The smile that the duchess wore grew, if anything, a little wider. “I have said no such thing,” she said. “Yet, I imagine that were we to make ourselves sovereign, we would only aid our own defence.”
“This is treason,” the bishop said.
“Make the most of it,” the duchess snapped.
“We owe our service to the king-” Ser John began.
“Why?” Ghause asked. “He’s just a man-and a feckless one. The way I hear it, my son and Sophie saved you all last spring. The way I hear it, the King almost lost his army in the woods and had to be saved by his slut of a Queen and the river fleet. And now he’s let in an army of Galles who are running rough-shod over the south. I’m here to tell you that we will not allow them into the north.” She sat back.
Lord Wayland’s eye went to hers. He said nothing, but his cautious expression betrayed his interest.
The young Master of Dorling shook his head like a man shaking off sleep. “My da holds our place from the Wyrm,” he said. “I am not the king’s man, and saving your grace, I’m not your man, either.” He looked around. “I like the notion of alliance, but I have nothing to say about any new kingdom except a word of advice: only a fool changes horses in mid-stream.”
The duchess’s head went back like that of an angry horse.
Ser Alcaeus nodded. “I think I might speak,” he said quietly, “for all of us who are not Albans-and say that this talk of a kingdom in the north is immoderate. I think that if it continues, my Emperor would require that I withdraw. I must say on his behalf that Thrake is a province in the Empire, and that Ser Gabriel’s possession of it is at the Emperor’s pleasure. The Empire does not function as a set of infeudations, nor are our lands inheritable without the Emperor’s permission, my lords. The Emperor owns everything. He can grant or remove any title at any time.”
Ghause smiled poisonously. “Does that include the Emperor’s throne, ser knight? Is it not held by right of inheritance?”
Ser Alcaeus looked surprised. “The Emperor is chosen by God,” he said.
“Usually after a lot of poisoning and knife fights,” Ser Gabriel said. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, your grace, but the north is not ready to have a sovereign kingdom.”
“Then the north is full of fools,” Ghause said. “Ask your imperial riding officers-ask anyone who lives on the wall! There’s as many people north of the wall as south. There’s towns north of the wall. All of them could be ours!”
Her son shook his head. “Yours, you mean. I’m sorry, your grace, but our intention is the protection of our estates-not the raising of a new banner in the Game of Kings.”
Ghause sat back and sniffed. “Well,” she said. She smiled. “We’ll see, then, won’t we?”
While every leader present was willing enough in principle, every side room in the citadel seemed to have two or three great lords discussing, debating, and often enough, shouting. If Ghause had intended to divide the council of the northern lords, she had succeeded to perfection.
“Your lady mother cannot imagine that we’d sign away the king’s rights to the whole of the north country!” Ser John said to the Red Knight. Now that he knew the boy was the Earl of Westwall’s son, he found his infernal arrogance easier to stomach-the more because the boy seemed to have grown a little more human in the past year.
The new Duke of Thrake sat with his back against the oak panelling of Ser John’s private study. “Neither the earl nor the duchess has ever had much time for the king,” he said slowly. “And it hasn’t troubled you before. Or has it?”
Ser John was pacing up and down. “I will share my thoughts, my lord. Last year-during the siege-we received no succor but yours and, in the end, the Royal Army. We had no help of your parents. I confess I am less than pleased-indeed, I’m bitter.” He pointed at the great hall. “At least the King came. The earl was five days away, and he never twitched.”
Ser Gabriel rolled some good Etruscan wine over his tongue and looked out the window, where sheets of rain were filling the creeks and making the task of the field army more difficult and vastly more uncomfortable.
“But you have asked me to command,” Ser Gabriel said.
“You are the most famous commander in Nova Terra just now,” Ser John said.
“And the Westwall heir,” Ser Gabriel added, a nasty note in his voice.
Ser John swirled wine in his silver cup and then turned to face the younger knight. “Yes. Why hide it? Surely your mother will sign and your father will commit if you are to have the command?”
Ser Gabriel shook his head. “I truly doubt it. I’m sorry, Ser John. I’m still under contract to the Emperor. As the Emperor’s man-I have no feudal obligations at all in Alba-I would be willing to command your field force after I return from the tournament, but it is not vital to me. In fact, to me it looks like a summer of brutally hard work for no money and little thanks.”
Ser John managed a smile. “You describe my whole tenure as Captain of Albinkirk.”
Gabriel rose. “Ser John, I agree that having a mobile force to face the Wild is a necessary evil. I will command it for a summer-and pay my own wages from my tithe as Duke of Thrake. I will do this whatever the Earl of Westwall chooses to do. I will leave most of my people here with you. But I will not make the least effort to convince the earl or my mother to join this alliance, and can offer you no counsel about them.”
Ser John stood, too.
“Where do you think Thorn will strike?” he asked.
Ser Gabriel shook his head. “Middleburg would have been weak had I lost in the east. But I didn’t, and now it is very strong. Albinkirk-let us be realistic. Albinkirk has a solid captain and a small army-and is close to Lissen Carak and a magnificent array of magisters who have, since last spring’s near disaster, come into their own.”
“The nuns?” Ser John asked.
“Yes. I’d be very surprised indeed if Thorn tried again there. Were he to re-invest Albinkirk and Lissen Carak he would have to do both together, would he not?”
Ser John had not considered this. “Ah-yes. Because leaving either one would leave a force operating behind his siege lines. Bah-you are the right man to command.”
“I have read some very good books. The Archaics thought deeply about war, Ser John. At any rate, he would have to divide his efforts, whatever solution he chose, and the morale consequence of a second failure in the same place would probably be disastrous for his forces.”
Ser John smiled. “I just make war. I see you think about it.”
Ser Gabriel shrugged. “That leaves Ticondaga-it’s the most exposed. Or he might strike west, into the upper lakes country, and spend the summer gathering allies. There is a rumour that he and the Faery Knight quarrelled over the winter. Do not imagine that the Wild is a unified force. And luckily for us, the more puissant he grows, the more likely it is that other Powers in the Wild will try to drag him down.”
“Try to drag him down?” John said. “You are leaving something unsaid, I think.”
Ser Gabriel leaned close. “I think perhaps he has… help.”
“Saints alive!” Ser John said. “Saint Maurice and Saint George, my lord. You speak of the Enemy?”
Somehow, that old name for Satan made Ser Gabriel smile. “Perhaps I do. The sorcerer is, at least, more dangerous than the sum of his parts.” He leaned back. “This is not something to be discussed aloud.”
Ser John nodded. “I thank you for your confidence,” he growled.
“His help will not keep other Powers in the Wild from contesting with him,” Ser Gabriel said.
“So you think we might get through this summer untouched!” Ser John said.
Ser Gabriel gave a thin smile with no mirth whatsoever. “If we do, it will only be because he has chosen to make himself far more powerful for next spring. And if he does, I have no idea where he might strike.” Gabriel settled back against the wood panelling. If he had intended to leave, he had changed his mind.