The Constable was gracious to me, which was a relief. I had heard of some women whose real status in their new homes was little better than livestock, except that dogs and swine are not expected to share their owners' beds.
Still, there was no doubt whatever in my mind that this was a man, and, very much to the point, one openly appraising me as a woman. While not lecherous or ignoble, his first looks very definitely included a quick survey of my bosom and hips. I was not entirely surprised about that, for I knew the foremost rôle of any queen is to produce future kings; a spindly, narrow-hipped girl would made a dubious choice for the heirless King Robin.
I also knew that Robin had had two previous wives, one becoming Princess of the Realm at their marriage and the second becoming Queen following the death of Robin's father. One was supposed to have been beloved by Robin and the other a political marriage, like mine. In the end, it had mattered little, for both had died in childbirth.
Hips, it would seem, mattered.
That last had me concerned, much like any maiden entering an arranged marriage. That I would be expected to couple with him was a given and there were enough dogs and herd-beasts about my father's keep that I could have no doubt as to the essential nature of the act and its consequences.
The uncertainty concerning that 'essential nature' in humans was of course both fearful and exciting. What girl has not wondered?
And there had been enough ballads sung in court that the concept of love was hardly unknown to me, either, although I'd often wondered if my parents had ever actually felt love for each other. Theirs too had been a political match and it was rare for either of them to demonstrate any affection, especially in public. Yet here I was and there were my brothers, so presumably they had at least met the basic expectations.
Would I be as lucky in love as the songs or would I find myself a regal brood mare, valued only for my womb and my father's alliance?
I could scarcely raise that matter with my mother, of course.
+
There was a blessing service in the Noble Chapel the day before our departure. The always-prolix Prelate's sermon was a droning oxymoronity, on one hand praising the holy grail of chastity while on the other imploring the heavens' blessing on fecundity – my fecundity, of course, even if I was never specifically named.
I noted that the Constable sat through the whole thing with no sign of emotion.
My father gave a banquet that night, with knights and minor nobility from surrounding regions in attendance. I tried to enjoy myself as much as possible, for I thought it unlikely that I would find familiar fare – musical or gustatory – in my new country.
+
It was cold the next morning when the night maid slipped into my chamber with a candle and a pitcher of steaming water. My teeth were chattering by the time I began to pull on my clothes.
The Constable had advised me that my maids and I should dress warmly and be prepared for rough travel. In our case, I found, that meant bouncing around in a springless carriage, which not even the Bannish royal arms painted on the doors could make comfortable. The state of what passed for roads in our area would have made mock at springs in any case.
I'd received my first pony at five years old and within an hour into the journey had been seriously considering asking for one of the spare horses, bareback if needs must. I put that aside, for I could picture the Constable's expression. No, queens-to-be are bound to travel in a state fitting their stations, regardless of convenience or comfort. I could not in any case abandon my maids.
Don't think it was an easy decision however.
The honour guard, less several still-healing casualties, but augmented by a troop of my father's mounted archers, plodded heads-down through a day-long drizzle and I reflected that at least it was dry inside the carriage.
There was a jarring note just as we set out. In a roadside pasture below the castle was my father's horsemaster, supervising the mating of a young filly to Tàirneanach, my father's grey stallion. It was nothing I hadn't seen before, but the sight of the skittish young creature being led forward on a lead seemed a portent. Seeing my jaw fall, Lady Margaret, my senior maid, scowled and hastily jerked the carriage's curtains closed, but not before I saw the big horse's great organ waving about as he reared up to mount. Her attempts to divert my mind with conversation failed entirely and a grim silence fell upon us all.
We continued that morning though the mud and ruts until we reached a spot to which a pair of advance riders had been sent ahead to light a fire. I will admit to being impressed with the Constable's logistic acumen; we women gratefully took an opportunity for a brief hot drink with which to soften the hard road-bread which would be our main sustenance on the journey.
Nightfall found us chilled, hungry and out of sight of the meanest crofter's hut, let alone a proper town or city. Rather, we set up camp in an isolated and dismally windswept stone sheep-pen. The guard erected a rough tent for the four women and, after a spartan meal, those not on watch rolled themselves in their cloaks and fell asleep on the damp ground.
The tent at least spared us the drizzle, but the ground was cold and, even with our own cloaks and one blanket each from the stores cart, we wound up huddling against one another like sheep. I won't say that I slept not at all, but it was hardly a pleasant night.
We were awakened the next morning when a candle, a pot of hot water and a pitcher of warmed wine were pushed into the tent. Our unknown benefactor informed us that we would be leaving in twenty minutes.
I won't go further into the voyage as each day was a boneshaking repetition of the one before it. While the road remained tortuous, the weather gradually improved and we began to take more interest in the scenery. By the third day, my familiar hills, rocks and heather had gradually changed to more even ground, some green fields, trees and, to my personal satisfaction, signs of habitation.
We reached the border stone late in the third morning. A troop of Bann's King's Guard was waiting for us and, with little ceremony, most of my father's troops turned for home. I took the chance to send a note to my parents with the returning soldiers.
On the fourth night came a real treat -- a wayside inn. I was assigned a room by myself, but my three maids looked rather worried as no special arrangements had been made for them. The bed was large, but hardly large enough for four and I decided to see how much authority the position of 'almost-Queen' carried. After rolling his eyes, the Constable harried the innkeeper until he produced several thin pallets and – delight beyond delight – soap and a large tin laundry tub into which a procession of serving wenches poured pail after pail of steaming water. Bathing in a small tub in a drafty room is rarely ideal, but that night it was a great treat.
To our profound happiness, the road itself improved dramatically early on the fifth day, potholed mud giving way to almost-even cobblestones over which the carriage now merely jolted and rocked as opposed to flinging itself about like a new-trapped wild thing.
The Constable had been stiff throughout, but not unkindly. Perhaps it would be better to say that he was unfailingly proper and (given the ambush on his trip north) highly focused on his primary responsibility -- my safety. King's uncle or no, he slept little, for the King had a reputation of not suffering fools or failure. Still, within the bounds of the circumstances, he had been sympathetic and made many allowances for his female charges.
The final day of the journey, to my surprise, we stopped early, in late afternoon. The last milestone had put the capital only three leagues away and I had been sure the Constable would push on. Instead, bless the man, we paused at a large and comfortable inn.
"I daresay you'd appreciate a chance to clean up before your arrival," he said. "Which of your traps would you like?" He was referring to my trousseau and the bags of my companions being carried in the stores cart. I waved at one of my maids, who curtsied briefly and followed him from the room.
In short order, a series of perspiring soldiers with trunks and boxes contested the hallway with inn staff bringing a tub and hot water.
The Constable appeared at the door and allowed himself to smile at the sight of four excited young women selecting their first clean clothes in many days. Catching my eye, he nodded briefly and closed the door behind him. I heard him speaking to the guard stationed outside.
The inn provided multiple changes of water and a pile of decent towels. We took the chance to wash our hair, laboriously brushing it dry before putting it up again for the night.
Gruff though he was, my heart had warmed considerably to the man. He might easily have slept in his own bed that night, but he had instead given me the chance to arrive looking like something other than a road-weary vagabond.
