A Kingdom Falls (The Mancer Trilogy Book 1) (22 page)

“I swear by my Lord God that the Men of the Star shall not be harmed for doing their duty.”

“Swear that you shall look after and protect this kingdom.”

“This is...”

“I said SWEAR!” commanded Rebecca, rising from her throne.

Amanda was silent for a moment before speaking.  “I swear that I shall look after and protect this kingdom.”

“Then I, Rebecca Rothgal, shall stand down in favour of Amanda Rothgal-Ackroyd to prevent further bloodshed and loss of life.  May God have mercy on my soul.”

“Guards, take her to the cells!” commanded Amanda.

“Surely you mean her private apartments?” queried Corporal Caldecote.

“No, Corporal, I mean the cells.  That is the command of your new Queen.”

“Now...”

“It’s ok, Corporal Caldecote.  I shall go to the cells,” assured Rebecca as she walked away from the throne.

“Then we shall provide an honour guard, my lady, just in case of accidents.”

“Yes, an honour guard would be appropriate,” agreed Amanda as she made her way up the stairs towards the throne.  “I will speak with you later, Rebecca, when I have the time.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” replied Rebecca as she made her way out of the room, followed by her honour guard.

Amanda stood before the throne of the Twin Kingdoms and allowed herself a victory smile, before turning around and sitting down.

“All hail the new Queen!  All hail Queen Amanda Rothgal-Ackroyd!” shouted out Confessor Vember as he took his place by her right-hand side.

“Hail Queen Rothgal-Ackroyd!” screamed the assembled men in the throne room.  “Hail the new Queen!”

***

Five hours later in the Queen’s private apartments

“Well, that went rather well,” said Amanda as she took a drink of her tea.

“It was surprisingly... simple,” agreed Confessor Vember.

“The coup was extremely well planned,” added Chamberlain Aslo.

“Yes, it was,” agreed Amanda, “though I am not surprised by the lack of fight.  It was obvious by the way she was attempting to run the country that she had neither fight nor spirit about her.”

“That is very true,” concurred Vember.

“What do you think?” asked Amanda of the other person in the room.

Rab Cregg looked down at the floor and cradled the cup of tea in his hands.  “I think that it was God’s will that you should lead us at this time, your Majesty.”

“Will the merchants follow my rule?”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“Good.  I also will need to deal with the Red Bank, as I believe they own a few assets within the Twin Kingdoms.”

“That is correct, your Majesty.”

“Then go and prepare a report for my personal perusal, Cregg.  I wish to know how things stand.  It will be ready in two days.”

“As you command, your Majesty.”  Rab bowed low before making his way out of the room.

“Chamberlain Aslo.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“Prepare the royal ledgers for my perusal tomorrow; I want to see how much debt the bitch got us into.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”  With a bow, Marc Aslo left.

Amanda remained silent as she watched Aslo leave.  Once he had left the room, she spoke to her Confessor.  “This room will have to change.  It is far too ornate and overindulgent for my tastes.”

“Simplicity is next to godliness, your Majesty,” confirmed Confessor Vember.

Amanda walked to a table and looked at herself in an ornate hand mirror that was sitting upon the table.  She saw her long raven hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing her beautiful pale face to perfection.  “I am truly cursed,” Amanda said, sadly.

“Your Majesty?”

“I only wish to serve my Lord God.  Why did He curse me to look as I do?”

“We all have our burdens to bear, your Majesty.  As I have told you before, yours is your beauty.”

“No one takes me seriously, Vember.  They just look at my face or my figure and try to bed me.”

“They will take you seriously now, your Majesty.”

“Yes, they shall,” Amanda turned and walked away from the mirror, “for I am now Queen, and the people will listen and respect me for who I am rather than my cursed looks.”

There was a knock at the door.  “Ah, and talking about listening to me – enter!” said Amanda.

In walked a rather red-faced man, who was showing obvious signs of exertion.  His clothes had spots of blood dotted over them.  “Your Majesty,” he said.

“Have you dealt with the whore wife of yours?”

“Yes, your Majesty.  I took my belt to her.”

“Does she still live?”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“Excellent, I know the very place to put her.  I have another whore who might enjoy the company.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“Rebecca was too lenient, too soft a queen, that is why this kingdom is in the rut it is.  I will not make that mistake.  I will not be lenient nor suffer whores, degenerates, or deviants within my borders.  This kingdom shall be run by our Lord God’s rules and be better for it.  Our new motto shall be – ‘Be pure.  Be vigilant.  Behave.’”

“A motto that shall surely only improve people’s lives,” added Confessor Vember.

“As you command, my Queen,” the blood-splattered man added nervously.

Queen Amanda Rothgal–Ackroyd walked to the window and looked out.  “All of this is mine and, via me, my God’s.  I shall make it worthy of him.  This I swear.”  Amanda bowed her head and closed her eyes, before repeating, “This I swear upon my life.”

***

A cell within the dungeons below the palace

“At least I have a nice cell,” said Rebecca as she paced the room.

“There does seem to be a lack of rats or dripping water,” agreed Caldecote, looking from outside the cell through the small barred window in the cell door.

“There is a table and chair, and what looks like an almost comfortable mattress.”

“A VIP cell, you could say.”

“Almost fit for a queen.”  Rebecca stopped walking and fought against the threatening tears.

“As you say, your Majesty.”

“I am no longer your Majesty.  I am simply Rebecca now.”

“As you say, your Majesty.”

“Men!  Always bloody stubborn.  I am no longer your Queen!”

“As you say, your Majesty.”

Rebecca shook her head and moved to sit down at the table.

“We will be here for you,” stated Caldecote.

“Thank you,” replied Rebecca, sadly.

“We will make sure you are fed and looked after properly.”

“Thank you.”

“Right, just shout if you need anything.  Me and Cyril will be sitting just here outside the door.”

“Thank you.”

Placing her elbows on the table, Rebecca held her head in her hands and let the tears fall.

It was two hours later when the sound of the door opening caused Rebecca to raise her head.  Two guards dragging a third person entered the cell.  “Company for you,” stated one of the guards as they flung the prisoner upon the floor.  The pair turned and left the cell without another word, slamming the door behind them.

Rebecca looked down at the curled up figure on the floor, hidden behind a long cloak.

“Who is it?” asked Caldecote through the bars set in the door.

“I don’t know.”  A low moan came from the cloak.

Casting a quizzical glance at Caldecote, Rebecca moved gradually towards the figure.  Tentatively, she reached out and pulled back the cloak.  “Prue!” she gasped as she recognised the woman, despite her badly bruised face.

“Hello, Rebecca,” Prue Carnagie managed before a coughing fit overtook her.

“Bloody hell, Prue!  What happened to you?” asked Rebecca as she helped the woman up.

“My husband.”

“Your husband?”

“Yes.”  Prue coughed again as she clung, half standing, to Rebecca.  “He discovered my little indiscretions.”

“Come on, Prue, get on the mattress.”  Rebecca half-helped, half-dragged Prue to the mattress.

“Thank you, Becca.”

“Lie still.  I will be back in a moment.”  Rebecca raced to the door.  “Caldecote!”

“Yes.”

“Get me some hot water and clean towels, and a clean set of lady’s clothing.”

“Sorry, your Majesty - did you say lady’s clothing?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.”

“Will that be a problem?”

Caldecote scratched his chin.  “Probably not, as I have always had my doubts about Cyril.”  Turning away from the small barred window, Caldecote shouted, “Cyril!  Cyril!”

“What?”

“I need you to go and get some hot water, clean towels, and a clean set of lady’s clothing.”

“Ok.”

Caldecote turned back to Rebecca.  “My best man is on the case, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” replied Rebecca with a smile, before making her way back to Prue.  “How are you?”

“I’ve been better, Becca.”

Rebecca took a small intake of breath, forced a smile on her face, and tried to ignore the informal use of her name.  “I am sure you have.  Now let me have a proper look at you.”  Rebecca pulled back the cloak and examined Prue.  Her face was puffy, both eyes were black, her lips were split, and her wonderful cheeks were cut.

“He was wearing his heavy rings when he hit me,” explained Prue.

“No one deserves this.”

“I was screwing everything in trousers behind his back for years.”

“Still...”

“I hurt his pride.”

“So he hurt your face and body.”

“Yes.”

Running her eyes down the rest of Prue’s body, Rebecca noticed the blood on the blouse and skirt.  Picking up Prue’s arm, Rebecca winced at the cuts along the forearm.

“His belt buckle - after he got bored of punching me, he whipped me with his belt.  The belt buckle hurt when it hit.”

“He should have stopped.”

“Yes, he should have.”  Tears finally appeared in Prue’s eyes.  “I did not deserve this.”  Prue’s voice wobbled with emotion as her tears flowed freely.  “I did not deserve this.”

“No, you did not.  No one does.”

***

“Caldecote!” shouted Cyril as he returned to Rebecca’s cell.

“Cyril, what have you got there?”

“Fiona - she is a maid.”

“Hello, Fiona.”

“Hello, sir.”

“Did you get everything, Cyril?”

“Yup.  Hot water is in the bucket here.  Fiona has got clean towels and clothes in her basket.”

“Excellent,” commented Caldecote.  “Right, where is that bloody jailor?”

***

Hearing raised voices outside the door, Rebecca lightly squeezed Prue’s shoulder.  “You will feel better soon, Prue.”

“Promise?”  Prue’s voice sounded weak and scared.

“Promise.”

The cell door creaked open and in walked a young woman carrying a basket and a bucket of steaming water.  “I am Fiona, my ladies, and I have the things you requested.”

“Please bring them here, Fiona,” said Rebecca, “and help me with my friend.”

The cell door slammed shut.

***

Cyril turned to Caldecote.  “She looks in a bad way.”

“Yeah, her husband beat her black and blue.”

“She did play the field.  What did she expect?”  Cyril shrugged his shoulders.

“Aye, and if the reports are correct, she used to drug him, too.”

“I heard that.  Used to send him asleep whilst she shagged around.”

“I heard that at one banquet she fucked Alex Rothgal in her own bed whilst her husband was laid out on the bedroom floor in a drugged state.”  Caldecote spat on the floor.

“That’s bad shite.”

“Yeah, I think she got off pretty lightly.”

“Yeah,” agreed Cyril.  “I would have taken my knife to her.  She would not have been pretty anymore.”

Caldecote stared at the cell door with hard eyes.  “You have a soft heart, though, Cyril.  I would have killed her.”

***

The Queen’s royal apartments