The Dog of the North (20 page)

‘Shall we repair to the front parlour?’ said Cosetta. ‘The view over the aquavia across to the Occonero is unsurpassed.’

As they rose, Laria entered again. ‘My lady, Prince Brissio is downstairs and requests your company.’

Cosetta made a moue. ‘Oh, this is bothersome! I can hardly deny him admittance to my apartments in the circumstances, but no doubt he will be vexed to find I have company.’

‘Do not worry on that account,’ said Beauceron. ‘I am eager to learn the business Sir Goccio has with me. We will leave at once.’

‘Regrettably Beauceron is right,’ said Sir Goccio. ‘This visit has been all too short, but I console myself that I will see you at the Midwinter Ball, if not before.’

Beauceron heard a heavy clumping on the stairs.

‘Cosetta? Do you keep me waiting! I have had a most vexing morning going over treasury records with my father! I have no desire to learn book-keeping!’

The door crashed open, and in stepped Prince Brissio, resplendent in a red cape trimmed with cloth-of-gold, a brilliant white shirt and deep maroon breeches and boots.

‘Oh! I had not realized you were entertaining!’ said Brissio with a choleric cast to his face. He flung himself down on the couch. ‘I had hoped for some light
diversion.’

‘We are just leaving, my lord,’ said Beauceron with a bow. ‘I was merely making a brief social call.’

Brissio glowered. ‘And who is your friend?’He peered at Sir Goccio’s cloak. ‘Is that a sunflower sigil I see?’

‘Sir Goccio, at your service,’ accompanied by a bow.

‘Goccio . . . Goccio . . . a knight of King Tardolio.’

‘Just so, sir. I was delighted to receive an invitation from Lady Cosetta.’

Brissio turned his gaze to Cosetta. ‘You invited a knight of Tardolio to wait upon you?’

‘Indeed I did. In Sey it is considered good manners to invite new acquaintance to one’s home, bringing honour to both.’

‘You are not in Sey now, my lady.’

‘I am well aware of that, sir. No doubt Beauceron can explain the circumstances by which this came about.’

Brissio’s heavy brows almost met as he frowned. ‘I meant that in Sey one does not have two separate courts. It is a breach of etiquette and a grave embarrassment for the heir to the
Winter Throne to be invited to a salon with a knight of the Summer Court.’

‘There need be no embarrassment,’ said Cosetta, ‘since I did not invite you today. If you choose to appear unannounced you cannot complain at the company I keep. You may remedy
the situation by departing, if you choose.’

Brissio leaped from his seat. Beauceron could see that he wanted to tell Cosetta that he paid for the apartments and could visit when he liked; but he retained just enough composure to recognize
this as inadvisable. Sir Goccio’s polished manners came to the rescue.

‘Please do not leave on my account, my lord. As Beauceron said, we have business elsewhere.’ He bowed again to Brissio and Cosetta, and stepped gracefully from the room.

Beauceron also bowed, but he gave Cosetta a look of sharp meaning. The matter had clearly been staged from first to last. He realized that he should be irritated at being used as Cosetta’s
cat’s paw, but he felt only a sardonic amusement.

‘I hope to make your acquaintance again soon, my lady,’ he said. ‘Prince Brissio, my apologies for disturbing your afternoon.’ He turned and followed Sir Goccio from the
room.

2

Beauceron followed Sir Goccio down the stairs and out onto the path running alongside the frozen aquavia. A bird scrabbled for purchase on the smooth surface

‘I think we have been used,’ said Sir Goccio with a grin as he pulled his cloak around his shoulders. ‘Cosetta has Brissio on a string. Naturally as a Knight of the Summer
Court I am not heartbroken to see Brissio cutting such a pitiful figure.’

‘I may be Fanrolio’s liegeman, but I admit my admiration for his son is somewhat constrained,’ said Beauceron. ‘If he is a laughing stock, he has only himself to
blame.’

‘One day Brissio will be the Winter King,’ said Sir Goccio. ‘Will you not find it difficult to serve a man you do not respect?’

‘There is always employment for a man with my skills. Perhaps I too will take service with King Ingomer.’

‘Come, let us walk.’

After a few minutes of silence Sir Goccio said: ‘My father fought at the Battle of Jehan’s Steppe. Indeed, he was killed there. I had broken my leg falling from a gallumpher, and I
stayed at home. I was furious, for it would have been my first battle. As it happened, it saved my life.’

‘I am sorry for your losses; but Jehan’s Steppe was long ago.’

‘To Tardolio, it was yesterday. He did not just lose; he was humiliated. It has profoundly influenced his policies, and does so to this day. He sends raids south, but nothing which
constitutes an army. Most of the damage to northern Emmen comes from brigands like yourself.’

‘I prefer the term “raider”, but I take your point – although you are telling me nothing new.’

‘You have been advocating the idea of an invasion of Croad with Fanrolio for several years; with very indifferent success, as far as I can tell.’

‘I am confident that Fanrolio will eventually agree to my proposals.’

‘I am equally confident that he will not,’ said Sir Goccio with a smile. ‘But what if I suggested that King Tardolio was prepared to sponsor the expedition?’

Beauceron laughed. ‘The notion is risible.’

Sir Goccio inclined his head in polite inquiry.

‘Little more than a week ago, I was approached by a member of the Summer Court with a similar proposal. He proved to be an agent of Under-Chamberlain Davanzato, seeking to entrap me in
treasonous discourse with Tardolio.’

‘Amusing, I agree, but Davanzato’s clumsy stratagem surely does not invalidate any arrangement we might reach.’

‘Indeed not. However, I remain sceptical.’

‘May I take it that you have no objection in principle to riding under the Sunflower Banner? After all, you are a foreigner; your service to one King or another is essentially a matter of
pragmatism.’

Beauceron grimaced. ‘It is fruitless to speculate on the question, since Tardolio’s aversion to the scheme is manifest.’

‘Allow me to be a better judge of His Puissance’s thoughts than you. The Battle of Jehan’s Steppe was the defining moment of his life. The Summer King by tradition is vigorous,
aggressive; tormenting and terrorizing the folk of Emmen, harrowing their dreams. Tardolio is conscious of this, and thinks of his own legacy.’

‘Continue.’

‘Jehan’s Steppe is the one battle he has ever fought. It is not how he wishes to be remembered.’

‘Naturally not.’

‘He has been considering – not openly, but considering nonetheless – how matters might be righted. He lost the Battle of Jehan’s Steppe, but if he learns from that . .
.’

And what lessons might he learn?’

Are the men of Mettingloom less valiant than those of Croad? Of course not. Tardolio has reached the conclusion that he lost at Jehan’s Steppe because he split his cavalry; Thaume, of
course, kept his together under that sot Langlan. Think of the architects of Croad’s victory.’

The wind had abated but Beauceron shivered under his cloak. Thaume’s commanders were uniformly excellent, if the “Song of the North” is to be believed.’

‘Just so, and think of this: Lord Thaume is dead; Sir Artingaume fell on the field; Darrien who commanded the cursed pikemen is dead. Only Sir Langlan survives, and he is old for
battle.’

Beauceron grimaced. ‘Time moves on.’

‘It would be wrong to attribute the word “fear” to a man as valiant as Tardolio; but he always was conscious of Thaume’s stature as a commander, and he did not wish to
take arms against him. Lord Oricien is untried.’

‘Oricien has more steel than you think, when he has no choice but to use it.’

‘The facts are these. Tardolio does not wish to die with Jehan’s Steppe unavenged; and he believes he can beat Oricien. Surely you see your opportunity?’

‘Does he not fear Duke Trevarre, or even King Enguerran? Oricien is better at building alliances than his father.’

‘If we beat Oricien in the field, Croad will fall before Enguerran can arrive, and Trevarre is more interested in his catamites than his liegemen.’

Beauceron said nothing.

‘All Tardolio needs is a commander. He needs to be persuaded that the scheme is feasible. You and I know it is. You have planned the invasion a hundred times. Put your proposals to His
Puissance! He will make you Captain-General Beauceron.’

‘I need time to consider what you have said. My allegiance to King Fanrolio may not be in the blood, but nonetheless I swore to give him good service. It is unlikely he would regard
plotting with Tardolio in this light.’

‘We are still in winter,’ said Sir Goccio. ‘I will see you, perhaps at Cosetta’s, to learn how your inner debate progresses. But do not wait too long.’

Sir Goccio turned at the next bridge and hurried away. Beauceron was left alone with his thoughts looking across the aquavia to the Occonero.

3

Back at his house, Beauceron pondered his conversation with Sir Goccio over a goblet of red wine. He had no particular reason to trust the knight, although those parts of
his story amenable to verification were reasonable enough. Nevertheless, it would be as well to learn a little more of the man before he made his interest more manifest. This might present a
problem: his contacts in the Summer Court were limited, although he had campaigned under Tardolio’s banner on occasions in the past. He would have Monetto look into the man’s
background.

He was conscious of a vague mistrust of Sir Goccio. Intuition was on the whole not a useful guide – presumably Tardolio’s own intuitions had led him to Jehan’s Steppe –
but a degree of prudence was a worthwhile precaution. The fact that he had approached Beauceron with the selfsame scheme which Davanzato had dreamed up to ensnare him using Nissac should not be
held against Sir Goccio. It was further proof of Davanzato’s clairvoyant nose for intrigue. He would not hold his position without it, Beauceron supposed.

His attempts at working on Davanzato directly could not be characterized as anything other than complete failure. His bribes might as well have been thrown into the aquavia, and his threats had
been called for the feeble bluff they were. He had to accept that, face to face, he was no match for Davanzato in the matter of intrigue.

He decided to call on Isola, who was as acquainted with Davanzato’s movements as anyone, and made his way to the Hiverno, where he was shown to Isola’s apartments.

‘My lady,’ he said with a bow, on being admitted to her presence.

Isola rose languidly from her chaise, her dress of fine umber silk rustling, and gave Beauceron her hand to kiss. ‘I am honoured,’ she said in a voice faintly slurred. ‘A visit
from the gallant Captain Beauceron.’

This was not a good start, thought Beauceron. Isola in this humour was not capable of constructive discourse.

‘I am conscious I have neglected you recently, my lady. I saw Lady Cosetta only at lunchtime and thought I would wait upon you.’

Isola sniffed. ‘You manage more than I do. I have not seen Cosetta for over a week.’

‘Lady Cosetta has many affairs to detain her,’ said Beauceron. ‘You are aware that she has been taken up by Prince Brissio.’

‘Naturally, since he insisted on calling on her at all hours of the day and night while Cosetta resided with me. In that sense it was a relief when she moved out.’

‘Have you not considered taking apartments away from the Hiverno, my lady? It cannot be congenial to loiter around the palace all day.’

Isola gave Beauceron an incredulous look. ‘You are the agency – the sole agency – by which I find myself a prisoner in the Hiverno. Now you attempt to show solicitude. You
cannot imagine a greater statement of my abasement than that I almost feel grateful for your attention. My only visitor in a normal day is Davanzato, generally to harangue me on how best to induce
my father to pay up. Does he not realize that if I knew, I would be the first to tell him?’

‘Does he oppress you greatly?’

‘I have come to understand his character better than I would like,’ she said. ‘I regret ever saying that you were worse than he. There is at least a grandeur – perverted
as it is – in your schemes. Davanzato cares only for money and power.’

This was accompanied with an arch look from under her lashes. Unlike Cosetta, thought Beauceron, Isola was not a natural flirt; she had never needed to be.

‘I am grateful for the approach to a compliment,’ he said. ‘Perverted grandeur is better than none at all.’

‘I will admit that these are the worst days of my life,’ said Isola. ‘I can never forget that they arise through your agency, but my confinement is so unnatural
that—’

‘My lady, I have long counselled you to put the past behind you. However few friends you have in Mettingloom, you will always find me among them.’

Isola blinked rapidly. ‘I do not know what to do.’ She seemed on the verge of tears.

Beauceron was moved in spite of himself – not so much in sympathy as horror. Was this what he had reduced proud and haughty Lady Isola to? Cosetta moved on with scarcely a look back, while
Isola sank lower and lower.

‘I feel a degree of responsibility for your circumstances,’ said Beauceron, with what he felt was a frank and easy magnanimity. ‘Davanzato is perhaps not the best guardian for
you.’

The colour rose in Isola’s cheeks.
Good, at least she can still be angry.

‘“A degree of responsibility”? I cannot see what is more direct than kidnap.’

Beauceron made a mollifying gesture. An Isola so broken in spirit should be more amenable to his influence.

‘I have a proposal for you, my lady.’

Isola’s eyes narrowed and her cheeks coloured further. ‘I am accustomed to such language from Davanzato,’ she said in a precise voice. ‘I had hoped for better from you,
although you have fallen short of every expectation I might have of a gentleman.’

‘Davanzato has importuned you?’ said Beauceron with a startled glance. ‘How would he hope to return you for ransom once he had debauched you?’