No man-or woman-may know.
No woman. Clear as it could be. He was being asked to carry an overture of marriage to the Emperor, who was very much married, and to the most powerful and dangerous woman in the known world.
‘The Emperor and his low-born actress-wife have no children, alas,’ said Gisel softly. Crispin realized his thoughts must have been in his face. He was not good at this. ‘A sad legacy, one might imagine, of her … profession. And she is no longer young.’
I am, was the message beneath the message he was to bring. Save my life, my throne, and I offer you the homeland of the Rhodian Empire that you yearn for. I give you back the west to your east, and the sons to your need. I am fair, and young . . . ask the man who carries my words to you. He will say as much.
Only ask.
‘You believe …’ he began. Stopped. Composed himself with an effort. ‘You believe this can be kept secret? Majesty, if I am even known to have been brought to you
‘Trust me in this. You can do me no service if you are killed on the way or when you arrive.’
‘You reassure me greatly,’ he murmured.
Surprisingly, she laughed again. He wondered what those on the other side of the doors would think, hearing that. He wondered what else they might have heard.
‘You could send no formal envoy with this?’
He knew the answer before she gave it. ‘No such messenger from me would have a chance to bespeak the Emperor in … privacy.’
‘And I will?’
‘You might. You have pure Rhodian blood on both sides. They ? acknowledge that, still, in Sarantium, though they complain about you. Valerius is said to be interested in ivory, frescoes… such things as you do with stones and glass. He is known to hold conversation with his artisans.’ ‘How commendable of him. And when he finds that I am not Martinian of Varena? What sort of conversation will then ensue?’
The queen smiled. ‘That will depend on your wits, will it not?’
Crispin drew another breath. Before he could speak, she added,’You have not asked what return a grateful, newly-crowned Empress might make to the man who conveyed this message for her and had success follow upon it. You can read?’ He nodded. She reached into a sleeve of her robe and withdrew a parchment scroll. She extended it a little towards him. He walked nearer, inhaled her scent, saw that her eyelashes were accented and extended subtly. He took the parchment from her hand.
She nodded permission. He broke the seal. Uncurled the scroll. Read.
He felt the colour leave his face as he did so. And hard upon astonishment came bitterness, the core of pain that walked with him in the world.
He said, ‘It is wasted on me, Majesty. I have no children to inherit any of this.’
‘You are a young man,’ the queen said mildly.
Anger flared. ‘Indeed? So why no offer here of a comely Antae woman of your court, or an aristocrat of Rhodian blood for my prize? The brood mare to fill these promised houses and spend this wealth?’
She had been a princess and was a queen and had spent her life in palaces where judging people was a tool of survival. She said, ‘I would not insult you with such a proposal. I am told yours was a love-match. A rare thing. I count you lucky in it, though the allotted time was brief. You are a well-formed man, and would have resources to commend you, as the parchment shows. I imagine you could buy your own brood mare of high lineage, if other methods of choosing a second wife did not present themselves.’
Much later, in his own bed, awake, with the moons long set and the dawn not far off, Crispin was to conclude that it was this answer, the gravity of it with the bite of irony at the end, that had decided him. Had she offered him a mate on paper or in word, he told himself, he would have refused outright and let her kill him if she wanted.