Margaery could only hear the city as her wagon was taken through the streets. The curtains were pulled across and she sat back against the seat. Outside she knew that she was flanked by loyal Tyrell guardsmen, men who had been in the keep with her when the army betrayed them. Perhaps if they had been in the army with the other traitors they would have turned just as easily, but she trusted them more, all the same. Even so, she would normally be riding through the city, talking to the people, buying from them. But that was not possible this time. First she had some appointments that she had to make, with Lord Rowan and Captain Gilbert, and then there was the other matter. Margaery's finances were no longer limitless. She couldn't splurge on dresses she didn't intend to wear, her donations to charitable institutions had gone from weekly, to monthly, to bi monthly. Every coin was needed for the war, nearly every penny that the Tyrells had in their stores was reserved, every piece of jewellery locked away as collateral for loans and delayed payments. And what she had couldn't be used to buy local produce,since the food was now rationed out of royal warehouses, much of it reserved for the army. When the war was done and commerce flowing again, she would be able to regain the reputation she once had. It wasn't lost, she knew, just faded into poorer memory, ready to be rekindled.
"Something troubles you, my lady?" Ellinor asked from across. Ellinor was the only one of her ladies to accompany her today. The rest were spreading influence as they could, fending off complainants and placating the fearful and the doubtful.
Margaery forced a smile. "Nothing much, Ellinor," she replied. "I'm just wondering if it was a good thing or a bad thing that King Joffrey declined to accompany us today."
"A good thing, I should think, my lady," Ellinor said.
Margaery raised an eyebrow, she had answered very quickly. "He's not the most tactful," Ellinor added, glancing away from Margaery sheepishly."
"I know," Margaery said. "But he is the king. Tact might be a benefit for his rule, but it is not a necessity. Besides, I can be tactful enough for the both of us."
The carriage rolled to a stop. They had arrived at the city gates. Not even the royal banner allowed immediate passage through the gates now, everyone was stopped for questioning. She heard her guardsmen converse with the gold cloaks, pass the royal decree granting them passage, and then the heavy rattle of chains and creaking of oak as the gate was pulled open.
The carriage rattled along the road and soon was matched by the sound of drums beating a long, steady rhythm. She'd head it before, daily while in Renly's army. The beating of assembly drums, Lord Rowan was getting ready to march. The carriage rolled to a halt and Margaery got out, followed respectfully by Ellinor.
The assembly was nearly complete, infantry lined up in blocks stretching back along the road under a medley of colours from the Westerlands, the Reach and the Crownlands. The last stragglers were forming up into their units, grizzled serjeants calling out for them to get into formation and stay there, lordlings glaring back from atop their mounts.
They passed the infantry, Margaery offering smiles and good fortune to the men as she passed. They weren't going against Stannis Baratheon, or indeed the Young Wolf, and they were going to defend, not attack, their chances were good, perhaps better than Lord Loren's. After the infantry came the lances of knights and riders at the head of the column, squires and knights corralling horses into position.
She found Lord Rowan at the tip of this very long spear. "Lord Rowan," she called, approaching him as he observed the column getting into position.
He bowed his head to her. "Lady Margaery," he said softly.
"Is all well?" She asked.
"It is. We're ready and we'll be departing very shortly."
"And you, Lord Rowan, are you ready?"
"I am."
"That's good. We're relying on you, my lord."
"I won't let you down, my lady," he promised. "No Baratheon army will pass south to King's Landing, you have my word."
Margaery nodded. "Just be careful. We don't know what you're dealing with." It had surprised Margaery how little they had been able to find out. After the initial ravens had come into King's Landing there had been nothing, but nor had there been any streams of refugees to give even their inflated numbers and tales of woe. Perhaps there was less to this than they had thought. But they couldn't take any chances at this point, so Lord Rowan would have to go as planned.
"Then if you don't mind, I'd like to see the men off properly."
"Of course, they'll appreciate that."
And so Margaery bid farewell and good fortune to Lord Rowan's army, speaking to the knights and lords and waving and watching while the infantry marched through. It took time, but she had to make sure they all saw her. When they had passed, she turned back to the carriage and the city.
They entered the city and turned left to move down along the wall to the iron gate. There was no pausing in the journey, the roads along the walls were kept from crowding by royal decree, a holdover from the siege, but one that it was not yet time to revoke. Especially with an enemy army in the crownlands.
The carriage rolled to a halt and Margaery stepped out. The gate guards were stationed around the gate itself in a large crescent. A full score of them were there, blocking access to the gate and searching anyone who wished to pass. The Iron Gate was one of the least used gates into King's Landing, on the coast, opening onto the road leading north. For obvious reasons, that road wasn't in use much right now. So the guards were more relaxed than many Margaery saw in her outings in the city. They stood tall when she exited her carriage though, bowing deeply. Understandable, these were former reach soldiers, added to the goldcloaks only recently to help with the refugee influxes and the defences of the city. And the reason they were on the gate was clear. After last time, Lord Tywin and she had made sure that the officers and men commanding the outside gates were loyal and competent. The corrupt lackeys of Janos Slynt, those that still remained, were sidelined with posts deeper in the city, as were those of unproven loyalty. There weren't enough captains after that to command the walls, so they had drafted in men from the armies to fill the roles.
The most senior of the reacher men added to the city, Captain Gilbert, commanded at the Iron Gate, and was waiting for her in the gatehouse. An old serjeant of House Tyrell, he had been wounded at the Blackwater by an arrow from one of the Baratheon ships. He had only recovered fully after her father had marched on the Reach, leaving him behind in the city to survive the disasters that followed.
"My Lady," he said, bowing as she entered.
"Captain Gilbert." She waved him to his feet. "I apologise for my lateness, please, stand." She glanced around to make sure there was no one else present, then said, "do you have any news for me, captain?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary, my lady," he said. "Us reachers are integrating into the goldcloaks well, it was a little frosty at first, but we're working fine together now."
"The Lannisters?"
"Just as well as us," Gilbert said softly. "We don't meet often, there aren't any here, but when we do, there aren't any problems."
"And the⦠other issue?" She asked tentatively.
Gilbert shook his head. "We haven't been able to identify any of the rank and file goldcloaks involved in the siege."
Margaery sighed. She'd expected it, but even so,it was disheartening. The goldcloaks had gone to great lengths to cover up who had been involved in the siege. The officers of the gates that the army had taken had all presented themselves bearing the welts of chains and manacles, and knights of the army had testified openly overwhelming and overpowering them. Margaery doubted it, at least some of them were surely involved, but the physical evidence, likely planted during the final stages of the siege, and the public pledge by the council that all who had been involved were granted clemency, prevented any retaliation.
Retaliation wasn't what Margaery was after, though, she just wanted to know who she could trust among the city watch. Relying on Gilbert and his men alone wouldn't be sufficient, which was why Gilbert had been tasked with identifying members of the gold cloak rank and file who had supported the rebellion. They may not be able to punish the perpetrators, but if they could identify who had stood by the rebels and who had objected, they could identify targets for promotion in the future. Officers were not the army, as Garlan said, but they steered it, and Margaery would rather have them at the tiller than former rebels.
"Not one of them?"
"Not really, my lady. They know we were assigned to the gold cloaks later on, and so no one who was there at the time talks about it. We just get silence most of the time."
"And the rest of the time?"
Gilbert pulled a face. He had a scar on his left cheek from the battle and so she wasn't sure exactly what face it was meant to be. "They sometimes say some things when they're in their cups," Gilbert said.
"And?"
"And I don't think there were many in the goldcloaks who really did disagree with the army."
"None of them?"
"That would make the complete silence understandable."
"I see," Margaery sighed again. "Very well, captain, unless you have anything else you think I should know?"
"No, my lady."
"Then I'll be going, keep up looking where you can, and maintain your watch."
"Yes my lady."
As she climbed back into the carriage, Ellinor gave her a worried look. "You don't look pleased, my lady."
"One day," Margaery said, settling down in her seat and crossing her arms. "I will be a queen who hosts banquets and tourneys, bears royal children and inspired the latest fashions in court. I will be inspecting knights and soldiers decked out for parades, not battle, there will be no war, no famine, times will be good and I won't spend every hour of every day putting up barricades and putting out fires."
"We'll get there, my lady," Ellinor said softly.
"We will, we will," Margaery replied. "Hopefully your cousins have had a better time of it than we have today."
They sat in silence as the carriage wound its way back through the city. It was quieter than usual, but then with almost all of the army gone, perhaps people were enjoying their quiet. Margaery only wished she could. But a queen-to-be's work was never done.
The carriage rolled to a halt. That was odd. "What's going on?"
Ellinor stuck her head out to check. "There seems to be another cart in the road, it's capsized."
"Wonderful."
"I'll go see if they're going to move it," Ellinor said, hopping out of the carriage.
Margaery settled back again when a loud crash from outside made her jerk up. Before she could suck in a breath it was followed by the screams of a horse, then the screams of men. Whistling sounds sounded around the carriage, followed by cries of pain. Margaery wanted to make for the door, but was frozen to her seat. She heard a clash of steel on steel, more screams, more thuds. Splintered boards ripped and the heavy iron head of a crossbow bolt punctured the side of the carriage. Margaery screamed.
As yet more screams sounded, the door was wrenched open and a man pulled himself inside, his head was hidden by a rough leather mast, and he held a sturdy wooden club in his hand. His eyes locked with Margaery's behind the mask. "I've got her!" He roared.
Margaery opened her mouth, but the man brought his club down on her head.
