Page 89 of Heart of Winter
Elderly Lord Lothar cleared his throat and said, “So he can defend it with Northmen, you mean.”
“It stands to reason that a duke would defend his land, does it not?”
“And get embroiled with an endless, unwinnable war with the Sels,” Askr said with a snort. “That’s not much of a bargain if you ask me.”
“My lord,” Oliver said, “with Aeretoll’s help, the last Great War was won. I remember it from my boyhood – an alliance forged in a campaign tent, between King Erik and my Uncle William. If the Sels attacked Aquitainia again, the agreement was that Aeretoll would stand alongside us. By offering Tessa’s hand, and the duchy itself, I’d like to think I’ve only enhanced an existing union.”
He’d potentially overstepped, and he knew it – agreements could be broken, and rarely lasted for all time. But a darted glance toward Erik proved that he was listening, watching his lords, and he didn’t breathe a word of contradiction.
Lord Ingvar said, “I thought the Sels had halted their march inland?”
“A stalemate only, my lord, and one stretched to the breaking point. The Sels occupy all of the Crownlands, and they’ve cut off the shipping lanes on the western coast. Trade was interrupted at the peak of the harvest. If they’re to survive the winter, they’ll need more provisions than those that lie in the storerooms of Aquitaine. They’ll march on Drakewell.”
“And then it will be Drakewell’s problem,” Askr said with a dismissive wave. “What do I care if the South falls?”
“Because,” Erik finally spoke up, voice low and dangerous, “then the Sels will be right at our borders. They’ll take over all our trade with the South – necessary trade, unless you’ve forgotten. You drink enough Neden wine for the whole bloody country.”
Askr puffed up, his face reddening near to match his beard.
“What happens,” Erik pressed, “when they take all of Aquitainia? Do you think they’ll stop there? Since when has anything but violence and superior strength of arms halted the Sels?
“Drakewell is a valuable duchy. Possession of it will give us a massive trade advantage, and avenues for expansion in the South – eventually,” he added, with a quick, quelling glance toward Oliver. “I would not marshal and army to march on Aquitainia for my own ambition, but this is an offer made in earnest. I made a promise to Duke William many years ago, and, my lords permitting, I want to keep it. I’m not suggesting full out war with the Sels, but I will defend Drakewell from them, if Leif is installed as duke.”
“I will defend it myself,” Leif said, head lifted to a proud angle. “I will establish a force of my own in the South. It will be my duchy to protect, and I will not drag the lords of Aeretoll into a foreign war.”
Considering glances passed amongst the council. Men leaned in to whisper to one another, some nodding, some shaking their heads.
Lord Lothar fixed Erik with a look that was still sharp, despite his white hair and clawed hands. “I suppose we can’t prevent you from marrying them, can we?” he asked, tone wry.
A fleeting smile touched Erik’s mouth. “Not in as much, no.”
Lothar nodded. “It’s been too many generations since the great half-blood lords of the North had a toehold in Aquitainia. I say go for it, with my blessing.”
The others all slowly agreed, one by one. A few even looked excited.
Askr folded his arms and looked sullen. “Do what you will, your majesty.”
“Thank you, Askr,” Erik said, dryly, “I was planning to.”
With a scattering of chuckles, the tension in the room eased.
Oliver made the mistake of relaxing too soon, because a moment later, Askr’s shrewd gaze snapped to him and fixed there. The line of his smirk was more than unsettling. “And what of you, Lord Bastard? You can’t inherit. Will you go home and be the wise owl perched onDukeLeif’s shoulder?” He said the title mockingly. “Or will you be gracing us with your dainty Southern presence on a more permanent basis?”
Laugher sounded down the table, but there was nothing amused about Askr’s smirk – he was calculating, even threatening.
“Mr. Meacham is free to do as he wishes,” Erik said, lightly. But his expression, gone hard and cold as carved stone, warned Askr to drop the matter.
It gave Oliver the courage to shrug and say, “That’s the advantage of being a bastard: I can go where the wind takes me, and there’s nothing to tie me down.”
~*~
The council meeting ambled its way along for some hours more. Lunch arrived, along with trays of cold ham rolls and salads studded with cranberries and soft cheese, and they all ate at their places, sipping the strong, hot tea the kitchen boys poured for them. The lords all agreed, finally, that the marriage was a positive thing for Aeretoll, that Leif would make a fine duke and carry forward Northern culture admirably in the South. They also agreed that serious talks must be had at the Midwinter Festival, and a decision made there, with the consent of the clans, about what to do with the Beserkirs.
Then talk turned to reindeer and sheep herds, and petty land disputes, and Oliver’s eyes began to glaze over.
Finally, when the shadows lay long across the table, and the bracing effect of the tea had begun to wear off, Erik slapped a palm down on the table and said, “That’s it, then.”
“Thank you,” Leif muttered quietly, and Oliver felt his mouth hitch up into a tired grin.
