The Countess Cliché, Chapter 2

Vizzini had done what he could, but the four men he'd shown her hadn't been suitable. The first was stunningly attractive but, she realised quite quickly, could barely hold a sword. The second was not nearly so stupid as he was making out and she didn't trust him as far as she could throw him. The third and fourth, Betha couldn't imagine any woman choosing to marry, let alone a noblewoman. Even so, Betha was starting to get desperate. The Princess Buttercup's training was coming along enough that in a matter of weeks, she'd be ready for Humpedinck to present her to the people. Betha was desperate enough that she'd demanded Vizzini find her another man at once and meet her near the theives forest where she knew he was staying with the men he'd enlisted to carry out the "little job" on the Princess.

Betha didn't much care what happened to Buttercup. It wasn't so much that the girl was stupid, annoying, hopelessly wet and naieve so much as that she thought that really her death would be a lucky escape from what fate had in store for her. She rode to the clearing having convinced her father that letting Buttercup ride out alone and not allowing her the same would have aroused suspicion. On arriving there, she slowed her horse to a walk, hoping to surprise Vizzini. He wasn't there, however. Vizzini, unbeknownst to her was still rushing around the town in a desperate attempt to find her a more acceptable husband.

What she found in the clearing was Íñigo, exercising as he did every day. He'd no idea he was being watched, so he wasn't particularly showing off, but his imaginary opponent was clear in his mind as his feet danced effortlessly round the clearing, up onto tree stumps and rocks, carefully avoiding puddles, his sword slashing and thrusting and glinting in the dappled sunlight. It was an impressive sight, especially if you had some idea of what he was doing, but had only seen dull men in draughty castle rooms carefully rehearsing the same motions over and over, or making their attacks on straw-filled sacks.

It was a hot day, unusually so for Florin, and Íñigo had worked up quite a sweat. Where the sun caught him, his skin glistened with it. He finished, ran his sleeve across his forehead, then sniffed him armpit with a horrified expression. He eyed the small pool at the edge of the clearing, shrugged and headed towards it, stripping off his shirt as he went. He threw the shirt aside, and Betha held her breath as he reached towards the buttons of his trousers, but then her horse sneezed and he looked round, startled.

"Who's there?" he demanded, not quite able to see her in the dark amongst the trees.

Damned animal, she thought, and kicked it harshly. It ambled forward into the clearing and she could feel herself blushing. "An unusually hot day, today," she said amiably, affecting to not have noticed his flat stomach, the sprinkling of dark hair on his chest or the hard, defined muscles of his arms. "Most people are just lazing about enjoying the sunshine."

"I train every day," he told her, "I must, lest I fail in my quest to bring my father's murderer to justice."

"A noble cause," she agreed, "I suppose that's left you with little time for socialising?"

He nodded, giving her a most delightful little smile. "Are you flirting with me, M'lady?"

"Do you wish to be flirted with?" she asked with a smirk.

He shook his head. "It's flattering, but my quest must come before all else."

"Naturally. I have no desire to interfere with it, but I think perhaps we might be able to be of use to one another."

"Oh?" She seemed suddenely... businesslike. Surely a whore who could afford to dress so finely wouldn't think he could afford her?

"You have a sword any nobleman would be proud of, but your clothes tell me you live simply. Travelling can be an expensive business, you must take what work you can find, yes, and that slows you down? Well, if you can help me, then I can help you with your costs. You see, I've heard that Daddy wants me to marry a friend of his, a simply odious man, and I want nothing more than to get out of it. If I get married and manage to keep it a secret for a few weeks, then it's all legal and there's nothing Daddy can do about it."

Íñigo stood listening to her, wondering if she was quite out of her mind. Still, she was a noblewoman and not a rich whore, and noblewomen did tend to be eccentric. He said nothing, and she continued.

"It actually works well for me that you'd not be around. If you're not there, Daddy can't find out about you, and when I do have to tell him, you'll not be there for him to arrange for something to happen to you. So long as I spend at least one night with you every year, then we stay married. I can give you more money for your quest when you come to see me, and once it's over, if you meet a girl you like, well, just don't come back that year, and it's all off, we're divorced."

"What if you find a nobleman you want to marry?"

She laughed. "You've not met many noblemen, have you? Noblewomen don't get married because they're in love, they do it because they have no choice. The lucky ones get to try to pick the least offensive or the richest for themselves, but mostly we're just passed around as a way to seal treaties."

"Then why marry me? I'm a peasant."

"Exactly. Have you looked in a mirror lately? They'll take one look at you and think they know exactly why I chose you."

"Even if you only see me for one night a year?"

"Oh, I don't know, there's a certain romance to the idea, don't you think? And of course, I'll pine terribly for you while you're away. Everyone will get quite sick of my talking about how wonderful you are, and as soon as my back's turned the women will tut and say what a silly girl I am for not being able to see that you're only interested in my money and no doubt have a wife in every port, and secretly be burning with jealousy because they're stuck with their husbands all the time."

Inigo chuckled and considered. She did seem to have thought of everything, and he'd already known about what the people called the nag's law. It had been brought in to help women whose husbands had run off and who couldn't afford to divorce them because of it, but what had actually happened was that it just made it all the easier for men to run off and leave with their mistresses. If only it were so easy to get rid of a husband or wife in Italy! Giulietta had told him that she'd dressed as a peasant in order to find love, but after the dance, after their night together, she'd admitted that what she really meant was that she wanted to find love before she got married. His saying he couldn't marry her had just made him seem all the more perfect.

Her husband had been chosen for her years before, and they didn't hate each other, but nor did they much care for each other. So long as nobody much knew about it, he'd not mind that she wasn't a maiden when they married, she'd turn a blind eye to his affairs and once they had some sons, so long as she was discreet about it he'd do the same for her, if only Inigo would come back. That had been what had really broken his heart. She'd let him think that she could be his, when really, all he could hope for was to be her plaything. She could have run away with him, but while she was prepared to play at being a peasant, she wouldn't do it for real.

At thirty years old, he'd given up on finding love. Women his age were either married, whores, or, here in Florin, bitter divorcees with several children in tow. That's how he'd found out about the nag's law - several women had tried to net him. Younger women wouldn't consider a man his age, not when there were men their own age with jobs and homes and years of happy life before them. Men who wouldn't stand a good chance of being hunted down and put to death for killing a nobleman... except he wouldn't, would he, if he married this girl? If he married a noblewoman, then he'd become a nobleman. A minor one, whatever her rank, but a nobleman nonetheless, and then he could duel with whatever nobleman he wanted – short of the King – and so long as he had a genuine grievance, then it was all perfectly legal.

So what if he was going to be married to a woman he didn't love? He'd precious little chance of finding love anyway, and she, unknowingly, was offering him not just money but life. Life, and the chance to be a father, he realised. He'd been pacing as he thought, and she was looking at him, nervously.

"What manner of noblewoman are you?" he asked, thinking he should probably ask at least a couple more questions. "Are you independently wealthy or do you depend on your father?"

"I'm a Countess, and yes, I am independently wealthy, or at least, my late mother's wealth is being held in trust for me. You realise that if we divorce or something... happens to me, you'll get nothing? So no ideas of my dying tragically on our wedding night, hmm?"

"What sort of man do you take me for?"

"The sort of man who is about to marry a woman he has only just met so that he can afford to find and kill another man?"

"Alright, you have a point, but that's not murder. It's justice."

"As you say. Do we have a deal?"

"We don't even know each other's names."

"Elisabetha."

"Íñigo."

"Well then, Inigo, they say there is no time like the present. Shall we go and see my friend the Archbishop?"

"I stink," he pointed out.

"True," she admitted, "But inviting as that pool looks, it's full of leeches, which I would rather not have to pick off you. You can get cleaned up when we arrive."