The Cup of the World (3 page)

Footsteps receded, and the chapel was still.

What was that about?
asked Phaedra of the unseen figure on the bench beside her.

The knight stirred.

The King is in a dilemma. He must choose between breaking a promise to someone who has influence, and doing the same to someone who has less, but to whom, in the prince's mind, it would be more honourable to stay faithful
.

There was a case in the court this morning
, Phaedra told him.
They were going to settle it by combat. The King stopped it and said he was going to think
.

No doubt it is that. How do you like the court?

Not at all. I thought I had found friends, but when I told them what you said about justice they laughed at me
.

You told them the truth. You should not be ashamed of that. How they treat it is their affair
.

Phaedra knew that she was awake, and therefore if she turned to face him he would not be there. But if she looked in front of her, up at the faces of the Angels, she could sense from the corner of her eye the shadowy folds of the black cloak, his dark hair and pale skin, and the huge stone cup that he nursed upon his knees. She knew they were there, for she saw them in her dreams.

There must be power before there is law
, said the knight.
And all laws bend to it
.

‘When shall I see you again?’

The sound of her own voice startled her. She had not meant to speak aloud. And there was no reply, for now he had gone.

That night she swept out onto the floor of the throne hall, where the witch had stood alone a few hours before. Again the walls were crowded with people: the knights and nobles of the Kingdom. But this time their women were among them, and this time the eyes were fixed upon her.

Father paced at her side. Tall, big-bearded, barrel-chested, he trod the aisle towards the throne, and in her heavy brocaded dress she moved in his shadow. Ahead of her, Amanthys and her father were already making their curtsy and bow to the King. Behind her, the voice of the herald was calling the name of the next knight and daughter to come forward. The ceremonies had been underway
for more than an hour, beginning with the long rigmarole of the knighting of Septimus, and then of three other young squires. But now, and for a few moments more, it was her turn. The eyes were on her and the whispers were about her, the child of Trant upon her father's arm, with her father's jewels in her hair. She knew that they liked what they saw. She wished that they did not.

They approached the trio of thrones, and the broad steps that led to them. The King was robed in gold in his place, just as if he had not moved since the morning. The princes, the same courtiers – they were there too. A few paces more: the last yards seemed also to be the slowest. The slightest tug from Father's arm halted her a moment before she expected it. He was bowing. She dropped slowly into her curtsy – long and low, Father had said, and the more of both the better. Now Father was speaking to the King the ritual phrases of introduction that he had repeated to her during their rehearsals. She must stay down.

Had the witch made a curtsy that morning, before the eyes that had been planning to kill her?

‘Greetings, Trant,’ said the soft voice from the High Throne. ‘We have loved your house for its valour in our service. Now we may love it for its beauty as well.’

And now she could rise and look up into the King's face, which was nothing more than an old man's face framed between a gold robe and a heavy crown. The white hair and beard were thin. She could see the pink of old skin beneath them. She looked into the pale eyes, and saw one eyebrow lifted slightly, as if he was surprised by something he saw.

‘And has the beauty of Trant words that it would wish us to hear?’ said the King, after a moment.

Words? Her?

Father had not warned her about this!

She felt his arm tense. He had not been expecting it, either. And surely Amanthys had not been asked to say anything when it was her turn.

Why her?

There was only one thing she could say. And she must curtsy again.

‘Only my obedience, Your Majesty’ she said, keeping her eyes down.

‘Obedience?’ said the soft, old voice. ‘Obedience is good. We know we may look to Trant for that.’

He must have given some sign then, for as she rose for the second time Father's arm was pulling at hers, drawing her away from the thrones. She looked back. The eyes of Barius still followed her, from the Throne Ochre. Septimus, with his bright gold spurs on his heels, was staring after her, and so were some of the counsellors. But the King was already looking down the hall at the next man and girl to approach him – and the next, and the next. Phaedra was gone from his mind.

They joined Amanthys and her father, waiting a little to one side of the steps to the thrones. Amanthys was ignoring her, so Phaedra did the same. She looked around the long hall and drew deep breaths to steady her heartbeat, which had been going like a hammer without her being aware of it.

The walls were lit with the light of the low sun, pouring through the windows. It must be a wonderful, calm
evening out there, away from all this throng of people. Up in the gallery where she had been that morning, a group of minstrels were sidling into their places. Below them the court watched the father-and-daughter couples, approaching the thrones in their turn to announce that another girl, and yet another, had crossed the threshold to womanhood. She watched closely to see if the King spoke to any of the daughters. He did not. Why had he spoken to her?

Septimus was still looking her way. She dropped her eyes quickly.

The murmurs of the crowd were rising more loudly. Phaedra realized that much of the talk had nothing to do with the formal procession. The faces in the first rank – mainly women – were following the walkers intently, looking for matches for their sons. But behind them men were standing in twos and threes, whispering among themselves. Some were not even pretending to watch. Phaedra saw one man gesturing across the aisle to another, whom she could not see, but who must have been standing in the crowd not far from her. They were arranging to meet. Did they want to discuss marriages already? More likely it was to do with the hearings that had run for days, and must run a day or two yet before all the vanquished rebels had been judged and the loyal men rewarded. They would be talking over the outcomes – perhaps even trying to fix them, as someone had tried so murderously to fix the outcome of the case that afternoon.

She could sense Father beside her, watching the hall as she was doing. He too seemed to have forgotten the exchange at the thrones. He was itching to be out intriguing among his fellows.

Now the fifth and last of the couples was joining them, and beyond them the singer of the King had taken his place in the centre of the hall. The strings of the minstrels began to flow with their notes from the gallery overhead. In a high voice the singer began the well-worn opening phrases of
The Tale of Kings
, which related the coming of Wulfram and his seven sons over the sea to found the Kingdom. Around her, the group of fathers and daughters had begun to break up. Father was already bending to hear what some baron was whispering in his ear. She did not want to talk with anyone. She did not want to stand there, watching the court seethe with politics while the King carried on as if the ceremony was the only business, and all the land was at peace. There was a small door in the wall behind her – half-ajar, because someone had already gone down it. She hesitated. No one was looking at her.

She knew it would be improper to leave the hall before it was time for the procession to the banquet. Father at least would be angry, if he realized what she had done. But the singer was telling a long version of
The Tale
, running through the deeds of generation after generation of kings, because the King on the throne wanted to remind everyone how important kingship was. So she would be a prisoner here for an hour or more before the procession began. Others had slipped out, quietly. She would go also, because she dared to.

Obedience!

A short passage led to an archway lit by the evening sun. The sound of the ceremonies diminished behind her. She found herself in a little paved court surrounded by
old, white colonnades. Low fruit trees grew within its walls. There was a fountain here, its waters lying still in its wide bowl. Phaedra leaned her arms upon it.

She remembered another fountain, very like this one, in the ruined court outside the walls of her home. She wished that they had never left Trant. She wished that they could be like some other families – including one or two of the greatest – which still held themselves aloof from the court. Why come just to grovel before the King? But Father was a king's appointed warden, and a king's man to his very heart.

A voice spoke at her elbow.

‘Is it that you prefer Wulfram's stones to Wulfram's songs, Phaedra?’

It was the oldest of the girls who had gone with her to the witch trial, standing alone beside her. She was wearing court dress, so she must have followed Phaedra out of the hall.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I saw you leave. I wondered why’

Phaedra remembered that her name was Maria. She had a pleasing, oval face, with big eyes and heavy cheeks framed with light-brown hair. Perhaps she had hung back when the others had teased Phaedra that morning. But Phaedra was suspicious, and did not want to risk being laughed at again.

‘I like it here,’ she said, as if she had been coming to this fountain for centuries.

‘So do I. I thought it could be my private little place in Tuscolo. But of course everybody knows about it. I heard someone say it is the centre of the world.’

‘Why?’

‘I imagine they meant that it is the centre of Tuscolo, and therefore of the Kingdom. If that means it's the centre of the world, well … I suppose there must be lands beyond the wild Marches, but nothing comes from them. And Father says there are kingdoms over the sea, but only the mariners of Velis know how to get there, and they will not give away their secrets. Whatever the truth of that, it is certain that this court and fountain were built by Wulfram's sons. So they are as old as the world we know, at least.’

She was not teasing Phaedra for leaving the ceremony. Indeed, she seemed happy to play truant with her. Perhaps she too had been bored and disgusted in there. But Phaedra did not want to be easily won back. So she observed a dark silence, to show how much she had been hurt by the others that afternoon.

‘And the world knows you are a woman now,’ said Maria. ‘Or at least, all of the world that matters. Presented before the King and princes themselves. No one did as much for me. You made an impression up there, I could see. What was it they said to you?’

Silence did not seem to work as well as Phaedra felt it should.

‘I – I was remembering that woman we saw today, on trial,’ she said. ‘I think I must have frowned at the King. He wanted to know why’

Frowned? She had been scowling, she realized: at the King, who was supposed to be the Fount of the Law!

‘Oh, Angels!’ Maria laughed. ‘And what did you say?’

Phaedra shrugged. She felt ashamed of what she had said.

‘The others will have fits when I tell them—’

‘Please don't,’ Phaedra said firmly.

‘Oh dear. Well, I shall not then. And I'm sorry if we upset you, Phaedra. I thought it was all nonsense, too.’

‘They said we weren't good enough,’ Phaedra said, hoping she would be told at once how high and noble Trant was and that its wardens were respected throughout the Kingdom (although Father's grandfather had himself been a dog-knight, of course).

‘Good enough for what? If they meant marrying a prince, you've no less chance than the rest of them. You have looks. And Trant is a big name: one of the seven, even if it is not your father's of right. Whatever you did back there, I'd say Septimus was quite struck with you. He was looking your way just now, all the while that they were presenting those other girls.’

‘I didn't notice,’ said Phaedra, who had.

‘I did, and I doubt that I was the only one. But in truth, it is only the most powerful families who can count the odds of an alliance with the crown. They keep their daughters and cousins and nieces muffled away behind lace and locked doors against the prospect – poor things. Prince Barius is an impressive man, but he thinks of little beyond his devotions. He would much rather have been a monk, you know …

‘Of course marrying princes is a dream, Phaedra. We have to dream. We have to put a face on tomorrow. You should be sorry for us, not angry. And sorry for yourself, too. Do you know what – or rather who – will be waiting for you when you return home?’

‘No one. I'm not going to marry’

She heard Maria sigh, softly.

The last sunlight played on the waters at the centre of the world. In the branches of the fruit trees, doves cooed loudly at the coming dusk.

‘I've a cousin almost the same age as you,’ Maria said, in a dreamy tone as if she was talking to herself. ‘She has just passed her fifteenth birthday. She was a lovely, happy girl until this summer. Now she is shut up in a room at home, fed thinly and beaten each day, because she says she will not wed the man my aunt thinks it good that she should. And wed him she will, unless he tires of waiting for her spirit to be broken and seeks elsewhere. I hope my father will not use me so, in my turn. But he has ambitions and is waiting for a good chance. And when he has made up his mind, my fortune, rights, purpose, will be my husband's …

‘We all marry, Phaedra. Nothing works if we do not. But who? Amanthys already knows whose home it is she will be going to. If she is sharp with us sometimes, maybe she has reason. The rest of us – who knows? We may be scattered widely. I have made good friends here, and it hurts to think that we may not meet again. Some of the others have promised to write to me. I hope you will too.’

Phaedra looked down at her fingers, which gripped the rim of the bowl. The knuckles were white. Father won't make me marry, she thought. He can't.