The Rebel Prince (7 page)

‘Wyn,’ he said again, ‘you must know that I have no desire to undo our fathers’ work.’ She looked up at him in surprise. ‘Everything I do is for the betterment of this kingdom. Surely you cannot doubt that? My only desire is to build upon the foundations that our fathers have laid. It is simply a case of . . . Wyn, there are some things you simply do not yet know.’

‘Then educate us,’ said Razi quietly. ‘Please, your Highness. Help us to understand.’

Alberon turned to look at him, his face sad. ‘Razi,’ he said, ‘must you still play the courtier?’ At Razi’s lack of comprehension, Alberon sighed. ‘Call me
brother
, for Christ’s sake. At least while we are alone.’

Razi looked uncertain. His eyes slid to the shadows of the guards standing just outside Alberon’s tent, and Alberon followed his gaze, frowning.

Just then, a small voice piped up, and Alberon’s servant announced himself at the door. Alberon smiled fondly in the direction of the boy’s voice.

‘Good chap, Anthony,’ he called. ‘Set up at the map-table, there’s a boy, then come fetch the pillow from my bed, that the Protector Lady may have some comfort.’

The little lad squeaked, ‘Aye, your Highness,’ and Alberon turned to Razi again.

‘Come, Razi,’ he said softly. ‘Let us eat our supper outside, shall we? We can sit side-by-side in the sunset, you and I: the heir and his loyal brother talking peaceably together for all my men to see and marvel at. What say you? Do you feel up to the fresh air?’

There was a moment of wordless communication between the two men, then Razi nodded. Alberon grinned. ‘Good man,’ he whispered.

‘And you, Protector Lady?’ He bowed with a courtly flourish and offered Wynter his arm. ‘Would you do me the honour of adorning my table?’ She hesitated, unwilling to be made little of. ‘I promise,’ he said, sparkling a sly smile, ‘I shall leave no question unanswered.’

Wynter took his arm. ‘In that case, your Highness,’ she said, ‘I shall be pleased to oblige.’

SUPPER

‘A
NTHONY! DID
you take this from the men?’

‘And risk thee clapping me in irons? Indeed I did not, your Highness. They gave it up to thee as a gift.’

Alberon leaned over the little pot of stewed meat and inhaled gratefully. ‘Who caught it?’ he asked.

‘Who dost thou think?’

‘Surely not?’ laughed Alberon, turning to grin at the little servant, who was busy plumping a threadbare pillow into the crook of the chair he had reserved for Wynter. ‘Not the Italians again?’

‘Aye. Again. There’s none can beat them.’

‘Good Christ,’ said Alberon. ‘There’ll not be a boar left alive by the time we head home. Where are they?’

‘Loitering at the base of the hill this last twenty minutes, pretending to haul wood and hoping for a word of praise.’

Alberon strode across to the head of the slope. The boy patted the cushion and glanced shyly at Wynter. ‘Protector Lady,’ he said. ‘I have made it all comfortable for thee.’

His bashful courtliness and use of formal speech had Wynter unconsciously smoothing out non-existent skirts and nodding in gracious thanks as she took her place at the table. In his beautifully tailored scarlet long-coat and freshly polished boots, Razi looked far more the part, and the wee servant waited with tense anxiety as the Lord Razi surveyed the rock-hard cheese, tiny portions of unleavened bread and scoopful of boiled meat that were being served for dinner.

‘There’s onions in the stew, my Lord,’ he said hopefully.

Razi gazed at him for a moment, then turned to Alberon, who was watching two men drag a wood-cart around the base of the hill. ‘You set a generous table, your Highness,’ called Razi. ‘I am most grateful for your hospitality.’

Alberon glanced wryly at him, but the young servant drew himself up with surprised delight. He enthusiastically lifted the jug of small-ale. ‘May I pour thy drink, my Lord?’

Razi eyed the rather thick-looking concoction, and Wynter hid a smile at his strained expression. ‘You may,’ he murmured and the little lad poured with careful ceremony.

‘Thank you,’ smiled Wynter as her own beaker was filled. She took a sip and eyed Alberon, who was standing, hands on hips, watching the two men. His face was grave as he took in their ostentatiously slow progress.

‘Did all the men get a little meat, Anthony?’

‘Pickets and all, Highness. All equal.’

‘You are certain? None was left out?’

‘No one left out, your Highness. ’Twas two full-grown boar, plenty to go around.’

‘And the guests?’

‘All but them newcomers, your Highness. They having arrived after ration-up.’

‘Very well,’ whispered Alberon. Then he stepped forward and lifted his arms.

‘Eduardo and Phillip di Oliva!’ he yelled. ‘Is no boar safe from your spears?’ The two men at the base of the hill grinned and paused to shade their eyes. ‘If it’s true that a soldier walks further on a full belly then you two have, once again, lengthened our stride!’

Alberon’s strong voice carried far across the sleepy camp and, at once, an answering cheer rang back from the darkening tents. He cut an impressive figure, gilded in evening light, his strong arms raised over his head, his pale hair rimmed with the last of the dying sun. Razi and Wynter watched carefully as his men gathered in the purple shadows of the thoroughfare and gazed up at their prince, smiling.

‘The Italians have filled our cook-pots once again!’ he called. ‘What say you, men? Once we are safe returned to my father’s palace, and settled again within the arms of our families, do you think perhaps that two swarthy brothers might find themselves granted licence to hunt and provender for my father’s kitchen?’

There was a roar of approval and several good-humoured catcalls from the gathered men. The two Italians at the base of the hill pucked each other and grinned in delight. Alberon nodded to them, smiling, and they bowed.

‘Now shift that wood, you laggards! Or I’ll have ye tarred.’

More laughter, and the camp quieted as the men returned to their dinners and their work. In the civilian quarters, smoke was drifting from the roof-holes of the Haun shelters. The Combermen were seated in the shadows of their awning, their figures intermittently outlined in the dim glow from their pipes. The Merron were busy settling themselves down. Wynter discreetly craned her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of Christopher, but all she could see was Wari crouched outside the main door of their borrowed tent, blowing a fire to flame. Alberon stood for a moment, his eyes on the blue Midland pavilion. He shifted his gaze to the Merron tent, then he sighed. Tiredly, he ran his hand across his forehead and turned to smile at his guards.

‘You may go eat now,’ he said. ‘I shall not need you again till morning.’

The men’s eyes slid warily to Razi, and Alberon chuckled.

‘Charles,’ he said, and one of the men snapped to attention. ‘You may fetch the Lord Razi his weapons; also those of the Protector Lady. They shall be my protection for tonight.’ The men’s eyes widened in ill-concealed alarm, and Alberon chuckled again. ‘Go,’ he said, and the soldiers reluctantly obeyed, glancing over their shoulders all the while, their disquiet obvious on their faces. Alberon watched them retreat down the hill.

‘Your men love you,’ said Razi softly.

‘They have risked all for me, and for my father’s kingdom. They are men of gold.’

Alberon watched as his soldiers approached the civilian quarters; then he crossed to sit at the table. Wynter thought he seemed spent suddenly, all his sparkle gone.

‘Light the candles, will you, Anthony?’ he sighed. ‘And have someone bring wood for the brazier. I do not want the Protector Lady to get cold.’ He glanced up when the boy hesitated. ‘There are no more candles?’ he asked.

‘I can look for some, your Highness, but . . .’

‘Never mind. Go on now, get that fire built, good lad. It will give us light enough, along with the heat . . . Oh, Anthony?’

‘Aye, your Highness?’

‘Make certain that Sir Oliver eats tonight.’

‘Aye, your Highness.’

The boy left them, and there was silence between the friends as they watched Alberon’s guards clatter up the hill with Razi and Wynter’s weapons.

‘That chop-fingered savage didn’t want to give ’em up,’ muttered one of the soldiers, handing over the weapons. ‘He’s a right difficult cur, that ’un.’

Wynter leaned out and saw Christopher standing at the base of the hill, a pale spectre in the rapidly falling twilight. She discreetly lifted her hand.
All is well.
He stood for a moment watching her, then he padded away into the shadows. Wynter tried to follow his progress, hoping to see him return to the safety of the Merron tents, but he was lost almost as soon as he turned from her. When she faced back to the table, Alberon was watching her closely.

‘You seem well in with the Merron,’ he said.

Wynter found herself momentarily lost for words, certain that any attempt to define her relationship with the Merron would betray her feelings for Christopher. Alberon frowned at her silent discomfort. He glanced down at the shadows where Christopher had been standing.

‘I . . . I would not say we are
well in
with them,’ ventured Wynter, bringing Alberon’s thoughtful frown back to her.

Razi huffed. ‘The Merron have been useful, that is all. We crossed paths on our journey here. I treated one of their warriors and they gave us shelter.’

Alberon dismissed his lingering men and waited for them to leave before speaking again.

‘You called that thief your friend,’ he said.

‘Christopher is
not
a thief,’ corrected Wynter.

‘Freeman Garron is not one of them,’ said Razi. ‘Do not make that mistake, Alberon.’

Alberon regarded the two of them carefully, his eyes hopping from one fierce expression to another.

‘So you have no allegiances to those people?’ he said at last.

‘None,’ said Razi firmly.

‘That is good, brother. There is no place in our world for them.’

Wynter’s heart went cold at that, but if Alberon’s harsh words chilled his brother, Razi certainly gave no sign of it. He simply shrugged his shoulders as if the Merron’s fate was of no concern to him.

‘When you addressed your men, you said
my father’s palace
,’ murmured Wynter. Alberon nodded. ‘Are we to take it that you do not stand against the King?’ she asked.

Alberon tutted, waving his hand dismissively, as if the answer to the question was too obvious to articulate.

‘He believes that you do,’ said Razi.

Alberon rolled his eyes. ‘Father and I have disagreed,’ he said. ‘That is all.’

‘Disagreed?’ said Wynter. ‘
Disagreed?
Is that what you call this? Alberon, the kingdom is rocked to its
core
!’

Alberon smiled at her in galling amusement, and Razi laid his hand on hers, squeezing gently to silence her. His voice was carefully neutral when he said, ‘I must agree with our passionate sister, Alberon. This would seem a touch more than a
disagreement
. People are dying because of it.’

Alberon lost his smile. ‘People have been dying these last five years, brother. Did you forget that?’

‘Of course not,’ said Razi.

‘Perhaps death is easily disregarded when you have not been the one wading through the blood of the fallen?’

‘Alberon, I do not deny that the insurrection was bitter fought. I am simply pointing out that this current rift between you and our father is doing nothing to heal the kingdom’s wounds.’

‘This kingdom has no hope if Father continues rejecting my plans, Razi. He must be brought to see sense. He
must
! Or else all we have endured has been for naught. We may as well have laid down our arms as soon as those damned troublemakers set their faces against his reforms.’ Razi went to speak and Alberon threw up his hand in a now familiar gesture of dismissal. ‘You will help me convince him,’ he said. ‘You have always been the one with the words, Razi. You will make our father understand how sensible my ideas are. You will bring him to see reason. We cannot rule this kingdom as lambs, Razi! Not as lambs! We must do it as lions, or we shall not rule at all!’

‘I cannot see that your father has ever been a lamb,’ murmured Wynter. ‘Not in any way that endangered his throne.’

Alberon huffed bitterly as if to say,
What would you know
of it.

If Razi had anything to add to this, he bit it down as Anthony returned and began setting a fire in the brazier. The three of them sat in silence as he did so, and Alberon took the opportunity to demolish his paltry meal, draining his beaker of small-ale and pouring himself another. ‘Eat,’ he ordered, pointing at Wynter’s plate. ‘Don’t waste what is so hard won.’

Wynter made a grudging attempt to gnaw at the bread, but not even her great hunger could combat its hardness, and so she crumbled it in with her meat, hoping the juices would soften it.

Alberon’s lips tightened as his brother neither ate nor drank, but simply fidgeted with his beaker as he waited for the little servant boy to leave. ‘Have you gone religious on me in your time away?’ he asked abruptly.