Flashman and the Throne of Swords

Chapter Four

By the time King Robert came back from galavanting off to the North, we had the embassy in apple-pie order. Between Dick Burton's gimlet eye, and Isabel's and Elspeth's experience running households, everything was running just as it ought to. We'd even managed to train local cooks to put on a fair imitation of English and Scotch cuisine. The locals' reaction to such specialties as haggis, however, had convinced even Elspeth that such dishes were best kept for times when it was just us Britons, preferably all Scotch.

Along with Dick and Isabel Burton, Elspeth and I were at the Great Hall to welcome His drunken Majesty home. King Robert looked better than he had when he'd set out; it might have been that all he'd needed was a good long ride in the open air. Truth be told, Kings Landing was beginning to pall on me, and I thought I'd have been the better for a bit of travel. If I'd known just how much travel, and under what circumstances, I was about to get, I'd have turned tail and headed to England if I had to swim the whole way.

I noted with interest that there had been some changes in the party's makeup. Beside King Robert rode a tall, dark-haired man with the air of a warrior about him. One look at him convinced me that he was a killing gentleman, and that he was best treated with respect or left alone. Elspeth sighed at the sight of him, and I gave her a quizzy look. I'd put in some time studying Westerosi heraldry, which, luckily, wasn't impossibly different from ours, so his surcoat told me that this was Eddard Stark, Lord of the North and master of Winterfell Castle.

This was a rum development if ever I'd seen one. My well-developed sense for impending danger was prickling slightly, but not more than usual; there was always danger nearby in Westeros. Ned Stark, from the reports we'd had on him (rather fragmentary, but there had been some contact between the Northerners and British sea captains looking for trade opportunities) was as unlike his lecherous, drunken overlord as it was possible to be. Stark had all the boring virtues I bar…he was hard-working, devoted solely to his wife, and a dedicated family man. One would think he'd have no common ground with King Robert, and yet the two were very firm friends. They'd collaborated to send Mad King Aerys to his reward and put Robert on the Iron Throne. What was Ned Stark doing so far south of his usual haunts? All our reports said that he never left his chilly home country.

I noticed some other things, and they didn't seem to add up. Queen Cersei's youngest brother, a dwarf named Tyrion, wasn't to be seen, and yet he'd ridden out with the royal party on their way to Winterfell. Could the queen have finally managed to rid herself of him? I'd heard that she detested the air he breathed. And Ned Stark's lady wife, Catelyn, was also not present. I did notice several other newcomers, though, including two girls…both of 'em too young by half for me, worse luck. They were wearing the Stark colors, and I guessed they were Lord Stark's daughters. The elder was a sweet-looking, demure creature who was staring about with wide eyes, while her younger sister was clearly bored, fidgeting like a Presbyterian at a mass.(1)

With a flourish of trumpets, King Robert rose from the throne. "It is Our pleasure," he wheezed, "to announce that We have chosen Lord Eddard Stark as the new Hand of the King. He shall have full power to act in Our name, and his acts shall be treated as Our own."

Now, this was interesting! I had expected Lord Tywin Lannister, the King's father-in-law and biggest creditor, to be named to that post. I exchanged glances with Dick Burton, and I could see that his mind was working on the same question mine was: Was the Lannisters' star fading at Court?

I noticed that Stark wasn't too pleased by this, but apparently felt that his king's command was not something he could refuse. For the first time, I sympathized with him. I was there, after all, for much the same reason…our sovereign lady had tapped me, and I couldn't say no, not and keep any shred of credit or my reputation. My knighthood and Cross (2) wouldn't have availed me if Vicky had made it clear she was displeased, not to mention that Elspeth would be heartbroken at being told she was never to be bidden to Buck House or Balmoral again. For a second, I felt kinship with Stark, for all that he was a rather sour stick.

However, Robert was by no means done speaking. "In honour of the arrival of my new Hand, I am proclaiming a tournament! There shall be cash prizes! Forty thousand dragons for the winner of the jousting, twenty thousand to the runner-up of the jousting and the winner of the melee, and ten thousand to the winner of the archery contest! And a feast!" Littlefinger was standing nearby, and I saw him make a wry mouth at this. The Throne was already deep in debt, the treasury was all but empty, and tax revenue wasn't coming in as easily as it would have done at home. One reason that the Westerosi had welcomed us was because we were willing to pay cash for trade concessions, and Britain represented a market for the things they produced. Some wines…Arbor Gold and Arbor Red, in particular…had proven to be very popular on the London market, fetching fat prices. And even with such as John Charity Spring acting as middlemen, the people who were selling to Britain were growing rich.

After we were back in the relative safety of the Embassy, Elspeth was all but transported, squealing delightedly about how much she was going to love watching the tournament, and how she hoped to be crowned Queen of Love and Beauty. (3) I hated to bring her back down to earth, but needs must. This is one of the things about being married that they don't cover in those idiotic romance novels I see young girls devouring these days.

"Elspeth, darling, I hate to break it to you, but if Queen Cersei is there, she'll almost certainly get the crown. Whoever's the winner will want to curry favour with her and her husband."

"Curry favour with her? But she and the King are on very bad terms! He hardly ever goes near her! He's notorious for his letching around!" Now, this was something I'd not heard yet. Not that I was surprised; I knew that kings and royalty had opportunities for exercising Adam's arsenal that mere common folk such as I would cheerfully commit murder for. And Elspeth, for all her surface silliness, has an ear for scandal that a Gilzai would envy. Still and all, Robert depended heavily on his wife's family's wealth to keep his court and kingdom afloat, and Cersei, whatever else could be said about her, was a real beauty.

I gave Elspeth a long, considering look, which, fortunately for me, she didn't particularly notice. I'd never caught her putting antlers on my head, but that meant nothing…she'd never caught me in flagrante, and I'd had more than enough to make a hand-rail around Hyde Park. And Elspeth was still a beauty in her own right, as well as being prone to being dazzled by a crown. I'd have to keep a very close eye on her when Robert was about. Even as fat and decrepit as he was, I'd not put it past Elspeth to try to add him to her little list of conquests.

The announcement of the upcoming tournament had the Red Keep abuzz. The kitchens were working triple overtime to prepare the foods that would be needed, and knights were coming in from all over Westeros to try their luck. One, in particular, caught my eye.

"Good God! What is that?" I had never seen such a large person before in my life. The knight I was looking at from the safety of our embassy's parapets was a giant, riding along on what looked to me to be a Percheron. Even so, his poor horse looked rather overburdened.

One of the embassy servants came over to see what I was looking at. "Oh. That's Ser Gregor Clegane. They call him the Mountain-that-Rides. He's here for the tournament."

"Oh, dear Lord!" I'm not much on feeling sorry for folk, but I pitied whatever poor wretch of a knight was going to be pitted against that monster. "I'd not get into the lists with him for a pension!"

"I see what you mean!" Dick Burton had also seen the giant knight. Not much ever scared Ruffian Dick, but I would say the sight of that man and the sheer size of him at least took him aback. "This is one time I'm really glad I didn't jaw to the King or his cronies about what I've done! I've no desire at all to face that with nothing but a lance!" Dick had a well-earned reputation as a deadly fighter, but neither he nor I had ever done any real jousting, although we could both skewer tent-pegs with the best of 'em.

I wondered if King Robert or Ned Stark were going to be riding in the tournament. From what the servants' grapevine and such other sources of information as we had could tell us, Ned, at least, considered the whole thing a foolish waste of time and money, and would have loved to call the whole thing off. Dick and I both had had enough experience to set up a network of people who reported to us; we weren't foolish enough to think that this had escaped Varys' attention, or that we weren't getting more-or-less what he wanted us to, but it was early days yet and Varys' bandobast (4) was years in the making.

Meanwhile, work at the embassy went on. Safely ensconced behind a desk in a cozy office, I dutifully scribbled away like any Cratchit, writing reports on what our informants had to say about Westerosi conditions. This was just nuts to a chap like me; easy work, in a warm, well-lit place, with good food, plenty of drink, and Elspeth not far away. Of course, with Elspeth right there, and the servants having eyes in their bums, I didn't dare go looking for strange beauties, but Elspeth's endless enthusiasm for a touch of Harry in the night made that no hardship.

As ambassador, Dick had his hands full and then some. Not only was he the final authority on all things pertaining to our relations with Westeros, but he had a full social schedule, what with all the ambitious hostesses in Kings Landing sending invitations to the exotic ambassador from another world. He bore up under the burden, and from what I could see (Elspeth and I were often invited along) he was becoming quite popular. The Westerosi were just as curious about our world as we were about theirs, and both Dick and I were well-chosen to answer many of their questions.

` We weren't the only foreigners making the rounds of Kings Landing society that Season. Another popular guest was one Jalabhar Xho, a nigger popinjay in a feathered cloak, who claimed to be a prince from someplace called the Summer Isles. I saw Elspeth giving him a few appraising looks, but after our experiences with Suleiman Usman, (5) I was fairly sure that whatever other fancy-men she might pursue in my absence, she drew the line at dark meat.

We invited Jalabhar over to the embassy a couple of times, to pump him for information about his home. From what he said, it sounded a right paradise, where the "Arts of Love" were studied openly and practiced assiduously. I made a mental note that the Summer Isles sounded like just the sort of place for me, and wondered how I could persuade Dick (and Elspeth!) to detach me to investigate them in detail.

Another foreign guest we met at quite a few Society dos was one Thoros of Myr, a priest of some sort of fire god. He was quite a jolly companion, not at all devout from what I could tell, with a great fund of stories. He looked forward to the tournament, since he planned to ride in it. "I've a surprise for you that I'll wager none of you have ever seen!" he winked at me one evening, when the Arbor Red and Gold had been flowing freely. He was a fountain of information about the King and Court, having been sent originally from his home to try to convert the late King Aerys. It seemed the higher-ups of his order had heard about Aerys' fascination with fire, and had thought him ripe for conversion, but it hadn't gone well.

Our sources said that Eddard Stark was settling in as Hand of the King, and bid fair to be the new broom that swept clean. I wished him luck; in my (considerable) experience, new brooms often tend to be broken. I also wondered why his lady wife wasn't along; she was reputed to be devoted to him, and he to her. Their oldest son, one Robb, was considered old enough to take command of Winterfell, particularly since no war was in the offing. His two youngest sons had also stayed behind with their mother.

That made me wonder: Did Ned Stark know things we didn't know about the situation here? Granted, he had apparently been content to stay far in the North, but as a Westerosi nobleman, he'd almost certainly have eyes-and-ears at the royal court. Had he kept his nearest-and-dearest at home because that way, they'd be out of the line of fire? But, if so, why were his daughters here? More mysteries to solve.

Dick agreed with me, when we had a chance to confer privately. "Westeros, Harry, is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma," he said ruefully. (6) "I mean, there's still things we don't know about India, and we've been in touch with them since good Queen Bess' day! There are whole areas here…Dorne, the Iron Islands, and such…that we've not yet even contacted! Who knows what's there?"

"Whom, indeed?" I mused. "King Robert may be contemplating a match between his eldest and Ned Stark's oldest daughter. They're much of an age, and from what I could see, the Stark chit's enamored of Prince Joffrey."

"Good luck to her!" Dick's laugh was not very kind. "You've seen the reports on Joff. If I had a daughter, I wouldn't let that little wretch within miles of her!"

I had to agree. From what our informants said, Joffrey Baratheon was a spoiled, arrogant, cruel boy, who could shield his true nature behind some superficial charm. To a naïve young girl with little experience of the world, he might seem like a dream come true. But I feared that this particular dream would become a nightmare.

"Here's to a long, long reign for King Robert," I said, raising my glass of Arbor Gold.

"Hear, hear!" Dick raised his glass, we clinked them, and drank to the health of the King.

[1] These were Sansa and Arya Stark, daughters to Eddard Stark.

[2] Flashman had been knighted, and awarded the Victoria Cross, at the end of the Sepoy Mutiny.

[3] Westeros shared many customs with medieval Europe, including choosing a "Queen of Love and Beauty" at tournaments. This honour was much prized by Westerosi noblewomen.

[4] Bandobast (Hindi) Organization.

[5] Lady Flashman had been kidnapped after becoming friends with Don Solomon Haslam, who, as "Suleiman Usman," was a major pirate in the East Indies. See Flashman's Lady.

[6] This locution has been generally attributed to Sir Winston Churchill, speaking about Soviet Russia. It is possible that Sir Winston, in his younger years, heard Burton or Flashman use it and appropriated it as his own once they were safely dead.

END Chapter Four