The Totem-Maker (part eighty-seven)

The Totem-Maker

Chapter Nine

The Recalcitrant One

(part eighty-seven)

At first his new life went well. He ordered the courtier thrown into the sea. He was highhanded with his queen, though to save herself she smiled and made obeisance to this husband. But, for Alchas knew not much of palace intrigues—thus scarcely did she need to employ them—she had sent to a kinsman, begging he would bring an army to her city’s walls and lay siege.

Now, as with many walled cities (as with Monsecchers, I once had mentioned), below were tunnels having secret openings, passages where a single body might squeeze between jutting rocks. The besiegers did not set watch over these places, for where they debouched seemed inhabited by only wild animals.

Although the people of the city starved, and the King’s soldiers quelled riots more often than engaged the enemy, foraging parties, embassies to the Queen’s kinsman, trafficked as they pleased…

The Queen herself, in time, made her escape and did not return.

Alchas had the palace stores to survive on. But he was alone, not merely for his wife’s abandonment. He had never won the respect of his ministers. His courtiers were not his own, but the old King’s, and their silver-tongued speech did not disguise them to Alchas. He dispatched them, one by one, to the mob. The nobles felt their losses keenly, and cared nothing for the Crown’s. They conspired with the King’s ministers; they arranged to deliver him to the besiegers, asking by messenger whether he was preferred alive, or whether his death would make matters more convenient?

Yet Alchas as cattle-keeper had been a congenial man. He had found in his loneliness solace in wandering down to the stables, the pens and grazing yards. And for these visits, in all the city he had made one friend, a milkmaid, a dull-witted girl (as was thought), taught and afforded a simple living.

In truth her imagination was so full, of so many things, that she looked lost and did not answer when ordered about. But the girl had noted the Queen’s escape, and the means of it. Without occupation, with the milk cows slaughtered for their meat, she was put to a lowly task, to sweep the tiles and hearths.

“What is your name?” she asked the King.

Both were come to the meadow, where grasses waved tall now the cattle were gone. Both, for the same reason—for a wistfulness troubling their hearts.

He had been going to say, Girl, do you not know who I am?

Instead, he told her, “Alchas.”

“My name is Runen. Are you sorry that woman has left? Would you follow her if you knew the way?”

What could Alchas say to this? He would, and he would not. But he said, “Show me.”

Once they were as far past the tunnel’s mouth as Runen dared lead him, she whispered the conspiracy she had heard, a girl so little regarded they had plotted with her in the room.

91

The Recalcitrant One

The Totem-Maker (part eighty-eight)

(2018, Stephanie Foster)