Author's Note: This is based off of a dream I had, like most of my original-ish fiction. And I hope that the first thing that you do when you finish reading this (besides REVIEWING) is to look up the painting Peace and War by Pompeo Girolamo Batoni. Yes, it's a real painting and I can only hope that I have done it justice.
I am nervous. I, the young queen of a country at war. Barely twenty, and I've already experienced more military strategy than most generals twice my age. But I can't rule alone. Even in this modern age, the age of my mentor Queen Victoria, a woman ruler is still looked down upon. Unlike the men that surround me, I must keep my nerves and temper in check during whatever insubordinations I am presented. It is difficult, but I have won at least a little respect from my country.
I am more nervous than ever. My country, Conradia, bankrupt from war, and from its previous ruler, my cousin. Riquardo had been far too fond of his comforts, depleting the treasury for his own scandalous pleasures. If it was only war or only poverty, I could bring my country through on my on, but not both. I have worked from dawn to dusk to dawn again trying to find a way to bring my country though on my own, but it's no use. I have to marry. The manner is as distasteful as my bitter black morning coffee.
I stare out the window through the rain, waiting to see his carriage in the drive. The earth is crying the bitter tears that I must not allow myself to shed. I strain for a glimpse of Grand Duke Darius. It is unladylike, but since when have I had time to be a lady? I straighten my dress one more time. Stays, jacket, and bustle are still in place, thank goodness. I spent the last of my personal accounts on a small wardrobe of clothing for this visit. At least I am dressed like a lady, and my hair, normally styled simply, is up in one of those fashionable knots on the top of my head. One of the last pieces of jewelry I own, a tiny tiara, is on top of my head. I believe I am ready.
I go down the grand staircase. My dress matches the grand red carpeting that I am treading on. The doors open and people file into my foyer, dripping wet. I see the Grand Duke immediately. He is taller than I, a good sign, for I am taller than most ladies have the right to be. Brown hair, blue eyes, aquiline nose, still a few years away from thirty. Strong, commanding presence that will be a godsend both on and off the battlefield.
I make the first move. "Welcome, your highness, and honored guests," I curtsey to the Grand Duke as he bows. "It is an honor to receive you." That is all I have to say.
"Thank you, your majesty," the Grand Duke replies. His cloak is taken by a footman and I lead him and the rest into a receiving hall nearby.
"How was your journey here, your majesty?" I ask.
"It was fine, but a little wet," he says dryly. I laugh politely; he has a sense of humor. I am grateful.
"I hope that the weather will be a little more amiable in the future," I counter.
"As do I, your majesty," he smiles.
Eventually, after some greetings and small talk, my guests are sent away to freshen up and dry themselves off. I'm also off to rest. Anna, my handmaid, brings me a stack of bills, complaints, and documents. There is a memento from my chief general, Thaddeus. The war is going well enough, but a flood washed away most of my army's supplies. I shall have to send them more. I whip out my pen and ink and prepare a letter immediately. I cannot raise taxes any more in order to pay for this; I shall have to sell my last pair of earrings—I am sure there is a private collector in America eager for such a pair. I have already secretly traded out most of my furniture to pay for this imbecile war. But we have won another battle; I shall have to visit the front soon in order to encourage my men.
What I would not give for peace. Why must men challenge the status quo in this violent manner? It was Riquardo who began this war, but I shall be the one to bear its ill effects on Conradia. I will not concede my territory to a ruler who oppressively taxes his people in the feudal manner of the Medieval Times. No, my nation was provoked into this war and I am convinced that we are fighting for right.
While I check over the remainder of the papers, my mind keeps wandering back to the Grand Duke. I have heard accounts of how he helped his aging father rule his country, even though he was not directly in line for the throne. Time and time again I have heard of his devotion to duty and skills as a negotiator. And he is a handsome enough man; I think that he shall do very nicely.
My work done, I dress for dinner. I have very few options: the periwinkle, the champagne, or the lavender. I choose the champagne; perhaps the golden shimmer of the fabric will distract my guests from the fact that I have no jewelry. Anna puts up my hair in a completely different style. As much as I huff and command that she hurry, I know I must wait for her to finish. I had taken too much time with my correspondences; I mustn't keep my guests waiting.
I examine my face in the mirror; the dark circles usually present under my eyes aren't as prominent tonight, thank goodness. I shrug at my reflection; it is time to once again face my guests.
I come down my stairs for the second time that day. I am stricken at how handsome Grand Duke Darius is, even when he isn't dripping wet. He smiles cordially when he sees me. I take his arm and we lead the others into the dining room.
Dinner is a rather quiet affair. The meal was as tasteful as we could provide under the circumstances: fish and fowl and some of the last of our precious beef. Each guest is given a petit cake for their desert; I have heard that this is all the rage in London these days. Once dinner is over, we all depart for the ballroom.
All of the nobles and as many of the generals that I could spare are here, waiting to meet the man who will perhaps one day become their king. We begin the first dance, a waltz. He is the first to break the silence and I prefer it this way. In war I try to allow my adversary to make the first move, that I may counter it.
"You dance well, your majesty."
"Only at the waltz," I say wryly. "May we please drop titles when we are alone?" Then I realize that he may imply differently from what I have meant. I may as well quit my attempt at marriage this moment. He probably thinks I am a brazen young thing. Oh dear. "What I meant was when we cannot be overheard." I am not used to covering my mistakes.
"Of course," he answers, unruffled. "As you prefer, then." His eyes bore into mine; I am queen and used to being stared at, but not by an equal, like this. Finally, he ceases his scrutiny and asks a question. "What are your favorite amusements? Do you read? Or play the pianoforte?"
I smile grimly. "I read, but not for pleasure. I try to keep up with…current events, if you will. I am fond of riding—I try to visit my troops as much as possible, to keep up their morale. I walk often too, it helps me to clear my head."
"Yes, I suppose."
"What do you do for amusement?" I asked, grateful for a subject to pursue. I had meticulously researched his family and all that I could find out about him. He was the third son in his family, quiet and dedicated to his family and to his country, yet there has to be more to him than the little I know.
"I read, a little. Mostly books that others would find dull," Grand Duke Darius shrugged.
"Do you find them dull, or do you simply believe that others would laugh if you told them?"
"The latter, I am afraid," he said simply. "Plato, Aristotle, Aquinas and the like. I also enjoy painting. I'm a bit of an amateur, I'm afraid, but I dabble."
"We shall have to take a turn later in the gallery, then, so that I may show you my little collection," I said, hoping that he would enjoy the collection of paintings that I had not had the heart to sell off. Yet.
"I would like that very much," he said respectfully as the dance ended.
The rest of the evening was a blur. Grand Duke Darius and I danced together frequently, sometimes making conversation, sometimes not. He was an excellent dancing partner in any case. I managed to keep from stepping on the back of my bustle, so I considered the evening a success.
During the wee hours of the night, I retired. As Anna was undressing me, I analyzed my interactions with the Grand Duke. Sadly enough, after our conversation during the first dance, we had not really talked about anything of consequence. I knew that he liked classical literature and painting, but that was about it.
Or was it? He had mentioned his father several times in passing; it would seem that they were very close. This was good—it meant that perhaps I could get more funds for my war. He also mentioned going out to the country as a boy and greatly enjoying his time there. This also was good—Conradia was a country nation with only one major city: the seaport of Lerei. If art and culture in my country were wanting, then we help it along: bring in the opera, open a museum, and the like. I could make him happy here.
After awakening from a deep sleep, I make arrangements to sell my earrings, make a dent in my pile of war correspondence, and meet with General Thaddeus, one of my most trusted advisors.
"And so, if we send our troops down the river, we may be able to capture that defensive position from our enemy," he says, summing up his plan for our next offensive.
"I see," I reply diplomatically. "Very well, thank you, General."
He turns to go.
"General?" I call after him.
"Yes, my Queen?" He asks, one eyebrow slightly cocked.
"What is your opinion of Grand Duke Darius?" I ask. "Off of the record, that is," I add, just to be clear.
"Officially, he seems to be a capable ruler and a strong one. Unofficially," he paused, "forcing yourself into marriage may not be the only way to save Conradia, but perhaps it is the best way. Be sure of your choice before you finalize anything," he said earnestly.
"Thank you, General," I say, a queen again. "That is all."
My official business completed, I go to lunch with the Grand Duke and half a dozen others. It is a quiet affair, with plain, sensible food. A light meal, with light conversation; everyone still seems to be drowsy from the night before. After the meal, I suggest a tour of the gallery.
"Of course, your majesty," the Grand Duke replies, offering his arm. Something has changed in his face; I don't understand at first. Finally, I realize that his eyes have come alive for the first time since his arrival. He must be passionate about painting, then.
But this also means that he must not be all that eager for a marriage with me. My heart sinks within my chest while I put on an eager, sincere face and try to make my eyes grow bright too. Feigning gladness or interest is all about what is in the eyes.
A footman opens the blinds in the gallery, bathing the room in sunlight that streams in from the wall of enormous windows opposite the paintings. The gallery doubles as a passageway, but it is nearly always kept in a half-light to better preserve my art.
"This first painting," I explain, "is of my grandmother, Queen Isabella and her husband King Trestan Berenger Pelan Reignus thirty-two generations before my own."
We glance up at the painting. King Trestan was a bear of a man: tall and burly, with silvery eyes, a noble face, and dark hair. His wife, tiny in comparison, was next to him, with wise, wolf-like eyes and her long brown hair curled around the tiara she wore.
"They were masterfully painted," the Grand Duke remarks. "Yet their smiles are not typical of the period which they were painted in." He pauses to introspect. "They appear to be sharing in some private joke. They make eye contact with the viewer, rather than with each other, but yet they both appear to be thinking the same thoughts. Rare for a royal couple at the time," his voice trails off.
"Yes," I agreed, drawn in by his insight. "But they were a rare couple for their time, so I have heard."
We keep going along, I explaining the subjects of the paintings we view, he dissecting them. I realize how shallowly I view these paintings, but once you see the same paintings several times a day, you take them for granted. Now, I shall no more. A new opinion has brought a little color to my life.
Finally, we reach the last painting, my favorite for reasons that I cannot explain, reasons that go against my Victorian sensibilities.
"Pompeo Girolamo Batoni's masterwork, Peace and War," I announce, a little uncomfortably for the female representation of peace is practically naked and being seduced by the male representation of war. Of course, the painting is placed in antiquity which excuses it.
Peace is clothed with flowing white and orange robes that do not cover nearly enough of her pearly white body, while War is wearing full Roman armor under his scarlet cape. Their eyes are locked, faces inches apart, while Peace, vulnerable but persistent Peace, is laying an olive branch on War's shoulder. His arm, complete with shield, is practically embracing her topless form.
"Yes, Peace is seducing War with her olive branch in hand," the Grand Duke observes. "War looks as if ready to throw down his sword and shield and become a lover. Yet the griffon on his helmet seems about to strike, not ready to give Peace a chance. War's armor is covered with animals—the animalistic nature of war, also to be seen in his eyes along with yearning for Peace. Vivid and frozen in time," he glances at me. "I can see why it is a part of your collection," he muses. "Symbols of your current battles between War and Peace, and how far Peace is willing to go to overcome War."
As I examine the painting with fresh eyes, it occurs to me, that with a helmet and a few days to forgo shaving, the Grand Duke would have a similar countenance to that of War's. They both have commanding, exhilarating presences, with broad, muscular bodies.
Now I know why I like that painting for I too am somewhat like Peace, trying through veiled feminine charm to bring War to its knees. Not quite as white and dainty, but willing to drape an olive branch across the vision of my potential ally. We are both strong women; I may have a dress in the same shade of orange as the robe of Peace. I suddenly know what I shall wear to dinner; I shall take direction from this painting, but in much more subtle, more pristine ways.
I smile to myself; I shall know Peace.
It is the fifth afternoon of the Grand Duke's visit. We have spent much time in public together, but very little in private. I finally get the change to speak to him out of the scrutiny of others when we are going riding to visit my army's supply lines twenty miles away from Lerei.
"Is the weather not lovely?" I ask, admiring the way that the fair-weather clouds have formed in the sky. After a four and a half days of rain, it is good to see the sun.
"Yes, the sky is very accommodating today in matching your riding habit," the Grand Duke replies, drawing his bay hunter up along side my grey mare.
"Indeed it is," I smile, face shining like that of the sun's. My war has been going well and I have embarrassed neither myself nor my country in front of the Grand Duke. All the world is right for me today until I observe a storm cloud pass over my guest's face.
"May I ask you a question, your majesty," he asks tentatively.
"Of course, your grace." I am mystified by his sudden use of my title. This had not happened since our first dance.
"What would you have done with yourself if there was no war?" His eyes bore into mine as if his knowing the answer is the difference between death and life.
I stop. I had never given the possibility of my ruling during a time of peace a thought. From the day that my cousin died…no, from the day that I was named my cousin's successor, I had become embroiled in this conflict. What would I do if there was to be peace? I would have no purpose.
"I am not sure," I say, my mind absolutely blank.
"It is as I though then," the Grand Duke says. "You don't know." It was almost an accusation. Three words, yet with such a weight behind them. "You have regard only for your country. Such dedication is admirable, but may I speak to you frankly?"
I nod my answer.
"Very well. You cannot let your identity solely depend on your crown. I made that mistake once, long ago, and it has cost me much happiness," he said wistfully. "Would you have attempted to forge an allegiance between us if there had been no war, or if your treasury had not dissipated because of it?"
I know my answer. For two years I had held off the thought of marriage, trying to single-handedly correct Conradia's problems, the thought of advantageous nuptials only as a last resort. I had no where else to turn, and I certainly was not going to surrender to my enemies. I would ransom myself and my seat of power before I saw my country fall.
"No," I admit remorsefully, "I would not have had a thought for marriage if not for the war and its effects on my country."
He looks out over the hills as we ride in silence. I stare at him, longing to fathom his thoughts. "You want me for what I am, rather than for who I am, then," he states, emotionless.
"I am sorry," I say gently. I try to console myself with the thought that honesty is painful but more easily healed than lies.
We ride on again, the only sound is the wind and our entourage of friends riding behind us, out of earshot. The castle of my heart is beginning to crumble. I want the Grand Duke as a tool, not as a man. He knows this. He will leave in a dew days, I muse. Then I shall be alone again, and will try to bring Conradia though once more.
We finally arrive at the supply lines. The money I received through the sale of my earrings has been well spent, I see. Good, that brings me some relief; the sale of my pretty things has not been in vain. I speak to some of my commanders and ministers, the Grand Duke by my side, simply observing. I notice his brow wrinkle; he's deep in thought.
"Do you have something to add?" I ask him.
The Grand Duke thinks a moment.
"Well, yes, actually," the Grand Duke clears his throat. "If you send men upriver, around Pelan's Point with supplies, rather than going overland, it may accelerate your supply lines."
"You do realize that Pelan's Point is enemy territory?" General Thaddeus asks, albeit respectfully.
"Yes," the Grand Duke says, intrepid, "I do. Under the cover of darkness, sneak the men and supplies up the river and around to the soldiers here." He gestures to a point on the map before him. "Take rowboats and muffle the oars. This can be done—study the American Revolutionary War. It's guerrilla tactics in principle, how wars have nearly always been won."
One of my commanders gives me a questioning glance. I nod almost imperceptibly in approval. If my military advisors and General Thaddeus approve, then we shall carry the plan through. Grand Duke Darius seems to have a command of military strategy; it is unfortunate then, that he will not be around in the future.
Riding home, we are quiet; each guiding our horses in mute contemplation while the sun sinks into the Mediterranean. My heart is full of dread; soon it will be time to give the Grand Duke my goodbyes. He will leave and I shall be here, again scrambling for money to fight my war alone. I do not know how long I and my country will be able to hold out against our enemies. I sigh and the Grand Duke hears me.
"What is troubling you?" He inquires, stopping his horse.
"I am concerned for my troops," I say, trying to lie convincingly.
"No, that is not what is foremost on your mind," he says, his blue eyes probing mine.
I do not answer. I have already destroyed any chances I have with him. How am I supposed to reply to this?
"Forget your war, there shall be time for it later," he says, nudging his horse closer to mine.
"What do you mean?"
"Please excuse my boldness, but I mean to marry you," he insists.
I do not know whether to be grateful for the offer, appalled at my own naiveté, or shocked at his audacity. I gape and then regain my composure—I am the Queen, after all.
He is sticking his hands in his pockets, rummaging for something. A strange time to be digging through pockets. The Grand Duke produces a little box and flips open the hinged lid. "I hope that the ring fits you and that you find it pleasing," he says, removing my glove. He begins to slide it onto my finger, then stops.
My ring finger already bears my signet ring: a ruby heart surrounded by a row of diamonds and five rubies representing the five sacred wounds of Christ or the five great catastrophes that have and will strike my country according to legend and prophesy. I never take it off; I doubt if it can even be removed from my finger.
I find my voice. "Perhaps it shall fit a little better upon my middle finger," I suggest.
"Yes, perhaps," he muses, slipping the sapphire ring onto the finger I suggested. "I am glad to have found you, Artemisia," he adds gently.
The very way that he says my name is a caress; I take pleasure in it. He draws even closer to me.
"And I you, Darius," I smile, just before his lips catch mine.
Yes, I think that we shall be very happy together.
The End.