Valdemar 06 - [Exile 01] - Exile’s Honor (55 page)

“Are we on schedule?” she asked, packing up her writing case with greater care than the simple task warranted.

“Ahead, a little,” he told her. “In readiness, all will be, for leaving at dawn.”

She closed and locked the case, then sighed. “I suppose I'll be expected to make a speech.”

“Yes.” He did not elaborate on that; he felt horribly sorry for her, but it was
her
duty, and she knew it. But there was another aspect to this journey of grief that he didn't think she had considered. Not only the army mourned its King, but the country. “It is wondered, Majesty, if pausing you will be at each village?” They'd left it to
him
to ask that delicate question, that and any others that might come up. He was acting Queen's Own, after all; delicate questions, it seemed, were a part of the job.

“At each village?” she asked, looking blank.

“A speech to make?” he elaborated.

She frowned, and looked as if she had suddenly developed a headache. “Oh, gods. I don't
want
to . . . but people are going to want to pay their respects, aren't they? But each time we stop, it's just going to make this whole thing drag out longer, and—” The frown turned into a look of despair, and he sensed that if he told her she
should
make all those stops, she'd do it, but it might break her.

He racked his brain for an answer, and finally thought he had a compromise. “Majesty—perhaps not a
stop,
and not a speech. But—spectacle. Something for memory and showing honor. A Herald sent ahead to warn each place that we come, then . . . drop pace to a slow walk? With—ah—muffled drums? Lowered banners? Through each place's center, though a detour we make? No speech, but—” he sought for the word, desperately, “—on your part, to be the icon of grief? You need speak not, only mourn, publicly—”

She looked as if he had taken a huge burden off of her shoulders. “The very thing—would you go see to it for me, get it all organized?”

She must be near the breaking point, or she wouldn't delegate that to me.
“At once, Majesty,” he promised. “Please—be eating would you? Little have you had since morning.”

That got a thin ghost of a smile from her. “Except for the accent, you sound like Talamir. Or my old nurse. All right, Nanny Alberich, I'll go get something to eat, and I promise I'll get some sleep, too. Maybe I'll have Crathach give me something to make me sleep, and go to bed early.”

“That, most wise would be,” he said. “And eat you must. Too thin, you are. How are you to get a husband, so thin you are?”

She stared at him for a moment in utter silence as he kept his face completely expressionless. Then, weakly, she began to laugh.

He allowed himself a smile.

She wiped away a tear, but he could see that some of the lines of grief and worry around her eyes had eased. “And they say you have no sense of humor,” she said.

“Nor do I. All know this,” he assured her. “Go now, and something impossible demand of the cooks.”

“Impossible?” That caught her off guard. “Why?”

“First, that a reason they will have, at last to complain. Cooks must complain; in their nature, it is. Second, that injured their pride has been, that you have asked for nothing. Their pride is in that their masters demand much of them. Third,
concerned
they have been, that you have asked for nothing. They fear you need them not. Fourth, they worry
for
you.” He raised an eyebrow. “But be certain, though impossible, it is something you
want.
Suspect I do, that they will create it.”

“Ah.” She blinked. “Do you know
everything
that is going on around here?”

He shook his head at that. “Not I. But Kantor I have, as Caryo
you
have. Our Companions know much, and what they know not, generally, they can discover. Sendar made use of that, often and often.”

“I'd better get used to doing the same, then.” This time her smile was a little stronger, as she picked up her writing case and stood up. “And I'll think about impossible things to eat on the way to my tent. Can you find Crathach and send him to me, while you're doing all the other things I've asked you to?”

“Without difficulty.” He returned her smile. “Ask Kantor, I shall.”

They left the tent together. She picked up her escort of Ylsa and Keren at the door of the command tent, and went her own way in the golden light of another perfect evening, while Alberich started off on the last of the errands she had set him.

The last turned out to be the first; Crathach was nearby, and heartily approved of Selenay's wish to sleep early. Most of the rest were trivial and easily discharged. That left the organization of what were essentially funeral corteges through every hamlet, village, and town on the road to Haven. But rather than solve that one himself, he asked Kantor to have all the Heralds that were left in camp—save only Selenay's bodyguards—meet him back at the command tent, and bring with them the remaining highborn, officers, and Bards. The latter because Bards tended to be very good at concocting ceremonies, and he suspected they would have some ideas.

They did. And it didn't take very long either, since this was only going to be a procession. The greatest amount of time was spent in deciding what the order of precedence was going to be, and then, what places in the procession would belong to whom. He left them at it, after about a mark;
his
place would be with Selenay, and if they settled their differences without any interference from him, even if not everyone was happy, they couldn't attach any blame to him
or
the Queen.

And nothing would be required of her except to follow the wagon carrying the coffin on foot, with Caryo walking beside her. Certainly no speeches. The focus of attention wouldn't be on her, but rightfully, on the King's remains, which should be something of a relief. So he hoped, anyway. If she wept, all the better. He hoped she would weep; she hadn't done nearly enough.

By this time, it was full dark, and the camp was quiet; with an early start planned for the morrow, most people had, if their duties allowed, made an early night. He moved down the now-familiar lanes of tents in the light of the torches stuck on either side of his path, thinking that this place would look very odd when all of the canvas had been struck and there was no sign of what had stood here but trampled grass.

:I'm glad to be leaving,:
Kantor said.

:So am I.:
At least in Haven, there would not be the ever-present reminders that
this
was the place where they had lost a King.

His tent had been moved inside what had been the royal enclosure to adjoin Selenay's, and out of habit, he glanced at hers to see if there was any light showing.

There wasn't, and with a feeling of relief, he nodded to the guards at the tent door, and entered his own. They didn't trouble to leave guards inside the tent anymore; Selenay's little pages all slept in bedrolls spread out across the floor, and anyone trying to get in would probably step on one of them. He certainly wouldn't get in quietly; those children slept lightly and the least little sound sent half a dozen heads shooting up. Any intruder would set off more noise than disturbing a flock of geese.

A lantern had been lit for him, and hung from the center pole, showing that most of his baggage had already been packed up and presumably put on the wagon. There wasn't much left; only a bedroll, a set of clean linen and the towels and soap he'd need in the morning, and Kantor.

Most Heralds' tents were big enough for their Companion, Myste's being an exception, but she had obviously gotten last choice on accommodations. Somewhat to his surprise, it wasn't at all unusual for Heralds to share their tents with their Companions, rather than using the canvas shelters. Kantor took up roughly half the space; that first night in his own tent again, bowed down by grief, he had craved Kantor's company with a need that was almost physical, and Kantor had obliged by leaving the canvas shelter at the side and moving into the tent proper. And at first, despite that craving, it had still seemed unnatural in a way to have a—horse—in his tent. Now it was just as in the old days when he had shared tent space with another Sunsguard; it no longer seemed at all odd to see him there.

:Excuse me. I believe I am far better company than
any
of the Sunsguard you ever shared tent space with,:
Kantor said indignantly.

He felt instantly contrite.
:I beg your pardon. Indeed you are. Did anyone leave anything here for me to eat?:

Selenay's swarm of little ones had adopted him as well, and lately had taken to fetching food for him at the same time that they got meals for her, leaving them in his tent, well-covered and protected against the depredations of insects and other pests.

:As a matter of fact, they did, and—I don't suppose you'll share?:
Kantor asked hopefully.

Since his appetite had suffered as much lately as Selenay's, Kantor's hope was well-founded.
:I don't know why not.:
He sat down on the bedroll and saw that the usual covered platter and cup had been left for him, cleverly balanced on two more cups in a pan of water, which prevented insects from crawling into it.

He took them out, and shoved the pan of water over to Kantor's side of the tent. Taking the cover off the platter explained why Kantor had hoped he'd share.

Selenay had asked for the impossible, gotten it, and had seen to it that
he
got some of the cook's largesse. Perfect for the heavy weather and a failing appetite were two sallats, a savory one and a sweet, the former a bed of greens with cheese, bits of chicken, fragrant herbs and spiced vinegar, the latter of chopped fresh fruit and nuts, with honey-sweetened cream. How had she known he'd like such things, too?

With the empty platter and cup left outside his tent door, he stretched out along his bedroll, and listened to the sounds of the camp. He had been a soldier for too long not to be able to sleep when he needed to, but he had also been a soldier for too long not to be able to assess the mood of the camp just from the night noises.

Tonight, he sensed mostly weariness and relief. They had been here long enough, and, through work and time, what had been terrible anguish had muted to bearable sorrow. Now it was more than time to go home and take up their lives again. Except, perhaps, for Selenay, the time for grief was over, and the time to move on had come.

And that was as it should be.

When morning came, he was barely able to get dressed and out of his tent before Selenay's servants swarmed all over it. Her tent had already been struck, and she was finishing a strong cup of
chava
and a buttered roll while in her saddle, as he escaped from the collapsing tent still tying the laces at the collar and cuffs of his shirt.

One of the “pages” handed him a similar cup and roll and waited, impatiently, for the empty cup. Another brought Kantor a bucket of grain; the Companion immediately plunged his nose into it and began his own breakfast. Prudently, Alberich ate and drank
before
getting into the saddle; there wasn't a chance he'd be given a chance to finish unless he did.

The
chava
wasn't scalding hot, as he had feared it might be, but the heavy admixture of cream and sugar, and the color, like thin mud, warned him that it was probably from the bottom of the pot.

It was; even with the help of cream and sweetening, it nearly made his hair stand on end. But it certainly woke him up. He handed the empty cup to the page, who took it and vanished; the second whisked off the bucket the moment Kantor lifted his head from it.

All around them, tents were falling in the thin gray light of predawn. Selenay gave her cup to a page just as Ylsa and Keren walked their Companions into what had been the royal enclosure. Alberich was in the saddle a moment later.

Selenay looked around at the vanishing camp. “Is breaking camp always like this?” she asked, a little dazed.

“A camp, we Sunsguard seldom had,” Alberich admitted.

“I got the impression last night that everyone was pretty impatient to be out of here. But don't take my word for it,” Keren shrugged. “I don't usually serve with the army.”

“That speech you should make before we leave, I fear,” Alberich told Selenay in an undertone. “But it will be the last, until Haven we reach. This, I can promise.”

She grimaced, but nodded. “I hope you two know where I'm supposed to be?” she asked the other two.

“That's why we're here,” Ylsa told her. “They sent us to fetch you.”

Selenay gestured broadly with one hand. “Well, lead on, since you know where we're going.”

The procession—for procession it would be, even when it wasn't going through a village—had already begun to form up on the road. Keren and Ylsa went straight to the front of it, where the rest of Selenay's guards were waiting. The funeral wagon would
not
be immediately behind her, but would be the first of the string of wagons.

Bard Lellian, in charge of the ceremonial part of the journey, came up and introduced himself.

“Majesty, I have devised something I hope will meet with your approval,” he told Selenay, ignoring the rest of them in a way that told Alberich that his single-minded focus was due to anxiety, not an intention to slight them. “It will not be the ordeal that stopping for speeches would have been. You will merely have to drop back and take your place on foot behind the coffin when we reach any sort of town, along with the rest of the notables who have been deemed of high enough rank to follow you afoot. That is all; simply follow afoot, and—do whatever you feel impelled to do.”