Violya

Chapter 3 Jessima-1

3

JESSIMA

Air. Glorious, fresh air. Salty, fishy, but air nonetheless.

Queen Jessima Cleland of Fertilian sucked it down greedily. She felt giddy on it, as if she’d consumed one too many sweet plum wines.

Ahead lay the legendary walled city of Lian. A place she’d heard of her entire life, but never visited. She had finally arrived.

Although, not quite.

“Wait here,” Lord Andrew Chattergoon’s commanding voice travelled down the tunnel. “Get the Queen to her feet.”

The donkey pulling Jessima’s sand sled stopped, and promptly emptied its bowels in uncomfortably close proximity to her head. Had she still been moving, she would’ve gently bumped over it. Now still, the dung’s pungent damp-weather smell threatened to overwhelm the fishiness. A few moments later two ladies-in-waiting hurried to her side. They carefully helped her up from the sled, led her away from the steaming pile and fussed about her. After many hours lying on the cushioned wooden slats, Jessima’s legs wobbled like a new-born foal as she put weight on them. She smoothed the proud curve of her belly.

“Nearly there, sweetling,” she whispered to her unborn child. “Nearly there.”

Chattergoon strode toward her from the front of the group. “Your Grace, it is a gentle ascent now into Lian. However, I request you remain here, out of sight, until I can assess the situation at the tunnel exit. You are vulnerable at this point, and the fewer people who know you are here, the better. I’ll organise a carriage to take you directly to Prince Ernest’s residence.”

She nodded her assent. Chattergoon bowed and jogged off towards the tunnel exit. She followed his progress into the pinprick of light. His asking her permission was simply a courtesy. He was in charge here, although she was quite sure she’d be able to work something out if she had to. Her recent visit to Peqkya had bolstered her confidence in her abilities. Chattergoon had remained perfectly courteous the entire journey, ensuring her comfort and never once neglecting his duty to protect her and deliver her safely, like a living package, into the care of her brothers-in-law.

For eight weeks they had traversed the tunnels under the desert of Drome from Fertilian proper to the outlying city state of Lian. According to Chattergoon, it had been an easy journey. He and his men had been constantly surprised by the lack of hostile Dromedars lying in wait to antagonise the Fert tunnel runners at airholes and at the notorious strike points they usually favoured. “The desert rats must be occupied elsewhere,” Chattergoon had mused aloud to his men, precisely once, in Jessima’s hearing.

She wondered what a hard journey through the tunnels might’ve involved and counted her blessings. Jessima wasn’t entirely sure what day it was, or what time. They had stuck to a rigid six hours walking, six hours sleeping pattern in the tunnel and she had lost all track of time. As the pregnant Queen, she was afforded a ride on the back of a sand sled dragged along by a donkey trained to tolerate the enclosed space. Their only light had been from the torches Chattergoon’s men carried and meticulously maintained. The only noise from their own movements. The oppressive silence in the tunnels had threatened to overwhelm but Chattergoon suggested, no, ordered, that they sing.

Some days the ladies-in-waiting warbled popular court ballads, some days Chattergoon’s men belted out rather coarser ditties, no doubt learnt at taverns and brothels. And at other times, the twenty King’s soldiers sang military marching refrains. Often Jessima and Princess Georgina would join in with the court songs, but Chattergoon didn’t sing. He was preoccupied with what the tunnels were continually communicating to no one but him. He caressed their walls, c****d his head to listen for sounds Jessima couldn’t hear and sniffed at the stale, heavy air like a hound latching onto a scent.

Now, just a few steps from freedom, she heard the faint hum of the hustling and bustling city drifting down from the exit on the clean, salty air. The sound penetrated the heavy silence that hung about her, that hung about them all. The city clatter lightened her being all the way to her bones. If it hadn’t been for the hand of a lady-in-waiting on her elbow, Jessima thought she might’ve floated up and away into the daylight.

She patted her pregnant belly again. It had certainly swollen, but her short, doll-like frame had decreased, which perhaps made the bump more prominent. There was food and water, but it had been heavily rationed. Consume too much early on and there would be none left for the last days of the journey, or if there was a delay. Lord Chattergoon had calculated every detail, down to the number of daily nuts each person received. Not a handful, but seven. Counted out each time.

“I’m not waiting any longer,” Princess Georgina declared and pitched forward. One of Chattergoon’s men stepped in her way.

“Not yet, Princess,” he said. “We wait for Lord Chattergoon. That’s his orders, and we follow ‘em.”

The princess swayed, transfixed by the light at the end of the tunnel and reached out a tremulous hand as if to touch it. But she obeyed. They all obeyed Chattergoon. Georgina muttered to herself, tugged her matted hair and itched the dirty skin at her neck. She turned from the light and stumbled in circles, rapping her knuckles on the tunnel walls as she passed, scraping her skin and leaving smears of blood. Her eyes glazed, oblivious to the pain she inflicted on herself. Jessima feared she had gone mad.

Georgina had been jolly at the start of the journey. Flirting outrageously with Chattergoon’s men and the soldiers, and shamelessly taking a different one off into the tunnels to entertain whenever the party rested for any length of time. For a while she’d rotated the forty men and kept herself amused by taking more than one with her at a time. But the pleasures of the flesh could not keep the darkness at bay, and she’d started to fret. She’d attempted to run back the way they had come, or off into some random tunnel, shrieking uncontrollably that she needed air, air, air.

During the worst episodes, Chattergoon had ordered her to be sedated with poppy for her own safety. Her unconscious body had been squashed next to Jessima on the sand sled for a while until she awoke in a daze and was able to walk again.

Although Princess Georgina was Jessima’s stepdaughter, they were of a similar age. Georgina was a pretty, buxom girl with a wicked penchant for gossip and an insatiable s****l appetite. Her husband, Lord Hadley Smyth, was blissfully unaware of her rampant infidelities, as was her father. No one dared break that news to the fearsome king.

King Hugo was a great bear of a man in his late sixties, dearly loved by his subjects and soldiers, lords and ladies. A popular king with military prowess, diplomacy and charm in equal measures. He was busy fighting back in Fertilian proper. The Thorne Twins – Awful Arthur and Miserable Mary – had joined their armies after twenty-four years of quarrelling and marched on Cleland City, Hugo’s seat of power.

The day Jessima had entered the tunnels heading west was the day King Hugo had led his army east to meet the Thornes at Yettle Valley. She worried about the dreadful pain he’d suffered in his heart before she’d left. His ill-health had shocked them all, but Jessima was certain he’d recovered, adamant his strength had returned in order to thrash the Thorne twins once and for all.

Jessima and Georgina had been sent to Lian as a precaution, but she’d be summoned back soon enough. Although, no doubt after the birth. But will my sweetling cope with the tunnel? Perhaps we should rest here a while, until the baby is strong enough to return.

Jessima shivered. Her body’s attempt at shaking off the thoughts. The same had been repeated in her mind for the past two months. There wasn’t much else to do when bumping along behind an incontinent donkey other than overthink everything.

Will I be a good mother? Will my child love me? It was her first and she didn’t know how to care for a baby. As one of eleven children, she’d looked after her younger siblings before she was married, but they’d been toddlers. I needn’t worry, I’m the Queen. This babe, if a boy, was the heir to the throne of Fertilian. There would be plenty of others around her with more experience to guide her.

Jessima was desperate for news from Fertilian proper. Had the battle been fought? In the eight weeks she’d been in the vacuous tunnels, she was sure it must have happened by now. Had the Cleland army thrashed the Thornes? She was certain they had. King Hugo’s soldiers had been supported by one thousand formidable Peqkian warriors led by Captain Denya. An alliance Jessima had brokered with Melokai Ramya.

Her mind flitted to Toby, as it often did, and a warm flush spread from between her legs up towards her cheeks. The gloomy tunnels always appeared brighter as she glowed with his memory. Prince Toby, Hugo’s youngest brother and his army general.

And her love.

Hugo loved Georgina’s mother, his long-dead second wife Jayne. That was no secret. But Jessima loved his brother. That was a big secret. They’d shared one night of passionate pleasure together and Jessima had conceived. She’d spent nine years with Hugo and nothing. She was certain Toby was her baby’s father, but no one knew.

Well… one person knew. Ramya. Jessima’s friend had guessed. How is she? She must have had her baby by now. Is it a girl? Jessima prayed the Dromedars hadn’t tried anything stupid after Chattergoon had spied their army loitering at the base of the Meliok mountains. Ramya will have put them quickly in their place. She’s a ferocious warrior.

A whistle sliced through the tunnel silence. Jessima startled at the noise and then chuckled to herself. Jumpy little bird.

“Let’s go, my Queen,” one of Chattergoon’s men said. “We’ll get you and the Princess out first and come back for the goods and animals.”

The soldiers formed up around Jessima and Georgina. The two ladies-in-waiting positioned themselves either side of their queen, holding her elbows.

“Help the Princess,” Jessima said, “I can manage.” They dropped behind to assist Georgina, who, quite clearly, was not managing.

Jessima took a long pull of the fresh air, lifted her chin and walked forward. She knew she must look like a gutter woman; her knee-length blond hair was wild and unkempt, her clothes tattered and dirty, and her skin was hidden under an eight-week-thick layer of dust and grime, but she was the Queen and she had a regal manner to uphold.

The ground was smoother here, not as sandy, and the tunnel widened as it approached the exit. It was a gentle climb, but enough to make her breath quicken.

As she drew closer, she could make out the tall, lanky shadow of Lord Chattergoon.

“This way, Queen Jessima,” Chattergoon said.

The tunnel spat her out into a bright, mild autumn day. Her eyes screamed as the daylight hit them. A shooting black pain danced through the sockets and pummelled at them. She clenched her eyes tight and brought her arm up as a shield from the assault.

“Oh,” she exclaimed as her step faltered.

She felt Chattergoon’s firm grip on her other arm as he led her on.

“There’s a carriage in front of you, my Queen,” the lord said, gently placing her hand on the side of it. “Open your eyes a little so you can see where you’re going. Your sight will return in measures.”

Jessima lowered her arm and raised one eyelid a crack. She stepped up into the plush carriage. The curtains were drawn and her eyes slackened in the gloom, opening to tiny slits. Princess Georgina and the two ladies-in-waiting joined her in the carriage. The door was closed, and the carriage pitched forward.

The two women wedged Georgina between them, propping up her slumping form and soothing her with soft words.

“I will never see again,” Georgina wailed and attempted to claw at her face with blood-stained fingers. The two ladies-in-waiting held back her wrists.

Jessima listened to the clopping of the horses’ hooves, the voices of the city folk and the hubbub of life. A wave of exhaustion crashed over her and her head lolled on her shoulder. She rested her hands on her bump in a protective hug.