Previous chapter: http://www.rhemuthcastle.com/index.php?topic=514.msg2064#msg2064
Chapter 8 Thomas Cardiel shifted slightly on his chair. The current item on the Council's agenda didn't particularly concern him, but the next one certainly did: proposals for the establishment of a regency council in Marley. Richenda would be attending the discussion. He let his mind wander ...
He'd been more than a little worried about his niece since the death of her husband. Well, he'd been concerned for her long before that of course, ever since she had arrived at Bran's lakeside manor near Dhassa last March, grieving and seeking some time to herself with her remaining child. As the warmer days of spring brought new life to the countryside, she seemed to become more at peace. Then had come the dreadful news of Bran's treachery.
He knew he should have refused to allow her to accompany the King's army from Dhassa, yet somehow he'd found himself agreeing to her request, and sending his own chamberlain to assist with the arrangements. He'd tried to look after her on the journey; had tried to offer her comfort and support in the aftermath of the battle at Lynndruth Meadows; had stood with her and offered prayers for Bran's soul as he was buried with Rhydon under a plain stone cairn on an isolated knoll near where they fell. Only once had he seen her shed a tear.
She'd sat her horse silently beside him while the duel arcane had been fought; when the eerie dome faded and Kelson and his three companions had emerged victorious, she'd bowed her head and murmured "Praise God!" But as the King's party rode triumphantly to accept the cheers of the Gwynnedd army, and the surrender of Wencit's forces, she had peered almost desperately across the distance, searching, searching - until a black-clad figure broke away and Alaric Morgan came galloping up to them, Brendan cradled safely in his arms. Only then had Cardiel seen tears trickling down her cheeks: he'd heard her whisper softly "thank you, my lord Alaric" as she received her son, and then Cardiel had dismounted and led Richenda back to her tent. After that, there were the formalities and the funerals ... He'd last seen Richenda and Brendan in a carriage bound for her father's home in Rheljan, where she'd decided to spend a month or so before returning to Marley following the battle. He'd written to her several times, receiving letters lovingly assuring him of their welfare, but he could only imagine what she'd been suffering.
He came back to the present as he realised that the King was asking him to bring her in to the Council Chamber. He crossed to the door, saw her waiting outside. "Richenda, my dear."
"Uncle Thomas." She took his hands happily, bowing to kiss his bishop's ring, then hugged him quickly and kissed his cheek. "I'm so glad to see you again. Thank you for writing so often – your letters have helped give me strength."
He returned the kiss and studied her, as always, struck by those amazingly blue eyes. She looked well, he thought; still slender and graceful, but slim rather than thin, and possibly happier than he'd expected.
"Are you ready?" he asked. 'I don't think the Council will have too many questions."
"I am ready."
A squire held open the Council Chamber door, and he ushered her into the meeting. As the King and other Council members rose politely, Richenda sank into a deep curtsy.
"Your Majesty, Your Highness, my lords," she said.
Kelson smiled warmly. "Welcome, Countess Richenda, and thank you for attending our Council meeting. I believe you already know everyone here, though I am not sure whether you have met His Grace, Ewan MacEwan, the Duke of Claiborne.
"We met briefly yesterday, Your Majesty", she said, smiling first at Ewan, then at the others in turn. Ewan nodded and acknowledged her in a thick Highland accent. Cardiel held her chair for her before resuming his own seat to her left; Richenda sat with hands folded in her lap, looking calm and poised. Her gown was a rich blue, with embroidered bands of blue and gold around the sleeves, and she wore a simple blue veil, from which just a wisp of soft gold hair escaped.
In this group of battle-hardened men, she looked so very young. Young, vulnerable - and very lovely. The last realisation startled Cardiel; there would be many dangers at court for a young and beautiful widow, even one with the name of Coris. He cleared his throat slightly and forced himself to pay attention to the meeting, where Nigel was just finishing some polite remarks about Richenda translating the wall hanging for his wife.
"Fancy a young lass like you readin' tha' sort o' language." Ewan sounded both puzzled and a little suspicious of any woman with that sort of education. Especially a young and attractive widow.
"My mother came from Andelon," replied Richenda, smiling. "So I grew up speaking and reading Arabic, Bremagni and Trallian, as well as our language."
"Aye. Of course." Ewan shook his head dubiously at this evidence of possible unseemly female knowledge. " I suppose ye'll next tell me ye' speak Torenthi or somethin'?"
Cardiel caught a flash of mischief in her eyes, though she answered softly and politely. "I read Torenthi, Your Grace, though I only speak it a little. I know Latin, of course, and also some Greek."
Kelson, Nigel and Alaric burst out laughing. "She's got you there, Ewan!" chortled the King, while the others were now grinning broadly.
No harm in adding to the fun, thought Cardiel. "My niece has hidden talents, Duke Ewan. Take my advice and never challenge her to a game of Cardounet. She has managed to beat Denis Arilan three times to my knowledge, and I confess that is something most people do not achieve."
Ewan's reaction was lost in the roar of laughter. Richenda was blushing and sitting with demurely downcast eyes, one hand hiding a smile. Even Denis was trying not to grin too widely. Order was at last restored, and Kelson raised his hand for silence.
"My lords – I suggest this may perhaps have answered any questions about her ladyship's er, ability, to make strategic assessments and provide reports about Marley." He controlled another grin. "Does anyone have any questions about the general report provided by Lady Richenda and Earl Derry?"
Several murmurs of 'no'. "Good. Then we'll move on to consider the proposed regency council. Which I hope will assist you to administer Marley on behalf of your son, my lady."
Composed again, Richenda nodded. Kelson smoothed the piece of parchment in front of him.
"The Earl of Derry.' Kelson's voice was crisp as he read out the first name. "As I have made clear before, her ladyship will chair the Council as Dowager Countess of Marley and regent for her son. However, we should ensure that she has appropriate assistance and that this Council is represented in Marley, at least for the present.
"I don't think Marley requires ducal supervision. Derry is a council member, and – provided Duke Alaric can spare him for some additional duties to assist the Crown - I propose that he represent us in Marley. My lady, do you have any problems with that?"
"Not at all, Sire. Earl Derry has already been of great assistance. He is experienced in administering matters in Corwyn, and seems to have his own ways of finding out information."
Kelson nodded. "Alaric?"
Morgan smiled. "I wouldn't have sent him to Marley if I didn't think he was right for the role. In a few years time when things have settled more, you may wish to consider appointing one of the other earls – Saer de Traherne, perhaps – but Derry is appropriate at present."
"Anyone have any objections? No? Good – then the next person nominated is the Bishop of Marbury. Currently Bishop Ifor, who retired to his see during last summer's conflict. Your excellencies, what can you advise on this?" He glanced between Cardiel and Arilan.
"Sire, I think that matter will have to wait for the Curia's decision," said Cardiel. "As you know, several of our brethren retired to their estates. But I assume you would not object if Ifor was re-appointed?" He turned to Richenda.
She looked startled at this request. "He been in Marbury for less than two years," she said slowly, "and I don't know him very well. But he seems a dedicated and honest person, so if he remains in Marley, I would have no particular problems. '
"Right. Then, Excellencies," Kelson glanced between Cardiel and Arilan, "in the Curia's deliberations next week, perhaps I could ask you to bear in mind that the bishop of Marbury will be required to sit on the regency council in Marley. I agree that it is proper for the local bishop to be a member of the council."
"The next nominee is the current chancellor of Marley, Lord William Denning ..."
The discussion went on, but Cardiel found himself paying only part attention. The council would administer Marley as well as any council; he found he was more worried about his niece. She answered questions calmly and clearly; Cardiel could feel that even Ewan was grudgingly impressed. At the end of the meeting, she curtsied again and took her leave; as the door closed behind her, the men sat back and relaxed, for that was the last item of business. A page served them wine, and the clerks gathered up the court records and writing materials.
"A rare beauty. In many ways. Not quite the sort of woman I ever imagined Bran Coris would marry," mused Lord Burchard.
"No." Nigel smiled. "For those of us who knew Bran ...." He tailed off, shaking his head.
"Marry. Now THAT's the verra' word I was thinkin' of," agreed Ewan, taking a swig of wine.
"Why Ewan, you old dog – I thought you were already married!" chuckled Nigel. "Wanting two wives at once now, are you?"
"I dinna' need another wife, praise be," snorted Ewan. "Bin married tae Eustachea for moren' thirty years, and she'll likely outlive me. But wha' are ye goin' tae do about
her? Needs another husband, does that one – an' ye'll be doing us all a favour if ye' find her one."
Kelson looked slightly bewildered. "Are you saying that I have to arrange a marriage for the Lady Richenda?"
"Weel, not tonight, laddie. But ye'll need to marry her to someone soon enough. Look at her – she's young, she's got looks as'd stop an army in its tracks, and she's heiress tae th' richest earldom in the north. An' she's here at court in Rhemuth – ye'll have them buzzin' roun' her like bees at a hive!" He drained his goblet and held it out for a refill.
"We have just agreed to the membership of a regency council," said Duncan softly. "I don't know that anything more is required at this stage."
Ewan snorted. "A husband, tha's what's needed."
Kelson cast a quick look at Alaric and Duncan, then leant forward. "Didn't you understand what I said earlier, Ewan? Even if the Lady Richenda should choose to marry again, Marley will not go to her new husband – it will pass to her son. And the regency council has been charged with administering the earldom with precisely that in mind."
"Corwyn was administered by governors and regency councils for more than forty years," said Morgan. "A regency for ten years until Brendan Coris comes of age is hardly a major problem."
"It's a problem when somethin' goes wrong. An' wi' Marley sittin' across the northern trade route wi' Torenth ..." Ewan looked around the table. "As fer her son, he's another problem. Who's goin' tae be responsible fer the lad as he grows – her ladyship cannae raise him by hersel'. He'll need fosterin' – and the sooner th' better."
"I don't think he needs fostering at the age of four," said Duncan dryly. "And I'm quite sure suitable arrangements can be made in a few years' time when he's old enough."
"I'll be happy to have him here at Court as a page," smiled Nigel. "He's already playing with Payne and some of the younger boys – and an upbringing at the royal court would be quite suitable for a future earl. But," he looked at Kelson, "I do agree that it would probably be desirable for Lady Richenda to marry again, if only to remove any speculation as regards Marley. And it would certainly be prudent for any future husband to be approved, or even arranged by, the King and his Council."
"Well, dinna ye wait to long about that then!" snorted Ewan. "There's already talk among the lads about who she is, an' whether she's open to courtin'."
"Maybe she's quite happy to be courted," remarked Burchard. "From what I've heard, there was little courting in her marriage to Bran Coris. Arranged, as usually happens. Don't know whether she was happy in it, though," he added thoughtfully.
"Dinna matter whether she was happy. She did her duty, tha's what she did," said Ewan crossly. "Married an' produced an heir. She's young enough tae breed more, an' she'd be much better marryin' again soon an' producing heirs for another man. Even if he willna' inherit Marley, a husband would keep an eye on her an' make sure she was doin' the right thing."
Cardiel sensed rising anger to his left from Morgan and Duncan, but fortunately Kelson had also heard enough. "Thank you very much, Ewan," he said firmly. "We are all concerned about the Lady Richenda's wellbeing and her future, but I do not think it needs further discussion right now. Any future husband will need our approval, and I am sure I can count on you gentlemen to provide your advice at the appropriate time." He looked around the table, then stood up and stretched. "I'll see you all at dinner then. Cardiel, Arilan – are you staying to dine with us?"
"Thank you Sire – I would enjoy some conversation away from clerics," Arilan smiled.
Cardiel watched as his colleague departed, followed by Ewan and Burchard, then hastily held up his hand. "Sire, my lords – a quiet word, if I may?"
Kelson frowned, as Nigel, Alaric and Duncan gathered round. "Is something wrong, Excellency?"
"The last conversation was not much to my taste," said Cardiel softly. "I am glad you put an end to it when you did, Sire."
"I was about to throttle Ewan," agreed Alaric. "Sometimes that man has the sensitivity of a brick wall."
"Sensitivity is perhaps what is required, and I was loathe to bring this up in the full meeting. As you know, I am very fond of my niece – or should I say, my great niece by marriage." He smiled. "I would be happy to see Richenda marry again. She's only young, and I doubt that she wants to remain a widow all her life. It would only be natural for her to seek companionship and marry again some day. But," he paused, "I would very much hope that the decision could be hers to make, or that at least you will take her wishes into account should you ever decide to arrange a husband for her. And that – despite Duke Ewan's words - you will give her time after what has happened."
"I have no intention of forcing her to marry against her will," said Kelson quietly.
"Thank you. As you know, she was already in Dhassa when news of her husband's treachery arrived. What you may not know is that she had been at their manor near Dhassa since early March."
"March?" Nigel frowned. "You mean, Bran sent her away as early as that?"
Cardiel sighed. "It wasn't so much that Bran sent her away, as that she wanted to escape from Marley for a while. You see, her little daughter had died just before Christmas, and she desperately wanted to get away."
"Her daughter?" whispered Kelson, his expression reflecting the shock on the others faces. "I ... we knew nothing about a daughter. How old was she? What happened?"
"She was a year old – a year and a half really. A sweet little girl - Rhiannon - looked just like her mother. I'd seen them the summer before, when they came to the manor for a few weeks. It was one of those sudden childhood illnesses, the 'black mouth' I think they call it. Rhiannon developed a fever, there was nothing that could be done – she died after a few days. The funeral was the week before Christmas. As you can imagine, Richenda was extremely distressed. With the winter snows and the bad roads, she couldn't leave Marley until the spring. She came to the manor for some peace, and to get away from the memories in Marley."
"Dear God, poor woman," muttered Nigel. "First her daughter, then her husband."
"Her husband." Cardiel sighed. "I know that her marriage was arranged by her parents, but beyond that, I know little. She has never spoken of it to me, and I doubt she ever will. But I drew my own conclusions." He paused. 'When she arrived at the manor, I received a note that Bran had written, simply telling me of her arrival and asking me to look after her and ensure the safety of his wife and son in case of an invasion." He paused again and looked at them all in turn: it was Morgan who picked up on what he'd left unsaid.
"Did he – did he say anything about their daughter/" he asked softly.
"No. Not a thing. I didn't find out until I sent a message to Richenda, asking after her and the children, suggesting that they might like to visit and dine with me after Mass next Sunday. You will imagine how I felt. I – well, I can only assume Bran already thought I knew, for some reason. Or else, like some men, alas, that perhaps a daughter somehow meant less to him than his son."
Nigel was shaking his head. "Why wouldn't he tell you something like that, knowing you were her uncle?"
"I don't know," sighed Cardiel. "Anyway, Richenda and little Brendan often came to Dhassa to attend church and sometimes visit me, before she moved there in June - seems Bran wrote and suggested she'd be safer in the city. We were all busy, as you know," he looked at Alaric and Duncan apologetically, "but she dined with me occasionally, and we spent several pleasant evenings talking. Hence her occasional games of cardounet."
There was a silence. Cardiel regarded them in turn – Kelson and Nigel frowning slightly and looking thoughtful, Duncan looking sad, and Alaric – Alaric had paled, and his distress was obvious. At last Kelson spoke.
"Thank you for telling us this, Excellency. I am very sorry for her." He looked up at Alaric. "Derry didn't say anything in his letters though – he was in Marley before Christmas. Wouldn't he have found out something?"
"No, Sire," replied Cardiel before Alaric could say anything. "I think this is a very private grief, and she would not have said anything to Lord Derry. Especially as he has been recovering from what he endured at Wencit's hands. She is a very strong woman, and bears everything with great outward composure. But I thought you should know – in case there is any more mention of 'breeding' or doing her duty."
"There'd better not be," said Kelson firmly. "But if there is – Alaric, you or Nigel had better punch Ewan first, before I do."
The words brought smiles all round. Nigel glanced at Cardiel and chuckled. "I'd hate to start a war between Claiborne and either Corwyn or Carthmoor, Excellency. We have quite enough trouble with Torenth and Meara. However, I'm glad you told us. Besides, if the Curia does the right thing next week and appoints you as Archbishop here in Rhemuth, you will be on the Council and can punch him yourself."
__________________
Next chapter: http://www.rhemuthcastle.com/index.php?topic=516.0
*sigh* I wonder if "Throttle Duke Ewan" could become Kelson's next fundraiser event? Just let word get out to the ladies of Rhemuth about this Council meeting, and Kelson could make bucketloads. :D
Yup, either Alaric or Nigel to throttle him (or maybe they could take turns) and Kelson to sell tickets.
Shame Dhugal isn't around yet - I can see him running a sweepstake on how long it takes to finish him off.
Tact. T-A-C-T. One of the few four-letter words NOT applicable to Duke Ewan.
LOL to the above comments. Another fine chapter you've written. Poor Richenda, she's been thru such pain in her young years, she needs a fine man like Alaric. (Since I can't have him, at least they will love and care for each other :-) )