A Royal Affair (15 page)

I had come to get the king’s permission to leave, but first I had to explain myself. Why was his newly decorated (at great expense, with the finest paper from London) chapel being stripped? What the devil (his expression, not mine) did I mean by it? I could hardly explain it myself. It was a rumor amongst those of us who specialized in the treatment of poison. It was whispered thoughts about children dying in green bedrooms, of ladies who died wearing green dresses, of gentlemen dying in their smoking rooms and lying still and cold upon green baize. None of us could articulate our fears, but nevertheless we shared them. It could not be spoken of, for were we not already suspected of dealing in the dark arts? How can a color kill you? It was ridiculous, and we would have been laughed out of our patients’ rooms.

So we made up other reasons for the green sickness, but ones that still enabled us to separate our patients from the green in their lives. I had not even thought that the king’s chapel might be lined with a deadly color. I could see I was not being wholly believed, but it was imperative that he follow my instructions and remove the lethal color. In the end, swallowing my pride, I offered an explanation that one of my colleagues had invented and often used when persuading his most reluctant clients: God’s will. I told the king that green was God’s color—the color that he had used to dress our world—and as the Christian Bible says, he is a jealous God. I told the king that he had offended God by mimicking his glorious works: stick to blue and red. I saw a wise nodding now from his counselors. I sighed. I wondered if it was time to change profession.

I was gratified and flattered, at first, that the king refused to hear of my departure and said that I must stay. He liked me. He owed me his life, and, as with any tenuous lifeline, he was very reluctant to let go. But let go he did. I reasoned with him, and eventually I had my letters of dismissal, excellent royal references, and a purse very satisfactorily stuffed with coin.

I was in a much better mood when I returned to my rooms to give Stephen orders about the packing up and shipping of my personal belongings. When the boy (who was moping and sulking for some reason) told me that my boxes could go that week, as there was a ship from London in harbor, I stilled my hand. Could I overcome my reluctance to a sea crossing? It would mean no fear of winter trapping me in the mountains…. I could be home before the Christmas season…. I mulled it over as I packed and decided that I would go down to the harbor and view the ship before I made my decision. I had not gone a mile before I heard the pounding of hooves, and Aleksey reined in beside me, his great beast loping ahead, as if he knew my destination. Aleksey did not greet me, so I said nothing as well. Eventually, though, he inquired in a sulky voice, “Did he pay you well?”

It was a particularly rude question. Doctors do not like to discuss the fact that they get paid for their services, preferring to imply they act for charity’s sake. I nodded and left it at that. “Why are we going this way?”

We, I thought, had not been going anywhere, but I refrained from pointing this out and replied evenly, “I have heard there is a ship in from London. I want to see it.”

“All ships look the same.”

“I am leaving. If the ship is suitable, I might book a passage upon
it.”

He was silent again for a while. I decided I preferred him talking. I wanted to hear his lies. I wanted a great deal more than that. I wanted to pull him from his horse and beat him until he cried for my mercy, which I might or might not give him. “Did you enjoy yourself last night?”

He cast me a quick glance. “I suppose so. What are you going to do when you return to England?”

I had hoped my question would annoy him, force him to talk about what had happened behind closed doors—without me. I thought of something else that might annoy him more. “I hadn’t thought about it. Why? I may travel for a while. I may go home.”

He frowned. “Home?”

“Hmm. To the Americas. My people.”

I could almost hear his thoughts, hear him making the connections. Very satisfactorily, as I wanted him to, he asked in a roundabout way, “That’s… that is the place you spoke of? Where… unchristian practices are common?”

I nodded gravely, then twisted the knife. “Men there love openly with other men as easily as we love women in our world. It is quite something to behold. I think, freed as they are from any form of religion, other than the worship of their perfect bodies, they do not find men joining with other men at all strange.”

Most of this was a complete fabrication, of course. The Powponi had a very well-formed spiritual life, and they certainly did not encourage their young warriors to waste their seed inside the bodies of their brothers. Rather, it was valued and celebrated as a means of increasing the numbers and strength of the tribe. Nevertheless, if two men wished to be intimate, they could, and nothing was said or done to stop them. It suited my purposes that morning, however, to annoy and upset His Royal Highness Prince Christian Aleksey, and that is what I was doing. I wondered what his next question would be. I could sense one coming. I put my money on the perfect bodies comment. I was right.

“They are very dark skinned, these people? Like Margaret?”

“Not at all. They are light brown. The same color I was when I first arrived. Here….” I held out my arm, still browner than it would be when winter came upon us. “About this shade.” I trailed my fingers lightly up and down, rather in the same way the young woman had run hers on my leg. Aleksey swallowed, his eyes watching the display. “Their hair is your shade but very straight and worn long with braids and decorations, small skulls and feathers. They are the most beautiful people on earth, I believe. Especially their young men, who live on a diet that encourages muscle growth. They are tall, and as they live naked, their muscles are always on display.”

“They live naked! What! All the time?”

Of course they did not, stupid boy. This was more fun than I had anticipated when I began. “It is a very favorable climate: warm most of the year, so there’s no requirement for covering. They sometimes use paint to enhance certain… obvious features. When erect, for example—but other than that, they are naked.”

I turned my face away toward the ocean to hide my expression. I wondered how he was picturing the decoration—and the erections, come to that. “And you? Surely you, as a white man and a Christian, did not follow this custom?”

“I am not a Christian. I was not then, and I am not now.”

He put a hand on my reins to stop our progress. “What do you mean?”

“I was taken captive when I was very young. I grew up without knowledge of your Bible or your God.”

He frowned deeply. “But God is everywhere. It is not possible to be without knowledge of him.”

I shrugged and let him work a bit harder for himself.

Eventually he asked, “Why did you leave? And how? I mean, this place is a long way away, is it not?”

“Yes, from here certainly.” I did not particularly want to go into the reasons for my departure from the colonies or details of my journey to England. I pursed my lips, toying with Xavier’s mane, twisting up little strands. “I met someone who persuaded me to return to England with a departing ship. I was… restless and wanted the adventure.”

“And that was the first time you wore clothes?”

I laughed out loud at the innocent wonder and childlike naivety of his question. He had fixated on the nakedness, as I thought he might, and could not now see beyond it. I was glad. He had not pursued the subject of that terrible sea voyage and my unrequited passion. We had arrived at the docks. I stopped spinning my small web of revenge and looked about for a likely ship. Aleksey wandered off to buy some food from the stalls that always surrounded ports, and I made my way to the harbor office to inquire about passage to London.

I heard the first cries of alarm a few moments after entering the office but thought I was hearing gulls, the cries of which had been a background accompaniment to our whole conversation. But the har
bormaster, clearly more used to the true sound of these scavengers than I, looked up, surprised. He glanced out the open door and mumbled something in the awful local dialect that I did not catch. We both went outside onto the quay when the shouting got louder. I immediately looked around for the prince. I was not so angry with him that I wanted something harmful to have occurred. On the contrary, it was not that kind of anger at all.

A number of men were congregating around another. He was shouting, and they were taking up the cry. Aleksey suddenly appeared at my side. His pale face was alight with what I could only describe as glee. “We have been invaded!” These were not the words I expected to accompany that look. I told him so. He punched my arm and reiterated, as if this explained all his great joy, “We’re at
war
, Niko!
War
!” He ran to his horse and snatched Xavier’s bridle at the same time, then led them both over. He swung up into his saddle, his thighs rippling, his whole body taut and vibrant. “Come on! Or we’ll miss it!”

I climbed into my saddle beside him. “We will miss the war?”

Color rose even more on his cheekbones. “Well, all right, not the war, but I don’t want to miss the fun of telling everyone. Come on!”

We cantered through the dockside, adding to the excitement of the crowd. They began to cheer the prince, and me also, I suppose. It was ludicrous. Aleksey loved it, though, and returned their cries with a clipped wave of his hand, the general bestowing his blessing. I sighed, spurred Xavier to a gallop, and outpaced him upon the open road. With any luck, I could use this new corn raid to my advantage and slip away unnoticed later that day. I wanted no good-byes. By the look of Aleksey’s distraction, I wouldn’t get them anyway. Some old doctor was leaving? How could that compare with going to war? He’d probably wear his scarlet and green jacket, polish his medals, and ride proudly in front of his army. Hesse-Davia had gone to war. How exciting.

S
AXEFALIA
,
THE
country to the east of Hesse-Davia’s borders, was the great Satan that had dared to cross and claim a large peninsula which had been a subject of dispute for many generations between the two nations. As I had discovered from King Gregor in the sweat lodge, this country was the very one that had taken Aleksey as a boy and held him hostage for two years. I had expected him to be bitterer toward it, but he was not. He remembered his time there extremely fondly as, according to him, he had been treated as a favored prince and pretty much allowed to do exactly as he wished. Just as his life here, then, I pointed out. But he wasn’t in the mood for my sarcasm. He had a war to plan. He was clearly very disappointed by my lack of enthusiasm, and constantly appeared in my rooms to show me plans and maps and consult me, in a flattering way I suppose, about strategy. I told him that the only preparation I had ever made for war was to slap paint on. He liked this idea and went off to propose it to Colonel Johan.

I tried to impress on him the horror of war, the mutilated bodies, the emotional scars that never healed, but he was having none of this. And I had to admit, there was some justification to his argument that life was bloody and bitter and short for most men anyway, and that at least if they were at war, they died for some reason and with honor. Also, more importantly, as he pointed out, they died with a pension that went to their families.

I had frowned at this when he first mentioned it, not understanding the concept, and he had immediately tried to change the subject. We were poring over maps spread upon the table in his rooms—or he was. I was watching him and pretending to be interested in the calculation of rates of march versus likely weather constraints. But I did switch into his chatter when he mentioned this pension, just as he stumbled to silence and tried to change the subject to quantities of wine which might be carried.

When pressed, though, he admitted, “It was my first act when I became general. I had seen terrible things in battle that ruined a man’s body, but it seemed to me that a man’s soul was ruined when he was left behind—unable to fight. It’s such a contradiction. I wonder why clever men have not studied it. Anyway, I increased each man’s pay by one-third but kept that extra money back—and trust me, Niko, that was not easy to sell to the men. I think they thought I was actually keeping it all for myself. But it is there for them—when they are injured or too old to fight.”

I frowned. “But is that not motivation for you to see them killed outright in battle—not be treated so they might recover?”

He stared at me as if I’d performed a lewd act over his maps and replied haughtily, “If they die, the pension is paid to their families for
their
relief.”

“Oh.” It was now explained why Aleksey’s army always appeared so well manned. I assumed it had its pick of the young men of Hesse-Davia desperate to join.

This conversation led me to stop my criticism of his war and take a more active interest in it. For, of course, it made me stop my
personal
war with Aleksey. I don’t think he had actually realized that we
were
at war, so that had rather ruined my fun anyway. But how could I hate a man who could think of something like that? Whenever I tried to return to my anger and jealousy, he would do something that proved he had hidden depths, which, for some reason, he kept well hidden under the guise of an idle, spoiled prince.

For the first few days after the declaration of war, I fully intended to keep to my resolution and leave. But two things happened that prevented me. Firstly, they closed the borders; that was the more practical reason. Had I forced the king’s hand, he would have let me go. After all, the closure was more to keep people out than in, but then the second thing occurred, and leaving became less attractive.

I was on my way to the stables to ready Xavier for a possible secret flight during the night, but before I could cross the courtyard, a messenger accosted me, informing me the king had summoned me. Assuming this to be official confirmation of my sequestration in Hesse-Davia for the duration of the war, I debated making a dash for freedom there and then, but something held me back. Pride? Possibly—I didn’t want an unseemly tussle with the servant. But it was more than that. I felt a sense of helplessness, as if I were merely one of the ships trapped in the harbor and my fate now was entirely beyond my control.