Michael Sullivan - Wintertide

"Now, gentlemen and ladies." Saldur paused to look each of them in the eye. "I tell you truthfully that two days before Sir Hadrian arrived, the empress came to me and said, 'A knight riding a white horse will come to the palace. Admit him and honor him, for he shall be the greatest knight of the New Empire.' Sir Hadrian has been here, recuperating from his wounds, ever since. Today he is fully recovered and sits before you all. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must take my seat, as the feast is about to begin." Saldur bowed and left them.

No one said a word for some time. Everyone stared at Hadrian in wonder, including Albert, whose mouth hung agape.

It was the duchess who finally found words to sum up their collective thoughts. "Well, aren't you just an astonishment topped with surprises?"

Dinner was served in a fashion that Hadrian had never seen before. Fifty servants moving in concert delivered steaming plates of exotic victuals in elaborate presentations. Two peacocks were posed on large platters. One peered up as if surprised while the other's head curled under its wings as if sleeping. Each was surrounded by an array of succulent, carved meat. Ducks, geese, quail, turtledoves, and partridges were displayed in similar fashion, and one pure-white trumpeter swan reared up with its wings outstretched as if about to take flight. Rings of nuts, berries, and herbs surrounded glazed slabs of lean venison, dark boar, and marbled beef. Breads of various shades, from snow-white to nearly black, lay in heaping piles. Massive wedges of cheese, cakes of butter, seven different types of fish, oysters steamed in almond milk, meat pies, custard tarts, and pastries drizzled with honey covered every inch of the table. Stewards and their many assistants served endless streams of wine, beer, ale, and mead.

Anxiety welled up, as he struggled to remember Nimbus's multiple instructions on table etiquette. The list had been massive, but at that moment he could remember just two things: he was not to use the tablecloth to blow his nose, and should not pick his teeth with the knife. Following Saldur's prayer to Maribor, Hadrian's fears vanished when all the guests ripped into the bountiful food with abandon. They tore legs off pigs and heads from birds. Bits of meat and grease sprayed the table as nobles groped and pawed to taste a bite of every dish, lest they miss something that might be the talk of the feast.

Hadrian had lived most of his life on black bread, brown ale, hard cheese, salted fish, and vegetable stews. What lay before him was a new experience. He tried the peacock, which despite its beauty, was dry and not nearly as good as he expected. The venison had a wonderful hickory-smoked taste. But the best thing by far was the dish of cinnamon baked apples. All conversation stopped when the eating began. The only sounds in the hall were those of a single lute, a lone singer, and scores of chewing mouths.

"…long is the day in the summertime, long is the song which I play, I will keep your memory in my heart, till you come to me…"

The music was beautiful and strangely haunting. Its melody filled the Great Hall with a radiance that blended well with the glow of the fireplace and candles. After the setting of the sun, the windows turned to black mirrors and the mood became more intimate. Consoled with food, drink, and music, Hadrian forgot his circumstance and began to enjoy himself-until the Earl of Chadwick nudged him back to reality.

"Are you entered in the joust?" he asked. From his tone and glassy eyes, Hadrian could tell Archibald Ballentyne had started drinking long before the feast.

"Ah, yes-yes I am, sir-I mean, Your Lordship."

"Then you might be riding against my champion Sir Breckton over there." He waved a limp hand across the table. "He's also competing in the joust."

"Then I don't stand much of a chance."

"No, you don't," the earl said. "But you must do your best. There will be a crowd to please." The earl leaned over in a confidential manner. "Now tell me, was what Saldur told us true?"

"I would never dispute the word of a regent," Hadrian replied.

Archibald guffawed. "I think the phrase you were actually looking for is, never trust the word of a regent. Did you know they promised me Melengar and then just like that…" The earl attempted to snap his fingers. "…like that…" He attempted again. "…like…" He failed yet a third time. "Well, you know what I mean. They took away what they promised me. So you can see why I'm skeptical. That bit about the empress expecting you, was that true?"

"I have no idea, My Lord. How could I know?"

"So, you haven't met her? The empress, I mean?"

Hadrian paused, remembering a young girl named Thrace. "No, I haven't actually met the empress. Shouldn't she be seated up there?"

The earl scowled. "They leave the throne vacant in her honor. She never dines in public. To be honest, I've lived in this palace for half a year and have only seen her on three occasions: once in the throne room, once when she addressed the public, and once when I…well what matters is she never seems to leave her room. I often wonder whether the regents are keeping her prisoner up there. I should have her kidnapped-free the poor girl."

Archibald sat up and said, more to himself than to Hadrian, "That's what I should do, and there's just the man I need to talk to." Plucking a walnut from the centerpiece, he threw it down the table at Albert.

"Viscount Winslow," he shouted with more volume than necessary. "I haven't seen you in quite some time."

"No, indeed, Your Lordship. It has been far too long."

"Are you still in contact with those two…phantoms of the night? You know, the magicians that can make letters disappear and who are equally adept at saving doomed princesses from tower prisons?"

"I'm sorry, Your Lordship, but after what they did to you, I terminated my connection with them."

"Yes…what they did…" the earl slurred while looking into his cup, "What they did was put Braga's head in my lap! While I was sleeping no less! Did you know that? It was a most disagreeable awakening, I tell you." He trailed off, mumbling to himself.

Hadrian bit his lip.

"I had no idea. You have my sincere apology," Albert said with genuine surprise, which was lost on the earl, who had tilted his head back to take another swallow of wine.

New musicians entered and began playing a formal tune as gentlemen, including Gilbert and Elgar, took the hands of ladies and led them to the dance floor. Hadrian had no idea how to dance. Nimbus had not even tried to instruct him. The Duke and Duchess of Rochelle also left to join in. A clear line of sight opened between Hadrian and Albert.

"So, Sir Hadrian, is it?" the viscount asked, shifting down to take Lady Genevieve's vacated chair. "Is this your first time in the banquet hall?"

"Indeed, it is."

"The palace is large and has an impressive history. I'm sure that during your recent recovery you've not had an opportunity to visit much of it. If you aren't planning to dance, I'd be happy to give you a tour. There are some fine paintings and frescos on the second floor that are exquisite."

Hadrian glanced at the men still watching him.

"I'm sure they are, Viscount, but I think it might be rude to leave the feast so early. Our hosts might look poorly on me for doing so." He motioned toward the head table where Saldur and Ethelred sat. "I wouldn't want to incur their disfavor so early in the celebrations."

"I understand completely. Have you found your accommodations at the palace to your liking?"

"Yes, indeed. I have my own room in the knights' wing. Regent Saldur has been most generous, and I have nothing to complain about as far as my quarters are concerned."

"So you have reason to complain otherwise?" Albert inquired.