Bosch watched patiently as his young charges closed their work-books and put away their pens. He smiled to himself at their obvious eagerness to be away from the schoolroom, which was barely held in check by due courtesy to their tutor. They straightened their chairs, and stood fidgeting by their desks like hawks on the wrist, eager to be off. A nod and a flick of his hand, and they were gone. From the window embrasure he followed their sprint out into the inner courtyard and across to the practice yards. All in all, they were good lads, these sons of Oberon, he thought. Maybe not cut out for a life of intense study and intellectual pursuits, but they had their own strengths that would stand them in good stead in the years to come. Abel, as the eldest, was already conscious of being groomed as heir, and aware that their father's favour fell on him as eldest male child. He had a sunny disposition and got on well with nearly everyone - even the most jaded adults found it difficult not to respond unconsciously to Abel's engaging smile and infectious good humour. No doubt such qualities would be useful at times when his time came to rule, Bosch reflected; not all battles were won by force of arms alone. But Abel wasn't all good looks and charming manners. He had full measure of the competitive streak that infected all of the children (even quiet little Moira, so serious with her books, could flare in pride with the best of them when challenged) - and he was already developing a reputation for breaking recalcitrant heads both on and off the practice field, much to his father's pride. Which would have earned Abel the reputation of bully, save that he had such a highly developed sense of being seen to do the right thing - and of earning his father's approval. And too, he had sense enough to hold his temper in check in most cases- unlike his younger brother Armand ......... Armand ..... now there was a dark one. Not in the sense of colouring or outlook, but rather that he was a deep, difficult personality to fathom. Still waters ran deep, the saying went, and in Armand the waters ran deep indeed. He struggled with his lessons (except when it had anything to do with the art of war and battle), but nevertheless he kept on, never admitting defeat and always persisting until the task he'd been set was done. It might take him a little while - or a whispered hint from his siblings - but it would be done. He got on well with his siblings, and he and Abel were forever running off to practice swordplay, or to hunt, or just play with the other boys their age. Interestingly though, Bosch considered, that although it would seem he had more in common with Abel, when Armand seemed troubled it was his younger sister he sought out rather than his brother. No doubt despite their camaraderie, the natural rivalry of sibling Princes prevented the sharing of deeper concerns and led to Armand's turning to Moira for support. After all, both dwelt in the shadow of Oberon's heir-apparent. Bosch remembered once the previous year when he had gone looking for them when they hadn't arrived for their lesson - he had eventually found them in the apple grove, bright head and dark close together, faces serious, talking in low, intense voices. They had startled when he approached them, and quickly apologised for missing their lesson - but he couldn't get out of them what the matter was. "He needed me," was all Moira would say, and Armand remained closed-faced and silent. They had come back to the class room obediently enough, and the rest of the lesson went as planned. Abel had glanced at his siblings curiously, but said nothing. Even way back then, Bosch thought as his mind came back to the present, the lines were being drawn. Three eaglets in the eagle's nest, all raised so conscious of their rank and position, encouraged to strive and excel and compete. Perhaps Moira was lucky; here in Oberon's castle her mere gender meant that she was free of expectations the boys faced in Oberon's eyes, not constantly having to compete for his attention and approval. Her talents lay in directions other than the battlefield; rumour had it that she had aroused the interest of Barimen himself. She could forge her own path of success, not depending on her father's favour. He laughed humourlessly to himself. Given the lack of attention Oberon showed his eldest and only daughter, if he were Moira he doubted he would care for paternal approval at all anyway. His reverie was interrupted by a knocking on the door. He crossed the room and opened the door. A young red-haired boy stood there, dressed in the livery of the King's personal attendants. Another new young face, probably another of Oberon's by-blows. "Yes ?", Bosch queried. The boy held out a parchment to him wordlessly, eyes wide and nervous. Very new indeed. The missive was scrolled and sealed with the royal seal, and the writing on the outside was in the King's own hand. Curious now, Bosch took the parchment, and murmured thanks and a dismissal. The boy bowed, then ran off down the stairs. Closing the door, Bosch sat down at his desk and cracked the waxen seal. He unrolled the parchment, and read the brief instruction written there. He lay down the scroll and sighed. It seemed the outsider had won at last - though the news wasn't unexpected. It had been a given that sooner or later she would convince Oberon to have her at court - provided he didn't tire of her first, of course. And now it seemed he had agreed. She would live at court; not as wife, perhaps - not yet. The Lady Cymnea was still wife to Oberon and Queen of Amber. But it had been a long time since Oberon had sought his Queen's bed, and longer still since he had sought her advice as he once had. She had fallen into disfavour, and Oberon had found his pleasure elsewhere. It was the want of kings, he supposed, to lust where they would - but it was hard on those left abandoned by the wayside. What would become of her ? .......What is the fate of an unloved, unwanted Queen ? He had heard it rumoured that she had borne Oberon a son, and that her belly swelled with yet another child; but that was all it had been up until now - a rumour whispered in the kitchen, at the well-kerb. But now it seemed the whispers were true after all, and she was to be installed at court - she and her retinue and her family .... and her son. Her son by the King, she claimed, and he had not bothered to deny it. Which was all well and good, some would say. So I would say too, thought Bosch - except that it is I who have been instructed to include the boy in my classes. No issue of itself, except for the fact that the King had ordered that the boy was to be taught with his "other children" (his words, those - as if they had no names he knew !). And how would the children of Cymnea, those first-born of Oberon, stand to see the offspring of their mother's nemesis sheltered and schooled and spoiled under the same roof ? Abruptly he felt pity for them all - not just for Abel and Armand and Moira, but also for the young one, Faiella's boy. Eric he was named. How will he deal with being thrust into the eyrie with the young eaglets - will he be a cuckoo, failing the cut - or will he be a hawk and meet them on their own terms ? |