The Queen's Man

One

Your fancy queen wants to see you in her chambers. The shaggy top of the squire’s head barely reached to Harow’s chin. Better hurry. Her royal self an’ the loud complainer are leaving within the hour for High Vale. I’m supposed to bring you to her right now. Don’t you get me in no trouble with Duke Owaine. By the forked red beard of the Mountain Creeper, the duke don’t like delays, not him. He’d have me scrubbing out the stables on me hands an’ knees for a week, he would, if he’s late in leaving here.

Harow pushed himself away from the chilly rough stone of the parapet and the sight of morning mist lying heavy in the valley below the wall. With a final glance at the twisting ribbon of road leading away from the castle, and toward his home, he gave the youth a stare. Watch your loose tongue, boy, that’s the High Queen of the land and her royal daughter you’re speaking of. Show them their due respect.

Respect is as respect earns. The young squire looked over Harow’s ill-fitting borrowed tunic. So, you’re the famous duke who killed a pack of lions single-handed, beheaded a dragon the size of a small mountain an’ strangled two giants at the same time, one with each bare hand. They say you destroyed a whole castle too with only your axe. He frowned. You don’t seem like much. Any o’ the stories true?

Harow sighed. Some of them maybe, lead on, lad.

Actually, little about the tales spreading through the castle were true. Strange, he didn’t look forward to this morning’s meeting. Not so many weeks ago he was a simple farm youth studying for the priesthood at the cathedral. Then, swept up in the fall of the city and the wild flight of the royal family, he somehow became anointed a duke, rescued the queen and her daughter, and guided them to safety in the mountains. He suspected returning to the familiar life of a poor farm hand might seem a bit dull after his recent wild experiences. Back to working for his elder brother Plou would make for quite a change of pace. Besides, the cathedral and the school were probably little more than a pile of charred rubble and blackened timbers by now.

He followed the boy down the narrow steps and across the courtyard. The chill mountain air mingled with the scent of bread baking in the kitchen and the garbled noise of men practicing with their swords.

The youth glanced over his shoulder. I’m not assigned yet. You’ve a squire? The name’s Gerrard. Ask for me afore we leave.

I don’t think I’ll require a squire where I’m going. Once the queen and her daughter left for High Vale Castle they’d have no more need of Harow. Many of his new comrades would be staying on here. Duke Owaine’s fortress of Castle Crag was the southern outpost of the duke’s holding, and short of men. It was past time Harow returned home to the farm. His mother probably believed him dead. He’d have written her a letter but there was no reliable way to send anything through a land torn by civil war and besides, he’s probably be home long before a letter could arrive.

I’m good with horses an’ can sharpen a blade, sword or axe, better than most.

The lad would have trouble with his horse. Or at the least the vicious mare Harow’d been stuck with when they fled the city. The pair entered the castle keep and headed toward the spiral staircase leading to the third floor where Queen Reginee waited. If you’re such a wonder, why are you still unassigned?

Some say I talks too much. Not from a wealthy family. Father’s a cripple, mother takes in washing. Gerrard made the sign of the great ram with his fingers, the request to the powers who might be, for a better run of luck.

A shiver danced down Harow’s spine at the thought of this, his final meeting with the queen. In his mind she was the most beautiful and wondrous woman in all the land. Because of her, he’d seen more adventures in these last days than most knights dared in a lifetime. Her soft voice alone was enough to melt the hardest heart. He might even briefly miss her impatient daughter, the Princess Desiree-Rose. There was one young lady who went from sweet to flaming in the blink of a watery eye.

He kept his focus fixed on Gerrard’s feet. The steep stairs showed the rounded edges from the tramp of many heavy footsteps. Harow could well imagine tripping and falling tail over teapot and acting the utter fool on this his final day in the royal service. He kept one hand pressed against the rough wall to aid his balance. The unfinished stone reminded him the place was a crude fortress, not a comfortable southern castle.

Well, Gerrard, if I ever find myself in need of a squire, I’ll certainly send for you. Harow knew how it was to be the odd one out. The other seminary students made constant fun of him because he was the oldest student, and from a poor family too. The school allowed space for him only because of the good word from their village priest.

Here we be. I’ll wait for you outside the door. Gerrard knocked on the unfinished wood.

No need to, lad. No use getting the youth’s hopes up. He could handle a plow or milk a cow without any need of help.

No problem. Gerrard leaned against the wall and motioned as the door swung open wide.

Queen Reginee’s soft voice greeted Harow. Come in, my faithful Lord Duke Royale.

She stood in the center of the floor, a purple cape trimmed with white fur hung down from around her shoulders. Someone suspended a large thread-worn tapestry on one bare wall and another smaller cloth to partially cover the narrow, open window. A blazing fire did its best to warm the chill room, but her smile was what lit up the chamber. I am most glad to see you, my dear friend.

Harow dropped to one knee. Your Majesty.

Arise my good Duke. We have so little time before we must leave here but I would have a word with you.

Princess Desiree-Rose stood up from the rough-hewn wooden table where an elderly servant paused from brushing her hair. The princess gave Harow a sweet smile.

Harow kept focussed on Desiree-Rose’s delicate hand as he took it and granted her fingers a quick brush with his lips. He’d seen her wield a sword and threaten her uncle. Amazing how one girl so fragile-looking could have a backbone of tempered steel. He was no real duke, he was a farmer’s son swept up in events far beyond his proper station in life. He should flee while he still had a head. Bad enough thoughts of princesses now haunted his dreams.

Your Majesty... he began again.

We have a great favor to ask of you, the queen said. She took up Harow’s hand in hers.

The warmth of her fingers sent a shock up his spine.

Anything. Why did his mouth always act before he had a chance to think?

Our gracious host would like to be able to withdraw some of his men from this border castle. They are needed to bring in the rest of the harvest before winter. He wondered if you would agree to hold this fortress for him with your men, and of course, a few of his. I told him I thought it an excellent idea.

Ah.

I realize it is almost too much of me to ask you this, when you have already served us so well. But the duke has been gracious enough to take us in and offer us safety at his home in High Vale. This should not be an onerous position here. I doubt my brother will ever have nerve enough to advance into the mountains. He will hide and threaten us from the safety of his perch on the Rock of Casawurthi. The queen’s deep gaze reached into the pit of Harow’s stomach and tied it tight into knots.

Besides, Desiree-Rose crossed the floor and held out her hand for him to kiss again. I would not want you running away. She made a face and shook her head, allowing her long black hair to hang free. Running back to the farm or whatever hovel you came from. You do want to be near to me, don’t you? I will be only a day’s ride away. She toyed with the emerald on her finger, the ring she’d taken from him the night they reached safety.

The hair on the back of his neck marched in parade formation. She sounded like her mother. Like her mother did, when she wanted a favor. He knew well how dangerous those favors turned out to be.

"Knowing you might hesitate, Duke Harow, given the uncertainty of our situation here, I have already spoken to young Daneld, your good friend and comrade-in-arms. He readily agrees to act as your second-in-command. All the men who followed you here are equally eager to be under your direction once more. I feel safer already knowing you are my own faithful one standing between me and the madness in the low country."

The queen’s warm breath brushed against his cheek. A flock of birds churned his stomach. He inhaled a sweet scent that was not wood smoke.

Desiree-Rose moved to stand close on his other side. "By the seven Saintly Sisters of the White Tower, I would trust no other to keep us safe. You do want me kept safe, don’t you?"

Of course, came out like the dying croak of a drowning bullfrog. By the Five Hundred Saints, he was surrounded.

Good, that’s settled then. Desiree-Rose gave him a quick peck on his cheek. Now be off with you. We must get ready to leave this frozen pile of dreary rocks. Duke Owaine promises me a hot bath, a soft feather bed, and a warm room of my own at High Vale.

I am so pleased you have accepted. Queen Reginee smiled. I will let the duke know of your decision. She squeezed his hand. I know I can rely on you. I may have need of your service from time to time, if that is acceptable to you.

Of course, Your Majesty. Bowing, he backed out the door and it closed with a loud thunk.

Looking as though he slept standing leaning against the wall, Gerrard’s eyes opened and he straightened up.

By the bloody severed head of Saint Sebastian, what have I done? Harow whispered, staring around the corridor. How did this happen? I know nothing about running a castle. The duke doesn’t strike me as a man who accepts failure or incompetence. How? Ah...Prince Regnar did say his sister was a witch.

Took the job, did you? Gerrard nodded sagely, coming over. You’ll be needing a squire, then.

How, how did you know?

I’ve sharp ears, the halls have echoes. Heard your queen an’ the duke talking ‘bout you last night. Said you’d do your duty, she did. He grinned. Where to first?

Well, how bad could this be? Harow muttered under his breath. I’ve survived so far. By the jewels in Sister Travalie’s delicate ears, I can last a little longer. Then louder, How difficult can life be up here, winter’s almost upon us, things are quiet, trouble’s far away?

Gerrard blinked. Beg pardon, m’lord. The snowy months be when the monsters come down from the high country. The worst of the dagger-men been driven into the mountains. They lurk about the villages an’ farms. You’ll have to patrol all the valley here-around. The duke, he protects his folk, he does. Last winter hung six rogues from the tall oak at the fork in the road right below the castle here.

They started back down the stairs.

Harow frowned. Monsters? What monsters? Sounds like some late-night drunken peasant twaddle.

Oh no, m’lord. Last year, during a blizzard, one whole family got eaten. When the knights came to the farm, nothing left but gnawed bones.

Wolves, must have been hungry wolves. Harow stopped and stared out into the courtyard. A few of his men leisurely practiced their swordplay.

Gerrard stood by his elbow. Wolves don’t break down no doors or hang bodies from the ceiling.

Harow shook his head and shrugged. Where do I begin? he muttered. Looking down at Gerrard, he added, And what are dagger-men?

When the Raggety Prince caught up men for his great army, some didn’t care to fall in. They ran to join the outlaws already in the hills, they did. Things wasn’t never good between ol’ Raggety an’ the duke. Now they’re worse, with desperate strangers an’ all. Duke chases them out, Raggety chases them back in. Been little wars between them for long as I can remember, now it’s kill on sight. Gerrard spat on the ground. No love lost between us an’ lowlanders. Beg yur pardon, m’lord. He grinned at Harow, Dagger-men, you know, desperates who carries sharp knives.

Harow directed his gaze to the high stone walls. These were patrolled by the duke’s men. He wondered how long he had to get organized. The duke was leaving for his home at High Vale today. From farm labor to scholar to castle warden, and now this, utter madness, all within a year. Without thinking, he made the sign of the crab against the door pillar to ward off the sixteen lesser devils.

Raggety Prince? The Raggety...ah yes, you mean, Prince Regnar, the queen’s brother. The madman who wanted him dead, his sister in prison or worse, and her daughter tied to his bed. Regnar, the man who desired to be High King and would probably do anything to gain the throne. He’d already seen to the death of one king and thrown the land into turmoil.

I suppose I should find Daneld and speak to him about our situation. Harow grimaced. Any minute now I can expect a summons from Duke Owaine Montagne.

I can take you to your man Daneld. Know where to find him, but first, Gerrard hesitated, but first we should confirm our deal. He held out his hand. I swears to be your good an’ faithful squire. Do you justice an’ all the serious, by my sainted eyeballs an’ bloody backside, swearing stuff.

Harow took the offered hand. We’ll give it a try.

You calls me Gerrard. What do I calls you? Don’t know many mighty warriors on a name basis.

Harow frowned. His mother called him ‘dreamer,’ his brother Plou shouted ‘pest,’ and to his uncle Wil he was simply ‘the kid.’ But Queen Reginee named the scholar, Duke Royale, with a lengthy list of other fancy-sounding titles that meant nothing to him. He couldn’t use those with this youth who might be only six or seven years younger than himself. How about you simply call me Harow when we’re alone, or Sir Harow, when we’re in company.

Righty-o, follow me then, Harow, sir. Your Daneld’s probably still mooning over his lady.

His lady? Harow blinked and fell in step with the squire.

You know, the one Raggety shot with an arrow.

Ah yes, dear Gwendolyn, the maid wounded in our escape from Casa Wurthi. Daneld is fond of her, I believe.

Gerrard grinned as they climbed the narrow stairs to the servant’s quarters. Fond of her, you say. Is this what they calls it out South in the flats? By the length of time he spends at her side, you’d ha’ thought them long wed an’ bedded. He turned and winked at Harow. Up here they say ‘he’s well in harness,’ they would.

They passed through a deserted kitchen and Gerrard pointed to a closed door beyond. You’ll find him in there.

Harow knocked. You stay out here, and for a change, sit on that loose tongue of yours.

Daneld opened the door and grinned broadly. By the hem of Saint Hubert’s robe, was I glad to hear you decided to remain with us instead of running off home. The other lads agree.

Daneld grabbed Harow by the hand and dragged him into the room. It made my day when her majesty told us you’d be commanding this dreary pile of rocks. Some of the boys might have problems taking orders from a mountain-born stranger. We’re a long way from home.

Do come in, my lord, and share a cup with us. The familiar smiling face of the plump and pleasant chambermaid from Casa Wurthi beamed up at him from the pile of pillows cushioning a large wooden chair. A faded white cloth bandage wrapped up one otherwise quite bare shoulder peering out from a lace nightgown looking as though it might have once belonged to the queen. She smiled at Daneld. He hurried to fetch a pottery cup and a flask and she made to rise, but Daneld gently pushed her back into the chair.

How are you healing, Lady Gwendolyn? Harow kept his gaze fixed on her face.

She grinned and winked at him. Still not a lady, but doing quite well, my lord. She touched Daneld’s arm. Your man’s taking good care of me, he is.

She saved my life. If she had not taken the arrow it might have killed me. Daneld passed the cup to Harow but remained standing beside the girl. Gwen is being brave. She lost a lot of blood. Why, if it hadn’t been for the queen and her healing arts, Gwen would have died before we reached the mountains.

Nonsense. She beamed up at Daneld and patted his hand.

Harow downed the cup in three long gulps and took his leave. The red wine left a harsh taste on his tongue. Not as good as what the priests served back at the cathedral, or even the vintage Queen Reginee bore on our flight from the city, he muttered, making a face as he closed the door. I wonder if this is a sample of the kind of fare we can expect while trapped up here this winter. Of course, if he was still back home on the farm he’d think this sour brew was the nectar of the gods.

Gerrard looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

Take me to Duke Owaine. I might as well get an earful of instructions before he rides out for home at High Vale.

They were about to leave the keep in search of the duke when a large hand reached out from the shadows and clamped down on Harow’s shoulder, dragging him to a halt. He caught the heavy scent of rose water and crushed lilac right before a most ample bosom threatened to smother him. The familiar purr rumbled from somewhere in the vicinity above the top of his head.

"Oh my Lord Duke, I was devastated almost to death’s doorway to hear we were leaving today. I did hope we would have an opportunity for some...quiet conversation, just the two of us. I even saved a silver flask of aperitif I brought with me. It’s called Long After Midnight. Supposed to give unusual dreams, especially after strenuous exercise. Rescued the stuff from the rascal Regnar’s castle. I...oh, you’re turning blue." She released Harow.

He caught his breath. His bounding heart still seemed to be trying to escape from his chest through his ribs. Lady Mathilde, you startled me. We must be off. Summoned by Duke Owaine. Important duties. Arrangements to make for your safe journey. Take good care of the queen.

Harow pushed Gerrard in the direction of the courtyard.

Oh I will, my Lord Duke, you may be certain of that. And her sweet daughter too. We’d all want to make certain Desiree-Rose was safe, wouldn’t we, my lord. I hope you will come and visit us in High Vale, soon.

Oh, at the first opportunity, Harow called over his shoulder, shoving Gerrard on ahead of him. They stumbled out into the sunshine.

I believe the stories they tell. You must be very brave. Why, she’s...

"She, is the Lady Mathilde, the queen’s maid and bodyguard. Stay clear of her, lad."

She’s a giant.

She is...tall.

Tall? Tall yes, but wide too. Big as an angry bear. I thought she was going to eat you.

Don’t be ridiculous. Look, there’s Duke Owaine over by the stables. I have to go find out what my duties are while he’s away. You stay out of trouble.

Two

Duke Owaine Montagne stood beside a charger bigger than any of the horses Harow and company rode when they fled the fallen city. Owaine smiled broadly when he looked up and saw him approaching. Duke Harow, I’m pleased I will have an opportunity to speak with you before we leave. Glad to have a man of your ability assigned to my service, even if it may only be temporary, although...if things go well... He raised an eyebrow.

I thought I should get some instruction on what you expect from me.

Oh the usual. You know how to run a castle. I don’t need to tell you anything about this chore. Your main task will be to keep everyone warm and fed and patrol the valley south to the edge of the low country, and keep the treacherous rat, Regnar, shivering in his lair. There are few families out here this close to the border. Keep them safe. I’ve assigned two dozen of my own men to spend the winter here with you. I know that’s not many, even with your thirty, but it will have to do. But there’s another matter I wished to speak to you about. He leaned in close and lowered his voice.

It’s about the queen, your Queen Reginee. Does she have any favorite foods, drinks, colors of bedchamber?

Ah, not that I’m aware of.

How many servants do you think she might require? Is she difficult to please? My servants are not very sophisticated compared to what she’s used to, and High Vale, although more comfortable than here at barren Grey Crag, is not near the accommodation of the royal palace back in the city, or even her ancestral family home on the Rock at Casa Wurthi.

I think you will find her not too difficult to please. She did spend several days sleeping on the ground in a rough lean-to on the long road here without any complaint. Now her daughter, Desiree-Rose, was a far different matter. She never ceased complaining, loud and bitter.

Yes. Duke Owaine looked thoughtful. I was amazed to hear she rode hard all that great distance. Through such adventures you had, too. She looks so delicate and fragile. Like a precious ornament. Yet when we first met, out on the meadow, and she challenged me, I could have mistaken her for a messenger from Belldona, Goddess of War

Harow should warn him. About her daughter, Desiree-Rose...

Duke Owaine frowned. Yes, I meant to speak to you about her. I saw the way you looked at each other. The Princess Desiree-Rose is a sweet and lovely child.

And especially when she was threatening to behead or castrate someone. Harow shuddered in remembrance.

Duke Owaine leaned closer to whisper in Harow’s ear. I’m simply not certain you are right for her. We live in dangerous and confused times. I know the queen says she wishes to retire from the royal madness, but whether she desires this or not, there will be many who want her to take back the throne. There will also be as many who wish to take the throne from her. Desiree-Rose is an important pawn in this game. I’m afraid she will have to aim higher than a duke if we are to gain allies.

I understand. By the Thirteen Holies, I swear I have no such thoughts of the princess. The occasional mad dream perhaps, but certainly no waking thoughts.

Good. Duke Owaine straightened up and turned toward his horse. I was afraid you might be one of those grasping rascals who set their aim too high. Good luck, Duke Harow, until we meet again in the spring, or you decide to make the dangerous ride to High Vale through the snows. I hope there will be no need for such a journey. He mounted his steed. Here comes the royal party now.

Squires and stable boys hurried out leading saddled horses. Heavily armed knights and mounted warriors joined them.

Duke Owaine gave out a long sigh. By the lost crown of the Old High Kings, doesn’t she look magnificent? This may be one journey I wish were far longer.

Queen Reginee wore a leather riding cape over her outfit, the large hood thrown back allowing her dark hair to hang free. She smiled at Owaine and Harow, granted them both a slight tilt of her head, and gracefully floated across the courtyard to where her steed waited.

There is something almost unearthly about her. Owaine spoke in hushed tones.

True.

She must be one of the saints come down to judge us mortals, I think. He glanced down at Harow. You were a most fortunate man to spend so much time in her presence. Here comes the princess. I think the dear child follows in her mother’s sacred footsteps.

Desiree-Rose, wrapped in a purple cape covering her from hooded head to boot tip, made her way through the crowd, eyes straight ahead until she reached Harow’s side. She motioned for a squire to bring her horse and took up Harow’s hand in hers. You will miss me, won’t you?

Ah...of course, Your Highness.

You will come and visit us in High Vale.

Ah...I may not be able to leave, duties here, you know. The winter and all.

"That was not a question." She smiled, removed her gauntlet, and held up her hand for him to kiss.

Out of the corner of his eye, as he bent, Harow caught the duke’s frown and shake of his head. He made certain his lips barely brushed her skin. Even so, he caught the powerful scent of rose water and crushed lilac.

Her long black hair brushed his cheek as she bent close and whispered, You had better miss me, Duke Harow. Sweet dreams. She waved the squire away and motioned for Harow to assist her to mount.

Far too much like her mother, he feared, for the safety of us mere mortal men. She learned the womanly arts quickly.

Princess Desiree-Rose, light in his hands as a goose feather, seated on the saddle in an instant, blew him a kiss and spurred her horse across the courtyard to take a position beside the queen.

Duke Owaine hesitated a moment before joining the royals at the head of the column. Remember our conversation. She is not for you. The words hung in the air long after he had ridden off.

By Good Saint Anxious, far be it for me to even dream such wild thoughts, Harow muttered to himself. Besides, whoever marries the princess will have a short, noisy, and far too exciting life. I’m destined for a quiet life of harvest and plow, not castles and queens. As soon as spring breaks, I’m for home.

Mathilde rode up on