Conqueror’s Moon: Part One of the Boreal Moon Tale. Julian May

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       TEN

      The long return trip to the capital from Zeth Abbey had been a trying ordeal for Princess Maudrayne. The king had suffered great agitation of mind, clearly the result of the oracle’s pronouncement, which he would not discuss. Along with his anxiety, Olmigon’s pain intensified and he required more and more of the Tarnian healer’s soothing elixir in order to sleep. The two royal women were obliged to care for the king together night and day, since he refused to abide the presence of anyone else — especially the Royal Alchymist. He could no longer control his natural functions and had to be swaddled like an infant; and his appetite, which was already delicate as a result of his malady and the stress of traveling, dwindled to the point where he could take only milksops or broth laced with wine.

      By the time the returning cavalcade reached the town of Great Market, some forty leagues from the capital, Olmigon had so weakened that Cataldise and Maudrayne began to fear for his survival. They pleaded with him to break the journey. Why not stop for several days in the mayor’s fine mansion, where they were being accommodated? The king could rest and regain his strength.

      But he would not. ‘I have vitally important business to discuss with my son Conrig,’ he declared. ‘We’ll leave here at dawn, as usual — and tomorrow night I’ll sleep again in my own bed.’

      It was around half-past ten when the royal coach finally entered Cala and rumbled up cobblestoned Blenholme Way to the palace on the hill. The streets of the great city were already cleared of common people by the watch, and a red crescent moon hung low in the western sky above the river ramparts. Advance riders had heralded the party’s arrival, and the palace forecourt blazed with torches. A cheering throng of courtiers greeted the ailing king, who was eased from the carriage and installed in a litter that would bear him to his chambers. Servants dashed about in response to the queen’s commands and those of Vra-Kilian. The other members of the entourage, famished and exhausted, began to melt away.

      Princess Maudrayne was glad that little attention was paid to her, and that her husband was not among those greeting the return of the king. She was able to slip away with Rusgann Moorcock, the sturdy, plain spoken tirewoman who had become her personal maid during the pilgrimage, after Queen Cataldise preempted the services of both ladies-in-waiting.

      Unaccountably, the haughty princess and lowborn Rusgann had become friends. Maudrayne’s sharpness didn’t bother the other woman a bit. When the princess was egregiously rude, Rusgann didn’t hesitate to reply in kind, just as independent-minded Tarnian servants were apt to do when provoked. They had many a zestful quarrel, exchanged complaints about the hardships of the trip, and even found things to laugh about.

      And in time, Maudrayne had shared her secret …

      Well ahead of the crowd attending the king and queen, the two women made their way through the palace to the princely apartments. Only the Lord Chamberlain’s wife Lady Truary, a dame given to irksome inquisitiveness, made bold to waylay them in the corridor beyond the Hall of Presence, in hopes of learning news of the oracle’s reply to the Question.

      ‘Princess, I’m so glad I found you!’ Truary cried, dropping a perfunctory curtsey. ‘Do come with me to the Blue Room, where other Privy Council wives and I have ordered a delicious collation and mulled wine. The whole palace is wild to know what Emperor Bazekoy said! Was there a good omen? You must tell us!’

      Doughty Rusgann stepped in front of her mistress. ‘Now then, my lady. You must contain your curiosity. We’ve been on the road since sunup, hurrying along because the King’s Grace was determined to arrive here tonight. Princess Maudrayne is exhausted and has no time for you now.’

      The noblewoman pouted. She was dressed in sky-blue satin, ermine-trimmed, and dripped with jewels. ‘But we’ve waited for hours and hours! Surely Your Grace can spare us the courtesy of a brief chat. We don’t care a bit about your travelworn appearance.’

      Maudrayne’s garments were caked with dust and her auburn curls had become a sadly bedraggled mop. It was unforgivably tactless for Truary to have made mention of it, but the princess smiled serenely. ‘I hope I am always courteous, lady. It’s my duty to every subject of my royal father-in-law, no matter how low … or highborn.’

      Truary blinked, not certain whether or not she had been insulted.

      Neither the Lord Chamberlain’s wife nor any of the other peeresses in her set were warm friends of Maudrayne. When she came to Cala to marry Conrig six years earlier, the court ladies had fluttered about her like frivolous butterflies eager to test the nectar of an exotic new flower sprung up in their midst. Soon enough they discovered that the imposing Tarnian bride was indifferent to fashion, flirting, gossip, and party-going — traditional pastimes of the noblewomen of Cala Palace.

      Instead, the seventeen-year-old Maudrayne read books on philosophy and astronomy. She collected rare seashells on solitary walks along the strand. She had dried and pressed wild plants sent to her from all over Cathra and spent long hours mounting them on parchment sheets, inscribing their names, habit of growth, and any utility they might have to mankind. She played lawn-bowls with the male courtiers and often won. She was an expert shot with a shortbow and hunted gamebirds in season, then prepared strangely spiced sauces for their cooking with her own hands. She brought from her barbaric homeland a sloop-rigged yacht which she captained without shame, dressed as a common sailor. She could even swim!

      As months and years went by without her conceiving an heir to the throne, the princess was both pitied and patronized by the court ladies, who offered charms and nostrums guaranteed to overcome barrenness. Some of them even dared to suggest that a more conventional manner of living would increase her chances of bearing a child. She listened to their comments with ill-concealed scorn and continued doing exactly as she pleased.

      Now Maudrayne said to Truary, ‘Tonight I must disappoint you and the others. King Olmigon has told no living soul what Question he asked of the oracle СКАЧАТЬ