I had not expected to be mentioned, and I was not, though I found it a strange sensation to be thus written out of history.
Trumpets blared, drums boomed, and Wenlock put on his purfled round cap and walked out the temple, followed by the casket on the shoulders of six titled pallbearers, including Lord Barkin. I don’t think Wenlock saw me in the crowd of mourners.
Outside in Curzon Square, the coffin was laid on a wagon that would take it to the city’s harbor, for transport down the Dordelle to Bretlynton Head, and from thence across the sea to Ethlebight, where Lord Utterback would ultimately be laid to rest at his ancestral home, some leagues up the river from the city.
I remembered the young man who had ridden to the city’s defense with thirty well-armed followers, and faced Sir Basil calmly in the old fortress, and who resolved to fight Clayborne’s army even though the battle was nigh hopeless. If he had been overwhelmed by his responsibility, he had never lacked for courage, and he had never failed once he understood his duty.
Queen Berlauda followed the coffin from the old temple, walking with the old Knight Marshal between two files of Yeoman Archers, and we all knelt as she passed. Lipton and I made our way out and paused on the portico, beneath the pediment with its worn, ancient statues of headless heroes. The day was bright and warm, the air fragrant with the scent of spring flowers. A line of carriages was drawn up between the temple and the group of soldiers who waited in the square. The Queen entered one of these along with the Marshal, and waving pleasantly, they left the scene. Great nobles and leaders began to fill the others.
Lipton and I turned to those leaving the building, and we greeted Frere, whose great black beard was as magnificent as ever, bald old Captain Snype, Ruthven in his muscled leather cuirass, and some of the other officers. Lord Barkin, who had helped to carry the pall, was already gone.
We held a colloquy for a while, and I think we all sensed that this would be the last time we would all be together. The war that had brought us to our rendezvous at Exton Scales was over. Ruthven would soon return to Selford with his regiment, Frere had received an appointment as Warden of the fortress of Dun Foss up on the border with Bonille, and the professionals like Snype would be looking for another war. Lipton would remain in Howel with his battery of demiculverins, and fire salutes at royal parades.
For myself, I prayed never to see another battlefield, but otherwise knew not what I would do with myself. There was nothing to keep me in Howel, not with the Queen viewing me with loathing and Wenlock wishing to hurl me into prison for theft or any other crime that occurred to him. But there was no reason to travel anywhere else, especially as Orlanda might whisper poison into the ears of everyone I met, and make any new place as inhospitable as the court. When Frere asked me what I would do next, I said that I didn’t know.
“Idleness will only serve to get you into trouble,” said a familiar voice. “You had best find an occupation and stick to it.”
I turned and bowed to the princess Floria. She wore greens and blues, with a carcanet of emeralds. Sprigs of rosemary were pinned as tokens of mourning to her hat and her gown. Two burly Yeoman Archers stood three yards behind her, and neither eyed me with favor.
“Does your highness have a suggestion which profession I might adopt?” I asked.
“I do not,” she said, looking steadily up at me with her hazel eyes. “I know only that, judging by that broil on the Mummers’ Day, you make a damned poor bodyguard.”
“But you, highness, make a very good one,” said I. “You interceded on my behalf, and saved me from the stocks, at the very least.”
“Nay,” she said, “they would have cut off your head, and her majesty would have signed the warrant with a blithe heart. Yet I thought that a man who has such a useful way with bandits and assassins should not be so carelessly tossed away.”
“Then I thank you for my life. I wrote you my thanks at the time.”
“I read the letter. I thought that to reply might have brought trouble on you, for none of my correspondence is private.”
“I thank you for that courtesy.” I bowed again. “May I introduce these officers?” For the others had been standing, heads bowed, while this conversation went on, and our words must have been a great stimulus to their imaginations.
I presented the others, and said that we had all been together at Exton Scales. She looked at them with interest.
“It speaks well of Lord Utterback that you gentlemen attend his memorial,” she said.
“He was our comrade,” said Coronel Ruthven.
Her highness’s bright eyes flicked from one to the other. “At court, Count Wenlock is like a battery of artillery when it comes to his son: he bombards us daily with his son’s many virtues, and his own woes, and with the debt her majesty owes to his house. He lays siege to the throne and comes nigh to demanding honors for himself. Yet should we further ennoble an already-noble father for the sake of his dead son?”
We had no answer for that, though personally I wished Wenlock in the Mare Postremum without a dinghy. So, Floria turned to me.
“Was my lord Utterback the hero of the battle? Was he everything his father says?”
“My lord was the hero entire,” said I. “He fought bravely all day long, he led the final charge that broke the rebellion, and he died at the moment of victory.”
“But surely he was not the only hero of the day.”
“There were a thousand heroes that day,” said I. “But all of them are dead.”
There was a moment of silence. Floria’s quick, birdlike gaze settled on me. “And you, Goodman Quillifer? You are ever in the midst of quarrels and dissensions, and you have crossed swords with infamous bandits and murderous rogues. Were you not in the forefront of the battle? I see that your armor has been battered, and there is a crease across the skull of your helm.”
“I had the ill fortune to be struck by the enemy, and the good fortune not to have been murdered,” I said. “But as for bravery, there were many on the field more worthy than I.”
She looked at me for a long, thoughtful moment, and then nodded. “Your loyalty to your commander commends you. I apologize if you find my questions impertinent—I want simply to learn things, you see. We in the palace know only what we are told by people like Wenlock, and by the Marshal, and neither of them were there.”
We looked at her in silence. For my part, I would say nothing that would serve to diminish Lord Utterback’s honor or memory, and I suppose the others felt much the same way.
“May the Pilgrim enlarge your knowledge,” said Frere finally.
A little wry smile touched her lips. “He hasn’t yet,” said she. “But the world may hope.”
We bowed, and she withdrew to her carriage, which soon drew away.
Lipton looked after her thoughtfully, and tugged his cap down over one eye. “That is a very strange little girl, sure,” he judged.
“She wants to do Wenlock down,” said Frere. “I care not what happens to the count, but I know I want nothing to do with any court conspiracy.”
I had even more reason to keep away from such a conspiracy than did Frere, and so I nodded agreement.
“What was meant,” asked Snype, “when you thanked her for saving your life?”
“Not so much saving as sparing.” And I told her about Lord Stayne, the attack on the Festival of the Mummers, how the princess had intervened to prevent my being executed, and how I had come to join the army as a refuge from being killed on the streets of Selford.
“It ended well for you,” said Frere, “so I will not say your decision was unwise. Yet it is a strange enough reason for joining the Queen’s Army.”
“A great many soldiers seem to have joined to flee from their former life,” said I, “whether they were being hunted or no.”