“I’m not sure ‘little’ is an appropriate description,” Ransom said. “Has something happened while I was gone? It’s been a fortnight since I left you.”
The Elder King rubbed his hands together. “And why waste a fortnight? You went to the Vexin. What happened?”
Ransom looked at each of them in turn. “Benedict was defiant, as you might expect him to be. He wants to be named your heir—”
“Of course he does!” interrupted the king.
“And he suspects you will dangle promises over him. Promises he doesn’t trust.”
“Is he afraid of me, do you think? Is he fearful that I’ll wrest the Vexin from him?”
Ransom saw a look that bordered on giddiness in the king’s eyes. “He’ll fight you for it, my lord. He won’t give it up.”
“Of course he won’t,” said the king. “What do you think, Sir Ransom? What if I offered him Kingfountain instead? Let Jon-Landon have the Vexin now that Benedict’s tamed it. Do you think he would agree to forsake his duchy for a better prize? A greater kingdom?”
Ransom shook his head. “No. It’s clear to me he doesn’t trust you. And he’s worked hard to prove himself to you. My lord, I counsel you . . .” He glanced at Lord Bryon and Lady Deborah. “Do not invade the duchy of Vexin. It would make him desperate. He might seek out dangerous alliances.”
The king pursed his lips. He glanced at his companions much like Ransom had done. “But does he fear that I will come for him? Is he ready to fight me?”
“Yes,” Ransom said firmly. “And he is.”
“Good,” said the king. Then he laughed.
Ransom’s heart sank. The king’s mind was already made up. He’d made it up before Ransom’s trip to the Vexin.
“Don’t look so forlorn, Ransom,” said the king. “You were most useful to me. Your visit increased Benedict’s dread and fear. But let me be clear. I have not won this kingdom by doing what everyone thinks I will do.” He bowed to Lady Deborah. “You see my wisest counselor before you. This plan was Lady Deborah’s idea. I reward cleverness. I reward cunning. I reward candor. Word will reach my son that the army is gathering. But I tell you this truth since you are now part of my council and are entitled to hear my plans but not to share them with others.” He grinned like a wolf. “I’m not going to attack my son. I’m going to attack Occitania. They led my son astray and murdered him, and I’ve not forgotten it. Nor will I ever forgive it. They will pay until their treasury is empty and their hearts quail with fear.”
What a vexsome king we have. Is that even a proper word? It should be, for vexsome he is. The palace is quiet now that the king has taken his army away. They ride to tame a young lion, yet one with claws and teeth. The Vexin lands have always been troublesome, but this problem was sown by the king and will now be reaped by him. Jon-Landon has been left behind in case the worst happens.
When the king is gone, we have a little more freedom than normal. That should be a blessing, but I chafe with the uncertainty of everything. I heard from a maid that the king is encouraging Ransom to marry an heiress. He may have a longer leash than I do, but both of us must depend on the king’s mercy. Will he stand up to King Devon, or will he take what he’s been offered and demand no more? He did send me an answer from his castle in Josselin, though he was maddeningly vague about the heiress. He was more verbose about his journey to the East Kingdoms, thankfully, and loves to talk about his new horse, Dappled. I wrote him again but haven’t heard back, although I expect he’s traveling.
I loathe myself for feeling these things. It is jealousy, that is all. I had hoped things might be different between us. A spark still remains, but hope won’t light a candle. I fear I’m doomed to remain in the dark.
—Claire de Murrow
Kingfountain Palace
The eve of war
CHAPTER FOUR
Fair Winds or Foul
Riding to war with the Elder King, Ransom couldn’t help but compare the experience to that of fighting for Devon the Younger. He and his master had thought the odds were on their side, that victory would be easy, but now he understood they’d been deluding themselves. The king had a cunning mind, and he’d known of their betrayal before it happened. What lessons had Benedict learned from that?
Was the king underestimating his son?
After stopping for supplies and men at Beestone castle, they rode directly through Westmarch. They next made camp on the road to the Vexin. Most of the soldiers slept on the ground and ate rations they’d brought from Beestone. The object was to travel light and fast so the enemy wouldn’t discover what they were about.
Ransom walked through the camp toward the royal pavilion, listening to the chatter amongst the men as they talked about whipping Benedict’s force. He smiled inwardly, for none of the common soldiers knew their master’s true purpose. It was possible the plan could backfire and the king’s son would preemptively strike them on the journey, but Ransom doubted it. No, Benedict would hunker down and prepare for a storm.
When he reached the pavilion, he entered it and found the king pacing. He had the confident grin of a man who was enjoying playing the aggressor for a change. A map was stretched out in front of him, the corners held down by cups, and several knights stood before him. Most of the soldiers in camp, Ransom included, were clad in armor, but these men had been off gathering information. They were wearing merchant tunics to conceal their hauberks and cloaks to hide their swords. It was the evening report from the outriders.
Sir Harrold was speaking as Ransom entered.
“Some men saw us along the Westmarch border,” he said to the king. “I think they were Occitanian, for they fled quickly.”
“Did you give chase?” asked the king with interest.
“Aye, my lord. Just for a bit, to rouse their blood a little. They rode hard, and there was no chance of catching them before they could get to the safety of one of King Estian’s castles. They know we’re on the move.”
“Of course they do!” snapped the king. “Well done, Harrold. Sir Axien, what news from the Vexin road?”
“I spoke to some farmers about three leagues west of here. They’ve not seen any soldiers, except the knights who passed this way with Sir Ransom recently. They’ve no idea we’re coming.”
The king smirked and nodded. “Good. Sir Rawlin, what news from Brythonica?”
“I delivered your writ to the border guards,” answered Sir Rawlin in a slow, plodding tone. He was a bearlike man, even larger than Ransom, but slack of speech. “Received no answer, so I came back.”
The king glanced at Lord Kinghorn. “What do you make of it, Bryon?”
“Goff is wary. He’s probably deciding what to do. He might wait and see what happens first.”
“I agree,” said the king. “Churlish boy. Now that he has an heir, he’s more careful, more likely to stay within his own borders. An obedient son would have sent his guards straightaway, to answer the summons at least.”
“Maybe his men are defending the border with the Vexin?” Bryon suggested.
Ransom agreed. The two brothers had a history of rivalry. Being the third son, Goff had never presumed to rule the kingdom. Now that he was in line after Benedict, his fortunes had altered, especially since he had an heir, and his brother did not. He’d be very cautious.