Violya

Chapter 19 Toby

19

TOBY

Prince Toby Cleland of Fertilian sat on a donkey next to False Queen Charlotte, as her guest. His hands were trussed to the donkey’s saddle and a tight gag dug into the sides of his mouth. The old bat wanted to boast, and Toby was all ears.

Captain Denya was off laying siege to Cleland Castle. Charlotte’s son Arthur, who Toby was yet to meet, was with the turncoat Peqkian, as was his twin sister Mary’s husband, Lord Clement Pullman. Mary was holed up in some appropriated city townhouse out of the way. She was forever in poor health and, according to Charlotte, ever so dull.

So, it fell to Toby to listen to the old bat’s incessant drivel. He’d answered back one too many times over the past few months and had been relieved of the privilege of conversation with a soiled rag stuffed between his teeth.

Next to Toby, an invisible Charlotte sat atop her old Flame horse. They waited on a section of the first wall with a perfect view of Cleland Castle. The castle’s drawbridge remained resolutely up. There, just out of reach of the Cleland archers on the castle walls, Captain Denya’s warriors directed the Thorne soldiers.

This section of the first wall had been cleared of dead Cleland soldiers, but blood still stained the stone. It pained Toby to see.

It had been three months since the Thorne army had taken the city with little resistance, a few weeks after his charming picnic at Forty Marshes. Most of the residents had fled, either through the tunnels to Lian, or into the countryside. The Cleland soldiers who remained in the city had retreated to the impregnable castle and had held positions on the second outer wall and the first inner wall, which surrounded the castle.

Toby had been forced to watch as a guest of the gloating old hag as Denya had effortlessly taken the outer wall, and then, the following day, the inner wall. Scores of Cleland soldiers had fallen in the bloodbath before the survivors retreated to the castle. Toby knew the castle was impenetrable. Surrounded by a wide, deep moat with only the one drawbridge in and out, and on top of a steep hill. He’d also thought the castle walls were unassailable… but he had to have hope.

He had prayed for Denya to attack as swiftly as she had the two walls, and then be cut down by the archers and castle defenders. But Denya was calculating and she took her time. For weeks Toby had watched her manoeuvres with interest alongside Charlotte.

The space between the castle and the first wall was filled with now-deserted houses and stores, as well as the Batten Fields. These fields had been positioned just so to allow the royal family to watch matches from the comfort of a viewing platform at the castle, and out of reach of the archers and tossed missiles.

While Denya had been plotting, she had allowed the Thorne army to play batten on the pitches. It turned out that a couple of players from the Rotchurch City and Edester City batten teams had survived the fighting at Yettle Valley. Toby had been baffled, recalling Denya’s words that male soldiers were “undisciplined and lazy”. What was she doing allowing the men to relax? But then, as the roaring crowd, laughter and happy cheering became deafening, he understood. It would unnerve those holding the castle. They would be forced to watch this casual display of cheerfulness. It announced: the Thorne army are not worried about this siege.

He had been even more surprised to see that these games had been followed by a Peqkian tourney of sorts with feats of arms on foot and horseback. But it soon became clear that this was training for the warriors – and yet another way to frighten the Cleland troops in the castle. The most impressive display saw Peqkian warriors on Fertilian purebred horses. Faster and larger than the stocky Peqkian ponies, the warriors were practising mounted warfare and testing their new horses to the limits.

The day after the batten games, Denya had put the army to work. The chop and hammering of wood started up. For weeks, it had been the only sound, and then a clang and clink of ironwork, until a huge wooden fence had emerged on the edge of the batten fields, twice as tall as a man and with an overhanging roof. On the side nearest the castle and on the roof that stretched away from it, the wood had a covering of iron. A huge shield.

Toby watched with horror as Denya had unveiled this iron and wood contraption. She had waited until the wind was just right, lit wet-wood fires on the bank of the moat, out of reach of the castle archers who lined the wall. These smouldering fires blew smoke into the castle, blinding the archers. When the smoke cleared, the fence was in place on the edge of the moat, carried there by hundreds of soldiers who lifted the wooden poles that stuck out from the inside, under the cover of the iron-clad roof.

She had it placed opposite the weakest part of the castle walls and nowhere near the drawbridge. Where the castle wall, through the natural lay of the land when it had been built, was not only slightly lower, but was also thinner. Fewer archers could stand along the top of this section of the wall. From the outside, this section of the wall looked precisely the same as any other, but Denya knew it was the weakest section, because she had been inside the castle and had studied it. Toby cursed the day he had vouched for her on Hugo’s war council. If he hadn’t trusted her, she would never have entered the castle, never had leave to roam around it at will.

When the smoke cleared, the Cleland archers had loosed arrows. Some penetrated the iron shield, but most bounced off, or landed and skittered on the roof which sheltered the soldiers beneath. Toby had wondered what possible advantage this fence had, until he saw what the sneaky cat captain had done next.

Rocks, stones, tree trunks, sticks, grass, earth and other debris was brought forward. The soldiers holding the fence lifted it and held it over the moat whilst the debris was dumped in the moat and packed down so it could be stepped on. They built this up high enough so that when the fence was dropped, it was perhaps an arm’s length away from the bank, and an arm’s length nearer to the wall.

This had gone on for weeks, as Denya slowly built a bridge across the moat to attack at the weakest section. The Cleland defenders poured flaming tar on the contraption, but it still stood. They heaved heavy rocks and dropped them on the fence, which dented it but did not stop its advance. They found long poles and attempted to push it over, but it stood firm.

And today was the day. It was time to attack the castle.

“That’s one of four, you know,” Charlotte said proudly beside him. “Denya will attack the wall in four places. The weakest parts. She calculated how much the water would rise in the moat and where it was likely to breach and has dug an overflow channel so that it will not flood the bridges.”

Damn. The cat had it all worked out. From his position, he could only see the one fence shield nearest the drawbridge.

In the distance Denya whistled and a series of whistles replied from her warriors. He heard shouts from the Cleland soldiers at the castle and saw movement along the walls.

“Here we go,” the old hag said with gaiety as thick as syrup.

Toby watched as the soldiers holding the huge shield in place, retreated a few steps and then shifted its position so that it was at an angle to the wall. In the slip of space underneath, soldiers then brought ladders against the wall. Soldiers swarmed up the ladders, accompanied by Peqkian warriors who climbed the wall using nothing but their fingers searching out gaps in the old, crumbling mortar between the stones.

As this was happening, large catapults were rolled into place. Peqkian warriors climbed into the bucket as the payload. With a series of shouts, Peqkian archers took aim and loosed arrows at a small group of archers stood on the wall. Their aim was impeccable. As the Cleland soldiers fell, the catapult was launched. Peqkian warriors flew gracefully through the air, landing on the castle walls where moments earlier archers had stood. They drew their weapons and charged. Toby knew few Cleland soldiers would withstand their attack.

“Well, I think we know how this will end,” Charlotte said and laughed.

Toby choked into his gag and looked away, the pain unbearable.

“More wine,” Arthur Thorne snapped at a servant. “And more roast frog!”

They sat around King Hugo’s grand dining table in the ceremonial dining hall celebrating breaking the siege of Cleland Castle. The great wall hanging of the Cleland coat of arms and all the Cleland family portraits that had lined the walls had been pulled down, stuffed into the fireplace and now smouldered and crackled in the grate. A servant had hastily draped the Thorne coat of arms cloth hanging over a few chairs, not yet having time to affix it to the wall.

Charlotte sat at the head of the table, where Hugo had once sat, gloating. She had nursed the same glass of wine the entire night, and her cheeks were flushed. Toby, who had been brought in to sit at the bottom of the table, still trussed up and gagged, realised that there was one person who bragged more than Charlotte. Her son, Arthur.

Arthur was a large man of around forty years, he sat to his mother’s right, in the chair Queen Jessima used to take. He wore a huge white fur robe, which Toby recognised as once belonging to Benjamin Thorne. Arthur was tall and thick-limbed, similar to his father in stature, but not much else. Arthur had dull blue-grey eyes, rather than the piercing blue of Benjamin’s. The youngest Thorne twin had no beard and long, wavy reddish-blond hair that touched his shoulders. His skin was well-oiled and everything about him appeared clean and tended, from his trimmed eyebrows to his overshined boots. A peacock.

Opposite him sat his twin sister, Mary. She was a small, thin woman. Plain, unlike her mother, and not wearing well. She had deep lines in her forehead and around her eyes. Her pale cheeks were sunken and her frizzy, unkempt hair was almost entirely grey. In contrast to her twin, she had an uncared-for look about her. Poor health clung to her clothes as it did to her body. She hadn’t eaten anything; it seemed her husband ate for her. He was as large as she was small.

Next came Mary’s weak and sickly son, James. He had a shawl around his shoulders and held his mother’s hand. Although a teenager, he was half the size of Mary.

Lord Clement Pullman sat next to his son. With ruddy complexion, round cheeks and a shiny bald head, you’d be mistaken for thinking that Clement was a jovial man. He wasn’t. A deep furrow line marred his forehead from years of scowling. There was a danger about him that overshadowed Arthur and came close to that of the Peqkian.

Next to Arthur, sat his mirror-image son Jeremy. A strapping lad in his twenties. And then came Denya. Across the table, Clement refused to look at her. The warrior’s intimidating presence made both Arthur and Clement nervous, Toby noted. But not sickly James, who cuddled into his mother, or Jeremy, who carried a dazed look, as if lost in some daydream.

Toby sat four seats down from Denya, close enough that she could do violence if necessary, far enough away for his prisoner’s stench not to upset the diners.

Although, he soon realised, Arthur’s stench overrode his. Arthur was highly perfumed, to the point that whenever he moved, to raise his glass or stab at a bit of meat, his spicy scent wafted down to assault Toby’s nostrils.

A servant topped up Arthur’s wine glass and he splashed it into the air. “We did it,” he bellowed, “we smashed the Clelands and avenged Father.” He leaned forward to take in Toby, “You hear that Cleland? The Thornes are back in power. Why aren’t you celebrating?”

Arthur scraped his chair back violently and loped towards Toby, a jug of wine in hand. Standing behind Toby, Arthur grabbed a handful of Toby’s hair and ripped back his head. He poured the wine over Toby’s nose and mouth, laughing.

Toby choked, struggling for air through the wine-sodden gag. He jerked his head, the wine sloshing everywhere.

Arthur’s eyes glistened with malice, a grin on his face. “This was your brother’s finest wine. He must’ve been saving it for a special occasion, such as this one.”

“Stop teasing our guest of honour, Artie,” Charlotte scolded as if Arthur was still a child.

Arthur’s body tensed and his lips pursed. He let go of Toby’s hair, thumped the jug on the table with a bang and returned to his seat, his eyes trained on Toby.

Toby was thankful that at least he could now smell wine and not Arthur. A dribble had also reached his gullet and warmed his insides. I am forever grateful for small mercies.

Jeremy jerked in his seat, as if waking from a deep sleep and looked up the table. “Now that Lucrecia is gone, when will I marry Grace Iddenkinge?”

These were the first words Jeremy had spoken during the dinner and Toby understood that although Jeremy looked just like his father, although twenty years younger, he did not share Arthur’s intellect.

“We don’t talk about your first wife, Jeremy, remember?” Arthur said, his tone was kindly but firm.

“Yes, yes, sorry, father, I keep forgetting. It’s just she died so suddenly, almost as if she’d been murdered.”

“In fact, it’s best if you keep your mouth shut altogether,” Charlotte said in the same tone as Arthur.

But Toby had heard. They’d killed off the boy’s first wife to make way for him to marry Hugo’s granddaughter.

“The Iddenkinges are staying out of town for the time being, we don’t want any reminder of the Clelands at this time. Remember? Grace’s mother is Matilda Cleland,” Arthur said patiently.

Jeremy gazed at a space just in front of his face, as if mesmerising fluffy clouds on a blue day floated behind his eyes. Charlotte shot a look at Arthur, who rolled his eyes.

Then Jeremy jolted again and looked at his father and grandmother. “Will I be expected to, you know, do it with her? To make babies?”

Clement shifted awkwardly on his seat.

“Jeremy, what did Grandmother just say?” Arthur said.

The dimwit considered this a moment. “To keep my mouth shut?”

“Exactly,” Arthur said.

Jeremy nodded and fell into his open-eyed trance again.

All paused to see if Jeremy would speak once more. When he didn’t, Clement piped up. “Now we are here, we need to discuss the coronation,” he said, his palms flat on the table.

He had drunk sweetened lemon water all night and hadn’t touched the wine. He had, however, touched the food. A great deal of it.

“Oh, Clem, dear, you really are so terribly efficient,” Charlotte mocked. “Can we not have one night to celebrate before getting down to business?”

Ignoring her remonstration, Clement continued, “I believe we should organise the coronation swiftly. Mary should be declared Queen before the week is out.”

Arthur banged his fist on the table and laughed. “Mother, I think it is time we tell them, don’t you? This farce has gone on far too long.”

“Farce?” Clement said, an undercurrent of danger rippling across his ruddy cheeks.

Mary’s red-rimmed eyes widened.

Charlotte sighed.

“I’m going to be crowned King,” Arthur declared.

“Mary is the eldest. It was agreed. We merge our armies and Mary becomes Queen. We all know my men and my alliances were far greater than your measly army, Arthur.” Clement turned to Charlotte. “We made an agreement, Charlotte. Mary will be Queen.”

Arthur laughed again. “Nonsense.”

Charlotte clicked her fingers and Arthur’s mirth dried up in his throat. She focused her attention on her daughter who visibly wilted in her chair. “Mary, my darling, there has been a change of plan. Your brother Arthur will be King. He’s more suited to the task, not least because he is a man.”

“Absolutely not,” Clement shouted on his wife’s behalf.

Charlotte ignored him and continued to speak to Mary, who clutched her sickly son. “It was the only way, my dear, to get you to stop being so stubborn. Divided, neither you nor Arthur stood any chance of regaining the throne. Together you have succeeded, for your dear Daddy. And Daddy would roll in his grave if he thought his daughter would succeed him when his son was still alive.”

“Without me you would never have made contact with Iddenkinge and Princess Matilda! Mary will be the Queen and I will be King. If not, I will rally my men, my allies and turn against you. You know we far outnumber Arthur’s men and these,” Clement gestured at Denya and spat the word, “Peqkians.”

Denya didn’t react, just continued eating. She was the only one now still enjoying the feast laid out before them.

“Are you threatening me?” Charlotte asked, still looking at Mary. The thin woman squirmed miserably.

“Are you breaking your word?” Clement countered, standing. He put his hand on Mary’s shoulder, breaking Charlotte’s spell. The thin woman stood, gathering up her son James.

“Mary will be crowned; I shall see to it.” Clement clasped a large hand around Mary’s childlike arm and marched her and his son out of the room.

“Did they really not know?” Arthur laughed.

“Shut up, Artie,” Charlotte said. “You handled that like an utter buffoon. What did I tell you? Hmm? What?”

Arthur’s chin dipped and he mumbled, “That you would break the news to them.”

“Precisely! And I would’ve done it delicately and there would be no damn threats.” Charlotte steepled her fingers together.

“Can I go to bed now, Grandmother?” Jeremy said.

“Yes,” Charlotte snapped.

The simpleton kissed his father on the cheek, then his grandmother and floated out of the hall.

A few moments passed in silence.

Charlotte stood. “I need to think. Denya, would you care to join me.”

Denya followed the older woman out of the dining hall.

As Charlotte passed the soldiers at the door, she said, “Take our guest back to his cell.”

The soldiers watched her leave and then came around the table to collect Toby.

“Stop,” Arthur said. “Take him and a large barrel of the finest wine in the Cleland cellar up to my room.”

The soldiers shrugged, and heaved Toby off his chair.

“Oh, and make sure he is bent over the barrel, would you. Face down.”

The soldiers glanced at each other but nodded to do their master’s bidding. Toby fought against them, snorting through his gag, shaking his head.

Toby smelled Arthur’s arrival before he heard him shuffle around the room. Toby was tied over the barrel in what had been a guest bedroom. The soldiers, unsure where to position Toby had put him next to the table, moving a few chairs out of the way. If Toby looked up, he could see the bed. His rump was towards the door.

“It really takes it out of a man, all this war,” Arthur said. He perched on the edge of the bed where Toby could see him and pulled off his boots. “And having a legend for a father, really puts so much pressure on a man.”

He unbuttoned his shirt. “I need my release. And I have no blasted wife here to satisfy me – all four so inconveniently dying – and my usual bed slaves were both left in Rotchurch City, Mother insisting I shouldn’t be distracted by those boys, as she calls them.”

The shirt came off and Arthur stood, untying the cord on his breeches. Toby struggled, but the soldiers had tied him up tight.

Arthur swanned around him, leaving a thick cloud of cologne in his wake. With a dagger, Arthur sliced through Toby’s rag of a shirt, running a finger down Toby’s back, and then sliced away Toby’s breeches, exposing his bare flesh.

The bastard squeezed Toby’s buttock.

“No,” Toby spat through the gag, “no, no, no.”

Arthur ran a damp cloth slowly from between Toby’s shoulder blades to his bollocks. Arthur dabbed and wiped Toby’s body as he spoke.

“My first lover was a friend of father’s, Lord Sebille Salter. Much older than me, I was only fourteen. Father would’ve been furious if he’d ever found out. It’s caused no end of trouble with wives along the way. Dear Sebille told me I stunk, insisted I wash and apply fragrance before he came near me.”

Arthur grabbed Toby’s hips. “Well, my friend, you stunk. So, now I’ve washed and perfumed you, I can come near you.”

Toby squirmed and snorted, snot running from his nose, tears streaming from his eyes. His face burned as he strained against his bindings.

You will die, Toby screamed against his gag as Arthur grunted, taking his pleasure. I will kill you.