Violya

Chapter 7 Jessima-1

7

JESSIMA

With the Meliok mountains behind her in the north, Queen Jessima looked south across the endless dunes. Some were as high as the wall on which she now stood, some giants the size of the mountains behind her.

Prince Ernest was taking her on a tour of Lian’s famed walls. Built when Edgar, the first King of Fertilian, took the city from the country of Drome two thousand years ago, and reinforced since.

They paused to take in the view of red sand that stretched for as far as Jessima could see. These dunes belonged to Drome. King Edgar had no use for them, had only wanted the harbour town the Dromedars had called Vaasar. A heat haze shimmered across the horizon with dust and fine sand swirling up, caught in the wind.

At first, Ernie had been reluctant to bring her to the great wall. Prince Charles had adamantly voiced his opinion that it was no place for a woman, and that the staircase climb would not be beneficial for Jessima, in her condition.

But, finally, she was here, almost two months since she had arrived in Lian from Fertilian proper through the tunnels, and five weeks since her failed debut in the marketplace.

Ernie had told her not to concern herself with the drunk’s outburst, and when Jessima had suggested she try again, Ernie had said, “The people know now that their Queen is in Lian and that is enough. You should remain on a pedestal, lofty and inaccessible. You are not one of the people, and never will be.”

As much as that had rankled Jessima, she had remained in Ernie’s residence, her insistence on going out into the city continually ignored. Instead she had reluctantly prayed – a rather ridiculous amount – with Prince Charles. She was convinced God now found her prayers tiresome, the number of times she had repeated them to Him.

Jessima was only on the walls because Princess Georgina, not one to shy away from doing and saying precisely what she wanted, no matter the vulgarity or uncustomary nature, had joined her voice to Jessima’s and nagged her uncles incessantly about the trip.

The princes relented and an outing was arranged. Jessima delighted in the news, giddy to venture out of the fortress and further explore Lian.

The day had arrived and, at the last moment, Princess Georgina had taken her leave. She was otherwise engaged, she’d said. Working her way through the few male soldiers and staff that Ernest kept at his residence, Jessima knew. Prince Charles had a congregation to sermonise to and so could not attend, much to Jessima’s relief.

So, Prince Ernest, Betsy the dog and Jessima headed out to the walls, accompanied by a number of female soldiers.

Betsy darted back and forth along the narrow pathway, circling Ernie’s feet while he strolled.

“There are no doors or openings in this entire wall. It contains the city, and keeps the Dromedars firmly out,” Ernie said. He relished his role as historian and had a bottomless well of knowledge about Lian.

Jessima soaked up the detail, intrigued. She had never been taught history, other than the most basic of events. She had no idea about politics or the law. Her mind, like so many other noble women, had been filled with fripperies. Destined to be pretty, decorative wives, and nothing more.

Ernie continued, “The city is impenetrable. There is no way down from the mountains to the north. No one ever attempts this as the peaks are vicious and a pathway has never been discovered. There are two ways into the city. First, by water,” Ernest pointed west towards the endless blue sea, “but we have watchtowers on either side of the harbour, and a small, easily defendable opening into the bay. We’ve never been attacked by sea, the only ships coming and going are ours or that of the Sarenky islanders, descended from Ferts.”

He paused to take in the sea for a few moments, losing his train of thought.

“And the second way?” Jessima prompted.

“Ah, yes, well you know it intimately, my dear. Through the tunnels.”

“Has anyone attempted to get in from out there?” Jessima asked and pointed to the vast desert.

“Oh yes, dear, come here.” Ernie beckoned her forward, and with one hand clutching her arm to prevent a fall, he pointed down.

Jessima shifted her pregnant belly to one side and peered over the lip of the wall. “Oh!” She moved back, a hand to her heart. Her baby flipped inside her as if sensing her surprise.

Piles of skeletons were amassed against the bottom of the wall, some fresher than others. The mound stretched around the wall in both directions.

“These are all cammer skeletons, from two thousand years’ worth of attempts by Drome to get into the city and take it back. They couldn’t get past the wall.”

“So, some of those skeletons are thousands of years old?”

“Oh, I expect those ones are all dust now. Dromedar sand dwellers, either individually or in their clan groups, have tried for many years to get in. Not as an attack, but desperate for water, food and shelter. To live here.”

“And?”

“Well, they can’t get in. Unless we throw down ladders, which we are not about to do. About one hundred and fifty years ago now, some Lianites took pity on these desperate souls and tossed down food and lowered water. But then a camp grew against the walls as more and more emerged from the dunes. And the Lord Overseer at the time, quite rightly, didn’t want to feed more mouths, so Lianites were firmly forbidden to help.”

“But there are Dromedars in Cleland City, they do not pose a problem, they work for us, as spies,” Jessima said, repeating what she’d learned from sitting in on many of King Hugo’s council meetings.

“Yes, my dear, and they are very strategically chosen by Lord Chattergoon and his men. We can’t take care of every destitute man, woman and child with a hump. There is simply no space in the city.”

Jessima waved for a handmaid to bring her some water, and she took a long draught. Sweetling had been restless all morning, squirming and kicking. She stroked her bump, attempting to soothe her baby’s agitation. She looked east, in the direction of Fertilian proper.

“What if we were attacked from the tunnels?” she asked.

“We can collapse the entrance to the tunnels and we have the sea and all the food in it, and clean water from the river. We are self-sufficient,” Ernie replied.

There was a commotion at the head of the steps as Ernie’s female soldiers blocked the path of a few men. Jessima recognised the imposing figure of Lord Chattergoon, and with him two scrawny men. The pair squinted at the light. They’ve come from the tunnels. The war is over. Her buzz of excitement stirred the baby again, who jerked indignantly.

Ernie’s soldiers stepped aside as they identified Chattergoon. The lord loped towards her and the prince, the two bedraggled men lagged behind, clearly exhausted. Two further soldiers followed, eyes on the pair from the tunnels, alert to any sign of danger.

The lord gave a small bow as he reached them. “Queen Jessima, these men bring news from Fertilian.”

The smaller of the pair cleared his throat. “Your Grace, we were sent here by Prince Toby to deliver you, and only you, this message.”

A message from my Toby! “Go on,” Jessima urged.

“It’s a hard message to tell…” The man choked up and Chattergoon slapped his back.

“Get on with it,” the lord said.

At the man’s glaring distress, Jessima’s delight turned to dust faster than one of the thousand-years-old skeletons.

His eyes welled with tears and he swallowed, wiping his grimy brow with a dusty hand. “The Cleland army has fallen, Queen Jessima. King Hugo is… dead. The Thornes march on Cleland City.”

“And Toby?” Jessima blurted. “Prince Toby, is he alive?”

“Unknown, your Grace.”

Jessima reached out and clutched the nearest thing to her, which happened to be Ernie, whose shock had also made his knees weak. Together they fumbled but he found his feet faster than her and, clutching Betsy under one arm, managed to prop Jessima up with the other.

Jessima looked at Chattergoon. The lord’s face was emotionless. He looked precisely as he always did: serious and astute.

The smaller man, aware of the affect he’d had on those around him, swallowed again and coughed. “There’s more.”

Chattergoon gestured for him to continue.

“The Peqkian Captain Denya and her warriors deserted King Hugo and are now fighting for the Thornes.”

Jessima collapsed to her knees, Ernie letting her slide down as carefully as he could.

“Does Melokai Ramya of Peqkya know?” Jessima asked. Her friend would be outraged.

The smaller man looked from Jessima to Chattergoon. “You… you do not know?”

“Know what, precisely?” Chattergoon said.

“Then it seems I have more news, your Grace. Peqkya was invaded by the Dromedars and Melokai Ramya and her child died. The situation in the mountain country is unclear, my Queen. All spies were pulled back to fight and trade has stopped.”

Jessima wailed, her hands over her face.

“There, there, dear,” Ernie soothed. “It is a terrible shock, but we must now consider what to—”

Jessima’s screech cut him off rudely, her hands flying to her belly.

“The baby,” she screamed. “I think the baby is coming!”

***

The boy gurgled in her arms. She’d given birth in a blur, her pain eased with poppy. But she’d done it and he was perfect in every way.

One week after the birth, she’d felt strong enough to leave her bed. She’d been made comfortable on a sofa and the nurses had placed him in her arms.

She was still drowsy from the poppy, but the mist was clearing and although she had watched and held her baby numerous times, up until now he hadn’t seemed real. She took him in slowly, admiring this new life that she had created.

He had his father’s green eyes. I pray no one remembers that King Hugo’s eyes had been blue, or notes that my eyes are also blue.

There was a knock on the door. This was the first time after the birth that she’d received visitors. Jessima gestured for the door to be opened by whoever was nearest. Her living quarters teemed with handmaids and nurses.

Prince Ernest entered with a huge grin. He came to stand over her on the sofa, his round belly unpleasantly close to her face.

“Well, isn’t he a looker,” Ernie said, “Hugo was always the handsome one. And Toby, of course, although he was always so much younger than the rest of us, and that naturally made him the looker.” The prince chuckled.

“King Hugo,” Jessima mumbled. Her voice was rusty from little use.

“What’s that, my dear?” Ernie said.

Jessima cleared her throat. “King Hugo,” she repeated, louder this time, “we must organise a mourning period, some kind of celebration of his life and commemoration of his passing. We must mark this devastating occasion.”

Ernie frowned. He pulled over a nearby chair, sat down and clasped his hands across his gut. “Yes, of course, my dear. However, don’t fret as it has all been taken care of while you’ve been recovering. We gave him a good send off, no need to concern yourself.”

Jessima felt crushed in a vice as the air was forced from her lungs. Tears prickled her eyelids as she fought to draw a breath. She might not have loved Hugo romantically, but she loved him as her King. He had always been kind and generous to her. She wanted to mourn him with his people. “I… I should have been there… He was my husband… I was his Queen…”

Ernie dismissed her with a flap of his hand. “Nonsense, dearie.”

Through the pain of loss, Jessima filled her aching lungs and composed herself.

“I have decided on a name,” she said, changing the subject before the floodgates burst.

“Ah,” Ernie said.

Jessima parted her lips to speak but Ernie held up a palm.

“Let me stop you there. That has also been taken care of,” Ernie said with a smile.

“Wha… what?” Jessima managed.

“We announced the birth and the baby’s name at Hugo’s commemoration. We wanted to end on a joyous note.”

Jessima, stunned, gawped at Ernie. They had mourned her husband and named her baby without her, without any input from her, the queen.

Ernie took her silence as excitement. He tapped a drumroll on his thigh. “Your baby is called… Edward Hugo Cleland.”

Jessima remained mute, staring at her brother-in-law. Her baby’s name, the one she had chosen, died on her lips.

“Charlie and I deliberated for a while but settled on Edward Hugo. It’s after his great grandfather, the great King Edward, of course. And also for his uncle Edward, lost at sea for all these years. That was a splendid day when he set off, I can tell you…”