Violya

Chapter 3 Jessima-2

In a fog, Jessima was ushered from the carriage by a flurry of women. They half-walked, half-carried her from an internal courtyard through a hallway, up a staircase and into a large room. She was undressed with little ceremony and plonked in a hot bath, scrubbed and washed, then dried and oiled, and put to bed.

She melted into the soft mattress and fluffy goose-down pillow, relished the touch of the finest bedclothes tucked around her after eight weeks of sleeping on the ground.

***

“Ahhh, Queen Jessima, it is an honour!” The man bowed low.

“Prince Ernest,” Jessima said sweetly and gave him her hand to kiss. “Or should I address you as Lord Overseer of Lian?”

“Ernie, please.” The man straightened and smiled broadly.

He was a taller, thinner version of her husband, and with a rounder belly. Ernie was in his late-fifties and had a slight hunch from age with a barely noticeable lean to the left. His clean-shaven face was jovial with ruddy cheeks. His grey hair had thinned on top but was perfectly coiffed nonetheless. He was not so rugged or chiselled as Hugo, not as handsome, but Jessima could see the resemblance.

Ernie turned and crooked his arm. “May I escort you to breakfast, my dear?”

“Why yes, Ernie.” Jessima took his proffered arm and he led her down the hallway and into a modest morning room.

The two men in the room rose as she entered and bowed low.

Ernie guided her to a seat at the head of the table. She waited for her ladies-in-waiting to adjust her skirts and then she sat. “Please, gentleman, be seated.”

“Oh, my dear, you must be exhausted,” Ernie said before his bottom had even settled in his seat, “please eat your fill and then you must rest. I have handmaids primed and ready to assist your every whim. The only time I traversed the tunnels was to your wedding to Hugo, my dear, and the sand and dust found every possible crevice to penetrate and took days to scrub out—”

A sharp cough interrupted Ernest. It came from the second man sat at the table. He was dressed in full religious garb: a pristine white cassock stitched with gold thread. The collarless neck was edged in a deep purple and large pearl buttons fastened the robe from neck to floor. The same purple cloth lined his cuffs and across his shoulders was a cloak of the same material but embroidered with white and gold thread. Around his neck sat a heavy gold chain with the religious symbol of a star within a circle, hanging from it.

This man was short and thin, with child-sized hands. He was handsome, though, with prominent cheekbones and a dimple in his chin. He had a full head of well-oiled hair, which, even though he was coming up to fifty, hadn’t started receding or greying. He didn’t look like Hugo but had the same commanding presence. This was a man who was used to being listened to and having his orders followed.

“Do you remember Prince Charles?” Ernie said. “He is the Chief Cleric here in Lian. So, there’s Hugo, the eldest, then me, then our dearest Edward, presumed dead, lost at sea you know. Then old Charlie here and the youngest Toby. Five boys, I’m sure our mother Olivia did despair… oh but I’m rambling…”

“Prince Charles,” Jessima said with a broad smile.

“My Queen,” Prince Charles replied.

He didn’t bow or dip his head as was customary to the King and Queen. Instead, he raised his nose higher. Religious fellows in Fertilian proper showed their monarchs deference, but Hugo’s brother clearly thought he was above all that. She wondered briefly if she should say something, assert her queenly right to the utmost respect, but decided to let it pass.

With her sweetest tone, she said, “Of course, I remember, you very graciously presided over my wedding to King Hugo.”

She turned to Lord Chattergoon and greeted him with genuine warmth. He dipped his head in return. The men eyed the food and Jessima said, “Please, let us break our fast.”

Jessima, tired of the tunnel diet of dried meat, stale bread and water, wanted to snatch at everything. Fruit, sweetcakes, tea. Instead, she controlled her urges and daintily indicated for a servant to ladle her some porridge. Jessima sprinkled a touch of cinnamon over it and stirred in a spoonful of honey and then waited until all three men were eating before she took a bite – a Queen seen to be gorging herself was not the done thing.

“Tell me, where is Princess Georgina this morning?” Jessima asked after swallowing her second mouthful of porridge to still her grumbling stomach.

She shifted in her dress. Ernie had commissioned it for her, but the seamstress had not appreciated just how pregnant she was. Some last-minute adjustments had let out the seams, but not quite enough. The design and cloth were not to Jessima’s tastes but she’d had no other choice that morning. Her priority would be to ensure she was befitted in the finery seemly for a queen. She couldn’t allow the Lianites to take their first glimpse of her in person in poorly fitted garments.

“Princess Georgina is still resting,” Ernie said, “her handmaids took some breakfast up to her room.”

“And what news from Fertilian, of the war?” Jessima blurted. Polite conventions dictated she shouldn’t bring up such matters, or at the very least should’ve waited until after breakfast, but she was desperate to know.

The two princes stopped eating to gawp at her, surprised by her boldness. Chattergoon continued to fill his belly, listening but not looking.

“There has been none, my dear,” Ernie finally said. “You are the first group that has arrived to us from Fertilian. All tunnel running has ceased.” He blinked at her for a moment or two longer than was necessary, as if to say, now eat your oats and be quiet like a good Queen.

Jessima noted the admonition but ploughed on. “Is that to be expected, Lord Chattergoon?”

Chattergoon looked up, a fork with juicy gammon quivered in front of his open mouth. He dropped it to his plate, sat upright and addressed Jessima. “Yes, my Queen. All able-bodied men who usually work the tunnels would have been seconded to fight in the war against the Thorne Twins.”

“Do not think on it, child,” Prince Charles said with a stern tone. “God will send us a messenger with news when He wills it. Let the men manage those matters, and concern yourself with the prettier things in life. The division of the sexes is as God wills it.”

Jessima’s curiosity raged. Once her job had been to sit pretty and be silent, like an ornament. But since her journey to Peqkya, she felt capable, confident. She selected a sweetcake with pink icing and proceeded to nibble at it.

She’d forgotten Prince Charles was a religious fanatic, as addicted to religion as Princess Georgina was to s*x. Charles had insisted on sermonising for hours at her wedding to Hugo. Jessima’s sister, Geraldina, had joked afterwards that Grandfather Walter had snored throughout the entire speech, much to the amusement of those around him.

Her family. She’d not had news from the Walters in a long while. She wondered if Geraldina’s letters were piling up back at Cleland Castle. She wouldn’t be able to send a letter to her sister from Lian. Are you all safe? I pray this war doesn’t reach central Fertilian where you live.

“So, my dear,” Prince Ernest said with a mouthful of pancake, “has Lord Chattergoon filled you in on Lian?”

Chattergoon glanced at Jessima and continued to chew hungrily on his meat.

“Not as such, dear Ernie. Lord Chattergoon has been busy expertly guiding us through the tunnels,” Jessima replied.

In eight weeks, Chattergoon had barely spoken to her about anything other than the job at hand. He wasn’t one for informal small talk. All his communication had been entirely necessary and spoken with the utmost respect.

Ernie took a sip of his tea. “Oh, it is a unique place with an interesting history. One which I am well versed in. I shall be delighted to introduce you to our wonderful city.”

“I’d be delighted to receive a tour, and to learn all about Lian. Perhaps later today?” Jessima said, clapping her hands together excitedly.

“Certainly not,” Prince Charles said with a reprimanding squint at his brother. “You are delicate, and in your condition, you really should be resting.”

“You are very kind to consider my health,” Jessima said.

“Women are to be protected, it is as God commands,” Prince Charles replied. He ran a hand through his lush head of hair.

“Of course,” Jessima replied, “but I should like to—”

“After breakfast, the medics will check you over,” Prince Charles cut her off.

Jessima acquiesced graciously, not wanting to disrespect her elder yet quietly fuming.

“Would you care for some tea, my dear,” Ernie said and gestured for a servant to bring the pot.

“I would, Ernie, but I take it iced,” Jessima said.

Ernie frowned. “Tea is at its finest hot and with a splash of milk. Here, let Mavis fill your cup. Iced,” he chuckled, “who in all Fertilian takes it iced.”

Prince Charles laughed. “What nonsense,” he said, as he brushed crumbs from his lavish purple cloak. Abruptly he impaled Jessima with a stare. “What is it you want?”

Jessima, taken aback with the directness of his question and the rude nature of its asking, stumbled. “I… want… to be a good queen, to be a good mother…” She rested a hand on her belly.

“Indeed, I thought as much,” Prince Charles retorted and fixed her with a glare that rooted her to the chair. “Then you’ll do as we say. We are far more experienced in these things.”

Jessima frowned.

“It’s for the best,” Ernie said brightly, lightening the atmosphere. He leaned towards her and patted her wrist like a child. He gestured towards the steaming hot cup of tea that the servant had placed in front of her.

She stared at it and, when Ernie wasn’t looking, gently pushed it away.

***

“Here, Betsy Boo Boo,” Prince Ernest called.

The small tan-and-black dog ran into the courtyard and jumped into Ernie’s outstretched arms. He lifted the dog up in front of his face. Ernie puckered his lips in the shape of a fish’s mouth and the dog sloppily licked them.

Jessima’s breakfast curdled at the thought of dog slobber in her mouth. She much preferred cats, especially ones that purred so loud it thrummed through your body, and spoke, like Ramya’s clevercat.

Ernest tucked the dog under his arm. “This is Betsy. She’s very tame.”

Princess Georgina, now completely recovered from her temporary tunnel madness, put her face in front of the dog’s and it licked her nose. She giggled. “Oh, I love her, Uncle Ernie.”

“Now we’re all here, let’s start our tour, shall we?”

“I simply cannot wait to see the Sarenky Sea,” Georgina exclaimed as they settled themselves in the carriage.

It had been a week since they had arrived, and this was the first outing. Jessima was elated. She was starting to feel as contained and restricted in Ernie’s residence as she had in the tunnel. She’d been desperate to explore Lian since she’d arrived, but Prince Charles had demanded they rest for at least a month before heading into the city. Jessima complied for a week and then insisted.

For their safety, Prince Ernest still hadn’t announced the Queen and the Princess’ arrival. It would be done at the proper time, he said. For this reason, the curtains in the carriage were partially drawn, allowing a small gap to peek through, and no chance of anyone looking in and recognising the occupants. Georgina gazed out one side and Jessima the other. Ernest sat travelling backwards, and facing them, with Betsy curled on his lap.

As they left the square interior courtyard, Jessima finally saw Ernie’s residence from the outside. It was a grand stone building of three storeys. Not quite a castle, more a square fortress. It had a wall around the perimeter and then a moat, before the walls of the building rose up with turrets at each corner. There were a few windows around the outside, but most of them faced inwards to the courtyard, and many of these, like her own room, had small balconies. Along the top of the perimeter wall was a walkway. A handful of armed men – but mostly women – milled about there, seemingly unconcerned about any threats. The gate in the wall was left open with the portcullis raised and the drawbridge down.

The carriage made slow progress through the city.

“It’s crowded,” Jessima observed. There seemed to be more people, buildings, belongings and detritus crammed together in this small walled city than in the entirety of Cleland City, three times its size.