Homage and Honour (17 page)

“The other
two?”

“Four children
but don’t get your hopes up. Elliot the Third got rid of the lot,
the youngest a babe younger than Princess Susan is now. None
escaped bar one, another nun, name of Alexa, she had just entered
religion. If she’s still alive she’ll be well past sixty. I suppose
the Mad King didn’t think of her as a threat, her being a nun and
all.”

“So there is
nobody.”

“Nobody
legitimate.”

“Illegitimate?”

“I’ll work on
it, may take some time, but how would he prove his claim?”

“It is
important that we find an heir, a blood heir and one that every
Duke on Conclave will agree on. Now is not the time for an internal
dispute that might well degenerate into another civil war.”

“Civil War?”
gulped Mikel.

“Indeed. Find
me an heir Mikel.”

“I’ll do my
best My Lord.”

When Mikel
left, Charles sat long thinking about the events of the past
candlemark. He thought longest about Duke Sam Baker’s visit to the
records office.
What is all this about? Why has Sam Baker been
smiling in such a fashion as to arouse Mikel Senotson’s
suspicions?

It was early
the next morning when Charles arrived back at Mikel’s office. After
a quick look around to make sure there was no-one else in the
vicinity, he located Mikel.

“Any luck?
Found some heirs for me?”

“Can’t talk now
though I think I might be on to something. Our present king and his
father, none of these two had any mistresses, official or
otherwise. As we know, Elliot the Third had many mistresses. He
often, shall we say, strayed from the marital bed?”

“Children?”

“They did have
children but, as with the legitimate line, none survived; at least
I’ve found none so far.”

“Keep looking,”
ordered Charles, “and write down everything you come across,
however trivial.”

“I will My Lord
Count. Do I bring any information to your quarters?”

“Later,” agreed
Charles, “meantime I’m heading for the Library – a bit of research
of my own.”

* * * * *

Count Charles
Cocteau, second son of the Lord Duke Henri Cocteau, diplomat and
the up and coming administrator in His Royal Majesty King Elliot
the Fifth’s Governmental Conclave, was but recently returned from
Argyll where he had been one of the Murdochian delegates attending
the conference discussing the re-emergence of the Larg, but it was
not that grave concern that took him out of his quarters this
night.

As Kellen Mikel
Senotson knew, Charles had been busy. He had spent the entire day
in the palace library.

His booted feet
rang in the empty palace corridor as he made his way towards the
small antechamber that was his destination. The candles smoked
eerily in the dim light.

He was dressed
in deepest black as was the man waiting for him, father, like son,
in mourning for the deaths of the Crown-Prince and his family, the
king’s brother and his family and those of the noble houses who had
also fallen victim to the plague.

“It doesn’t
seem real somehow,” said Charles taking the chair his father
indicated.

“Princess Susan
lives and the doctors are hopeful,” said his father, divining his
son’s thoughts.

“A slim thread
on which to trust the survival of a dynasty. Even if she grows to
womanhood and bears children, I very much fear …”

Charles stopped
talking and gazed into space.

“You fear
what?”

“More than a
dynasty is at stake father,” answered Charles, “I fear that the
entire kingdom is at risk of annihilation.”

“Civil
War?”

“That is the
least of my worries.”

“How so?” asked
Henri Cocteau, roused out of his lethargic despondency by his son’s
tone.

“How much do
you know about the early years?”

“Not much, I
was but an indifferent student of history as a boy.”

“You do know
about the original alliance with the Larg?”

“That I do
remember. They ceded the land to us.”

“They ceded the
lands to the original Elliot Murdoch,” corrected Charles, “and to
his bloodline.”

“The
bloodline?” Duke Cocteau’s voice was edged with a wary
sharpness.

“Correct.”

Henri Cocteau
was nothing if not quick on the uptake, “and if the bloodline
should fail?”

“The Larg might
well conclude that the agreement is at an end and try to oust
us.”

“I know they
weren’t best pleased when our kingdom expanded to encompass Graham
but nothing happened then.”

“They could do
nothing then Father. After the pandemic they didn’t have enough
warriors to try and fight us but that is not the case now. I do not
think they would be so complacent if we tried to expand our borders
again.”

“The border
patrols were reinstated in your grandfather’s time,” mused
Henri.

“And you have
strengthened them.”

Duke Cocteau
sat lost in thought and for so long that Charles was beginning to
wonder if his father had fallen asleep, then he turned to his son,
“you’re the diplomat. What do you think will happen if Susan dies
without issue?”

Charles said
precisely nothing and Henri read the answer in his sombre face.

“They will
attack us,” he said at last, “drive us off the mainland.”

“I believe so
Father.”

“So how do we
stop them? You must have some idea.”

What Charles
said next made Henri wonder if his son had lost his sanity.

“Did Mother
ever tell you stories, legends?”

“I used to
listen in when she sat at night with you and your brother and
sisters before you went to bed,” he admitted.

“Do you recall
the one about the ‘Lost Princess’?”

“That was one
of the best,” Henri remembered those more carefree days with a
smile.

“Would you be
surprised to learn that the foundations of the story are true?”

“Go on.” Duke
Cocteau leant forward the better to hear his son’s low voice.

“When I
returned from Argyll I was worried. I went to the archives because
I wondered what would happen to us if the king’s family died out.
What I found made interesting reading.”

The Duke’s eyes
were alive and gleaming.

“I looked at
the alliance document first. It made it more than clear that the
land on which Murdoch sits was ceded to the bloodline of Elliot
Murdoch and that, if the bloodline failed, the Larg would consider
the alliance null and void. That worried me and I began to leaf
through the later records. The second day I got to the bit where
the first King Elliot was born. The archivist wrote with a bold
clear hand and I began to get interested, he was born late in the
summer of year two if I remember correctly.”

“No doubt you
are correct but what has the birth of our first king got to do with
the problem in hand?”

“King Elliot
the First had a twin sister.”

“I didn’t know
that.”

“I don’t think
many people do.”

“What happened
to her?”

“I don’t know
but I am going to find out.”

“Why?”

“Because if
Susan dies, it is imperative that we find one of the bloodline to
succeed her. There is a rumour that there might be some bastard
scions of the bloodline running around,” Charles added, “but I want
a legitimate heir if that is possible.”

“We might not
have any other choice son but that would depend on finding out
which of the mistresses had children by him.”

“Mikel Senotson
is working on it, however, in AL108 it was dangerous and fatal to
be a relative, however distant, of the blood,” said Charles. “Our
king’s grandfather may have been as mad as a hatter but he was very
thorough. All but his own immediate kin died that day. His
mistresses though … we’re looking into it, but I digress. Let us
get back to the Lost Princess. I began to wonder. What if there’s a
basis of truth in Mother’s fairy tale?”

“Did this twin
sister have a name?”

“Ruth. After
that one mention there was nothing more. I think her name must have
been expunged from the records for whatever reason. We’ll probably
never know. In the entries of year ten there is a woman’s name
mentioned that might have been Ruth altered to read something else.
It’s not clear. The splodge I saw was in a list of betrothals
between the children of the original Lords. The splodge, Ruth if my
supposition is correct, was betrothed to David the Heir of
Gardiner, but later on, the records note David Gardiner marrying
one Janice Baker.”

“Perhaps Ruth
died, children do.”

“Then why
delete her name from the records?” was Charles’s reasonable
question and one that his father couldn’t answer, “she doesn’t have
a grave in the royal burial ground either. Her mother is there, her
brother and various other royal infants but not her. Anyway, I kept
on reading and I thought I’d come to a dead end then, right at the
back of the archive shelves, I came across a journal, tattered and
dusty. I don’t think it has been looked at in decades.”

“What did it
say?”

“It was written
by a Doctor Whistler, who, I discovered after a little more
research, was the physician of Lady Anne Murdoch-Baker, mother of
the first King Elliot. I read about her death in year ten and then
read pages and pages of drivel about the founding of the
Convent
of the Little Sisters of the Poor
. On the very last page, the
very last entry, in year sixteen, I struck gold. I’ve copied it out
and I’ll read it to you.”

Charles
shuffled his parchments and found the place.

“
I am
placing this volume on the back shelf in the library for I do not
think I will return. I am eighty years old and what is about to
happen is my death. I am commanded by the Lord Regent to accompany
Ruth north to Gardiner where it is planned by the evil men who
govern us that she marry her betrothed. I will do all in my power
to make sure this does not happen. I promised her mother on her
deathbed that I would get her to her sister in the Northern
Continent and this I will do. There she will grow into adulthood
and free of the Lords and all that they represent. If anyone ever
reads this they will know that I have done my best to honour Anne’s
dying wish.”

“It then
rambles on a bit about his past and the children of his previous
life but I didn’t bother copying out that bit.”

“Have you found
anything else?”

“Hints only,”
admitted Charles, “I started on the Court Seneschal’s diaries not
thinking I would find anything there and I was right. I drew a
blank. The penal records came next and there it was, the death
sentence ‘in absentia’ on one Xavier Kushner, late of the Royal
Regiment who engineered the abduction of Princess Ruth of the House
of Murdoch, present whereabouts unknown but presumed to be in
Argyll.”

His triumphant
face was raised to his father.

“You think
there might be descendants of this Ruth in Argyll?”

“I hope so
Father, otherwise we could all be in a lot of trouble and do keep
your voice down. Of course, even if Princess Susan does not
survive, the King is only fifty-eight, he could marry again.”

“He says he
will not,” said Henri flatly, “and I believe him. His was a love
match. He is also not recovering as fast as the doctors hoped from
his last attack. Princess Susan is barely out of nappies and likely
to remain frail for some time to come. The doctors are even more
worried about her. She will need very careful nurturing and even
then … no, I think you are right, we are in great danger and the
Larg know full well what is happening. They are watching and
listening. We have to find Princess Ruth’s descendants if they
exist. Call it a precautionary measure if you will but it must be
done. Is there anything else you feel I should know?”

“One other
thing Father. It concerns Duke Sam Baker. He’s up to
something.”

Charles then
told his father of all Kellen Mikel had told him. As his tale drew
to a close his father’s face was grave, his worries about Sam
Baker’s interest in the genealogical charts graven stark on his
face.

Henri rose to
his feet.

“Keep looking
for this heir and also of what you think Sam Baker has found,” he
told his son, “we cannot do anything until we know more.”

* * * * *

“Is there none
of the blood alive, none at all?” Charles Cocteau’s voice was
disbelieving. He had thought there must be at least one who had
survived the purge of AL108.

“The late
lamented Elliot the Third, my Lord Count, may have been mad but, as
you said before, he was efficient. He put to the sword all not of
his immediate descent through his son, all that is bar one.”

“Who?”

“Alexa Karovitz
and the only thing that saved her was that she’d entered the
Thibaltines a few tendays earlier.”

“An enclosed
nun?” Charles’s heart sank, “we’re doomed.”

“Not
necessarily,” vouchsafed Mikel Senotson with a look of triumph. “I
believe I may be able to put my hands on a possible illegitimate
blood heir. In fact, I think this is the very fact that has pleased
Duke Baker so much. I have reason to believe that Sam Baker thinks
his grandson Richard is the true heir! He has, of course, no idea
that we have been investigating further back. Give me a bit more
time My Lord and I should be able to give you some details.”

Charles’s heart
sank. So Sam Baker believed he had the blood heir? And his grandson
to boot! This was not good hearing.

It made it all
the more imperative that he find the descendents of the twin sister
to the first king.

Once more in
the library Charles almost couldn’t believe what his eyes were
telling him. He had been idly running his finger down one of the
shelves when he had come across an old copy of ‘Tales of Rybak Vol.
1’, written by a Tara Sullivan-Crawford. Smiling to himself, all
three volumes were popular ones, North and South, he had taken it
over to his desk for a spot of light reading before he once again
tackled the old records and opening it had been surprised to see
that it appeared to have been King Elliot the First’s personal
copy. His royal seal was embossed on the front clear as day,
‘EIR’.