Holy City: Chapter Twenty

V stayed in his room for the entire next day for fear of accidentally performing a miracle or being in the presence of a miracle as it was performed and solidifying Harold’s belief in him as a prophet.

V could not stay in his room all night, however, as this was the night of the feast to celebrate the victory at the Sarmatian border. Once day had turned to night, several courtiers arrived and walked into V’s room without knocking and laid out fresh clothes for him without asking. These clothes were different than those provided at the military base. They flowed like the clothes of King Harold flowed but only half as much since V was a commoner and not a king. Yet they still had a certain comfort to them in their looseness, so different than the tightness of the suit V had purchased for himself in Vitesia. The collars were open and the sleeves were open and V felt like he could float on water as he walked. He admired himself as he floated around the room, much as he had once admired the look of his suit in the mirror in Vitesia, but this time it was not his looks he admired, it was the way he could move, the way he could float, the way he could levitate above the ground, almost as if he wasn’t a commoner at all.

The courtiers watched him as he moved and floated and levitated. V asked if he looked like a true Lyonessian in these clothes. The courtiers let out a laugh and said, yes, he did. V did not know if this laugh was because they were telling the truth or because they were lying. Either way, it did not bother him as he relaxed into his new clothes and continued to float as a reed cut loose in a pool of water.

After a few more minutes of self-admiration there was whispering amongst the courtiers. The whispering turned into hurried tones and that meant it was time to escort V to the banquet room. With a couple of courtiers in front and a couple in back, the floating V was transported out of his ornate room through ornate halls ending up in a banquet hall that looked like it had been built many centuries ago. A banquet hall that would have been fit to serve kings and queens in the middle ages or before the middle ages when kings and queens lived in such halls and not in fine palaces and mansions.

V was seated next to a young woman at a very long table that ran the length of the ballroom. In the front of the hall was a smaller table with five chairs. The chair in the center of those five chairs was raised above the others, more like a throne than a chair. This was Harold’s table and four of the five chairs were presently occupied. The throne was empty. Harold’s table at the front and V’s very long table on the side were raised on a platform above the floor below. On the floor below there were many circular tables with many people dressed in fine clothes that didn’t flow in the same way as those at the tables above them.

V had time to take all of this in because everyone was waiting.

There was the sound of polite conversation throughout the hall. V thought about joining the polite conversation and conversing with either the young woman to his right or the old man to his left. But the more he thought about it, the better it was to remain silent. He only had to remain silent for a small amount of time because soon there was the playing of trumpets and all kinds of brass instruments. Then there was a call of a horn made of bone, and then a silence. And then a murmur through the crowd as a man entered the hall.

He wore a crown of gold on his head and heavy purple robes flowed from his body. He walked over to the high chair, the throne, directly in the middle of the head table. The King surveyed the room, his subjects and his guests. The young woman on V’s right seemed to be bored by the ceremony, her face set in stone, her eyes glazed of ice, her hands playing with one of the silk napkins that had been laid out next to her place setting on the table.

V’s attention, like everyone’s attention, remained on the front of the room. Harold enjoyed the attention and made everyone wait. He did not speak for a few seconds. He picked up a wine glass that was more a goblet than a wine glass and raised it to his audience. It was time for a speech to celebrate the recent victory. Harold delivered his speech with passion. He was a good public speaker, V had to admit. At the end of this speech, Harold gestured over to the very long table on the side of the room where V stood with others. The King made reference to the great victory on the border once again and promised victory in the War of the Three Nations and then made a promise about the future of Lyonesse. That the future of his country was now assured. That the future for all of his subjects was one of promise and hope and prosperity. He continued to gesture to V’s table as he said these things. For a second, V thought the King was looking at him as he said these things. It was only when everyone in the audience turned to look at the young woman next to V that V realized the King was not gesturing to him. That all of Harold’s attention and now the audience’s attention was on the young woman standing to his right who still held the partially torn silk napkin in her left hand. This young woman was Queen Isabel, the Queen of Lyonesse.

The crowd cheered the Queen and they cheered the King. They cheered the future of Lyonesse and they cheered the promise of victory in the War of the Three Nations. Everyone sat down and it was time for the type of feast that usually follows such speeches. V tried not to look at the young woman to his right now that he knew of her prominence. But he could not help himself and made furtive glances in her direction. He thought back to the rules of engagement the junior military man had told him. Did they apply to the Queen as well? Where was the junior military man when one needed him.

Food began to be passed down the tables from one person to another, as if everyone in the hall were all members of the same family, an old custom, perhaps as old as the hall they dined in, that had been kept for all such formal occasions in Lyonesse.

V wondered if he could he speak to the Queen. If he should speak to the Queen. If he could look her in the eye as he spoke to her. He wondered if he should bow and curtsy after each dish was passed? The informality of sitting next to the Queen as they passed food back and forth only increased his concerns. As the food got closer, V’s anxiety increased.

Eventually, the food reached them and the Queen passed a large plate that held many cuts of chicken. V did not look her in the eye. He did not speak to her. She spoke to him.

“I heard you rejected Harold’s hospitality last night.” She said in a confidential yet relaxed manner putting V at ease. He was surprised at her practiced nonchalance. It was like she was talking to an old friend. By the time she passed him a bowl of gravy to go with the cuts of chicken, V felt he could answer honestly.

“It wasn’t his hospitality I rejected.”

“Such a dreadful custom.”

“You don’t approve?”

“It’s not my place.” The Queen said this with a sly look. “Some customs are harder to change than others.”

“Even for a queen?”

“Especially for a queen. I’m not the first.” She said as she passed the butter, which would go with some rolls that had yet to make it to them. “The previous one had her head chopped off. It’s a valuable reminder of my place in the kingdom.”

“I imagine.”

“I don’t have to imagine. Harold keeps a painting of it in our bedroom.”

V laughed. The Queen did not laugh because she wasn’t joking.

“You’re not the first either.”

“Excuse me?”

“The first magician to have taken Harold’s fancy.”

“Did the previous one have his head chopped off?” V joked.

“Yes.” The Queen was still serious.

“You’ll have to show me the painting of it sometime.”

The Queen finally laughed. “You have a better sense of humor than the previous one, I’ll give you that. And better taste in sexual partners.”

“Thank you.” V said somewhat hesitantly. “I’ve never had to turn down so much attention before. It was… enlightening.”

“Interesting choice of words.” The Queen passed the plum dumplings.

“Are prophets the only ones who receive such kind treatment?”

The Queen laughed harder at this than she had at V’s earlier joke, almost spilling the bowl of greenery in her hands.

“No.” She turned to look at him with a look of pity for his embarrassing naivete.

“I suppose such customs could create difficulty in a marriage.”

“I worry about you magician. It sounds like you are trying to make trouble between my husband and me. Harold doesn’t like trouble.”

“And I don’t like being accused of being something I am not.”

Isabel fixed him with a long stare. “I don’t know whether you’re extraordinarily clever or extraordinarily dumb. I fear for your future. You shouldn’t play games with my husband.”

“Or with you?”

The Queen kept her regal stare on V still trying to answer her earlier question. She decided to try a new tactic, matching the lighthearted mood of the conversation.

“Show me a trick.”

“What?”

“If you’re so clever, you must know tricks. Show me one of your tricks.” She removed her porcelain cup from a porcelain saucer below.

“Make this saucer levitate?”

V laughed.

“I’m serious. Harold believes you’re the real thing. I want some proof for myself.”

V put his hands over the coaster and left them there for a second and then smiled and leaned in closely to the Queen as the King watched from his seat at the front of the room. “Your husband believes if I don’t try to make the saucer levitate then I am proving myself to be a prophet.”

The Queen caught a glimpse of her husband. She knew what his look meant. Isabel sighed a deep sigh. “I’m still trying to figure it out, whether you’re clever or dumb.”

“Perhaps I’m both.”

“Perhaps.” The Queen said as she began to eat small portions from the full plate in front of her. “Perhaps we should also try to be more formal with each other. I would hate to see you get your head chopped off before we finish the third course.”

V and Isabel returned to the restrained formality that such an occasion usually requires now that they had found themselves under a jealous gaze. Harold was not the only one to notice their moment of familiarity. The High Priest of Lyonesse was watching them as well. Much like his Queen, he was used to Harold’s passing infatuations for prophets of one kind or another. He had been keeping a close eye on V for some time. He was waiting for V to make a slip like all the others had made a slip. There was always a misstep from those who live their lives on such unfirm ground.

Next Chapter: Chapter Twenty-One
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