Father Sidden waited patiently for her to finish, a look of gentle concern on his face. ‘What troubles you, child? Has it been difficult for you to settle in?’
She looked at him, unsure as to how much she should tell him.
‘Everyone has been very polite, Father. Really, really polite. I am frightened to say anything so as not to offend and this is from someone brought up in the courts of Tanaren
city.’
‘Your lineage goes before you; you are seen as someone far more important than Baron Wulfthram. Nobody wants to offend someone so close to the Grand Duke, at least not openly.’
‘But I am not important,’ she said exasperatedly. ‘The fourth child is never important, yet even my husband seems to think I am some sort of spy for the Grand Duke or at least
a close confidante.’
‘Does he treat you as the others do?’
‘Yes, he is worse if anything; he seems to do anything to avoid my company.’
The old man stepped down from his pulpit and sat beside her.
‘You need to understand that the Baron loved his late wife a great deal. He, if truth be told, is still grieving for her. The situation is very, very hard for you and it will take some
time for him to accept you fully. But please do not despair over this. I see a lot of similarities between Sofie and yourself; you are even physically similar to the way she was and you share her
kindness, humour and generosity of spirit. You need to pray to Camille for the virtue of patience. If you do that, you will be rewarded in the future – I believe Artorus will show Wulthram
the way to you. Be patient, child; it will happen.’
‘Thank you, Father. It may even be that I have been avoiding him as much as he has been avoiding me. I shall go and speak with him as soon as I can. Maybe after I have eaten.’
He looked at her with mild surprise. ‘Maybe not today, my Lady. He is meeting with the Northern Council.’
She tried to affect forgetfulness. ‘Of course, he did tell me earlier; my head is like a sieve. Having said that, Father, he did not actually explain what the Northern Council
is.’
‘It is the three-monthly meeting of major barons here, along with other people important in local politics. They discuss anything of significance in the region and determine what to do
about any problems. I believe your father has been invited to one early next year.’
So the local priest in his dotage knew more about events than she. She gave him a sideways glance. ‘It is being held here, isn’t it?’
‘Of course, my Lady; it always is.’
‘Thank you, Father. For everything.’ She went to go. When she got to the door, however, she stopped and, turning back to the priest, said, ‘Did Wulfthram’s wife ...
sorry, I mean the Lady Sofie ... did the Lady Sofie ever attend these meetings?’
‘I believe she did, most of them anyway. I do not know how big a part she played in them.’
‘Thank you, Father.’ Ceriana bade him farewell and shut the door.
It was a large door, panelled in dark wood, and she had been looking at it for some ten minutes or so, clasping and unclasping her hands, smacking her lips and exhibiting a
dozen other symptoms of agitation. It was the door to the main hall, where the barons were, where the Council were currently meeting, and all that she had to do was open it and walk through. Except
something was stopping her. Instead, she stood in the dark stone windowless corridor, lit only by a couple of flaming torches, guttering in their brackets. Above each was a small open grill in the
roof, built to release the smoke. Not that they did a good job. The acrid taste of soot stuck in the back of her throat, drying it even more. She could hear the harsh cry of a crow; it must have
been on the roof right next to of one the grills. It sounded as if it were mocking her.
‘Come on, you foolish girl; what would your father think of you? All you have to do is open the door and take your rightful seat as the wife of the chief baron of the north and daughter of
a duke. Just walk through into a room of total strangers, all of whom see you as the child you undoubtedly are judging from current behaviour.’ She had changed into one of her grander
dresses, a rich purple velvet one embroidered in gold thread, and perfumed herself with rose-water, to try and bolster her feeble resolve. It still wasn’t working, though. Artorus’s
eyes! All she needed was a little courage, just for a couple of seconds. The alternative was to spend a lifetime hiding in her room, in a land full of strangers. It suddenly seemed quite enticing
just to turn around, return to her own room, and sit in her favourite chair watching the light drizzle fog up the window she read by. Enticing indeed! Then she slapped her hands smartly to her
sides, cleared her throat, muttered something like ‘Damn me for a fool’ to herself, strode forward and opened the door.
Unlike the corridor, the great hall had large, very grand windows, taking up as it did the entire front section of the manor house. It took her a second or two to adjust to the sudden
brightness. When her eyes could see again she hesitated, ever so slightly. The east and west walls – it was through the door of the latter that she had just entered – were covered in
beautifully coloured tapestries depicting the various events with which the region was associated; the latest one (you could tell it was so from the fact that many of the others were slightly
faded) depicted the naval Battle of Galpa in which the Kudreyan pirates had been finally defeated. Aside from the tapestries. the room otherwise held only several beautifully carved long wooden
tables that admittedly had seen better days and the chairs to seat those dining from them. Only one of these tables, the central one, was now occupied. There were maybe just under twenty people,
all men, all well dressed, sitting at it. And all of them were now looking at her.
‘Good day, gentlemen.’ Gods, her voice sounded so small. ‘I apologise for the lateness of my arrival; I was just taking morning prayers with Father Sidden. I hope and trust I
have not missed too much of importance. I have promised my husband after all that I will be most attentive to matters here. A wife who does not interest herself in the affairs of her husband is no
wife at all, as I am sure you will all agree.’
Wulfthram was sitting at the head of the table and was fixing her with a look she found difficult to describe. It wasn’t anger, though; she felt relief at that at any rate. Surprise? Yes,
possibly surprise.
Einar was sitting close to her husband, facing towards her. ‘Good to see you, my Lady. I was wondering when you would arrive. The Lady Sofie, Camille bless her and keep her at her side,
always sat next to Wulfthram at these meetings and I see he has kept the same chair vacant for you. Isn’t that right, Wulfthram?’
Wulfthram said nothing but pulled the chair back for her to sit on. It was of black wood, heavy and noisy, as he pulled it over the stone floor, but it was padded and comfortable. He beckoned to
her in the most understated way possible to come and take her seat.
‘I believe all of you here have met my new wife, the Lady Ceriana, however briefly. I very much doubt that she can remember all of your names so please, when you speak, introduce
yourselves.’
One of the barons, a younger man with sandy hair, broke in immediately.
‘I would just like to say, my Lady, that the meeting has only just formally opened and you have missed nothing of great import. I am Baron Jon Skellar of Thakholm, an island south of here.
We only had the very briefest of meetings last week, so allow me to reiterate the welcome I gave you then and to express my hope that you are gradually settling in here.’
‘Thank you, Baron Skellar, I can assure you that everyone here has been the very embodiment of courtesy itself. It is I, I fear, who needs to show that I am worthy of such courtesy. I hope
the ensuing months will go to show that I am, for it will not be for the lack of endeavour on my part. May I also ask you, Baron Skellar, how the construction of the new jetty on Thakholm is
proceeding? I believe it is being enlarged to accommodate the mightiest ships in the Tanaren navy in order to provide a capable deterrent to any future pirate incursion.’
He looked at her with something only a little short of wonder. ‘It has just finished, my Lady, a grand affair three times larger than the original. May I formally extend an invitation to
visit us and see it, as soon as your schedule allows.’
‘Thank you, Baron Skellar. I of course would be delighted, if my husband permits it.’
‘I permit it,’ said Wulfthram with a gleam in his eye. ‘Now let us begin. Each of you in turn give your reports from the area you represent...’
The meeting continued as each baron spoke in turn, giving Wulfthram their dispatches. Ceriana was glad she had read up on the issues that concerned these people primarily. There was a genuine
fear of famine here as the land was so poor. Her husband had gone some way to mitigating this by setting up a series of grain silos in which the excess in good years could be stored and set against
any years in which the crop failed. Also, there was the threat of brigandry; the Kudreyan pirates might be no more, but many of them, fleeing Galpa, had landed in the remoter areas of the north,
from where they continued to harry the local people. As to the barons here present, there appeared to be some form of hierarchy, though all of them deferred to her husband. Principal among them
appeared to be Baron Farnerun of Slemsholm, a long coastal area in which fishing was important. It held many ancient Elven ruins and had a reputation of being haunted. Then there was Baron Rosk of
Taksgat, an island east of Osperitsan, and Baron Fyrdag of Thetta, a large area in the south. The other Osperitsan barons, Einar and Thudig, also seemed important as well as Baron Tragsmann of
Vihaga, the port from which she first took ship to her new home. It was Fyrdag who was now speaking.
‘In the southern part of my lands and in that of my neighbours it is virtual bandit country. People are living in fear and I do not have enough men to be everywhere at once. The latest way
these bastards are making money is through kidnapping. They are taking young girls aged from about thirteen years upwards from their parents. We believe that they are being sold on to brothels in
Tanaren and other southern cities. They hide out in caves in the broken hills and move around frequently so they are almost impossible to catch. Short of evacuating whole villages and abandoning
farmlands I am not sure what to do.’
‘What if we call the muster? ‘Wulfthram said. He turned to his wife. ‘A muster is called in emergencies like this one. Every one of the northern barons is required to supply
one man in every ten of their men-at-arms throughout the spring, summer and autumn.’ Then he turned back to Fyrdag. ‘Perhaps a show of strength might be what is required.’
Fyrdag looked doubtful. ‘A muster would help in the short term, I feel, but you know a council majority is required to organise one. And I am not sure if everyone here would give my
problems full priority like you do.’
Wulfthram scanned the faces of those present. ‘Well, you heard the man. Does anyone here object?’
A couple of people shifted uneasily in their seats and then Baron Rosk, a tall spare man whose skin was drawn so tightly around his face that he seemed to be little more than a talking skull,
broke the silence .
‘The problem we have, as you know, is that we are not just here representing ourselves. As well as Taksgat, I am here for three other barons who hold smaller islands near to my own. And I
know for a fact that trying to persuade them to part with ten in a hundred men to go traipsing round some barren wilderness, leagues from their home, will be nigh on impossible. If the council
agrees to do it, I can force them to comply, but in doing that it would only stoke up problems for the future. The last thing I want is some petty rebellion. If I put it down with force, then I
would be ruling over an unruly populace and sleeping with a knife under my bed. If I couldn’t put it down, then you would be speaking to someone else this time next year. Couldn’t these
threatened villages bolster their fortifications in some way?’
‘Of course,’ said Fyrdag, ‘but in most cases we have done that already. These people are farmers or traders and cannot spend their lives cooped up like chickens. The bandits
get them when they are outdoors and vulnerable.’
Wulfthram looked at them, his forefingers resting on his chin. ‘Nevertheless, I feel something needs to be done. If we do nothing, we will be seen as weak, which will only encourage and
embolden these brigands. The problem we have is that between us we represent well over fifty other barons. Keeping them all happy is a task not even a god could manage. ‘He looked around the
table. ‘Give me an idea, everyone; if I call a muster, who would agree with me.’
Some hands went up, others stayed down – the room looked evenly divided. Wulfthram could barely conceal the disappointment in his face. He looked at Fyrdag. ‘I think it’s a
slight majority, but really I need about two-thirds with me to carry this.’ He spoke to the room in general. ‘What about concessions? Say I could negotiate a small reduction in taxes
for the Grand Duke for a year. Would that change your vote?’
Baron Thudig, Wulfthram’s southern neighbour, a man well into his fifties who retained a shock of dark hair which seemed far too youthful for his mottled red face, spoke. ‘Do you
really think you could arrange this? This Grand Duke does not seem the type to reduce taxes for nothing. He has already made one highly aggressive move against us. I would vote for this muster only
if you could guarantee some sort of reduction.’
Ceriana barely stopped herself from reddening when she realised that the ‘highly aggressive move’ he was referring to was the planned visit of her father with his troops the
following year. She was beginning to see the juggling act her new husband must have to perform regularly just to keep these men in check.
‘My new father-in-law visits here next year and will attend the spring council. It would be interesting to see if I could squeeze anything out of the Tanaren nobles and get them to help us
for a change. Fyrdag, would you be happy to see the vote deferred until then?’