“I’m not a child, Miri. And I’m not such an old man, either.”
“No, but you don’t do well at long ceremonies. Oh, and that reminds me, Earl Gared is bringing his son for a Naming at St. Sutrin’s. You don’t have to be there, but it would be good to invite him and Lady Devona to an audience afterward. Just say a few nice things about Nordhithe and admire the baby, then send them on their way. Oh, and a gift. Jeremias should be able to find them a nice silver cup or some plate. Remember, Nordhithe is on Hugh’s border and we need to keep Gared sweet. The Hernystiri are worrying me.”
“The Hernsytiri aren’t worrying me nearly as much as the Norns.”
“Of course, but we’ve already talked about that. Which reminds me, have you sent out the muster orders?”
“No. But before you start poking at me, woman, I do know what I’m doing. We already agreed it has to be done quietly. If we start crying ‘the White Foxes are coming’ up and down the countryside we’ll have a panic, not to mention another ten thousand people trying to get inside the walls of Erchester. God knows what it would mean farther north—farms abandoned, villages deserted, roads falling apart . . .”
“So what are we doing now? What if they come marching down out of the north when the new moon comes?”
“The Norns won’t come in the middle of summer. They like fighting in the cold and dark because they know we don’t. But even so, I’m sending out people I trust to talk to all the northern nobles—they’ll understand the danger right away. And we’d have to warn them, anyway, so all we’re really doing is keeping it among those who must know now.”
“I’m not sure . . .”
“Miri, we met a single band of White Foxes on the Frostmarch Road, and had a letter of warning from a man we’ve never heard of, and the only thing we know for certain about him is that he was traveling with the Norns. I don’t trust that horrid, silver-faced witch up north any more than you do, but there will still be a harvest to bring in this year.”
“And if we need soldiers instead, it will take a long time to get them.”
“And if we tell them we need them this moment and then we’re wrong, how long will it take to muster them next time? Or the time after that? It will be like the Tale of the Idle Shepherd.”
“I suppose.”
“You know, wife, this isn’t really what I thought we’d be doing on the night before you sail for Nabban.”
“I’m sure that’s true. Which reminds me, the Controller of the Salt Staple in Meremund has to be replaced—he’s a drunk and he has his hand in the money box. Same for the Controller of Wool.”
“We’re not going to have any luck with Tostig. He has most of the Wool Staples in his pocket because he’s smart enough to share his thefts. The Council of Erchester love him. Besides, you know he’s another of Osric’s cousins. Aedon bless us and protect us, that man has more cousins than a dog has fleas.”
“Yes, but he’s the heir’s other grandfather, Simon. He feels he has the right to dip his snout into the High Throne’s jar and eat as much as he pleases. And it keeps him sweet.”
“Don’t I know it. And without his three thousand Falshiremen and his Wentmouth levies, if it comes to a fight with the White Foxes we might as well rename ourselves Southern Nornland.”
“No jests, Simon. Please, not when I have to go away. Not when everything feels so fragile.”
? ? ?
“I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I’m in tears. I just woke up feeling dreadful.”
“Don’t, Miri. Don’t apologize.”
“But I don’t like crying. It’s an excuse for people to say, ‘She’s just a woman.’”
“I like holding you, though. Stop wriggling.”
“Oh, very well, but just for a moment. It will be time for me to get dressed soon—I have so much to do! And in any case, Jeremias will be in soon, and I don’t particularly like the way he chirps around here in the morning like a fat robin.”
“He is doing his duty, beloved, nothing more.”
“I know. Ooh, your hands are cold.”
“You don’t get away so easily. Besides, you know what they say. ‘Cold hands . . . warm horn.’”
“You! Stop that. We have things to talk about still—many things.”
“And you’re leaving tomorrow. Damn and blast, Miri, don’t push me away!”
“And what will happen if I let you? Afterward, you will smile like a dog in the sun, roll over, and fall back asleep while there are still important matters to discuss.”
“No. I will kiss you first, many times. Because I love you, and I’m going to miss you terribly. Don’t you still love me?”
“Yes, you fool man. Most of the time I love you to distraction. The rest of the time, the distraction comes on its own. But as you know, we have other responsibilities now.”
“Oh, God on His Throne, responsibilities! I hate that word sometimes. And I miss the days when it wasn’t like this. Don’t you wish we could just do what we wished? Go where we wished?”
“I don’t think I could do that, Simon. I don’t think I could forget all the people who count on us. And neither could you, if I remember correctly, not even when you were young. That’s why you risked your life for Josua and had to flee the castle. No, don’t get up. Please. Come, hold me again, but be careful with those cold hands! I have just remembered about the Perdruinese factors.”
“Not them again.”
“Yes, them. If I’d known I was going to Nabban I could have arranged to meet them there, but they are already coming here. They’ll arrive before the end of Tiyagar-month. They say that it is unfair to set the tariff so high for their grain, because the farmers in the south have had a terrible year.”
“So we will lower it.”
“You cannot. Then the Northern Alliance factors will be angry. And our own grain merchants here in Erkynland will not be best pleased, either.”
“Why should we argue with Perdruinese traders in the first place?”
“Because they are part of my grandfather’s kingdom, part of the High Ward, and we have made promises to treat them fairly.”
“No, I mean why should we tell them anything at all? Why not let them decide for themselves what prices to set?”
“Because farmers, shepherds, merchants, traders, they are all strung together like beads on a necklace. Do not pretend to be foolish, Simon. You know this. It is all one great thing, and we must pull the strands at one end to keep them tight at the other, and so on. Back and forth, back and forth.”
“They could do it better for themselves, surely.”
“Then they would not be under the High Ward and would soon go back to fighting and killing each other. Have you forgotten about the old days before my grandfather, when Nabban fought Erkynland and Perdruin, and Erkynland fought Hernsytir, and everyone fought with Rimmersgard and the Thrithings-Men? That was why my grandfather King John brought them together under one throne, and why we must rule over them all. To keep them from killing each other.”
“If the High King and the High Queen must decide what every single grain factor and wool merchant is to do, it seems to me that something is wrong. It also means that all the power is vested in the High Throne.”
“Yes, that’s what it means.”
“What if the person sitting on the throne is, pardon my saying so, more like your father than your grandfather? Or like King Hugh instead of Eolair, or like Drusis instead of his brother Saluceris?”
“Morgan will not be like any of those!”
“No? I hope not too. But what of Morgan’s sons and daughters? What of the others to come? How long until a madman or a fool sits on the High Throne?”
“I’m beginning to think there is at least one fool sitting on it now. Not to mention an ape with no manners. Did I tell you to start pawing me again?”
“I’m sorry. You’re right, Miri, I have no manners. But it feels so sweet when I squeeze you right . . . there.”
“Stop, you monster.”
“Yes. Yes, I am. A monster who is going to miss you so fiercely that I will pray every day and every night for you to hurry back to me. Hurry back to me, wife, so I can do this.”
“Simon, please.”
“Are there any other important details you need to give me? Let’s call in Pasevalles and the clerks to be certain. Surely there is a thread that some weaver in Crannhyr has broken that I should replace. Or is there a fisherman on Firannos Bay who cannot earn his living until I mend his nets for him?”
“That is not a net you are paddling, ape.”
“Nor are you a fisherman. So it works out well for everyone.”
“Pig.”
“Tyrant.”
“Fool. Great clumping fool of a husband. By the sweet Mother of God, I shall miss you.”
“And I shall miss you. No more talk. Kiss me. It will be dawn soon.”
“Oh. Oh, what are you doing there?”
“Nothing but my duty. All this talk of duty has inspired me to send the King’s Hand on a state visit.”
“Simon! You really are like a child, did you know that? An irresponsible boy.”