INTERLUDE

The sounds of scuffling footsteps faded, plunging the throne room into a thick and cloying silence. None of those present were keen on continuing their meal, not even Guntus. The servants waiting outside the hall knew better than to interrupt.

So, they sat and absorbed the silence before the rakish youth began to clap. “Bravo! Bravo, your Majesty! We truly do have the best entertainment. This was better than the jesters- by far!”

Old Priam gave him a withering glare, but the rakish youth was unperturbed. “So, what will it be, your Majesty? Hanging? Burning? The Cage? Or will this troupe of brothers live to play another day?”

“Simian!” Besalt looked horrified, and turned towards the king. “Father, surely- I mean, we cannot. This- they’re family. We cannot. We should not. Such acts are the province of beastmen and savages, not civilized men.”

The rakish youth- Simian- smiled, showing off his pearly white teeth. “As merciful as ever, my dear Crown Prince coz. Too merciful, some might say.”

“Simian, I know many regard me as too kind. Too soft. Some go so far as to say I have a woman’s heart- that my condition has left me incapable of the strength and valor that must be the eternal companions of any great king.” Besalt tightened his fists. “But what sets us apart from the uncivilized is the dharma: we know that sins dog the soul from life to relife, miring it in the muck and illusion of samsara. If killing with abandon and butchering our own blood is the price of greatness, I have no wish to pay it!”

“But others will.” Victor sat ramrod-straight on his divan. “Only a firm hand can keep the rabble in their place.”

Old Priam was roused at this. “Simian, Victor, Guntus, enough. Take your leave. Besalt, sister, stay here. We would have some words.”

The two curtsied and headed for the exit, Simian smearing the droplets of drying blood with his slippers. Guntus followed them out, patting his belly happily. As soon as the wooden door shut behind them, Old Priam relaxed, his wrinkles smoothing out.

When the king spoke, it was without the royal we. “Besalt, my son, you do not need to justify yourself to the likes of Simian or Victor. You are the Crown Prince! One day, you shall rule over all Mercia in my stead. Let them know their place, lest they covet yours and seek to steal it from you.”

“Yes, father.” Besalt said, in the tone of sons who have heard the same well-intentioned advice from their fathers a thousand times. He sighed. “What will become of Dieter, father? Of Frederick?”

Old Priam frowned. “Those boys need a little sense, Besalt. Their insolence is worrying. I am thinking of having the older one whipped.” He rubbed his white beard. “Four or five lashes perhaps- he is frail, no need to overdo it.”

Before Besalt could interject, Old Priam continued: “You need not plead on their behalf. I am of a mind to grant their boon, but I will not budge on the whipping. Those who insult a king of Mercia, even kinsmen, must pay a price for their transgression. Elsewise, men will learn that they may hold this crown in contempt- and that is unacceptable.”

Then Old Priam added: “Even were I of different mind…what I have said is what men expect, Besalt. If I slacken the reins any further, the court will take it as weakness.”

The duchess seemed intent on proving his point. “Brother, that is completely unreasonable!” she screeched, the high-pitched words doing little good for her flabby jowls. “They insulted you- insulted us! You cannot give them an ambassadorship!”

“I cannot?” Old Priam repeated. By her widening eyes, the duchess realized that she’d misspoken. “I did not mean it like that, darling brother-”

“Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do,” Old Priam said and with each harsh syllable the duchess blanched. “I am good to you, little sister, but you overreach with alarming frequency. Do kindly remember which of us is the king.”

The duchess looked crestfallen and hung her head sulkily. On perhaps anyone else, it would not have had the desired effect; the duchess was too fat and ugly in her dotage. But the eyes of old men overlay what is with what was. Old Priam could not help but see the young girl she had once been, clutching her elder brother’s arm with the childish but ironclad certainty that he would make things right. He softened.

“I know you are afraid of what they might do,” he allowed, “but you are letting a title blind you. A writ of ambassadorship is a perpetual order only discharged when the bearer (re)establishes official diplomatic contact with the peoples listed in that writ. The Asturians will not be so petty as to expel them from their empire. But they will never grant our envoys a shred of diplomatic recognition. Besalt, you realized what this would mean. Else you would not have tried to dissuade him.”

“Exile.” Besalt sighed. “But I do not understand it, father. He goaded you-but what does he aim to accomplish? Scarce this morning I heard he had lain with Duke Lana’s daughter. I feared for what mischief such a development might arouse, but by evening you have been given ample reason to banish him!”

The king chuckled. “This is a good exercise for you, Besalt. Tell me, what sort of boy is Dieter? Is he the sort to plot and scheme?”

Besalt replied immediately, “No, not Dieter. He is too hotheaded and impetuous.” He furrowed his brow. “Father, are you suggesting that Dieter was acting at the instigation of another? But who…no, Dieter only listens to Frederick. So, Frederick orchestrated everything?”

“Many nobles disdain your uncle Ferath for being a foreigner. These men are fools.” Old Priam shook his head. “One look, and he deduced the true culprit. Playing on Frederick’s love for his brothers, he both delivered my disapproval and gave me an excuse to have Frederick jailed.”

“But now we are back to the beginning,” Besalt remarked. “Why would Frederick-”

“Not so.” Old Priam stopped his son. “Frederick’s motivations are much easier to read. Put yourself in his place, Besalt. Imagine you know that a powerful duke is hellbent on roping in your impressionable younger brother because he wants a virile but easily manipulated figurehead and the veneer of a righteous cause. You have acted in the past to ward off this duke’s schemes. When he sent gold and jewels, you had them returned. When he infiltrated your brother’s royal guard, you had the entire guard dismissed and replaced. But now comes an unmitigated disaster: your brother has bedded the Duke’s daughter. You can almost hear the wedding bells tolling. How do you react?”

Besalt looked enlightened. “I understand now. It is a drastic choice, but better than becoming Duke Lana’s plaything.”

“Good!” Old Priam looked satisfied. “As a future king, Besalt, you must learn that there are layers and layers to everything. Matters are rarely as simple as they first appear. A king must consider all angles and motivations carefully, lest he make a serious mistake!”

Besalt digested this. “My last question is: father, if we must have someone whipped, why are we whipping Frederick and not Dieter? Will that not give away the true motivation behind this ‘punishment’?

Old Priam considered Besalt’s argument. “No. There is precedent. Arguably, the eldest son is responsible for the actions of his siblings in the absence of a father. Frederick will be thankful as well. If we were to lash Dieter, we would need to lash him twenty to thirty times at minimum. But all know Frederick to be sickly; it is enough to lash him four or five. The punishment will be a sop to Lana as well. Frederick has quite frustrated that old fox; hopefully, seeing the lad humbled will prevent him from raising a ruckus in court. This will work out best for all involved.”

Besalt nodded, but unease still writ on his face. “But what of Dieter, father? He is not the sort to forget or forgive easily. If we whip Frederick, Dieter might never forgive us.”

“Forgive us?” The king snorted. “What is Dieter’s forgiveness worth? The important one is Frederick. Frederick! And that one is too clever by half. He will see through the punishment and read our intentions. Dieter will do whatever Frederick convinces him to do, so there is hardly a reason to worry. Really, I ought to thank Lana. If he had not driven Frederick into a corner, I would not be able to pluck these thorns in our side and stymie Lana in the same move!”

“But, brother, why bother with this whole farce? Is this not the perfect opportunity to deal with them more permanently?” The duchess pursed her lips. “None could say that you would have acted unjustly.”

Old Priam scoffed. “Half the kingdom thinks I had their father poisoned. Men whisper kinslayer, usurper and worse, at least when they think my spies cannot hear.” He slammed the throne with his fist, only to wince at jolt of pain that ran up his aged hand. “I had no hand in that black deed! I coveted his throne, I admit it. But so did all the damned dukes in this kingdom.” He glared at his sister. “If I had them killed, the other half would believe it too!”

“Father, in your estimation, who is the culprit?” Besalt asked.

“One of those ducal jackals, no doubt,” Old Priam replied irritably. “They kill a man, and men think me to blame! Know this, Besalt. This entire kingdom is broken. Broken! Leopold saw that and they killed him. They would have killed his children too- or would have turned them into puppets- had I not seized the throne. Your nephews ought to thank me for saving our clan’s birthright, Besalt, but instead they call me an old thief. There is truly no justice in this world.”

Besalt looked at his father with conflicted eyes, but said nothing.