Sandra frowned; she?d known her husband?s weaknesses, but But then she actually loved him, Tiphaine thought; she?d hated Norman Arminger herself, and feared him as she feared few men. Loved him despite his screwing everything that moved and shaking what didn?t, and his general skankiness. Leaving aside the mass murder and so forth; that was just business, though he enjoyed it. ?The latest… this vision of the Virgin telling Father Ignatius to look after Mathilda…? Sandra said.?I like that one very much indeed. It makes anyone who challenges her rights a blasphemer. And the cream of the jest is that Ignatius probably believes it himself-everyone knows the Order of the Shield of St. Benedict is outside our influence. Mt. Angel is cool to the Protectorate at best. They fought us in the war, after all.? ?The Princess was already popular,? Delia said.?Everyone who met her liked her. The commons love her. They… ah…? ?Look forward to her rule.? Sandra nodded, with a wry twist to her mouth.
Tiphaine could read her thought: And they?ll never love me.
Respect and fear, yes; the smarter ones realized how she held the barons in check; but love, no. Too many memories of the early days remained raw, among the ordinary people. And for different reasons, among the Associates as well. Norman Arminger had taken Machiavelli?s dictum that it was better for a ruler to be feared than loved rather literally. ?This… this quest thing… it?s made her more like an icon,? Delia continued. She hesitated again.?Rudi too. The Sword of the Lady… it?s not just the people who follow the Old Religion. The rest think of the Virgin, you see? And Ignatius? vision added to that. They think Rudi is the hero who returns, the one who comes back to save his people when the evil day arrives and things look their worst.?
Sandra chuckled, a gurgling sound that made her cool brown eyes warm for a moment. ?Certainly dear Rudi has all the qualifications for a legendary hero. He?s very young, and he?s very handsome, and he?s very strong , and he?s very brave, and he?s very… not stupid.?
For some reason Conrad thought that was funny too, though she couldn?t see why: it was all true. He sobered quickly, though. ?It?s good that the stories are perking the ordinary people up,? he said.?Even with our allies, we can?t win this war just with the nobility and their retainers; it?s going to be too big for the Associates to handle. But what happens… well, my lady, what happens if Rudi and Mathilda don?t show up??
Sandra was very quiet for a moment.?If Mathilda is killed? Then it?s all rather moot.? Softly:?What have I worked for, if not for her??
TheSwordoftheLady
CHAPTER THREE
?So, you?re really a princess?? Kate Heasleroad said, her pink young face wide-eyed and guileless.?I mean, they call you that?? ?Yes, I?m entitled Princess and styled Your Highness at home; my mother?s the Lady Regent,? Mathilda Arminger explained to the Bossman?s consort.
She must be at least twenty, she thought. And I?m only two years older, but it feels like more. I think she led a sheltered life. Until recently, at least.
Aloud:?But I inherit through my father, Lord Norman Arminger, whose only child I am. He was our first sovereign lord; Lord Protector of the Portland Protective Association. He was a knight before the Change, of course, in the Society, as well as a great scholar of the old ways at the university.?
The other woman made a fascinated sound and inclined her head towards a painfully young man in a military uniform that involved a good deal of braid and a gold lanyard. ?Something for me and the Princess, please, Lieutenant.? ?At once, Mrs. Heasleroad!?
The aide sprang away towards the buffet and the bar.
It?s all just homelike enough to make me homesick but not enough to comfort, Mathilda thought, as she schooled her face to friendly interest. Not that it?s hard to be friendly. It?s brief acquaintance, but I find I do like Kate.
A burbling surf of conversation rose to the carved plaster of the ceiling two stories above; more guests leaned on the balustrade that ringed the reception room. Heels clicked on the marble tiles and on the curving staircase that linked the levels. The Bossman?s household troops-they called them the State Police-stood at attention along the walls amid framed pictures and half-columns, their burnished mail-shirts and helms glittering in the brilliance of the incandescent mantles of the gaslights, along with the crowd?s crystal and gold and diamonds, fine cloth and polished leather. Open French doors brought an occasional waft of cooler air from the gardens, and the scents of roses and cut grass, along with the odd suicide-bent moth. ?So everyone says your Highness?? Kate said, returning to the subject that fascinated her. ?Yes,? Mathilda Arminger said, with a practiced smile; there were people at home obsessed with protocol too.
Quite a few of them, in fact.
The aide came back and she took a plate of what her mother called faculty fodder for some obscure pre-Change reason; little pieces of toast with shaved ham and pungent cheese, or bits of pickled fish, or tiny sausages and capers and pate or peppers and sweet corn. A glass of some fizzy drink called sarsaparilla came with it. ?I?m not Princess Regnant or Lady Protector yet, of course, not until I?m twenty-six. Then I?ll be styled Your Majesty.?
Kate laughed.?And everyone will have to go down on their knees?? ?Only one, until then. And only at ceremonies, of course-receiving homage, bestowing fiefs, that sort of thing. We?re less formal most of the time.? ?Is there a book of rules or something?? ?Well, the College of Heralds have their lists… but really, if you grow up around it… it?s all sort of natural.? ?It sounds like fun, really. Like a costume party!?
Not if it?s your life, Mathilda thought. Mother complains about it sometimes. Of course, for her before the Change it was a game. Sometimes I think it still is and she can?t help it. People that old. .. it?s as if they were always watching themselves live their lives instead of just living them and being themselves. Weird.
An inspiration came to her:?You?re a princess too, my dear Kate.?
At the other woman?s laugh she went on:?No, truly. You?re the lawful consort of a ruling prince, after all… unless it would be more accurate to call him a King? In which case you?d be Queen, of course, and your children would be Princes and Princesses.? ?There?s only little Tommie so far,? Kate said. For a moment her face was soft with love, and went from strikingly pretty to beautiful. ?And he?s my Prince!? ?Then you?re definitely a Princess, at the very least.?
She made a dismissive gesture, but Mathilda could see the corners of her mouth turn up in pleasure; she could also see half a dozen others in the big room noting the exchange as they milled around. The biggest knot was around Anthony Heasleroad, of course, the Bossman of Iowa-Governor and President Pro Tem, formally, but that was the word everyone used in ordinary speech. She could just hear him saying: ?… keep the great agricultural industry of Iowa in responsible, experienced hands for the common good of Farmer and Evacuee alike…?
His voice held the same booming sententiousness most barons at home would use when talking about mesne tithes and heraldry and the idleness of the peasants. Like Mathilda and Rudi he?d been born in the first Change Year, but he looked older to her. Part of that was the fact that he also looked like the statue of an athlete that had been covered in an inch of soft tallow and left in the hot sun until it began to sag a little.
Though I may be prejudiced, Mathilda thought. And he also looks like a man who trusts nobody, including the men who guard his sleep. They say Mom?s that way but she isn?t: she always said paranoia was as stupid as gullibility, and just as likely to kill you.
Kate was tall and willowy; her neck and fingers and piled dark hair sparkled with some truly impressive and not too gaudy jewelry, offset by the simply cut but obviously new blue silk of her knee-length dress. That had probably cost more. Jewelry could be salvaged, but silk had to be imported around the world over trade routes just beginning to function again.