Page 4 of The Consolation Prize

“This groom,” the jester pronounced grandly, “is a fat-kidneyed fustilugs, unfit to mount so fine and spirited a filly.” Una could have sworn that every eye present swiveled to look at her. They knew full well her unkind nickname. There could be no mistaking that she was the butt of this joke. “I like him not!” yelled the Robkin. “I’ll see that Northern mare saddled by a worthy rider, you just see if I do not!”

Una tried to not let her dismay show, as the crowd erupted in howls and whoops of laughter. The time she had spent in the company of rough soldiers had helped her to turn a deaf ear to many a bawdy joke or rough speech. Even so, she had to make a concerted effort not to stiffen in the face of such impertinence, if not downright insult.

“I invoke the law of reversal,” the fool said knocking his staff against the ground three times. A whispering started about the arena.

“The law of reversal?” Wymer repeated slowly. He looked at Una blankly. “What does the fellow mean by that?” Una could make no answer, for her heart was suddenly in her throat.

“He who is first, is now last,” proclaimed Robkin triumphantly. “And he who was cast down in that lowest of positions, is by misrule magic, elevated now to the most revered and fortunate of men!”

A wondering chatter began in the stalls as everyone whispered and nudged each other in speculation.

“He who is first is now last,” repeated the King with a fierce frown. “I don’t think I quite …”

Una peered down at the ring and saw Earl Vawdrey gesturing to some guards. For one horrible moment she thought they were going to arrest Otho, but instead they plunged into the audience, and Una watched with a sort of horrified fascination the bizarre turn of events that saw them drag five minutes later another knight altogether into the ring. He still held a flagon of ale to his lips and held a half-eaten pastry between his fingers. He had now shed most of his armor, but still wore the shoulder plates and his chainmail vest.

“Eh, what’s all this?” she heard Sir Armand de Bussell ask, as he was marched into the center of the ring by an armed guard.

“Good Lord!” thundered King Wymer. “Last place was De Bussell!” He reached out a hand to grab her sleeve and wag it. “De Bussell, I say!” Una looked at him speechlessly. Clearly the King was in the grip of some deep emotion. His eyes glistened and his face glowed. “By gads, I’ll give Vawdrey a dukedom for this!” he said, his voice rasping. “Or mayhap,” he reflected. “He’ll want a title for that rackety youngest brother of his. Viscount Vawdrey or some such thing.”

Back in the ring, the jester was turning somersaults, before he approached the bewildered De Bussell.

“Sir Armand de Bussell,” announced Robkin, puffing out his chest. “Have I got glad tidings for you this day!” He looked about him slyly at the audience who were starting to break out into cheers. “For you thought you were cast down in the doldrums, the lowest among this fine company.” He struck up a benevolent attitude. “Little did you expect, the miraculous transformation of your fortune!” Trumpeters blasted at this point, having picked up some cue, and a banner unfurled from the royal box. Una leaned over and to her astonishment, saw the large green wyvern of House Blechmarsh hanging in all its glory. She blinked, reflecting that this particular standard had not been displayed in a Southern palace in some five hundred years. True, they had expunged the golden crown that should sit at the beast’s brow, but even so, it was an astonishing turn of events.

“I don’t quite follow …,” she faltered, not able to believe that she was to be offered a reprieve from the cruel fate that had so nearly befallen her. She started again. “Am I to understand—?”

But the King was not attending her, instead he was snapping his fingers to attract the attention of one of his pages. “Fetch us some refreshment, boy! Honeyed mead and cakes!”

Una turned back to gaze down at Sir Armand whose expression of affable bewilderment was now being replaced with one of stunned disbelief. He was saying something now, his hands waving. It looked very much like a spirited denial of the great honor done him. Una swallowed and dragged her eyes away from his protests. Poor man. She felt bad for him, indeed she did. Doubtless this unlooked-for distinction was quite unwelcome to him, quite the opposite of what she herself felt. With his own patent lack of experience in the field, he could not have expected to win her hand. He must have entered simply for the experience and now he found himself saddled with an unwanted bride.

For Una’s part, she felt almost sick with relief. Her eyes scanned the arena anxiously as she sought out her half-brother. She saw his expression dark with rage, as Earl Vawdrey drew him to one side. Otho was bright red with anger, his mouth working furiously as he gave vent to his wrath. How like their father he looked at this minute, Una thought despairingly. She had seen their royal father’s rages too many times to think this storm would pass quickly.

Una watched tensely as the King’s chief advisor appeared to quietly listen for a while, then all of a sudden, lift his head and say something that made Otho’s expression blanch. Otho staggered a little, his face white as chalk as he stared at Lord Vawdrey who was now all smiles again. Was it purely a figment of Una’s imagination or did his smile look a little … sinister? Una didn’t think she was fanciful, but certainly something about his expression and his stillness was disconcerting.

Looking at Otho, she could see he felt it too. He looked like a stunned fish, opening and closing his mouth. Lord Vawdrey’s arm extended and she saw him passing something that looked like a purse of monies. For a moment, she caught her breath, thinking Otho would likely fling it back in his face. But to her surprise, he took the purse, gave a nod and turned on his heel, disappearing into the crowd, leaving Earl Vawdrey standing to watch after him with an enigmatic expression.

If she did not know better, Una would have thought Otho had been paid off.

*

“Come now, Una!” Queen Armenal called from the other side of the screen. “You must surely be in your shift by now? You’ve been long enough to undress three times and the groom’s party will be approaching soon.”

Una sighed as she unbuckled the last of the straps that held the great structure of her underskirts together. It was an exhausting business climbing in and out of her royal regalia, and these Southern women had no idea of the awkwardness of the wide panniers Una was forced to wear, which made it so difficult to negotiate narrow doorways and corridors.

“I won’t be much longer,” she replied as she stepped out of the wicker cage and from the giggles and laughter on the other side, guessed that the Queen was likely rolling her eyes with impatience.

“I’m sending someone in to help you,” Queen Armenal replied testily. “Jane, do please go and move things along!”

Una bit back her instinctive refusal of help. She had only ever had one attendant, her dear Estrilda who had dropped dead with extreme old age after they had been only two months in residence at the winter court. She had been Una’s mother’s attendant before her and a dear creature, her protector, and her most loyal friend. She was irreplaceable and since she had gone, Una had been fending largely for herself.

It was not that she did not like Jane Cecil, the Queen’s favorite, for she had the nicest manners and had only ever been scrupulously polite and deferring toward her. If Una thought it a little odd that the Queen’s favorite should be sister to the King’s acknowledged mistress, she kept this thought to herself. Recently Lady Helen Cecil had been forced to retreat from court to the country estate the King had gifted her, for she was clearly increasing with child and without husband.

Everyone at court was fully aware of the fact and Una could not say why precisely she found it all so distasteful. Her own father had had a parcel of bastards, but as her mother had died when Una was a few days old, there had been no question of them having to coexist in close quarters. She supposed it was no wonder that the Queen could be a little sharp somedays. After all, she had given Wymer no issue, so perhaps she felt her position precarious, though he already had a son and heir by his first wife, good Queen Eleanor.

Lady Jane swept behind the screen with an apologetic expression on her face. “Allow me to—oh!” she stared at Una in frank astonishment and then at the pile of heavy fabrics and the complicated wooden structure fastened together with leather straps, then back to Una again.

Una cleared her throat. “My royal costume is quite elaborate in its underpinnings. Very different to the Southern royal fashions,” she explained.

Jane nodded. “Yes, indeed,” she agreed faintly. She touched the wicker structure that Una had worn laced around her waist with one slippered toe. “It must have been vastly uncomfortable,” she marveled.