ball matches played on Sixthday.
Do I make myself clear?” The question seemed to be addressed to
the assembled squires, but deLacy’s hand fell upon Jimmy’s
shoulder at that moment. “From this day forward, no more
wagering, unless it’s something honourable, such as horses, of
course. Make no mistake, that is an order.”
All the squires
muttered acknowledgement. Jimmy nodded solemnly, secretly relieved he
had already placed the bet on that afternoon’s match. So much
interest among the staff and minor nobility had arisen over this game
that Jimmy had been frantically trying to discover a way he could
charge admission. There might be a high price to pay should Master
deLacy discover Jimmy had already bet on the match, but Jimmy felt
honour had been satisfied. DeLacy had said nothing about existing
wagers.
Master deLacy
quickly went over the schedule prepared the night before by Jimmy.
Whatever complaint the Master of Ceremonies might have with his
Senior Squire, he had none with the boy’s work. Whatever task
Jimmy undertook he did well; getting him to undertake the task was
usually the problem. When the morning duty was assigned, deLacy said,
“At fifteen minutes before the second hour after noon, assemble
on the palace steps, for at two hours after noon, Prince Arutha and
his court will arrive for the Presentation. As soon as the ceremony
is complete you are excused duty for the rest of the day, so those of
you with families here will be free to stay with them. However, two
of you will be required to stand ready with the Prince’s family
and guests. I’ve selected Squires Locklear and James to serve
that duty. You two will go at once to Earl Volney’s office and
put yourselves at his disposal. That will be all.”
Jimmy stood
frozen in chagrined silence for a long moment while deLacy left and
the company of Squires broke up. Locklear ambled over to stand before
Jimmy and said with a shrug, “Well, aren’t we the lucky
ones? Everyone else gets to run around and eat, drink, and” -
he threw a sidelong glance at Jimmy and grinned – “kiss
girls. And we’ve got to stick close to Their Highnesses.”
“I’ll
kill him,” said Jimmy, venting his displeasure.
Locklear shook
his head. “Jerome?”
“Who
else?” Jimmy motioned for his friend to fall in as he walked
away from the hall. “He told deLacy about the betting. He’s
paying me back for that black eye I gave him yesterday.”
Locklear sighed
in resignation. “We don’t stand a chance of beating Thorn
and Jason and the other apprentices today, with us both not playing.”
Locklear and Jimmy were the two best athletes in the company of
squires. Nearly as quick as Jimmy, Locklear was second only to him
among the squires in swordsmanship. Together they were the two best
ball handlers in the palace, and with both out of the match, it was a
near certain victory for the apprentices. “How much did you
bet?”
“All of
it,” answered Jimmy. Locklear winced. The squires had been
pooling their silver and gold for months in anticipation of this
match. “Well, how was I to know deLacy would pull this
business? Besides, with all those losses we’ve had, I got
five-to-two odds in favour of the apprentices.” He had spent
months developing a losing trend in the squires’ game, setting
up this big wager. He considered. “We may not be out of it yet.
I’ll think of something.”
Changing the
subject, Locklear said, “You just cut it a little fine today.
What held you up this time?”
Jimmy grinned,
his features losing their dark aspect. “I was talking to
Marianna.” Then his features returned to an expression of
disgust. “She was going to meet me after the game, but now
we’ll be with the Prince and Princess.” Accompanying his
growth since last summer, another change in Jimmy had been his
discovery of girls. Suddenly their company and good opinion of him
were vital. Given his upbringing and knowledge, especially compared
to those of the other squires in court, Jimmy was worldly beyond his
years. The former thief had been making his presence known among the
younger serving girls of the palace for several months. Marianna was
simply the most recent to catch his fancy and be swept off her feet
by the clever, witty and handsome young squire. Jimmy’s curly
brown hair, ready grin, and flashing dark eyes had caused him to
become an object of concern for more than one girl’s parents
among the palace staff.
Locklear
attempted to look uninterested, a pose that was quickly eroding as he
himself became more often the focus of the palace girls’
attention. He was getting taller by the week, it seemed, almost as
tall as Jimmy now. His wavy, blond-streaked brown hair and
cornflower-blue eyes framed by almost feminine lashes, his handsome
smile, and his friendly, easy manner had all made him popular with
the younger girls of the palace. He hadn’t grown quite
comfortable with the idea of girls yet, as at home he had only
brothers, but being around Jimmy had already convinced him there was
more to girls than he had thought back at Land’s End. “Well,”
Locklear said, picking up the pace of their walking, “if deLacy
doesn’t find a reason to chuck you out of service, or Jerome
doesn’t have you beaten by town roughs, some jealous kitchen
boy or angry father’s likely to comb your hair with a cleaver.
But none of them will have a prayer if we’re late to the
chancery - because Earl Volney will have our heads on pikes. Come
on.”
With a laugh and
an elbow to the ribs, Locklear was off, with Jimmy a step behind as
they ran down the halls. One old servant looked up from his dusting
to watch the boys racing along and for a moment reflected on the
magic of youth. Then, resigned to the effects of time’s
passage, he returned to the duties at hand.
The crowd
cheered as the heralds began their march down the steps of the
palace. They cheered, in part, because they would now be addressed by
their Prince who, while somewhat aloof, was well respected and
counted evenhanded with justice. They cheered, in part, because they
would see the Princess whom they loved. She was a symbol of
continuation of an old line, a link from the past to the future. But
most of all they cheered because they were among the lucky citizens
not of the nobility who would be allowed to eat from the Prince’s
larder and to drink from his wine cellar.
The Festival of
Presentation was conducted thirty days following the birth of any
member of the royal family. How it began remained a mystery, but it
was commonly held that the ancient rulers of the city-state of
Rillanon were required to show the people, of every rank and station,
that the heirs to the throne were born without flaw. Now it was a
welcome holiday to the people, for it was as if an extra Midsummer’s
festival had been granted.
Those guilty of
misdemeanours were pardoned; matters of honour were considered
resolved and duelling was forbidden for a week and a day following
the Presentation; all debts owing since the last Presentation
-Princess Anita’s nineteen years ago - were forgiven; and for
the afternoon and evening, rank was put aside as commoner and noble
ate from the same table.
As Jimmy took
his place behind the heralds, he realized that someone always had to
work. Someone had to prepare all the food being served today, and
someone had to clean up tonight. And he had to stand ready to serve
Arutha and Anita should they require it. Sighing to himself, he
considered again the responsibilities that seemed to find him no
matter where he hid.
Locklear hummed
softly to himself while the heralds continued to take up position,
followed by members of Arutha’s Household Guard. The arrival of
Gardan, Knight-Marshal of Krondor, and Earl Volney, acting Principate
Chancellor, indicated the ceremonies were about to begin.
The grey-haired
soldier, his black face set in an amused expression, nodded to the
portly Chancellor, then signalled to Master deLacy to begin. The
Master of Ceremonies’ staff struck the ground and the
trumpeters and drummers sounded ruffles and flourishes. The crowd
hushed as the Master of Ceremonies struck the ground again, and a
herald cried, “Hearken to me! Hearken to me! His Highness,
Arutha conDoin, Prince of Krondor, Lord of the Western Realm, Heir to
the throne of Rillanon.” The crowd cheered, though it was more
for form than out of any genuine enthusiasm. Arutha was the sort of
man who inspired deep respect and admiration, not affection, in the
populace.