“It’s not as if it impairs our hearing when we’re not wearing anything,” Ryhunzo said in his usual cheerful tone. “Come, Blinding Light in the Dark Grotto of My Life, we mustn’t badger Obe too much. He’s rather fragile. He might break.”

  The two pages withdrew behind the drapery. Judging by the rustling and occasional giggling that went on, they were not just dressing themselves. Obyann repressed some of the more vivid—and disturbing—images that came to mind.

  “Well?” a voice insisted from behind the heavy curtains.

  “Eynurm is in trouble,” Obyann said in a loud voice.

  “What?” Ryhunzo shouted, emerging from behind the curtains with only one leg in his pants.

  “Nurmie?” Rahendo cried out. “Why? What’s the matter? How much trouble? Does he need money?” He too came from behind the curtains, keeping his pants up with both hands. “Pookie, could you latch my belt for me? I seem unable to find the right notch.”

  Ryhunzo, still with one leg uncovered, shuffled behind Rahendo, reaching around his friend’s slim waist to fasten the belt. Then he put his second leg in his pants, balancing himself on his friend’s shoulder.

  “You recall how Eynurm dated this girl from Lorseth Market for a while?” Obyann began.

  “Yes. Wasn’t she the daughter of a well-to-do saddler?” Ryhunzo asked.

  “Oh yes, I remember,” Rahendo said, fidgeting with the laces of his shirt. “Poor Nurmie. She dumped him, didn’t she, when he told her his father had disinherited him for behavior unworthy of a noble?”

  “Said behavior being dating her, a commoner lass,” Ryhunzo added, nodding. “The girl had caused our poor friend to lose his inheritance, albeit unwittingly, and in the end he lost her too. Love can be cruel like that.”

  Obyann looked confused and it took him some moments to take up the thread again.

  “Anyway, that was months ago…” He took a deep breath. “But now the young woman—by name of Iselda—finds herself pregnant and she claims Eynurm is the father.”

  “So what?” Rahendo asked. “There are a lot of noble bastards running around in the Highlands. All over Ximerion, in fact. Nothing out of the ordinary, I would think.”

  “Yes so you would, wouldn’t you?” Obyann said. “You’re probably thinking of myself as a case in point.”

  “Oh no, Obie, that was not what I meant. Your father loves you, and that is all that matters, isn’t it?” Rahendo shrugged. “Then again, you know what they say about Anaxantis. That the queen had an affair and that he isn’t the son of the king. Doesn’t stop him from being a prince and lord-governor, though.”

  “In this case there’s a snag or two,” Obyann replied, somewhat mollified. “The most important of the two being that mistress Iselda claims that Eynurm forced himself upon her against her loudly and repeatedly uttered protests. She also wants Eynurm to marry her and support both her and the child.”

  Rahendo bit his lower lip in thought.

  “It’s all nonsense,” he said after a while. “First of all, Nurmie would never force himself upon anyone. He’s one of the kindest guys I know. Next to Nulfie. And you, of course, Pookie. Oh, and you too, Obie. It follows that if she consented to this, eh, union the kid is her responsibility. That’s always been the case for bastards of a noble father.”

  “It’s good manners, though, to support the wench in some way or other,” Ryhunzo added. “And help the boy later on, or arrange for a suitable match if it’s a girl. Provided the child shows promise.”

  “All true,” Obyann agreed, “under normal circumstances. I know of several bastards in Lorseth and wide environs, as far as Crockton village, all fathered by pages of Anaxantis. Usually Anaxantis makes them, or their fathers to be precise—well, the fathers of the fathers—pay a nice sum for the upkeep of the child and that’s that. The lasses are usually more than happy with a generous lump sum or a stipend that keeps them out of poverty and from having to work. Moreover, having a nice little nest egg makes them sought after brides, believe it or not. Never mind they come with a noble bastard.”

  “So, it’s money after all,” Rahendo said. “That’s easy then. Eynurm needs most of his pay as master of pages to support himself, now that his father has seen fit to stop his monthly allowance, but I’m sure he can pay a modest sum—if need be in installments. And we can help, can’t we, Pookie?”

  Ryhunzo nodded enthusiastically.

  “I’m sure Nulfie will contribute as well and—”

  “And nothing,” Obyann interrupted Rahendo. “Haven’t you been listening? She claims Eynurm forced himself upon her.”

  “But he denies it, I’m sure.” Rahendo looked more hopeful than certain. “Doesn’t he?”

  “He not only denies forcing himself upon her, he claims the child can’t be his because it’s too long ago when they last, eh…”

  “Made hot, hot, wild, steamy, shameless love, their naked, sweaty bodies intertwined so as to be indistinguishable from one another?” Ryhunzo proffered.

  Obyann’s face turned red.

  “That’s… Well… Yes. But Iselda maintains she is pregnant and that the child most certainly is Eynurm’s. She wants him to marry her.”

  “Him being disinherited and all?” Ryhunzo asked.

  “Maybe she heard Eynurm has been promoted to master of pages, Pookie,” Rahendo said.

  “So?”

  “First of all, master of pages is a paid office. And one thing could lead to another. The prince likes Nurmie, and Anaxantis can be very generous, for all that he can be very mean too. He has ennobled a lot of his commoner friends—even some of peasant extraction. And what with his plans to develop the Renuvian Plains there will be a lot of new fiefs. New fiefs means new titles. She probably thinks there’s more than a fair chance that Eynurm will be starting his own House in a few years.”

  “Ah, I see.” Ryhunzo’s eyes lit up “Clever lass. She wants in on all that. And she’s right too. New nobles may not be as prestigious as those born to old Houses, but they’re still more impressive than commoners. Eynurm will be kind of both, though. He’s born into old nobility, but his House will be new. Who’s going to know—or care—on the Plains, anyway?” He shrugged and tilted his head. “I don’t see how she can make our friend marry her, though. Pregnant or not.”

  “But oh, there’s a distinct possibility she could,” Obyann intervened. “The crucial part seems to be that she claims Eynurm forced himself upon her. She wants the prince to speak justice in his capacity as lord governor. I don’t know why, but it made Anaxantis all upset. I never saw him so… disturbed.”

  “But why?” Rahendo asked, puzzled.

  “I think I know why our liege was unsettled,” Ryhunzo said. “Mistress Iselda wants Anaxantis to emulate his long-time-ago predecessor, Prince Pie. Now, anywhere else but in the Northern Marches—no, anywhere else but in Lorseth she might not have had a snowball’s chance in Murokthil to make her demand stick, but in this case she rests her case on the precedent of Prince Pie’s judgment.”

  “Prince Pie? Who is this Prince Pie, Pookie?” Rahendo asked, even more nonplussed.

  “Wasn’t Prince Pie the lord-governor who went after perverts?” Obyann said with a meaningful glance in the direction of the two young pages.

  “Not exactly, Obe,” Ryhunzo corrected him. “He went after rapists.”

  “Who is this Prince Pie?” Rahendo asked again, frustrated now.

  “His real name was Berimar and later he became King Berimar III. Also known as Berimar the Fair,” Ryhunzo explained.

  “Oh, he was a cute guy, then.” Rahendo interrupted. “Like our prince.”

  “It seems so, but not during his time here. He had been chased from the court in Ormidon by his father, Orrigar II the Silent. To be rid of him the king appointed his son lord governor of the Northern Marches.”

  “That part is like Anaxantis, then.”

  “Not exactly, my Ebullient Joy Beyond Compare. Anaxantis and his brother, Prince Ehandar, are joint lord governors. Berimar was sole lord governor, and by all accounts, as a young man he was a fat slob, a drunkard, a gambler and,”—Ryhunzo winked at Obyann—“a bit of a pervert.”

  “Anaxantis is no pervert,” Obyann stated.

  “Hm… well…” Rahendo murmured, “there’s a rumor that he and—”

  “That’s not important,” Ryhunzo cut off whatever his lover had meant to say. “There is this story about Berimar that could be relevant to Eynurm’s predicament. I overheard some villagers talking about him in the Cranky Goat, but it was all rather confused. Given the nature of the story, the most likely person to know anything about it had to be Hrenwick, the dungeon master of Lorseth Castle. So I went over one afternoon when I was off-duty. I brought a pitcher of wine and I asked him if he knew more about Prince Pie. Boy, did he know more. In fact, it was Hrenwick’s great-grandfather—or great-great-grandfather, I forget which—who executed the verdict.” Ryhunzo shuddered. “You don’t want that to happen to you…”

  “You don’t want what to happen?” Obyann asked.

  “Tell us, Pookie. Tell us,” Rahendo insisted. “Even though I suspect it will be one of your horrible stories. As usual.” He sighed.

  “Alas, Enchanting Tune to My Life’s Sad Lyrics,” Ryhunzo said, “you are right. It is a horrible story, full of terror and misadventure. It is also an edifying tale about irredeemable crimes punished by severe but intrinsically just and edifying—”

  “Cut it out, you sick puppy,” Obyann exploded. “You’re enjoying this far too much. Tell us what happened already. And make it quick, we’re almost due in Anaxantis’s war room.”

  “Ahem. So. As I said, Prince Berimar was banished from court, but he didn’t mind too much. A lot of his disreputable noble friends had followed him and they all passed their days hunting, eating, drinking, gambling, fornicating and in general making merry as much as they could. In Berimar’s case this involved eating inordinate amounts of meat pies.”

  “Aha, so that’s why they called him Prince Pie,” Rahendo said.

  Ryhunzo smiled and nodded.

  “Very perspicacious, my Sharp Ray of Sunshine that Warms my Chilly Soul. One day, so the story goes, when the prince and his party were setting out to go hunting, they met a young woman, standing beside the road, outside the castle gates. She demanded to be heard. She was just a commoner, so Berimar’s friends mocked her and rode on. She called after them and scolded them—and the prince—as good-for-nothings, layabouts and leeches. She had no other recourse, she cried out, but the prince as lord-governor and highest judge of the province. If the villain who had raped her, and left her with his evil brood growing inside her went unpunished, what good were nobles? What good were royals? What good was Berimar himself? She wanted her violator, a young, rich farmer’s son, to stand trial and be convicted for this atrocious, cruel deed and the outrage to her virginity and honor.”

  “Less flowery talk, more story, Ryhunzo,” Obyann grumbled.

  “All right, Obe, my man,” Ryhunzo agreed with a generous smile. “Berimar’s friends wanted to go hunting and a few of them made ready to shut up the impudent young woman. Berimar stopped them. He liked having intercourse. He liked it a lot. But he never had liked being forced to do anything, so he perfectly understood the woman’s revulsion of having been forced against her will to being penetrated by this farmer’s son and being used as a vessel for his relief. True, the young man hailed from a family of free farmers and they were moderately rich to boot. Furthermore, he had the reputation of being one of the most handsome young men in the whole province of Amiratha. All that didn’t give him the right to treat other people as his property, Berimar felt. He himself didn’t like being used by his father as just another asset to the dynasty either.

  “Long story short, he agreed to hear her case, though, if truth be told, he was still hung over from the feasting, the drinking, the merrymaking, and the fornicating of the previous night. He also warned her that his judgment would be fair, swift, irrevocable and public. Was she prepared to suffer equal punishment as he reserved for a rapist if it turned out that she had falsely accused an innocent man? She never blinked an eye. Berimar gave her a last chance to retract her accusation: did she still want Berimar to speak justice, knowing she as well would be standing trial? She nodded emphatically and said in a steadfast voice, ‘Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.’ And so Prince Pie returned to the castle to hear her case that very same day.

  “It took some doing and several hours, but finally almost the whole town of Lorseth Market was assembled in the Great Hall of the castle. Berimar sat—somewhat unsteadily—on the throne that was placed on the dais and first heard the young woman formally accuse the farmer’s son of having raped her. He denied the charges, of course. But then a woman who had come to watch the proceedings asked to be heard. She too claimed to have been violated by the same young man. Then another came forward. And yet another. And another yet. Several more made similar accusations. The farmer’s son kept denying, but his protestations of innocence became weaker and weaker and less believable with each new testimony. Berimar asked him if he truly wanted the prince to believe him and him alone, and disregard the solemn statements of all these young women. When the prince added that he would spare the young man’s life if he confessed, the farmer’s son finally broke down.”

  “Sound judgment,” Rahendo said. “The guy was a despicable scoundrel. I imagine he was incarcerated for many years. It was indeed a tragic story, but not all that horrible, actually. Not horrible at all by your standards, I’m glad to say.”

  “That is where you’re wrong, Merciful Redeemer of my Wretched Life. The end of the story is worse, far worse,” Ryhunzo’s lowered his voice and made it resonate with a sense of foreboding. “Berimar sentenced him to life at the Royal Farms.”

  “Oh, for the love of all the Gods and Goddesses,” Rahendo exclaimed, “not the Royal Farms. That’s so cruel. I heard prisoners there are worked on the fields from the first light of day to nightfall, chained to each other. They are treated worse than animals.”

  “In all fairness, some of them are worse than animals,” Ryhunzo said. “Prince Pie had promised the woman that his justice, amongst other things, would be swift and public, and so it was. The young man was to be taken to the Royal Farms immediately. But not all of him.”

  “Not all of him?” Rahendo felt sick to his stomach, guessing what would come next.

  “No. His testicles remained here. Berimar ordered him to be stripped and emasculated publicly, at that very moment and in front of all those present so that they could bear witness that justice had been done.” Ryhunzo shivered. “Some say it was a cruel judgment, but I think Berimar deliberately planned for the story to go around in all its gruesome details. It protected the women of Lorseth, and probably those of the whole Northern Marches, for decades to come. The mere memory of this unhappy fellow’s fate probably still does.”

  Rahendo too shivered.

  “What became of him?” Obyann asked.

  “Medics took care of his wounds. Prince Pie ordered them to revive him so he would be fully conscious of his disgrace. Then he was shackled on hands and feet and thrown naked upon a cart that hauled him off to the Royal Farms. He was in his early twenties when he was convicted. Rumor has it that he lived to a ripe old age, working every single day of his long life for at least ten hours.”

  Ryhunzo shuddered with the excitement of telling his gruesome tale. Rahendo’s face had become white as chalk.

  “I seem to remember that a local saying, or a curse, came from all this,” Obyann mused. “What was it again… Dip your balls in honey?”

  “Not exactly, Obe, my man. It’s more of a threat. Something like, ‘I’ll put your balls on honey.’ Berimar had the young man’s testicles put in a glass jar, filled with clear clover honey. He delivered this himself as a present to the girl, saying now she could look anytime she wanted at her violator’s balls and know for sure that justice had been done and that she never again need be afraid of him.”

  “Oh, dear,” Rahendo moaned, resisting the urge, but only just, to cup his hands over his own testicles.

  “When did this happen?” Obyann asked.

  “Over a hundred years ago,” Ryhunzo answered.

  “So how has it any bearing on our friend’s present problem?”

  “Obie, how can you not understand this?” Rahendo burst out. “Don’t you see what that wretched woman is trying to do? She wants to push our prince into the role of Prince Pie. She wants Anaxantis to condemn Nurmie to the Royal Farms.”

  “After having his balls cut off,” Ryhunzo added. He blew another curl out of his face.

  “Oh, Pookie, enough with all the ball-cutting.”

  “Life is hard like that, my Sad Existence’s Only Cheer, but I’m sure Anaxantis won’t let it come to that.”

  “I agree,” Obyann said, but he looked worried. “Even so, hurry up. This woman, this… Iselda is already waiting to be admitted to his war room to lodge her formal complaint and Anaxantis wants us to witness the proceedings. Eynurm will be there as well, of course.”

  The two younger pages finished their attire as fast as they could.

  Rahendo and Ryhunzo had been appointed head pages by Prince Anaxantis because their friends Arranulf and Obyann had recommended them for the position. With the job came lodgings in Lorseth Castle, while the other pages slept in barracks not far from he castle grounds.

  They only had to cross the courtyard to reach the donjon. On the first floor Prince Anaxantis had installed what he called his war room during the long period of preparations for the invasion of the barbarian Mukthars. The Battle of the Zinchara, barely a few months ago, had been a decisive victory for the prince-warlord and had put an end, once and for all, or so everyone hoped, to the Mukthar threat.

  The war was over but the name for the prince’s headquarters had stuck and it was in his war room that Anaxantis took care of all his official responsibilities—not only the military ones. A few pages were on duty to run various errands. One of them was always seated at a small table next to the entrance of a side corridor which gave access to the war room.