The Power Behind The Throne

By Jean Curtis

The heir to the throne of Frentaria, Prince Gregory,has been missing for years. Now the old King has died. The plotters see their chance for a coup but the King’s Cardinal is needed to crown the next king — whoever that may be — and now he is also missing — some hope forever — like Prince Gregory...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blue Button Publications
• Release date: Jun 20, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476382753

Jean Curtis

About the Author Jean Curtis was born in Bristol, England, in 1924 and lived most of her life around Somerset until 1992 when she and her husband retired to north-Northumberland. In her younger days Jean worked as a nurse and during world war two she was a landgirl. She has been married for more than 55 years and is a great-grandmother. Since achieving publication with The Dragons of Little Markhampton, Jean has written a musical Swan Summer which was performed at The Maltings Theatre, Berwick-upon-Tweed in September 2011. An edited print version of The Dragons of Little Markhampton is also available for Children and more titles are yet to be published.

Book preview

The Cardinal stood with his back to the fire that gave life to the small, cosy room. The long brown robes he wore looked almost chestnut in the bright firelight. The rich cream lace at his wrists and throat shone red-gold, and the strong, curly hair on the fine head reflected the same colour. Round his neck was a heavy gold chain with a large cross of polished gold hanging from it; the unadorned cross of the monks of Castaria. His young servant completely overawed by the important personage who had descended on the household in the middle of a raw day in late autumn, hovered in a scared fashion by the coal scuttle. New to the household, he had not seen his absent master before, and was considerably impressed. The nervous boy wanted to make up the fire, and was afraid to ask.

Finally, he coughed apologetically and picked up the tongs; Your Eminence, he said, Please…

The Cardinal came out of his reverie and smiled. Master, he said encouragingly, Master will do here, I’m home now. He moved to the window. The hills were high and windswept. They looked near – a sure sign of bad weather, and the upcast clouds bellowed big and beautiful – icy along the horizon. There will be snow, he said thoughtfully, and soon.

I must speak to Anya, he thought, as his eyes travelled once more to the familiar hills, and concentrated on the small farmhouse tucked into a hollow below the wide rim. A wave of emotion engulfed him. Not a man to allow emotion to govern him, he forced the feeling back and turned into the room again. Lad, he said, "can you take a message to the ‘Wild Goose’ for me – now – before dark?"

Why yes, of course, Sir said the puzzled servant. The Wild Goose? There was a question in his voice.

To the Mistress Anya, Yes. He walked to the small desk and scribbled a swift letter, sealed it hastily and handed it to the boy. Ask her please to accompany you back here immediately. The verbal message would make more urgent his written request.

The boy left the room, holding the letter in a gingerly fashion, and the Cardinal moved to the window watching the colour fluctuate and fade. A clear star appeared as he watched.

Presently, he heard the front door of the small house slam and his young employee appeared. He was warmly wrapped in the neat woollen brown clothing that the Cardinal insisted the whole household wear, with the addition of a long scarlet and green scarf flung round his neck.

An individualist, the Cardinal thought, with a smile. He watched the boy run down the track until he disappeared round a group of trees, sparsely covered in leaves now, the branches showing dark against the clear sky.

He sighed and sat down heavily by the fire. He felt more at ease, now his sister was coming; the burden of his dilemma weighed heavily still on his mind. But surely in this place of peace he would be able to think and plan and find a solution. This place held the best memories of his life and held two of the people dearest to him in the whole world.

He must have fallen asleep because the slamming again of the front door woke him, and he jumped. That young man must learn to shut doors quietly, he thought. Then, as he heard his sister’s much-loved voice raised, as always a decibel above everyone else’s, his heart lifted and he got to his feet quickly.

Before he got to the door it opened, and the room was filled with the sweet odour of fresh air and the abounding energy of her presence.

Anya Armeni was vibrant with life. Her black hair sprang in tight curls from her head and her black eyes snapped and sparkled. Her clothes of bright colour and flowing line seemed to move around her ample form even when she stood still and her red lips parted over her white teeth in a wide and loving smile.

All her mother and nothing of our father in her, except perhaps his stubborn perseverance, thought the Cardinal.

Robin! she said in delight, flinging her arms around him. Dear Robin, but why didn’t you let us know?

He disengaged himself from his sister’s loving arms and went to close the door, frowning severely at the young messenger who was loitering on the second stair. The lad turned round and descended the stair suitably chastened and Robin shut the door.

He caught his sister by the hand and led her to the chair by the fire, which he carefully made up, laying on coal by coal.

Your hands are cold, dear, he said, would you like something hot to drink?

No, Robin, No! she said impatiently, it’s only my hands that are cold. Now answer me, why didn’t you let us know?

It was a sudden decision. The Cardinal sat down in the opposite chair and drew it close to the livening fire. I have to think, Anya, and where better than here, Mm? I need to talk to someone I trust, and who better than you and José. He gave her his sweet disarming smile.

Well, she said, arching her brows into a question, It must be serious to bring you down in such a hurry, with winter coming quickly. You’ll be shut in here if you’re not careful.

Coming in early is it? Anya was never wrong. A bad one?

She nodded;

Well then, it’s good I came quickly as I have come.

Then you’d better start talking, my brother; I am listening.

So he began. The relief, he thought with contentment, to be able to talk to someone that you really, absolutely trust.

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Chapter 2

The fire had died down again when he finally finished talking. His sister’s face was uncharacteristically still and serious. She finally moved in the chair and held out her hand to his.

Robin, tell me one thing, does Count Pechier know you are here? No, don’t answer that, of course he does.

I don’t think so, Anya. In fact, I’m sure no one knows. I was very careful. They think I am in retreat.

He knows she said, flatly. She got to her feet. I must go. Constantine will miss me and I must think. I’ll be back later. Stay here Robin, I’ll tell Agnes to send you up your supper. Eat well, I shall be back.

She shut the door without her habitual slam and descended the stairs slowly. She waited before the door into the excellent kitchen, her brother liked good food very well, and then shaking herself mentally, opened the door with an abrupt movement.

Three startled faces turned towards her, and then the large lady sitting at the far end of a long table rose to her feet with a welcoming smile.

Mistress Armeni, she said, Come in, come in. Can I get you something? A glass of mead, perhaps?

No thank you, Agnes, but the Master is in need of something warming. She turned to the same young lad who had arrived glowing and breathless at the inn door, astonished to find that the famous Cardinal had a sister who together with her diminutive husband, kept the village inn.

Will you take a glass to your Master?

Oh, yes, the boy said eagerly, he still couldn’t believe his luck, being employed in this special household, though it wasn’t luck but due to the fact that he was the only loving support of a widowed mother and had come to the notice of the kindly housekeeper.

She poured a glass of the golden liquid and handed it to the boy, then, as he went through the door and up the stairs, she shut the door firmly and turned quickly to the elderly man and woman who stood silently looking at her, sensing something wrong.

Where is Emil?

Out with the horses.

Right. Tell him to keep them ready to use at a minutes’ notice. We need the carriage.

But…

And send the boy home to his mother. Tell him to hide his uniform. Insist on it.

What is the matter, Anya? The white-haired man spoke in a startled voice.

There will be trouble, Tomas. You must go somewhere safe, as soon as I tell you to do so. You must hide your uniforms. You, Agnes, please take some food to your Master, don’t allow him to suspect anything, but make preparations to go. I can’t explain, but please believe me, this is all necessary. I will be back soon. Can I depend on you?

Oh, yes! Can you tell us anything else?

No, Tomas. The less you know the better. Send the boy home straight away. No uniform, remember.

The boy came in at that moment and she moved to the bottom of the stairs to collect her colourful cloak, draped carelessly over the banister. She threw it round her fine shoulders and looked back into the bright kitchen.

There will be much snow, she said vaguely, and pulled open the front door. The cold air rushed in, bringing in the smell of winter and a flurry of dead leaves.

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Chapter 3

As she closed the door a large dog rose from the shadows in the small porch and pressed his lion-like head against her hand. She took the intelligent face between her hands.

My beautiful Theo, she said, fondly. The long black tail waved and the dark eyes shone in the fight from the kitchen window. She removed his thick leather collar studded with silver and gold in detailed pattern. Now, my boy, she continued in her deep voice, I have a job for you. Find José, bring him back. Bring José back, Theo. Good boy. The animal, with a last look at his mistress over his dark grey shoulder, disappeared into the fading light.

Anya hurried down the street and ran into the lighted yard of a small inn, the first building after her brother’s small house, and the first of the jumbled little village. Bright lanterns were hung at the door and shone from the top of two stone posts each of the entrance. The sign depicted a wild goose flying between earth and sky.

Since marrying Constantine Armeni, Anya had never allowed the doors to be opened without being in position behind the long bar, black hair shining, and white teeth flashing in her abundant smile, her sharp black eyes darting hither and thither, missing nothing. Her hearty laugh and quick wit brought many people to the door, and the inn prospered.

Her small happy husband told the world that the day he married his large beautiful Anya, was the happiest day of his life. He was standing worriedly behind the bar when she came in.

My dear, he said, Two minutes late! I wondered what had happened.

Nothing much – and I’ll have to go out again later, then, raising her voice, Ah, good evening, sir. Yes, a cold night. A warm welcome here though. What shall it be?

The evening festivities had begun. Soon the dark friendly little inn would be full of people, someone would strike up a song, or a tune on the mouth organ, or tin whistle, and the evenings’ noisy enjoyment would be in full swing.

Sometimes Anya herself would sing and dance. For a large woman she was lithe and graceful, and her deep rich voice singing gypsy songs would fill the room.

Tonight she was in full song when a tall dark-haired man came through the door, followed by a large black and grey hill-hound, and went to the bar to talk to Constantine.

The innkeeper was able to talk to his brother-in-law, for the room, by now packed, was concentrating on Anya’s singing. When that was over, conversation would be impossible. He would be besieged with orders, mostly for the strong brown ale he brewed himself.

Anya acknowledged her brother with a slight tilt of her head and continued singing. Constantine pulled a foaming pint of ale and placed it on the counter.

What brings you down tonight? he said curiously, You’re a rare visitor these days.

His brother-in-law grunted. The dog came. I suppose Anya wants something. Do you know what it is?

No. No idea, although… he lowered his voice, even though no one as listening, or could have heard over the robust notes of his wife’s song. Robin came back late last night.

Robin! José frowned, Why didn’t he let us know? He always does.

A letter always came, one to him, one to Anya, personal letters in his brother’s distinctive handwriting, sealed with the impressive seal, delivered carefully by one of the servants from his small private house near the village. The message inside reflected the joy the writer felt. Dear family, I’m coming home for a while… So why this unannounced visit?

Anya had finally finished her performance and moved quickly to her husband and brother.

Constantine, I must leave you for the moment, I’m sorry but I must speak to José. No! Later! She raised a plump hand to check her husband’s protest, and led her brother through a small door behind the bar, closely followed by the dog.

Her husband, besieged with orders, abandoned the problem and shelving his slight indignation at being left to cope, began serving drinks, with swift hands and expansive smiles.

The door led into a corridor which, in turn, led down steps into the well-stocked cellar. A brown door opposite the one they had just come through was the entrance to a large comfortable room. These were the living quarters of the pub and were stamped with the vibrant personality of the mistress of the establishment.

The walls were with shining brass and colourful crude paintings covered the woodwork and doors. Bright cushions were in abundance, and brighter rugs decorated the wooden floor. The firelight shine in the brass and mirrors, and a low lamp was burning.

Anya turned up the lamp, while the dogs stretched its long length by the fire, and her brother sat down with his half-full glass of ale. He looked quizzically at his sister.

Robin’s back.

Yes, Constantine told me. Why didn’t he let us know?

José, I will explain it all to you when there is time, but remember the plan we made, you and I, against the day it would be needed. Remember what our mother saw, we all saw, that day in the crystal? It’s here, it’s now. Our brother is in great danger!

José got to his feet and set his drink down on the wide mantle.

Have you told him? Have you warned him?

He wouldn’t listen José, he is not like us. We must act, José. Now! I have instructed the others to go home, to get rid of their clothes, for I know the danger will be soon. Emil has everything ready.

Then we will go now.

Yes. Not through the bar, the other way, quickly! Come Theo.

The large dog rose obediently from its place by the fire, as once again Anya flung her cloak around her shoulders, and tied a scarf over her abundant hair, then led the way out of the house.

In his comfortable study, half a mile away, the Cardinal waited sleepily by the glowing fire. He didn’t expect his sister for some time and was surprised to hear the door open from the street and the sound of muffled voices. Two people were coming up the stairs. He went in puzzlement to open the door.

Why, José! What a surprise! Why are you back so soon, Anya? Come in. Come in.

They came in and stood before him without a word. He gazed at them with great affection, the tall silent man and his beautiful garrulous sister, his only remaining family.

I was coming to see you tomorrow, he went on, Anya, it is such a cold night, why did you send for him to come now?

José stepped forward. My dear brother, he said, My dear, dear brother. Please forgive me. With a quick movement, he pressed a cloth to the Cardinal’s face, whilst Anya moved quickly behind, and held his hands back with surprising strength.

There was no time or question of fear. A silver fog gathered around him, and there as a strange jangling in his ears. His brother and sister caught him as he fell.

Quickly, said Anya, His cloak, hanging there – there José! She stamped her foot in agitation.

They wrapped him in the thick wool, and with difficulty, helped the limp man downstairs. The housekeeper opened the door, and Emil assisted them to lift him into the modest carriage waiting at the door.

José climbed up and took the reins, and Anya turned to the three anxious servants.

The boy is home safe? Good! Thank you, thank you, all of you. Now, go. Quick as you can. Just shut the door and go. God bless you all.

José started the horses quietly down the dark road, away from the village, toward the hills and the others silently went their various ways.

The snow that had been threatening all day now fell in silent flakes, eerie in the gloom. A strange silence fell. The sounds of the horse moving swiftly away and the turning carriage wheels were muffled, the tracks, if any, covered by the drifting whiteness. Anya hurried down the road with the silent loping dog, back to the brightly-lit inn, and slipped in the back way. Shaking her cloak and skirt free from snow, she combed her tangled hair and instructing the dog to stay