Chapter Five Cleves
CHAPTER FIVE
Cleves
Anarrow bridge is all that connects Cnothan castle to the mainland of Elben.
The town that serves the castle and its environs perches at the mouth of the bridge, and there’s a clear view along the coast to Cnorgleo, sitting on the glittering Fietherford.
Cnothan Town is unusual among the six palaces of Elben in that it serves as both a port and a castle town.
This conflagration of uses makes Cnothan all the dearer to Cleves: despite her royal upbringing, she has never been one to require two objects when she can make do perfectly well with one.
It is one of the many reasons she has never understood the Elbenese fashion for taking multiple spouses, if one has the money.
As she rides through the settlement, with its market stalls on each side of the main road, her people dip their heads and call out in pleasure at the sight of her.
She enjoys playing up to their expectations.
She never leaves the castle without a retinue of animals: lifting a piglet onto the front of her saddle to make the children laugh; sending Lelij the gargoyle to carry coin to a few of the stallholders in exchange for pastries.
It makes them love her, and if her kingly husband has taught her anything, it is that earning the love of one’s people can never be considered too costly.
If portraying herself as a harmless eccentric will gain their loyalty, she will play the part.
The docks are on the far side of the main thoroughfare. As she alights from her horse, she can already see a flotilla of smaller boats bumping across the waves from the larger ship, anchored further out.
“Maharron, malingi!” A figure shouts from the prow of the foremost boat, before vomiting into the sea.
Greetings, stranger. She cannot see him clearly yet, but she would recognise the burr of his voice anywhere.
She raises a hand in response, knowing that the wind would carry her words away from the figure, not towards them.
As the boat reaches the dock, Cleves strides towards it, signalling to the workers to help the occupants climb onto land. Johana embraces her with a broad smile. Everything about him is broad and comforting.
“The sea does not agree with you, cousin,” she says, hoping that he will follow her lead in speaking Elbenese, not Ezzonidian.
She belongs to this country now – in public, at least. While many foreign languages are spoken here, especially in the port towns, it would raise suspicion to have a queen be seen consorting in strange tongues.
“Alas, it does not. I agree with it, though. And I agree with this excellent country you now call home. Show me all of it, I beg you.”
Cleves pats him on the shoulder. “Should we embark upon the grand tour immediately, or shall I fill your newly empty stomach first?”
Johana bows, and a trace of vomit falls from the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps some sustenance.”
Behind Johana, a group of men swathed in brown cloaks kneel, awaiting her acknowledgement.
“Your friends are less colourful than they once were,” she says.
“Not my friends. Merely my companions upon the voyage,” Johana says, watching the men with distaste. Lelij sniffs them. The one closest to him leans away from the gargoyle, and Lelij rewards him with a long, damp lick.
Cleves addresses the men. “Rise, good sirs, and make yourselves known to me.”
The one who Lelij licked peers up at her while surreptitiously fending off the gargoyle’s further affections.
Several pendants hang among the folds of his cloak.
Cleves spies the crooked horns of Cernunnos among them.
“We are most honoured to have been invited to your fair country by His Majesty the King,” he says.
“Ah, you are the great leaders of our religion across the sea,” she says. Not for the first time, she is glad of the correspondence she has received from her butterflies, for it would not do to reveal that the king does not communicate on such matters with her.
“His Majesty wishes to consult us,” the man says.
“Of course. You must take supper at my castle. You must be weary after your long journey.”
Some of the other men look up at that, clearly eager for food. But their leader shakes his head. “We must travel directly to High Hall. The king has arranged transport for us.”
Cleves says nothing of the rudeness of turning down a queen’s invitation, for she has no desire to host these men. She nods graciously and turns her back on the lot of them, summoning Lelij to her side with a click of her tongue.
“Come, cousin,” Cleves says, sweeping back up the dock and climbing onto her horse.
Johana is given his own steed and takes his place by her side as they make their way back through the town.
He exclaims loudly at everything he sees: “What a wonderful town! These fruits, they look so sweet! Your Elbenese weather, it is quite charming!”
When they reach the castle, Cleves goes directly to her presence chamber, taking with her a pack of animals.
She settles them around her feet – the pigs on one side, Lelij on the other and a lapdragon upon her gown.
Servants bring delicacies from both Ezzonid and Elben, and some that take inspiration from both in a fusion that Cleves rather enjoys.
Rye bread smothered in soft Elbenese goat’s cheese and peppered with dill.
Local apples poached in spices from Ezzonid’s southern markets.
Johana presses his hands together in thanks, exclaiming over the delicious smell and the way everything is presented.
Cleves’ people, won over by his effusions, bow and titter and angle the plates towards his end of the table.
As soon as the servants have retired and Cleves and Johana are alone, his smile drops. “This country is a biskizan. A shithole. Let me assist you in escaping, cousin.”
“What happened to everything being so charming?” Cleves says.
“I am a diplomat. I would say that your king’s piss was the height of fashion if it would help our country.” He grows thoughtful. “Do kings with divine powers piss?”
“He would have us think not,” Cleves says, offering him a platter of apple fritters. Johana spears one on his knife. He bites it and grimaces.
“The apples are delicious,” Cleves says, feeling oddly defensive of the island she now calls home.
“Too sweet,” is all the reply she gets.
Cleves stares at Johana. He grins. “I jest. This is an excellent fritter. I merely enjoy teasing you.”
“I had forgotten how much my family enjoy their jests.”
“Do not tell me you have grown serious in your old age?” Johana says. Cleves plucks the half-eaten fritter from his knife and takes a bite in reply.
As Johana selects more food, Cleves feeds the remains of the fritter to one of her pigs, then crosses her legs, musing how to approach the meat of the conversation.
“I shall not keep you in Elben for long, cousin,” she begins.
Johana frowns laconically. “You shall not keep me anywhere I have no wish to be. Indeed, I was the one to invite myself to join you.”
“Indeed? I had quite forgotten.”
“Six years and not a single summons, cousin. It is outrageous.”
Cleves shrugs. “It was my duty to acclimatise to my new country.”
“And have you? Acclimatised?”
She does not like the way he is studying her.
“What do they say of me in Ezzonid?” she asks.
“You did not answer my question.”
“You did not answer mine,” she counters. “And I think that tells us both everything we wish to know, does it not?”
Johana smiles as he cuts a slice of cheese and dips it in lavender-kissed honey. They allow the silence to stretch, like a rousing cat.
Eventually, Johana says, “Are you not lonely? When we were pups, you were the centre of every ball. You could charm the magic from a witch and the faith from a priest. You could make even your lady mother laugh. Your spirit could conjure company from the quietest of forests. The palace ever rang with the sound of your merriment.”
“And much good it did us,” she snaps. She hears it then, in the soft puffs of Lelij’s breath, and the shouts of the servants in the courtyard outside her window. Other shouts, other huffs; needles from the past.
“Ezzonid is secure now, you know, should you ever desire to return,” Johana says, leaning across the table to select a bread roll. Cleves hands him one that she knows he’ll enjoy – stuffed with fruit and nuts.
“Would my brother permit me to dine with my animals at my feet?” she says, indicating the many mouths upturned, hoping for scraps.
“That I think he may object to.”
Cleves shrugs. “Then there is nothing for it. I must remain in Elben.”
“Then that is why I will stay on this awful, rainy little island in this miserable, damp castle to keep you company, cousin.” Johana takes a bite of another apple and looks round the receiving chamber.
At the murals on the ceiling, the tapestries on the walls; anywhere but Cleves. “It surprises me though, cousin.”
“Why should that be?”
“We heard that perhaps Elben was going to see its own … upheaval.”
“Indeed?”
Johana cocks his head. “Perhaps you felt some kinship with certain sister-queens.”
Cleves sighs. “My dancing with the traitor queen at the Moon Ball.”
“It has been commented upon.”
Cleves adopts the “you should know better” attitude that has served her well for much of her life.
“She may be a traitor, but she was wearing a very fetching gown, cousin. Did they comment upon that as well? I may be faithful to my husband but my fondness for a pretty figure has not faded with time.”
Johana does not laugh as she intended. He leans further forward. “I am with you, cousin. You know this, yes? You can tell me the truth.”
Cleves gets up, feigning boredom, and goes to the sideboard to pour herself a cup of wine. “You are being very strange, Johana. I am neither a schemer, a rebel or a heretic. I merely wish to live my very comfortable life in my very comfortable castle with my very delicious apples.”
And that is not so far from the truth. She may not know what made her don the gossamer overgown at the Moon Ball, or why she joined that dance with Seymour and Boleyn.
She has pondered it often. But she is committed now, and if she is going to take Cnothan and the power of the bordweal for herself, then she will gather knowledge around her like so many bricks.
They will form a fortress against her husband and his allies every bit as strong as the many walls of Cnothan castle itself.
And part of that fortress lies in not revealing more of the truth than is absolutely necessary, not even to the cousin she trusted most as a child.
As far as she is concerned, too many people already suspect the truth. A secret shared is a danger increased.
Johana grunts and nods, all business at last, and pats his pockets down before producing a thick packet of letters. He hands them to her. One bears her brother’s seal, one her mother’s and one her sister’s. She fingers the letter from her mother. The Dowager Queen Sidonia hardly ever writes to her.
“I suspect you will mostly find questions inside those letters, rather than news,” Johana says.
“Ah. There has been gossip.”
“Gossip. Rumours. Scandal. I cannot think of more words just yet but I’m sure they will come to me.”
“You had better be careful, cousin. The very air has eyes in this country,” she says.
Johana puts down his cup. “Speculation. There’s another. And I do not think they expect a response by letter.”
“You are to be the vessel.”
“I am.” He nibbles on one of the cakes. “This is dry. I do not like it.”
“How strange. I think that about you all the time.”
Johana pulls a face at her. “I have missed you, cousin.”
“And I you,” she says.
Outside, a bell tolls. Cleves wipes her mouth on the napkin draped over her shoulder and rises.
“I must go now. My people will see you to your chamber. You must be tired after all that vomiting.”
He bows as she sweeps from the room. She must think of a way to return him safely to Ezzonid without raising the suspicions of those at High Hall.
She will give him anything but the truth.
It is safer that way. It is why she has shaped Cnothan the way she has, why she rarely keeps ladies-in-waiting.
The walls must grow thicker and thicker.