Chapter 11: Naming

From the files of the Listening and Recording Division, 25 Fallowfield, Year 212 since Conquest.

Recorder: Cornelius, son of Suprimius, late of Beruna Town Administration

Location: Tube 11, Gatehouse.

Watchman Bronun: Halt! Who comes?

Voice: The Lady Drinia and party from her estates and holdings of the Western Waste

Watchman Bronun: What is your business here?

Voice: To pay duty to our prince and heir, and to the Lord Protector Miraz.

Watchman Bronun: Pass

ooooo

Moll had hurried into her clothes, as Dell had dressed the child. There was no time, and too many people present, to properly hide the letter Krimbin had given her. The best she could do, pleading an unlikely modesty in front of the guards, was to take herself around the edge of the room into the little privy alcove, and dressing there, transfer the letter from the underpocket in her old everyday clothes to a place tucked well down in the stiff bodice of the court clothes. Later, in the quiet of night, she could hide it under the mattress in Prince Caspian's old disused cradle.

When she emerged, in all the shining array of the full court dress of an upper servant, Prince Caspian, standing already fully dressed on Dell's lap, gazed at her, as if at a princess.

"He thinks you're beautiful!" Dell observed, half ironic, and half congratulatory.

Moll was taken aback, but grimaced, and replied with an old miners' saying. "You can't polish mud."

Nonetheless, she was aware of an odd, shy sense of pleasure in herself on the quick walk, the little Prince trotting beside her and the guards striding in a more measured pace, to the Great Audience Chamber. At the doorway, the guards gave way to the Seneschal's underling, looking unwontedly harried and tense. This she took as a good sign; if the Assembly concerned only herself and the Prince, then there would be no need for such visible general anxiety in everyone present. It was a great occasion—the clothes showed that – but unexpected; perhaps that alone would make for a tension in the tradition-loving Telmarine court.

The Seneschal's underling touched her gently on the elbow, she began the long walk to where Miraz and Prismia waited on the dais. The walk seemed longer, now that she was holding the child by his hand while he pattered slowly and solemnly beside her, but it at least gave her plenty of time to read and assess the looks of those about her. The nobles – surely, again, fewer than two years back, and fewer than at the Calormene's visit? Miraz and Prismia were resplendently dressed, and Prismia, especially, seemed excited, tremulously delighted to be once again standing in full magnificence as ruling Lady before the whole court.

Moll had reached the top of the room; Miraz and Prismia looked out and past her, but the Seneschal's eyes guided her to stand beside him, and she felt only a kindly approval from him. So whatever was coming, of good or ill, surely boded no ill to her?

Miraz stepped forward, hand-in-hand with Prismia – he held their joined hands high, triumphantly. Triumphant, too, was the ringing tone of his voice as he began to speak.

"Nobles! Most welcome are you all to this joyous gathering! Most welcome, if maybe, my good friends! surprised at a summons to a winter festivity! We are accustomed to make our great annual festivities in summer, to match the rejoicing of the sun and the fruitfulness of the fields with our own warmth and feasting. But now we are here in this month of Fallowfield, met here for rejoicing. Do you ask why?"

And indeed, it seemed to Moll, watching from her post to the side of dais, that the assembled nobles were somewhat puzzled, but the reassuring warmth of Miraz' voice was visibly easing their tension.

Miraz continued. "Noble friends! Loyal bulwark of our state! We do not need the sun – is not the warmth of your hearts and loyalty enough to lighten our Assembly? We do not need the fields' fruitfulness! Is not our great wealth abundant in store, as in the fields?"

There was a smattering of applause at this, from several knots of nobles scattered about the Chamber, applause which came loudest from the small group closest to the front, where Glozelle and Sopespian stood side by side.

"Is not winter more suited for festivities and rejoicing? Summer, which we have used to hold our court visitings and embassies, is a time for work. Winter is a time for resting, of quiet to be together, and therefore, therefore, I say, a meet season for meeting thus!"

The mild pun was met with more applause from the same nobles, placed, she thought now, strategically through the Chamber, to both encourage and monitor response. Miraz seemed to breathe in the laughter, to draw from it enormous pleasure and confidence; he almost laughed aloud, at the Court, extending his hands to them in appreciation of their appreciation of him; Moll had never seen him more jovial and paternal.

And at that point, there was a slight disturbance at the great entry – Moll's eyes flicked sideways, and she saw that a tall woman in a green travelling dress had emerged from the little knot of attendants at the doorway, to stand quietly, her eyes fixed on Miraz, listening. The Rough Lady.

Miraz likewise had noted her; he paused briefly, and something of the light died from his face. Then he continued with his speech – a set speech, evidently.

"This is the season for rejoicing! Therefore, I have chosen this season, this time, to bring you two great reasons to rejoice! The first stands here before me, and will henceforward stand beside me!"

The Seneschal murmured to Moll, and she took the child's hand and walked him up the steps to stand him next to his uncle, dropping back herself into the shadow behind.

"Our next heir, have we ourselves, good friends, with your good will – and even supported by the voices of the lowliest of our subjects in the streets and markets – decided to give him the name, which now we first proclaim aloud, of … Caspian! Prince Caspian!"

There were some gasps, but overall it was relief and delight which ran around the court, she was sure, transmuting quickly into enthusiastic applause. The child himself, habituated to his name by the Nursery use, looked up and out at the Assembly with a beaming smile, which in itself served to redouble the general delight. Moll felt her own heart warm to see how loved the child was, even as she felt a reluctant admiration for Miraz' (or Glozelle's?) political skill, to take a popular movement, forced on him, and claim it as his own initiative

The Rough Lady, she noted, was both surprised and elated; the three Gentlemen, surprised and wondering – as were many in the Chamber, even as they applauded. But Miraz did not leave them long to ponder his reasons for the announcement.

"Moreover, on this day, we have further reason to rejoice! Today I also announce a glorious day for Telmar – we have come far from our ancient land, to become rulers and happy settlers here. Kings and people, we have rejoiced in this land, and made Telmar's name greater in a new land. But is this the end of Telmar's conquests? Are we bounded here, or does our greatness drive on, and on?

A murmur from the assembled court.

"Look around you! You will see that seven of our greatest and boldest spirits, seven great Lords, great in valour and great in loyalty, are not among us!" He paused, and again she admired his skilful oratory, to force one question to drive out any others from the minds of his hearers. "They have gone to find and bring back greater glory for Telmar, that to her Narnian conquest may be added still other lands yet unknown!

"Lord Rhoop! Lord Marvramorn! Lord Bern! Lord Restimar! Lord Octesian! Lord Revilian – Lord Argoz! Each has been fitted out with a ship, crewed by Galman sailors, and well-provisioned, and they have gone from among us, not staying for the glory here, but hasting to catch the western winds before the river-ports freeze; they are content to receive your praise when they return, as they will return, with a cargo of wonders from lands unknown to lay before you all!"

Several of the Lords, she noted, were glancing at each other uneasily. Runan was frowning. Miraz drove on, his voice surging to a new high.

"To lay before you all, for the greater glory of Telmar!"

Of course there was applause at that – who could be seen not to applaud? As before, he seemed almost to breathe in the applause, to grow from it. He smiled, a little grimly, rocking on his heels for an instant, and then seemed to dwindle again, coming down from high oratory to simple, warm welcoming.

"And now, my friends, loyal champions, paladins, nobles all, I and my Lady bid you to the first of the Great Winter Feasts of this our realm! Musicians!" and he turned to gesture imperiously, and a little theatrically, at the group waiting to one side.

"Stay! My Lord Protector!" It was Glozelle. "My Lord, Protector of this realm!"

"Lord Glozelle?"

"My Lord… you have given us great reason to rejoice. I come to ask a boon, not for myself alone, but for this whole realm.

"My Lord Protector, you have led us, and still lead us, to great wealth, and to glory! The succession of the country is secure – you have named our next heir, and we rejoice in that! This day is a great day, and rightly marked by claiming winter as the time of our feasts! But we ask that you make it greater still, that you give us one still greater reason to rejoice! We ask you, My Lord Protector, will you not become our King?"

He knelt, and almost instantly, Sopespian knelt beside him, and then from all corners of the Chamber, one or two at a time, came the little groups of nobles who had been quick to applaud earlier in the Assembly. They did not all come at once, but with an appearance of artless and impulsive decision – but to Moll's eye they were alert, aware, prepared. It was clearly, she assessed, a pre-determined plan, designed to elicit similar decision in the undecided.

Within a few breaths a good two-fifths of the nobles present also knelt – but still, three-fifths did not.

From her corner Moll watched, weighing the general support, and especially noting the reactions of those she knew best. Runan was startled and watchful, Arlian disturbed and unsettled; Erimon took half a step forward, then hesitated. The Rough Lady had not moved from her place by the door. She stood unmoving in the general stir, seeming rather amused than startled by the gambit; her face was lit by an appreciative – and gently sardonic – smile.

Miraz did not allow the petitioners to stay long on their knees. No sooner had it become clear that there was not overwhelming support than he shifted to a pleased, but protesting , almost remonstrating, posture.

"Good and loyal hearts! Rise, rise! A kingship is not a matter to be decided as swiftly as our seven brothers took their quest! A kingship – well we know," how long, Moll wondered suddenly, had he been referring to himself as 'we'? "your love of this our realm, but though we are now in our time of winter rejoicing, we cannot make your joy complete by granting your petition. We will think on this, and give our answer at a later time! And now, musicians…"

"Wait, My Lord!" It was the Lady, moving with her strong, swift stride, bypassing the nobles as they began to straggle back to the edges of the room. "One other boon is asked, Lord Protector!"

Miraz sidestepped, perhaps preferring not to ask what it was she wanted. "We did not expect you to this assembly, my Lady."

"I am welcome, my Lord?" with the slightest of questioning tones, and the slightest of challenges in her smile.

"Yes, of course, welcome." – abruptly, impatiently, uneasily.

The Lady extended her hands, palm upward, as if to soothe his unease.

"It is true we live somewhat far from the usual route of the Court messengers."

To Moll, this was clear – and if so, then surely it was a coded message to the nobles? The Lady had not been told of the Assembly; Miraz had attempted to make his move in a hand-picked gathering, using his court base and without consulting the farther reaches of the realm.

"But as this is a time of asking boons, it seems, then I must also ask one of you!"

Miraz was fierce and wary. "Ask, Lady Drinia."

"My Lord, when you were young, as young as this Prince here, you came to live amongst us in the west. Your family held then to the long tradition that rulers should live with the ruled for some years as they grew, to bind kings and people more closely in bonds of love and loyalty.

His face had reverted to a hard sulkiness. "Your brothers made ill use of that bond, Lady."

"My Lord – you yourself have proclaimed them not wanting in loyalty, but suffering a terrible disorder of the mind. I am convinced that you will not abandon these long-serving, truly loyal friends and comrades to hurt, whether of mind or body."

Oh, she was subtle! She caught him in his own lie, and challenged him now. Would he risk showing his divided court how cheaply he held loyalty and long love, now, when he most needed to demonstrate that loyalty to him would be rewarded?

"Therefore, My Lord, I ask this boon, that you will release to my care my disordered brothers, here in this town, where they may be seen by the best physicians and many good friends of yore, and afterwards if they be fit to travel, to travel back with me to my own estate, with such good other care as you decide."

So… she would have her brothers clearly seen, not kept immured where no-one could tell how they fared.

Miraz hesitated; he did well with a set speech, Moll decided, but lacked the quick thought to meet unexpected challenges.

If he lacked quick thought, another did not. In an instant, Glozelle had moved to his side. "My Lord, this is a private petition, not one for the whole Assembly. Perhaps it would be better to speak in private with the Lady?"

"Yes, we shall so do." Miraz looked with undisguised hostility at the Rough Lady. She swept a majestic acknowledgement, and withdrew. One savage look from Miraz, and the musicians struck up, and the Assembly moved into the formal squares and lines of the dance.

ooooo

By some arcane means, Moll noted, the word had already gone from the Great Audience Chamber to the further recesses of the Castle; evidently all the servants knew that the child had been formally Named as Prince Caspian and next heir. There were smiles and small obeisances on every side during the procession back, late that night. Dell did not speak when the Seneschal and guards escorted Moll and Prince Caspian through the door of the Nursery, but her eyes flicked to Moll's with sober satisfaction; she obviously believed that the outcome had been for good, and not ill. But perhaps she did not know of Glozelle's petition – that Miraz was making, tentatively, his move for the throne?

Moll realised it came down to plain politics now. The naming of the child – as far as Miraz knew, by the people themselves, unled – had spurred him to act a little sooner than planned, and without the Calormene backing. Without that backing, and having acted too soon to be sure of the total support of his nobles, he did not – yet! – dare to act decisively. His ambition was now surely plain to all – all who were left – but a petition from a courtier was not – not irretrievably – his move. He could pull back, disassociate himself from the manoeuvre if it proved fruitless. However, it also disarmed response; to protest on behalf of Caspian's claim to the throne might seem to some premature, especially as Miraz could point to the Naming as a sign of his good intentions. So – how to best counter what must surely be coming: the court intriguing to build support for his move?

Still, that was a problem for another day; Moll set herself, dwarf-fashion, to seize the immediate opportunity, and not to thrash uselessly with problems which had no answer. Miraz' changing of the festive season to winter – though doubtless because he needed to act quickly – was also chosen, she thought, because Prismia feared to be in public during the time of the trees' quickening. Therefore, what better time to begin sowing some of the seeds of fear?

"I'm glad they're making winter the time to have the big feasts now," she began, in warm, comfortable tones, while undoing the fastening of the prince's little bright jacket. "It's better for him to be well tucked away on summer nights."

"Better for him to be tucked away any time this late," returned Dell, with her usual reserve, but Moll continued, as if simply rambling to fill the air with sound, as she undressed Prince Caspian to get him ready for bed.

"Summer's not a good time to be out at night, what with the trees in full leaf and all." The fine doeskin boots… the splendid tunic, off and folded and handed to Dell. "It's all right for you all, up here in the castle, but down in the town we used to hear… well…" the undershirt stripped off him, and his night-clothes wriggled over the top of his head – he was almost asleep as he stood on her lap, leaning heavily against her shoulder, " we heard enough to stay home those nights, anyway."

That was enough for a start, she thought, and while Dell did not respond, she knew enough now to know that the older maid had taken note

ooooo

From the files of the Listening and Recording Division, 26 Fallowfield, Year 212 since Conquest.

Recorder: Cornelius, son of Suprimius, late of Beruna Town Administration

Location: Tube 15, Guest Rooms

The Lady Drinia: My Lord! Good morning! It is good of you to come to me before noon, after so late a night.

The Lord Miraz: Lady. …. You are welcome, Drinia.

The Lady Drinia: My thanks! And you have given him the name! Miraz, you have done well! Though… why not in summer, as custom calls? Kingship should be a summer matter, surely?

[Silence]

The Lady Drinia: Oh, come – we are not so separated from the children we once were that I can't show my joy, surely! This one action is a good one.

The Lord Miraz: Matters are still … maybe in summer this will be clearer to you.

The Lady Drinia: In summer? Things are clear now, Lord Protector.

[Silence]

The Lady Drinia: I would advise, were I your advisor. But I am not.

The Lord Miraz: You say wisely. Will you walk with me in fresher air, Lady?

The Lady Drinia: But I beg you to choose your advisors wisely. The voices of flattery and cunning… Glozelle and Sopespian…

The Lord Miraz: We won't talk of that here. You underestimate them as you have… we won't talk of that.

The Lady Drinia: Well, as you will… more importantly to me… my brothers! Miraz, where are they? You and I know they are not mad.

The Lord Miraz: Drinia, I was … you cannot know with what sorrow I …

They were accused of treason! You know I have not absolute power here

The Lady Drinia: Stars be praised! Absolute power is not for any man.

The Lord Miraz: If I had not called it madness they would be dead, Drinia.

The Lady Drinia: And it is not. We both know that. So where are they now, and will you release them to me? I think now the child is Named there need be no more conflict between you.

The Lord Miraz: Maybe. We will not speak of that here.

The Lady Drinia: So you said of the other matter.

[Silence]

The Lady Drinia: Then let us by all means go elsewhere to talk further. And I may see the child, Miraz?

[Silence]

The Lady Drinia: You will not deny me this. You know I love him as I love you.

The Lord Miraz: Come.

ooooo

Late in the afternoon Moll was summoned to bring the Prince to the battlements. He had been fractious all morning after his late night, and now was almost ready to sleep again. She hoped that Miraz did not want him to toddle along in their usual way, in that curious parody of a ruler's patrol on the castle walls; the day's warmth was ebbing fast, and he needed quietness and warmth.

Well, there was no help for it. She dressed him as warmly as she could, and wrapped him as well in a blanket stripped from her own bed. These battlement walks had not been called of late, since the winter chill had set in, and she did not want the child to suffer cold; if he were to fall ill in night air, she told herself, the Network's plan and all that had gone into it would be for nothing.

It was not Lord Miraz alone on the battlements; the Rough Lady was there as well. Both of them looked weary, and the air between the two of them was as tight as a bowstring with unspoken tension – or not spoken before Moll at any rate; she could only guess what had been spoken between them before she came. Miraz turned angrily away as she stepped out into the icy air, holding the child close, to keep him warm as long as might be.

"Here he is. Look at him and then…" He left the sentence unfinished.

The Lady was in front of her, and carefully lifting Prince Caspian from her arms, . She held him, looking very deeply and closely at him, and then stooping her head to breathe in his scent. He reached out sleepily and patted her cheek as she did so, and she closed her eyes, as if the better to feel his hand.

"Caspian. Caspian. Prince Caspian." Her voice was touched with wonder, as if she held something magical and precious. Miraz had turned his head, reluctantly, and was watching her, with some bitterness in his gaze.

Then she seemed to come down from some height of thought, and looked across to Moll.

"I have seen you before, I think, Nurse."

"Yes, Lady Drinia. I have been with Prince Caspian for two years now."

The Lady smiled – it was a somewhat distracted and wintry smile, but nonetheless real.

"May you stay with him many more years. I am convinced he is well served by you."

Moll glanced at Miraz. Though he stood apparently looking out towards the town, now, he was clearly listening closely. She bobbed her acquiescence.

"And also by the three fine Gentlemen of the Bedchamber." Now the Lady looked to Miraz, with an attempt at gaiety, seeming to invite him to laugh with her about the younger men. He certainly heard her, and responded, without turning from his survey of the land across the river, by a short, contemptuous exclamation.

"Tell them from me that I am sorry not to be able to see them on this visit, and that I hope for a better time soon." This was said with a quick spirt of resentful meaning, directed to Miraz. So, she had wanted to speak herself with the Gentlemen, and been forbidden? Then the Lady went on, with more control and a return of her usual ease.

"Tell them that I send them my love, that I bid them to serve as loyally as they have ever done, and that I would they could join me when I next go hunting."

"You need not send messages by servants, Lady!" There was a dangerous edge to Miraz' tone.

"By whom else?" he did not answer, and she went on, baiting him, "I could not make the Lord Protector my messenger! And you have already told me that I shall see none but you or your…"

"Be careful, Drinia!"

She nodded, and returned to looking silently at Prince Caspian, who had begun to wriggle and struggle a little in her arms.

Miraz noted it, and raised his eyebrows to Moll to take back the child.

"You have seen him. Now you must go."

"Yes, My Lord." She delivered Caspian back into Moll's arms. "Farewell, until we meet again, little Caspian. I serve you as I have served all your family." Then, to Moll, very softly, under cover of adjusting the child's wrappings. "That I would they could join me, when I next go hunting."

Moll's eyes met the Lady's. She hardly knew what message the Lady drew from them, hardly knew what she would do with this message, but the Rough Lady was turning from her already. Clearly, it was time for the Prince, and the Prince's Nurse, to leave.

ooooo

The long walk back to the Nursery had never seemed so short. A Telmarine to ask of her, a Narnian… but the Rough Lady did not know she was Narnian. But to ask her to carry a message… and yet, what, after all, had she said? Nothing more than Miraz had heard her say. The Rough Lady had somehow put her, Moll, in the position of carrying a clandestine message to accomplices without giving any handle to be used against herself, if Moll had been minded to betray her.

And would her involvement, however trivial, in this unknown action to subvert in some way Miraz' rule – but not Telmarine rule – help or hinder her own task? The Lady was certainly part of what might be called the Caspian faction within Telmar – a faction newly-born, from the giving of the name, and the manifesting of Miraz' ambition. (It was a faction, Moll realised, which had taken its sudden strength from her own actions.) But Moll was certain that her plotting with the Gentlemen – if there was a plot, and not simply this one overture from her to them – was on behalf of her imprisoned brothers, not for Caspian's succession. And if the resistance to Miraz' treatment of the brothers meant that the Caspian faction became outlawed – could the passing of the message actually be damaging to the Cause? So… what now?

Even entering the Nursery, she was unsure. Pidda was there, setting out the evening meal for the Prince. The Gentlemen were there, too – Erimon and Runan silent at the table, Arlian looking out into the darkening winter sky. But not Dell – not Dell, who certainly had watchful eyes, and knew much more than she said. With only Pidda, present, and using some sort of conversation with the girl as a device, she might possibly… And it was no more than Miraz had heard already.

"Well, Pidda," she began, laboriously, into the girl's sulky silence. "I was just showing our Prince to the Lady of the Western Waste!"

Pidda ignored her, of course. The Gentlemen, however, all looked across.

"She was happy to see how strong he keeps on. She said she knew Prince Caspian was well served, by all of us, and the Gentlemen."

"Did she say me?" The first almost-friendly word Pidda had spoken for days!; her face was lit with a pitiable hope that the Lady had seen her as worth speaking of.

What a gift the Rough Lady had – those who saw her, even from a distance, like Pidda, loved her, and wanted her to love them. She made it seem a favour that she even noticed, or spoke to, someone. And she herself, Moll realised – what was she but one more of the same? Ugly, graceless, stony-hard Moll, she too had been flattered by the trust of the Lady, flattered into taking the message.

"You do have Human blood" Cornelius had said. Yes, she gritted to herself, but of all the contemptible human signs, this one was the most contemptible – to be open to flattery. But she had begun now, and what the Dwarf-brood begin, they finish. Did Cornelius remember that? Some Human blood, but she was Dwarf-brood!

"Yes, she said all us three servants, and the three Gentlemen as well. She said, she wished we would all – them too – be as loyal in service as we had ever been."

Arlian had turned away, as if this were simply platitude, but she felt Erimon's eyes on her, and Runan's. "She said she wished the Gentlemen could go with her when next she went hunting."

"She mentioned hunting?" It was Runan, but they were all listening; even Arlian had turned with a flash of interest to face briefly back into the room.

"Yes, Sir. She said she wished you could all go with her when next she went."

"Ah."

No word more, not to her, and not to each other. Erimon looked down at his own clasped hands, frowning – calculating, she guessed. Arlian breathed fast, his hands flat against the window-glass; his shoulders rose and fell. Then Runan stood, so quickly that his chair tottered. He caught it before it fell, balancing it on two legs, and glanced, humorously, with raised eyebrows, to the other two – neither met his eyes. Then he set it, very carefully straight and square-on to the table, nodded to Moll and to Pidda, and left.

The other two did not speak. After a while they left – first Arlian, then Erimon.

Pidda stayed, at first pretending to gather dishes, and redd up the table, and the room generally, but then clearly just loitering until she could catch Moll's eye. For her part, Moll concentrated on the Prince, until he was washed and abed, and there was no more avoiding Pidda's silent watching.

"Well, what is it?"

"Nothing. Just… you were saying something to them, weren't you? Something from her."

"Nothing that wasn't for everyone to hear."

"You don't tell me anything." The voice was petulant; Moll gritted her teeth at this time-wasting, when she had much to think through, had to try to reassess her strategies within this divided court.

"There's nothing to tell. You heard what I said."

"You never tell me anything. You think I'm stupid."

Moll hoped her face was schooled enough not to show her response to that. Possibly not, because Pidda's face tightened, and her voice began to waver between a whine and anger.

"You wouldn't tell me anything about the Lion, either."

"There's nothing to tell!"

"I'm not stupid! You wouldn't get so angry if there wasn't anything." Pidda pressed her hands hard up against her temples, half-covering her eyes; her voice came out muffled. "I've tried and tried to be friends with you…"

There was nothing to say to that, and after a while Pidda went away.

ooooo

ooo

A/N: I'd like to say again how much I appreciate the reviews I've had - I'm very grateful for the words of encouragement, and for the eagle-eyed spotting of a misnaming! Other readers – I would really like to hear what you think!