Roman a Clef
Part Five: The Feast Begins
By Anne B. Walsh
The Black Dog and the Grey Wolf
Or, The Further Adventures of Samuel and Alison
By Valentina Jett
x X x X x
Part Five: The Feast Begins
The courtyard was chaotic, as friends and families exclaimed over one another. Margaret’s ear caught snatches of conversations.
"Mother, this is Lilie—"
"Why, how nice, Alex, dear!"
Margaret detected just a note of false cheer in Mary Mustela’s tone. She was obviously less than thrilled with her son bringing home a French girl.
"Samuel, where’s Rufus?" asked Lady Morta.
"Oh, we bargained him for Lilie."
"Good trade," said Sir John.
Much laughter.
"No, truly we did," said Alison, who hadn’t changed much in twelve years, Margaret saw, except to grow more beautiful. Her resemblance to her daughter was even more noticeable with the two side by side. "Lilie was orphaned as a child. The schoolteacher of the Village, a Madame Stegra, took her in, and Rufus fell for the woman just as hard as Alex fell for Lilie. And it was mutual."
"Being that they were the right size for one another," said the voice of the legendary Black Dog, "I think it was inevitable. Rufus opted to stay with his darling Utma, to help her finish the term at school. If all goes well, they’ll join us on our next voyage."
"Already wed," added Alison. "But wait until you hear the prize we took this time—"
"Hello, Henry!"
Margaret’s head snapped around. Guinevere Mustela was waving at a black-haired boy sitting easily on a handsome black mare. Yes, Margaret saw with a pang as the boy looked in her direction, he did indeed have his mother’s eyes. Green as emeralds, and far more beautiful, for emeralds could never show joy or sorrow.
"Hello, Gwen," the boy answered, dismounting and taking his horse’s rein. "Will you help me take care of Cecilia?"
"Of course." Guinevere reached into her pocket and produced a lump of sugar, which she gave to the horse as they walked towards the stables.
"I found that treatise you wanted, Lance," said a young woman with black curls, handing a wrapped package to the red-haired young man in spectacles who had held her rein so that she could dismount.
"Thank you, Helen. How much did it cost you?"
"Call it a gift," said Helen coolly, taking her reins back. "Or something to be shared between us, perhaps."
"Then next time that I go to town on business, I must bring you a gift," said Lance, accepting the reins of two other horses. "What would you say to a ring?"
Samuel Niger’s laugh, just as much like a dog’s bark as ever, drew Margaret’s attention away from Helen’s reaction to this. He was hugging the young woman who had been their coachman.
"My little cousin Dora, all grown up," he said, shaking his head at her once he’d released her. "But the same little hoyden as ever — dressing as a man, running off to join the Wolf’s Pack — I recall you once swearing that you would only ever wed my friend John, since he was the only one of us who would teach you boy’s tricks! Whatever became of that?"
"My heart was broken at the tender age of nine, when he vanished," countered the girl, laughing herself and smiling at Sir John. "Now if I’d known he’d gone to be a highwayman..."
"I would have been left without a lady," countered Carl Mustela, "since you would have always been sighing after your Wolf."
"She and half the rest of the young ladies in the kingdom," said Lady Morta. "But they must keep sighing to no purpose, for the Grey Wolf is mine." She adopted a "clinging vine" attitude, leaning heavily on her husband and simpering.
"And he shan’t be for much longer, if you keep doing that," said Sir John, but his face was amused as he looked down at his wife, who promptly resumed standing on her own two feet and lifted her chin at him.
"I see Lord Albert is here," said Alison, looking in Margaret’s direction. "And — who is that with him — good heavens!"
Margaret found a smile coming naturally to her face as Alison ran toward her, looking delighted. "Lady Margaret! How wonderful to see you!"
"And you, Alison — Alison Niger, is it now?"
"It is. Though many call me Lady Drazah as well." Alison released Margaret’s hands and struck a heroic pose. "The Terroress of the Tides, the Tyrant of the Good Ship Marauder."
"The second being far more true than the first," said Samuel from behind her, and caught her hand as she struck at him. "Lady Margaret." He bowed to her, exactly as he might if they were meeting at Court, and she curtsied to him in return. "It has been too long."
"Indeed it has. And I have thought badly of you without justice for quite that long. Will you accept my apologies?"
"None are necessary. The plot was cleverly laid, meant to deceive all who might have interceded for me. And since I speak of it, will you pardon me for a moment?"
"Of course."
Samuel turned away from her. "Friends!" he shouted, gaining everyone’s attention. "All of you know the truth of my story. But how much better would it be for us, if the whole kingdom should learn of it? If this exile of ours could end — if I could take up my rightful place, return to my estate, give all of you the homes you deserve — how much would it advance our cause?"
"Their cause?" asked Margaret softly under the cheers.
"Shortly, my dear," said Lord Albert, who was watching Samuel.
"Those of you who sailed with me this voyage know of this already," proclaimed Samuel. "But for those of you who did not, I have something to give to you. A gift, perhaps, though I cannot imagine who would be glad to receive such a gift. Unless it be a magistrate."
About half the crowd laughed. Those who had sailed on the Marauder, Margaret thought. But what could Samuel mean? Unless —
With a leap, Samuel was up on the wagon seat, reaching into the back of the wagon, dragging forth another man — a small, mousy-looking man, who had once been fat but no longer was, and whose hair was coming out in patches. His hands were tied behind him, and he seemed frightened of everything.
As well he might be, Margaret thought, recognizing him, and feeling a rush of anger and loathing, now that she knew the truth about him.
Paul Caudalis, you have a great deal to answer for.
"John, catch!" cried Samuel, and Margaret saw a blade flash. She almost gasped, but saw in time that Samuel had only cut Caudalis’ bonds and shoved him from the wagon. He landed in the dirt at John’s feet, and Alison and Morta pounced on him and hauled him upright, backing swiftly away once they had.
"Hello, Paul," said John politely.
"J-John," stammered Caudalis, backing away and looking around for an exit. He would find none, Margaret saw — the men and women remaining in the courtyard (all the children seemed to have vanished with the horses) had circled him, and most of them had drawn blades. "My old friend..."
"How dare you call me that," said John, all politeness in his voice gone. "After what you did, how dare you."
His left fist came around in a scientifically perfect arc, and Caudalis collapsed bonelessly to the ground. John regarded his hand carefully, apparently looking for damage, as his audience applauded him.
Samuel leapt from the wagon, laughing. "Well hit, sir," he called out.
"Why, thank you, old friend."
The men shook hands, playfully trying to outgrip one another.
"Fabian, Gideon," called John when they had finished.
The red-haired twins emerged from the shadows near the stables, both of them somewhat mussed and sporting identical black berets.
"Do I want to know?" asked John dryly, regarding them.
"Sera and Tricia bought them for us, sir," said one twin.
"In France, with some of their share of the loot," said the other.
John lifted his eyes momentarily to heaven, then motioned to Caudalis. "Remove our newest guest to a place in the cellars remote from Lord Septimus’ room. Secure him well. Bring him bread and water, and a chamber pot, and nothing else. We shall deal with him in the morning. For now—" He pitched his voice to carry. "The feast begins!"
x X x X x
In the stables, the children of the Wolf’s Pack had been caring for the horses with the ease of long practice. Those who finished quickly had time for other pursuits. Sera and Gideon vanished outside quickly, as did Tricia and Fabian. Lance offered Helen his arm calmly as they walked out together, and Warren Fluvis chased Bronwen Chimmering out the back door, both of them laughing like lunatics.
Daniel Niger watched them go, shaking his head. Will I ever behave like that? he wondered. Make a fool of myself the way they do?
Another motion caught his eye. Carl and the new girl, whose name he didn’t know, were taking a moment out of rubbing down the horses in adjacent stalls to kiss.
Or do something like that?
Well, perhaps with Selene some day.
Thinking of the girl reminded him of what he had for her.
"There’s a good girl, Delilah," said Lene as she stroked Daniel’s mare. "You eat your supper, and we shall go and eat ours."
"Lene?"
"Yes, Daniel?"
"Did I tell you that the Captain let us board with him today?"
"No. Did you take anything?"
"Yes, we did. There was a woman aboard — the ship’s owner’s wife — and she was wearing so many necklaces that she could hardly walk. So the Captain let all the boys take one from her."
"Why would you want a necklace?"
"Not for myself," said Daniel, swallowing against a sudden attack of nerves. "To give to someone else."
"Who?"
"You." Daniel unbuttoned his special pocket and removed the long silver chain, giving it a small tug at the end to free the pendant, set with a moonstone. "I chose this one."
Selene accepted the gift and slid the pendant back and forth along the chain. "It’s very lovely," she said. "I like the way it catches the light. It almost looks like a pearl."
"Dominic took a pearl necklace," said Daniel, taking the chain back from Selene as she turned around.
"To give to Pearl, of course." Selene lifted her hair out of the way so that Daniel could fasten the chain around her neck. "What does it look like?"
x X x X x
"White, white, white, black," said Pearl delightedly, tapping the pearls now lying against her chest. "White, white, white, black. White, white, white, black. And all the same size. I’ve heard of black pearls, but never seen them before. Dominic, how did you know? I love it!"
"I thought it would look pretty on you," said Dominic in a gratified tone. "And I liked the black ones. Because you’re a black Pearl, with your skin and your last name."
"Niger means black." Pearl giggled. "That’s funny! Thank you!"
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed Dominic’s cheek, making him blush a fiery red.
"You look like Richard," she decided after gazing at him for a few moments. "Like Richard when he’s embarrassed."
x X x X x
Richard was undergoing embarrassment now.
"Lia, I have something to give you," he muttered under his breath, carrying an armload of hay into his gelding’s stall and looking at what he held underneath it. "No, that’s no good. Lia, this is for you. No, too boring. Lia, I stole this for you. But then that sounds bad."
"Rich, is something wrong?" asked Lia from behind him.
Rich spun around and panicked. "Here," he said breathlessly, shoving the torque of gold at her.
Lia stared at it for a moment without moving, before her hands rose to take it from him. "Oh, Rich... wherever did you get it?"
"Loot," said Rich, recovering his aplomb somewhat. "Captain Niger said we were old enough now to come along on a looting party."
"Was it part of the cargo?"
Rich shook his head. "The ship’s owner was aboard, with his wife and son," he said. "The son was about our age, but so fat he couldn’t even really walk. He waddled." Rich demonstrated. "Like a duck."
Lia laughed, then went back to examining the torque. "A diamond," she said, placing a finger gently on the gem. "A ruby. And a sapphire. My favorites. How did you know?"
"I just guessed," said Rich, looking at the floor. He wasn’t about to tell her that Henry had taken his first choice... the gems that matched his lady’s eyes...
x X x X x
"I brought something for you, Gwen," said Henry after he had brought Cecilia her food and water, and Gwen had made sure she was comfortable.
"For me?"
"I took it from a scrawny old woman." Henry laughed. "The Captain says she was my aunt."
"Henry, it’s wrong to rob women," scolded Gwen. "Unless they’re very rich women."
"Do you want to see it or don’t you?"
"Of course I do."
Henry reached into his pocket and pulled out a long string of brown stones, which gleamed in the light of the stable lamps. Gwen drew in her breath eagerly.
"Tiger’s-eyes," said Henry, holding them out over his hands. "I thought you’d like them best."
"Henry, they’re beautiful!" Gwen held the string against her gown. "I’m so glad I wore the blue. These go so nicely."
"The feast begins!" shouted Sir John’s voice from outdoors.
"Oh, we should run!" Gwen fumbled with the clasp of the string and nearly dropped it before Henry took it and helped her fasten it. Then they did run, and if anyone had asked him, Henry would have claimed he was holding Gwen’s hand so that she did not trip and fall.
x X x X x
In his room in the cellars, Lord Septimus Vane sulked.
He could entertain himself, certainly, and usually cared for that kind of entertainment over others. He had not been relieved of his throwing-knives, and was passing the time by practicing with a target he’d scratched on the back of his door. And he had been promised food when it was ready. Still...
He was being mocked, and he did not care for it at all. There was no lock on that door, no guard outside it, he might have his weapons, but he was no less a prisoner. The ghoulish pair of brats who had brought him here had made that entirely plain, with their jesting bows and pretty speeches about staying in his place and being grateful for what he got.
It did not help that Septimus had in his time delivered speeches like those himself, to peasants and petty nobility who got above themselves. He was sure these boys derived from one of those two stocks — in fact, he thought he recalled a noble family, poor in everything but children and famous for red hair, who had been forced from their lands by King Linus’ taxes.
The taxes were, of course, designed to do just that, since the lands went to the Crown when their owner failed to pay. And every ell of land the King owned was another ell he could exploit, for his own pleasures...
Decking out that ugly woman he keeps. Why, when there are so many beautiful ones, must his fancy fall on something with a face like a frog trampled by an ox?
Perhaps she did him some kind of service. His wife is certainly no use, to him or to anyone else. Dreadful woman. Drifting about the castle draped in scarves... I know what she spends the tax money on. Silks, wines, and paraphernalia for telling the future. She is convinced she has magical powers. Perhaps she does. She certainly possesses the ability to empty a room quickly, simply by walking into it.
His thoughts drifted. So this family came to the Grey Wolf, and to the Black Dog. And others must have done so. Why? To revenge themselves on the King? For protection?
Both guesses, had he only known, were partially right, but neither was the total truth.
x X x X x
"My friends, I believe it is time we allowed my niece into our secrets," said Lord Albert as Dame Mary directed her four youngest sons where to put the basins and dishes of food they were carrying from the kitchens. (Alex and Carl had been excused from kitchen duties on account of having newly arrived lady friends to entertain.)
"Agreed," said John, motioning Samuel and Alison closer. "Morta, my love, would you care to begin?"
"I would." Morta took a drink from her goblet of water. "None of us here have reason to love the King," she began. "He did nothing, for instance, to check the bands of brigands who ran rampant after the downfall of Praecad. One of those bands murdered my parents."
Margaret murmured something sympathetic.
"Most of those who live here were forced from their lands by taxes," said Alison. "Or arrested on trumped-up charges, because someone at Linus’ Court had a grudge against them. Together, we have a chance of surviving, and more, of changing things."
"Changing things?" Margaret nodded thanks to one of the twins, who placed a steaming basket of bread in front of her, then turned back to the adults. "Changing which things?"
Samuel’s eyes sparked, as Margaret had seen them do when he was about to execute a neat trick of swordplay. "Long live good Queen Mia," he said softly.
Margaret felt her eyes growing large. Piracy and highway robbery were not bad enough — these people were planning a revolution! Lady Mia Patel was well thought of, certainly, and high in the line of the succession to the throne, but to overthrow the King...
"We hope to make it as bloodless as possible," said John, as if he had read her thoughts. "Samuel’s restoration will be a large step in the right direction."
"Once I’m back at Court," Samuel’s face crinkled in distaste, "I can begin recruiting people. Lord Albert cannot do so without being found out for the radical he is."
"Speaking of Court, I bring disturbing news," said Lord Albert, choosing to ignore this description of him, though his eyes showed his amusement at it for a moment. "A conspiracy to assassinate Mia, and bring Linus to name Count Scarles as his heir."
The four were visibly shaken by this. "Who is involved?" demanded John, recovering first. "And what can we do?"
"The leader, as far as I can tell, is Lady Katherine Stone, one of the Queen’s waiting women. And as to what you can do, my best suggestion is to send one of your young ladies to Court with me, supposedly as a serving maid for Mia, but actually as a bodyguard..."
Margaret reached for a piece of bread and broke off a piece, taking small bites of it and allowing the talk to wash over her without really hearing it.
I have never liked Katherine Stone. Without really understanding why, I have simply never liked her.
And Count Scarles... almost the image of Linus, though perhaps not quite as corrupt. Nothing would change with Scarles on the throne.
Does this mean I am with them?
She looked out of the corner of her eye at her uncle.
He has never led me wrongly. Sometimes his paths are hard to understand, but they always lead to the right destinations.
"Uncle," she said quietly at a break in the conversation.
"Yes, Margaret?"
"You have my support for this plan."
Lord Albert smiled. "I thought I should," was all he said, but his approval was tangible.
That taken care of, Margaret discovered she was ravenous, and did justice to the meal.
The tales of the Wolf’s Den had not exaggerated Lady Morta’s skill in the kitchen.
x X x X x
Far below, a man listened to the distant sounds of merriment and felt the familiar envy and anger rise in him.
They would pay. They would all pay.
And they had accidentally given him everything he needed to make them pay.