The Conqueror (16 page)

At some point Mother had little choice
but to accept that he was the master in this house, which she had
after a time. Which was all to her credit, really. It might be more
accurate to say he was master in his kingdom—and that the household
was more properly hers. It was an arrangement they could live with
and one that worked very well.

When the time came, she had cheerfully
relinquished any claims to any real power. Not that she didn’t make
herself useful in the larger, political sense—she was worth any ten
ministers he’d ever heard of.

He owed his parents a lot, when he
thought about it. He regretted not having told his father how he
felt. There was only so much time, and it was never a really good
time, but it was a mistake he would not repeat with
Sylphie.

His metamorphosis had sort of happened
in an instant. He was seventeen when Olaf the Magnificent died.
Lowren had been convinced of his own manhood and perhaps his own
infallibility.

He grinned, remembering her in her
anger, and some of the things she had said. They’d had a terrible
row that day, when he was eighteen and claimed his birthright from
a half-drunken stupor. She’d been fairly honest with him. He smiled
again, this one fuller and longer lasting.

I really wasn’t much good until I
decided to take charge of myself, he thought.

I owe her that much and probably a
whole lot more.

You want to be king, learn how to stand
up against your mother! Especially a mother like
Sylphie.

He glanced over and for some reason she
was looking at him just then. She looked away just as casually,
lost in her own thoughts.

Lowren sighed. He wasn’t in the mood
for darts, but his belly was full, and sooner or later someone
would start singing or strum the lute or something. His mug was
looking awfully empty.

When you become insincere, then all
true honesty, the basis for friendship or any kind of human
relationship is gone.

Where in the
Hades
that one came from
was another question.

Behind every great man was a women,
sometimes quite a number of them, he thought.

He looked around, for it was a busy
night. All of the tables, simple plank constructions set on
X-shaped trestles were occupied. There were empty seats but not
many. For the most part, the folks were ignoring him, although he
caught a child’s curious glance and held it for an oddly revealing
moment.

Don’t worry, kid—I’m just
as scared of you as you are of me.

A sour thought, but strangely
true.

Life wasn’t funny anymore. When did
that happen?

It had been some time in the making, he
reckoned...

“
Lowren.”

“
Huh?”

He must have been lost
again.

“
Yes, mother?”

She was standing in the middle of the
empty space between the dais and the front row of tables, where
song, poetry, and various exhibitions occurred from time to
time.

Was there going to be some sort of
organized entertainment? He must have missed something.

He stared at her, but she was looking
at the kitchen entrance.

He looked around stupidly, for all eyes
were turned to him and to her. Even as he rapidly refocused on the
here and now, people at the back got up from their benches and
seats, moving up to fill in empty spaces on the nearer benches.
Everyone, big, small, old and young, had turned to face in his
direction.

He smiled, biting his lip.

“
Mother...?”

She turned and smiled
sweetly.

“
Yes, dear.
What?”

His mind raced as a couple or three
sturdy lads came out of the kitchen entrance rolling a cask, and
then his heart skipped a beat. That was a lot of beer, even for
this crowd.

“
What’s going on, mother?”
Serving girls came out of the kitchen, bearing clean mugs and
tankards for those that didn’t already have them. “It’s not my
birthday—I know that for a fact.”

His voice held a note of doubt as he
went over the situation.

Nope—I’m still only twenty-nine—and a
half.

“
Gentlemen…?”

“
Sire.”

Not much of an answer, but it was their
show.

The young men brought the oaken keg of
ale he presumed, for they produced and consumed a hundred barrels
of it a month around there, and rolled it to a stop beside
Sylphie.

A third fellow following along had a
tool, and he fumbled, back to Lowren as he tried to tap into the
cask. The mystery was written all over Lowren, as he tried and
failed to catch Sylphie’s eye. She was absorbed in the fellow’s
efforts, the king’s view spoiled by the other two bodies as they
hustled in with suggestions and assistance which appeared not
entirely welcome.

“
Holy. It’s just a simple
keg.” Rising in some impatience, heaving a deep sigh at his
mother’s conspiratorial and rather gloating smile, Lowren came down
off the dais on slightly-wobbly legs.

He rounded the polished hardwood
railing which kept dancers and tumblers and jugglers from flipping
out of bounds and knocking the royal table and all of its
accoutrements off of its perch.

He stepped up to the lads, and put his
arm on the shoulder of the one with the tap.

“
Here. Allow
me.”

“
Sire.” The fellow stepped
back quickly, and Lowren accepted the tap rather absently as it
appeared the tightly-fitted small boards of the flat round top, oak
as was the rest of the keg, were damaged or had been knocked askew
somehow in handling.

“
I say, you’ve been awfully
rough with that.” Lowren’s voice was still pleasant, as there was
some
thing
going on
and his mother was obviously enjoying this.

The tap fell to his side and he stuck a
finger into a suspiciously dark gap and pulled. If air had gotten
in, or water, bugs or something, the ale or whatever it was would
be ruined. Just as it struck him that he should be able to tell by
smell, especially if it was punctured, his mother spoke.

“
Huh. I wonder if it’s a
barrel of gold or something.”

It was such an inane remark that his
jaw dropped and he stepped back, looking first at her, and then at
the barrel to see if there were any official stamps, or any marks
whatsoever.

“
What—”

Right about then the top began pushing
up of its own volition against his unsuspecting hand and for a half
a second he pushed back.

Pulling his hand away as if it was on
fire, he went rigid. He let out a quick exclamation which his
friends later would describe as girlish. Lowren dropped the tap,
took a right smart step backwards, almost knocking over one or two
of the lads there and tried to get some grasp on the reality of the
apparition before him.

***

“
Theodelinda!”

He stood speechless.

It got worse, even.

“
If I were to walk for a
thousand years, and to sleep for a million days, the shadow of my
one true love would never leave me. If I were to fall into the
deepest pit of forever, the memory of your love would never leave
me...for I shall never let it go.”

“
Oh, please.” Everyone in
the room was laughing at him, which was fair enough, he
supposed.

She stopped, giving Lowren an impish
grin. She cocked her head, putting her hands on her
hips.

“
On behalf of the people of
Windermere and Queen Eleanora, to you, Majesty, and to your Queen
Mother, Sylphie, and to all of the wonderful people of Lemnia, I
bring greetings.”

His jaw dropped as his mother howled,
putting her hands on her firm little belly, doubling over at the
look on her son’s face. Straightening up, she wiped moisture from
her eyes. On entering the hall he’d half-noticed Sylphie’s gown, it
was one of her best and that should have been a clue.

“
Gotcha, didn’t she?”
Sylphie spun away, whirling on her silk-slippered heels as Lowren
stared into the face of Theodelinda, as if any real questions
hadn’t already been answered.

His mother was ecstatic, Lowren still
stunned.

He firmly closed his mouth.

“
Are you here to recite
poetry?”

Her mouth moved but her response was
drowned out by the reaction of the crowd, until now just as
mystified as Lowren. Now that the joke had been revealed—and it was
surely a joke on him, they were all going wild.

It was going to take a while for the
noise in the hall to drop, and for the moment Lowren was content to
let it go.

He stepped close to the barrel, and
grasping both of her hands, she allowed him to gently lift her
vertically until she bent at the knees and lifted her feet. The
kitchen lads scurried forwards and took the barrel away again.
Lowren gave them a look but they retreated only a short distance,
grinning like fools.

Of course, they had to be in on
it.

She straightened her legs and he let
her lightly down again. Standing before him, she turned to wave at
the people, blowing all of them kisses and letting them get a good
look at her.

He took a good look too, for the figure
was trim and yet curved in all the right places.

His mother, just off to one
side, was clapping. Everyone else was standing up, and clapping and
cheering the winsome young woman who had come out of the barrel.
While they had all heard the story of his arrival in Windermere,
for the most part they had no idea of who
she
was.

He flushed a little in
embarrassment.

“
Ladies and
gentlemen.”

Mothers hushed their children and men
put their hands on the table and people slowly began to sit down
again.

Sylphie was finished clapping and now
moving towards them.

“
Would you care to join
us?”

With as much dignity as he could
muster, holding her small right hand high, Lowren led the lady,
clad in soft, pale suede boots and a simple cotton gown that still
showed a few wrinkles from her short confinement, to the head
table. She had a garland of flowers in her hair, she smelled
wonderful, and there was a simple gold pendant around her
neck.

She wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes,
either. He wondered what her cousin might look like in such
informal garb. Her usual attire did much to hide the real person in
there.

“
Well, now, what are we
going to do...?”

Guests quickly moved, not exactly
stupid any one of them, and he seated Theodelinda at his right
side.

With a rueful grin, his mother took the
seat to his left.

“
Well. I guess I am no
longer the center of attention around here.” This brought a few
fresh laughs from those close enough to hear it.

Even Lowren grinned.

He leaned over, trying not to be too
obviously angry with her in front of all these people.

“
Mother.”

“
I know, Lowren. I
know.”

There was just no saying it, although
the thought was a familiar one.

To be fair, he hadn’t thought it in
quite some time.

Mother. Sometimes you piss
me off.

She sat there smiling serenely, waving
as humbly as she could to the appreciative onlookers and enjoying
her little triumph. There were remarks and catcalls which Lowren
studiously ignored.

He was pretty certain that he was
blushing.

Lowren raised an arm, turning back and
forth, giving a rueful series of nods for the people to enjoy,
acknowledging that he had been well and truly had, and the waves of
laughter peaked again.

Finally he lowered himself into his
chair. While it was a positive sign, and definitely a big surprise
to see them make such an open declaration of their interest, the
fact was that Lowren still didn’t know what it was
about.

That became even more apparent when his
mother gave his left shoulder a sudden squeeze and rose to address
the assembly.

She had a little handful of crib-notes
and everything.

Chapter Twelve

“
Ladies and gentlemen.”
Some of the noise died away.

There were hurried whispers and the
guests took turns shushing their neighbors and each
other.

The stares continued
unabated.

It was all Lowren could do to maintain
a look of pleased anticipation and wait for quiet to descend.
Finally, upon a look from Sylphie, he raised a hand and the place
went silent.

His mother had something to say. Well,
thankfully it wasn’t him. He was at a bit of a loss socially, as to
how to handle this. He grinned. This is what we did to
Eleanora.