The Arete - Princess-Consort Ch. 01

"Right, I'm here to collect you. You're riding back to the palace with us," she smiled and shook my hand, "And it's Yonjax, at least when we're just amongst ourselves."

"Nice to meet you, Yonjax," I nodded, "My gear and horses are ready." Savaran - my warhorse - is worth much too much to risk laming him by using him as a pack or riding horse, so I'd grabbed three other horses for those purposes.

I left my dear Savaran somewhat reluctantly with the royal horse stewards for the duration, wishing for the confidence I had in the horsegirls. Yonjax looked askance as I handed a pouch of gold to one of the stewards with the promise of another on Savaran's safe return.

I spend a great deal of time with my five warrior future sisters-in-law (all of the Queen's daughters who had come of age and not been sent off as brides or scholars) on the three week ride back. Heoldax, Jelvix, Eppox, Bruitex, and Yonjax by order of birth.

I got along best with Yonjax and Bruitex. Partially as they were the closest to me in age, but mostly because Yonjax had an exuberance and cheerfulness about her and Bruitex lived for battle and spoke of little else. The two next eldest, Eppox and Jelvix, were less pleasant to me, but not in any way strictly offensive, just curt and dismissive. The eldest, Heoldax, was also standoffish, but understandably as an heir-apparent.

The youngest three and I shared a four soldier tent that was not unlike the one I'd shared with the other young officers. Just larger and with better furnishings. Better books as well.

There was some joking among them that I didn't seem to take to whoring as they'd heard we were wont to do, and instead seemed content to read. (As common looting was beneath me, so common whoring was beneath them. But keeping a mistress and visiting quality establishments were fine.)

I answered honestly that I'd engaged in such dalliances only rarely. I left out the reason - that hiring women to love me felt loathsome - as it wasn't a soldierly attitude to admit toward sex.

We rode together, hunted, and sparred. It was much the same as my time spent traveling with fellow officers in regards to shared interests, sporting, and competitiveness. And drinking. There may have been some drinking. Not beer, of course, but the fine wines drank by the higher nobility.

If I'm being honest, I'd no great preference for one drink over the other. Still, when in Rome...

Upon arriving at the palace in mid-morning, I said my goodbyes to my future sisters-in-law, saw that Savaran was well-stabled, took possession of my modest yet ample rooms, meticulously polished my armor (arms aren't allowed within palace walls), and read books of strategy and tactics given to me by my former travelling companions. And I waited.

At dusk, I went to check on Savaran. He'd been well fed and groomed, but I led him into the fresh air of the training yard anyway, brushed him down, checked his ears, eyes, nostrils, and feet, and rode him bareback about the yard to get him some exercise.

At dawn, I repeated the process. Then again at noon. And between times I read and I waited.

A page came with a message in the early afternoon, looking as worried to interact with me as she would to interact with a trained bear.

"My..uh...er...my." The hapless page seemed to grope for an appropriate title. Pages are usually wards from great houses, between about six and twelve years of age, learning the general noble knowledge they'd need before becoming squires, scholars, or courtiers of one stripe or another. This one I guessed would become a Master of Ceremony one day.

"Lieutenant is fine," I supplied without offense. It was no more the frightened page's fault that she wore clownishly bright colors and impractical fabrics than it was my fault I wore a soldier's garb that scared her. Certainly I was the more out of place and needn't make the poor child more uncomfortable.

"Ah. My Lieutenant," the page restarted with a flourish, "I'm Plinit, sixthborn of Pacis of House Haecardya. You are required at the throne room for your betrothal the Princess Caeli at noon tomorrow." She bowed and left with a few more flourishes.

I quite suddenly grew concerned. I'd reconciled myself to marrying the princess, but not considered meeting her and an engagement period. To be honest, I didn't expect to see her at all outside of the wedding itself. Rather, I thought I would take part in an entirely political marriage and to return her to my aunt's house directly after the quick ceremony. But what the fuck did I know about royal weddings?

I found my way to the market square near the palace and bought myself a dozen respectable linen tunics in my house colors. I had similar garments at my aunt's house, but never brought them on campaign as they'd only be stained in blood and muck.

In addition, I bought a few small presents that I could present to my intended. Anything bought at my wages would be nothing to a princess, of course, but I could be certain that gift-giving would be required at some point in the engagement festivities. I'd at least not embarrass myself and my house by coming empty handed.

Upon returning to my rooms, Laerdya awaited me with her retinue. I bowed low in greeting, "Cousin Laerdya."

"So you do know how to greet the head of your house?" she chastised me, but stopped my apology with a gesture, "It's not your fault. You weren't meant for such things. Nonetheless, here we are."

I nodded and remained silent.

"You've been to the market?"

I again nodded and remained silent, but showed my purchases. One of her popinjay courtiers giggled at the tunics I'd bought, although the rest showed no expression. I naturally found the behavior rude, but have thick enough skin to ignore the titters of a stranger.

Laerdya, however, turned and cuffed the offending courtier so hard that she fell to the ground and rose only with help and a bloody lip. "You'll not insult one of our own and you will not betray an emotion that I do not betray. Wait outside, the lot of you."

It's worth noting that things worked differently for immediate families at the apex of a great house than they did down at my lowly branch. Laerdya was fourthborn. The firstborn died honorably in battle. The secondborn, admittedly unfit physically for battle, was allowed to become a scholar.

The thirdborn - tempormently unfit to lead - was disposed of less willingly and less publically. She simply failed to return from a hunting trip with her sister, the current Laerdya. The old Laerdya had been the one to send them both into the forrest, one daughter to kill the other.

Although in her sixties now, Laerdya earned and held her position through employment of intelligence and force of will. She was not a woman to fuck about with. I stood stock still and paid attention.

"Your inclination to dress respectably and not to embarrass your house is admirable and correct, but outside your scope of knowledge to execute. A tailor will be by in the morning to ensure you look the part and appropriate gifts will be given by me as Laerdya at the betrothal ceremony tomorrow. You only need to follow specific instructions and be courteous to the best of your ability. We're all aware of the situation and ignorance can be met with lenity in your case."

She looked at me sternly "Your marriage will be unusual in one respect. When not campaigning, you'll live here."

I started and my eyebrows rose, but then shrugged my immediate acceptance. It'd be very strange for a member of the warrior caste to live with her wife's family. But, since I spent months on end in the field and had no property of my own, who cared?

"You are surprised, but think it doesn't matter. Good," Laerdya chuckled. "You were chosen from a long list of candidates partially because you'd have no practical reason to object to terms and there'd be no shame in your taking them. And partially for your reputed inability to be anything but honest, which you just confirmed."

I nodded. I can use feints in fighting or strategy as well as anyone I know, but never developed a talent for verbal dishonesty.

"Make no mistake, neither side wants you to be a political actor. Do as you're told, marry a princess, consummate the union, and go back to being a respectable soldier on campaign. Can you handle that?"

"Yes."

"Good. If you fail in any of those respects or develop ambitions to gain influence beyond the military sphere, your grieving widow will be remarried to one of your many available cousins."

I nodded, quite sure that would be readily and promptly accomplished. Still, since even my military ambitions were limited, the death threat wasn't applicable and therefore wasn't a source of concern.

"We'll return tomorrow to escort you to the ceremony. I'll supply you with a guard posted outside your door at night while you sleep and a pair of servants to assist you until your wedding in two weeks. Actually, keep them. You really shouldn't go into a marriage with no people." And she departed, leaving the promised servants and guard from her retinue.

"Hello," I greeted them politely.

"Ma'am," answered the guardswoman at attention. She looked about 18 or so, probably due to ship out with the proper army next campaign season. The servants - harder to judge, but I guessed 18 and 13 - just looked down. I frowned, never liking the necessity of servants to begin with and liking even less my having two of my own. Still, I wasn't going to reorder my entire society that night.

"So, the servants' quarters are through there. Please feel free to get a good night's sleep." As the two girls walked by, the second servant girl looked up at me and smiled shyly. I smiled back and nodded.

"At ease," I ordered the guardswoman, always somewhat amused that the soldiers with the least battlefield experience display the most formality. "Name and rank?"

"Corporal Kemptrux, 3rd company, 1st guardswoman regiment, 1st division, House Laerdya."

"Where do your people live?"

"They don't."

"I'm sorry to hear that. What are your orders, Corporal?"

"To stand guard at your door from sundown to sun up."

"Guard, not lookout?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Corporal, speak freely, does it strike you as unbelievably pointless to post an unarmed guard outside my door inside a fortress crawling with armed sentries?"

The young corporal smiled, "I assume it's more to signify your importance than to actually assure your safety, ma'am."

"I suppose it'd be beneath your dignity to 'stand' guard while sitting on a stool?"

The corners of her mouth twitched, "It'd be very improper, ma'am."

"Alright, ten minutes after you hear the hour bells - every time you hear the hour bells - I want you to come inside and sit down at that table for five minutes. If anyone asks, it was so I needn't leave my room to call for you."

"Why is it really, ma'am? If I can know?" She frowned, understandably disliking unusual orders.

I took the long way around to answer, "There's validity to having young recruits train locally with retirees. Someone needs to be on hand to defend fortresses at home in the event we're invaded while our army is invading elsewhere. And there's even some validity to having veteran soldiers and skilled hetaireias protect the high muckety-mucks in order to keep unfortunate assassinations from starting civil wars. But it's beyond stupid make a promising corporal ruin her back and knees by standing for hours on end in full weight armor as an unarmed guard to an uncontested door. Especially for such a petty reason. We'll follow orders, of course, but let's be smart about it."

"Yes, ma'am!" The young corporal agreed.

"Alright, then." We stepped inside my small apartments. "When was the last time you had food and water?"

"Dawn, ma'am."

I stood and put a pitcher of water, hunks of bread, cheese, and bacon, and an onion on the table, "Have more if you want more. I can't give you better orders at the moment, but surely I can keep a single soldier fed."

"Yes, ma'am!" Part of what makes me a good officer is that I honestly care about my people, but even a shitty officer knows that valuable loyalty can be cheaply bought with basic human decency.

Someday, that corporal may have a choice between taking a minor action that saves my ass or watching me twist in the wind while she does nothing. If that day comes, I want her to remember that the first thing I did was to learn who she was, keep her from unnecessary physical damage, and see that she was fed and watered.

I nodded and took two of the same sets of rations to the servants' quarters as the young corporal assumed her post. Who knew the last time they'd had a proper meal?

I found them bundled up together on a single straw mattress with nothing covering them but their thin clothes, so I set the pitcher and food down and went back to my room for a couple woolen blankets.

Four white eyeballs trained on me as I laid the blankets over them, but no sound was made, so I explained, "You looked cold. And there's some food and water by the door in case you're hungry." Two sets of eyes nodded up and down with two sets of teeth gleaming in smiles beneath them.

I doubted strongly that the servants would ever be able to do more for me than laundry, but didn't want anyone in my care being cold and hungry.

Everyone fed and cared for, I read myself to sleep and rose early from years of training.

After I returned from my dawn trip to the stables, I found that the servant girls had run me a hot bath and had food and soldier's garb laid out for me. I shrugged to myself, thinking that I may have been wrong about how helpful they could be.

They still remained irksomely silent when I thanked them and wished them a good morning, but smiled and bowed slightly every time I spoke to them directly.

I bathed and dressed and did my damnedest to look somewhat presentable for the tailor. A silly effort, since the tailor's job is to make me look presentable, but I guess I didn't want her to be too disheartened.

"Oi, Corporal," I called out, "It's well past dawn. Want some breakfast?" The two servant girls had departed to another room. Since they seemed rather intent and confident, I left them to their business. I asked the young corporal about them as she ate with me though, "I can't seem to get my new servants to talk to me?"

"Of course not," she answered matter-of-factly, "they're just regular domestics. They'd speak to your majordomo or your valet if you had no majordomo."

"I have neither."

"Oh. I'm not sure how you'll communicate to them then."

"They speak the same language as us though?"

"Yes. Just not to you."

"Oh, good grief," I resolved to convince them to speak to me at some point, "How about you? I've got a few more rooms. Are you allowed to stay here to sleep?" I gave her an out, in case she had a sweetheart or buddies she'd rather stay with. "Or do you need to report back between shifts?"

"Ma'am, if you're good with me staying here, I'm happy to. I'll run back today and get my tack and kit."

"You're training to be cavalry, then? Excellent. I'm a cavalry officer myself. Do you read?" Not a rude question. There was about a one-in-five chance.

"Yes, ma'am," she answered proudly, "Middling well, anyway."

"Right. You're welcome to my library whenever you're not on post."

"Thank you, ma'am," she hopped up, "I'll go get my gear right now, so I can get started reading?"

"Go ahead, Corporal." She took off. Access to books is a luxury and I'm sure she wanted to take as much advantage as she could during her short stay with me. So long as she had such a pointless assignment, I'd certainly give her all the time in the world to study. Given her ardency, she could rise as high as a warrant officer if educated and victorious.

My rooms weren't very extensive, so I found my two servants easily enough. They were changing the bedding in a spare room.

"Hello?" I greeted again.

They stopped what they were doing and looked down.

"Look, you have me at a disadvantage. Are there circumstances under which you two can talk to me?"

Again, silence.

"Bloody hell," I grew frustrated, "There's just us here. I promise that I'm not trying to trick you."

The elder one, with visible reluctance, answered, "Only liveried servants speak to nobility, milady."

Such rigid distinctions between levels of servants weren't made at my aunt's house, but the customs with which I'd been raised in the provinces had probably just become relaxed over time. When in Rome...

"Are there any tasks that you do now that are beneath the dignity of a liveried servant?"

"No, milady."

"Alright then. Stay put." I retrieved two of the tunics I'd purchased for myself and slipped one over the head of each servant. I'm well over 6 feet tall and broad shouldered, so they were comically oversized, but I could see about getting them better fitting garments later. "Now you're liveried servants."

The younger touched her new tunic as though she didn't yet believe her luck. The older girl had the presence of mind to speak, "Thank you, milady."

I almost answered that it was nothing, but realized in time that I'd just moved them up a layer in the social strata, which was most certainly not nothing to them. My thinking it silly that clothes defined position didn't make it any less true. "You're welcome. Now, I'm quite literally provincial, so the best way you can thank me is to warn me if I do something foolishly out of custom. Meanwhile, tell me your names?"

"I'm Imogen and this is my younger sister Miriam, milady."

"Do you two have other family?"

"No, milady."

"Okay, Imogen and Miriam," I looked to each in turn, "As far as I know, your only responsibilities should be keeping these rooms clean and keeping your and my laundry done. Possibly the corporal's. I'm not sure how that works. But food seems to be brought here, my horse is in the care of the royal stable, and I'll take care of my own tack and kit."

"Yes, milady."

I thought I ought to say something more, but didn't know any ceremonial words for the occasion, "All relationships are reciprocal in nature. You are entitled to my protection and care. Do nothing to unnecessarily give offense, but alert me if any offense is given to you. Oh, and I'll see about getting you better fitting livery next time I can get to the market."

"Milady," Imogen spoke up, "we can sew."

"Right. Excellent. There's ten more of these tunics in my room. Feel free to use them as material." A knock at my outer door interrupted us. "Ah. That'll be the tailor." I turned to answer her.

"Milady," Imogen again aided me, "one of us should get the door."

"Of course," I nodded in thanks, "Please do?" The number of things I was no longer qualified to do continued to shock me.

Laerdya's tailor entered with a cross look at Imogen and Miriam. "Did these domestics tell you they were to be liveried servants, milady?"

Poor Miriam shrank away from the accusing tailor into a doorway. Imogen - to her good credit - stood her ground by the door, a trembling lip the only sign of her very real fear that I'd disavow them. Suddenly I wished I'd rolled in horse muck before that ludicrously superior tailor arrived.

"No. I told them they were to be liveried servants. I believe that's within my province to decide," I answered stiffly. Imogen hid a smile and ushered her sister into another room.

"Yes, milady," The tailor answered in open disapproval, but still dressed me in appropriate garments of a rich azure with sharp cendrée trimmings. Not the ridiculous velvets and satin that the courtiers wore, but much finer linen than I'd ever had access to buy and in a fashion designed with more flair than the functional tunics I'd bought. I held firmly that I must be able to ride and fight in them and the tailor begrudgingly conceded the point.