Author’s Note:

Before we get on with the next chapter, I fear there are a few things I need to address. First, I wish to extend my appreciation to the readers who have stuck by the story though its long hiatus and to thank them for their continued support and also to thank any new readers for the attention and reviews.

However now I must address a more serious issue. In a recent review, one reader suggested that my use of Mahomet's words as the title for this piece provides a different context than the religion intended. Though usually I do not respond to criticism I feel is not constructive, as the complaint touches on material of a delicate nature, I feel I must explain my reasoning if only to assuage my own conscience, though I cannot predict whether the offended will accept or understand my thoughts.

When I selected the quotation in question, I took the words and their implications as those of a historical figure who made a very keen observation about war and the nature of man. There are those who do not read religious texts wholly as spiritual works, but who take them as works of history or literature. This is my interpretation of all religious texts - Christian, Islamic, Hebrew, Buddhist, Hindu, etc. - and the context in which I choose to evaluate the texts is reflected in the story. Please understand that in quoting Mahomet as a historical figure, I do not seek to offend. The message intended by the phrase - whether essentially spiritual or humane - seems clear in my mind. I understand that to those who believe in the spirituality of these words a different context may be assumed. But in this story I do not seek religious connections, but rather those of history. Though the implications of the quotation may appear ambiguous at this point in the story, by the end I hope to grant them greater clarity.

Perhaps in order to better understand how I interpret Mahomet's words, should anyone desire further discourse on the subject, one should seek out the essay of another writer who borrowed the same words to provide context for his ideas (also outside of religion) - "Of Heroism" by Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Once again, I apologize if I caused any offense. I would not dream of grasping at a meaning beyond my own thoughts. As writing is a reflection of the writer, I can only ask my readers to grant me the same freedom and respect in the application of the written word as I hope to allow them.

Chapter 19:

Isabel came from long line of royalty, an unbroken succession of kings spanning back through time to the ancients whose names were known only through ballads and poems passed on by mouth for generations. Many said that such a degree of royalty had no equal – that to find a true match for Isabel’s exalted blood would require a search of distant lands for sons of ancients rulers. A few whispered, but only those who had lived in the early days of the old king, Christopher’s father, who had won his crown on the battlefield, spilling royal blood with a common sword, that Isabel was too great a princess to marry with so new a king. Running through her veins was blood of princes from too many countries to count – great rulers, diplomats, and warriors. To these eyes, Isabel had all of the graces and markings of a queen and they hoped that with her blood to fortify their veins, her sons would make true kings for their country and set it back to the grand path it strode before their father’s father diverted its course.

But though her blood held more value than any other, Isabel had not known the greatest splendors of the world until she entered the Christopher’s city by the sea. Her childhood had been privileged, of course, but her father’s kingdom was much smaller and thus less prosperous than Christopher’s. Much of her father’s funds had gone toward maintaining the large army the nation’s small size required, so he had little left over to build glorious palaces. But this palace by the sea was far beyond anything Isabel had imagined during the long days on horseback. She had tried to wheedle information out of Christopher, but he lacked the skills of observation and description to do his own city justice. Had Drake been available Isabel would have asked him for details, but he never seemed to be present when sought.

During the three weeks it took to reach the city, Isabel had the chance to become better acquainted with some of her ladies. In the past, she had mostly dealt with Angeline, but after Isabel broke the etiquette by riding a horse some of the more adventurous court ladies followed. Such a procession was an excellent opportunity to learn since the pace was steady and the horses calm. And though Angeline had considered joining the riders on the second day, she had abandoned that idea due to her dislike of horses. Or rather, the horses’ dislike of her, for it seemed that none of the court horses wanted her near them. Even the steady old hunters chosen for their experience and gentleness shied away when Angeline came near. Isabel’s own horse almost threw the lady off when she attempted to switch mounts with her friend, only Christopher’s quick grasp of the reins saved Angeline from being tossed into the mud. So Angeline withdrew her interest in riding, leaving Isabel with a group of four intrepid younger women who were eager to learn. She discovered, much to her delight, that these ladies disliked the etiquette system as much as Isabel did.

But hints came from the ladies, though not with Christopher nearby, that the system lasted due to the effort of Christopher’s mother, the formidable Dowager Queen whose existence Isabel had only discovered after the wedding. Queen Tamora, as the court called her, was not a personage to challenge – everyone followed her bidding, including Christopher. During these rides with her ladies, Isabel gleaned bits of information that she pieced together to learn the story of Tamora that no one seemed willing to tell her outright.

After the old king first claimed his crown from the battlefield, he sought to solidify his royal line by marrying with a princess of ancient blood. His first choice had not been Tamora, but the daughter of the king who ruled the city now Christopher’s capitol. This princess, however, had been betrothed in childhood to the ruler of a small mountain state. So he married with the next best choice – a princess from a small, exotic island whose royal line had gone unbroken for six centuries. The marriage deviated from the ancient traditions of wife procurement in the nation; the second son, if one existed, or the next in line had the job of finding and stealing a bride. But Christopher’s father had been unable to do this, as he had no next of kin and wished to establish a lineage with haste, and so fierce Tamora came to rule over the court.

In the years that followed, the old king conquered many lands, making his country the largest on the continent and building an unparalleled military. While her husband gained territory, Tamora created a strict code of etiquette, introducing the new rules silently and snubbing everyone until they caught on. Women stopped riding horses as Tamora’s island had none and strict rules about titles and addressing royalty quickly became part of the protocol. Christopher’s father allowed her free reign over the court, as few of the etiquette rules applied to him, and her will had remained unchallenged.

In anticipation of their arrival, people had lined the streets hoping for a glance of the new queen through her carriage windows and were thrilled to see her riding behind the king, waving to them with a smile on her face. The volume of their cheers drowned out any hope of speaking, even with Christopher so close to her, so she just continued to smile and tried to catch a few of the posies the children tossed to her. As the procession snaked through the streets, Isabel observed that the buildings were all made of sandy colored stones with orange tiled roofs.

After winding along the city’s stone streets for some time, Isabel noticed that they had begun an ascent to the palace. This palace – it must be called a palace, Isabel thought, because it looked as if the builder had no concern for its capture – stood upon a cliff overlooking the sea below. Isabel had never seen the sea before and the distant, glimmering blue sheet held her attention as her horse followed Christopher’s up the sloping hill to the palace. Made of a creamy white stone, the palace stretched out across the landscape like a lazy cat enjoying a nap in the sunshine. It had more width than height, sprawling out so that the eye could not assess it all at once. As they grew closer, Isabel saw elaborated carvings in the stone and large spaces for windows. She hardly knew what to think; she had never seen such buildings before. Her childhood castle had been built for safety and function, not beauty like this palace, nor had it enough size to impose on the mind as Christopher’s mountain castle did. And though Isabel longed to see the insides, which were sure to impress, she hated the idea of navigating through a new place, all the while watched with slight suspicion.

So lost in her thoughts that she stopped paying attention to the path, Isabel felt surprise when she realized that her horse had stopped and Christopher stood beside her mount, waiting to lift her down. He pulled her from the horse and offered her his arm. Isabel found that gesture strange, for since the wedding Christopher had preferred to hold her hand. As she straightened her dress, Isabel looked up to see a tall figure waiting in the shade at the top of the palace steps. This female stood straight like a post, her eyes narrowed on the approaching figures. Isabel felt the woman’s gaze alight on her and felt a heat coming from it, a smoldering sensation that made Isabel itch more than the burning sun on her scalp the last few days.

Immediately Isabel tugged at her bodice to pull it straight and ran another smoothing hand down the cloth at her hips, for the woman’s appearance was immaculate. Her tight, structured bodice and wide skirt contrasted with Isabel’s loose and streamlined clothing, and her hair was bound and twisted into a more elaborate display than Isabel had seen before. But the amount and fineness of the jewelry she wore separated her from everyone present. On her head sat a heavy coronet inlaid with rubies and diamonds and at her throat hung a matching necklace, its style and size reminiscent of chain mail. Had she not been standing in the shade, Isabel felt certain the reflection off the many stones would blind the entire procession. The woman never moved as Christopher and Isabel approached, nor did she react to their presence at all – not a twitch, not even a smile.

When at last they reached her, Christopher dropped Isabel’s arm and bowed, then stepped forward to take the woman’s hands in his own. He kissed her warmly on both cheeks. “Mother,” He said, smiling at the woman. “May I present to you my bride and chosen queen?”

Isabel inched forward, unsure of whether to curtsey or not. She had never curtseyed to a woman before, her own mother having died at her birth. In fact, since leaving her home, Isabel had no occasion to curtsey to anyone. She thought, considering the complexity of the female curtsy in this land, that she would not even know how to perform one. So she simply smiled, stepping forward to kiss the woman on the cheek. Tamora received the kiss well and offered one of her own.

“Ah yes,” The older woman said, her voice flowing out like water over rocks. “The new queen. She is quite beautiful, my dear. Your brother provided well for you.” She looked over Isabel’s shoulder to Drake, who hovered behind the royal couple. “No greeting for your mother, Drake, though I have not seen you these two years?”

Drake stepped forward, affording Isabel the chance to slip away behind Christopher. The young prince bowed to his mother, grasping her by the elbow with one hand as he gave her a kiss on her cheek. “Hello, mother.”

“I trust your campaigns went well, though I have of course heard the reports over the months?” Tamora asked her younger son, who nodded in ascent. “And I see for myself how superb is the application of your duty. You have brought your brother a jewel to wed.”

All three turned their attention to Isabel, who fought the urge to shrink away. They shared the same piercing blue eyes, but Christopher lacked the dark coloring that Drake inherited from their mother. For the first time, Tamora smiled, but the warmth failed to reach her eyes. “I did not know there was such a fine princess to be had, the stock having been diminished when your father claimed me!” She laughed and the others followed, Christopher in earnest, Drake with a practiced glee, and Isabel with a guarded mirth.

“Mother, perhaps we should adjourn to our rooms,” Christopher said, pulling Isabel close by the hand. “We have been riding all day in the sun and I feel certain my wife shall need a rest.”

“Of course,” Tamora replied, extending her own hand to her daughter-in-law. After a moment, Isabel accepted her grasp. “I will show my new daughter to her suite. Tell the court I shall greet them at dinner.” With a strong grip on Isabel’s hand, Tamora walked into the dimness of the palace so quickly that Isabel had no time to observe her surroundings. When they turned a corner, Tamora spoke again. “Of course, my dear, I shall keep my place at dinner at least a few days more, for you are not crowned yet and it would breach the order, wouldn’t it?”

At first, Isabel failed to understand the full meaning of Tamora’s words. But though the meaning was lost, the implication came through clearly: Tamora had no intention of relinquishing her power to Isabel. The younger queen gave an inward shudder at the thought. Her plans to shed the heavy coat of conduct would take far more effort than Isabel had hoped. And her hopes of finding a kind, maternal presence in Tamora melted away with each pointed instruction the old queen delivered on the short walk to Isabel’s rooms.

As Tamora was so careful to point out, Isabel was not technically queen yet. By the customs of the nation, the mere act of marrying the king did not make her queen. Part of the reason why the court came to the capital city was to have the coronation, the grand ceremony that would name Isabel queen and formally grant her the rights and privileges of that position. The court, however, seemed unclear on how to address and serve Isabel while she remained in the position between princess and queen. Some wavered between calling her “Your Highness” or “Your Majesty” and the separation between Tamora and Isabel caused much confusion. In this world, status meant everything, regardless of age, so in some of their eyes Isabel was above Tamora even without a coronation. After all, when the old king died Tamora was not really queen any longer and in being a widow she held less status than Isabel, who was the wife of a living king.

Of course, Tamora seemed clear on the whole business and she exhibited that clarity not only in heading the table opposite Christopher when the court dined, but also in remaining in the rooms officially belonging to the queen even after Isabel’s arrival. Yet the results of Tamora’s stubbornness did not upset Isabel. She liked sitting by Christopher at supper and her interim rooms were particularly pleasing. The rooms had once belonged to the princesses of the city’s old royal line and were very beautifully decorated. Isabel’s fascination with the palace only increased as she encountered new rooms. She was particularly taken by the fact that her rooms were made entirely out of marble and the walls were carved with delicate designs. Large windows and the light color of the stone allowed plenty of sunshine inside and as the sun set later there than in the mountains, Isabel did not need candles until evening. The overall effect of the marble palace gave a placid, peaceful air to the place and Isabel’s affection for the new city grew at a fast rate.

When alone in her rooms, Isabel liked to spread herself out on the marble floor and feel the coolness of the stone against her body. Lying there, gazing up at the ceiling in silence, Isabel enjoyed the stillness of her world and found time to appreciate the many luxuries and blessings bestowed upon her. And when the floor became too hard and cold, Isabel rose and walked around the room, running her hands along the intricate carvings that went around the walls. She liked how her hand slid easily along the stone and how the marble felt almost silky beneath her palms.

In the second week of her stay at the grand palace, Isabel still had not relinquished her fascination with the marble. As she slid her hands along a wall she had not examined before, this one in her bathing chamber, Isabel felt something strange. One of the carved orbs on the right wall looked separated from the rest of the wall, jutting out slightly. As all of the carvings were so uniform, this flaw drew Isabel’s curiosity. Leaning in to examine the orb, Isabel pressed her hand against the carving and heard a strange straining sound. Intrigued, she pressed harder until a section of the wall popped open at one end. Looking inside, Isabel saw nothing but darkness and knew that the strange portal had to be some kind of hidden passage. So she stepped inside, keeping one hand against the invisible wall as the darkness overwhelmed her. After a few paces, her foot hit a step and she groped against the wall to her right until she found a thick leather strap fastened to the marble. Maintaining a strong grip on the leather guide rope, Isabel began to climb the steps in total darkness, going round and round so that she knew she was climbing a tower of some kind. After fifty steps and a few strange turns, the passage opened up into an enclosed room.

At first, Isabel’s eyes struggled to adjust to the intense change in light as the small chamber had no ceiling, but was open to the sky. When her eyes grew accustomed to the light, Isabel walked to the center of the chamber where the floor sunk into a pool, presumably to collect water from the occasional rain. There she looked up and saw nothing but cloudless blue sky. Turning her gaze back to the chamber itself, Isabel saw that the walls had bookshelves and benches built in. Life-sized statues of women stood in each corner like sentries, their right arms all pointing toward the center of the room.

But there was nothing else in the room, nothing on the bookshelves, nothing that was not attached to the chamber itself. Isabel thought it was the strangest and most fascinating place she had ever seen, almost like a private sanctuary but lacking any clues to its former use. Isabel went back down the dark passage, deciding not to speak of the chamber to anyone. For in a place where royal status afforded little privacy, Isabel loved the idea of having a secret chamber all to herself.

D

“This is ridiculous.” Isabel looked at her reflection in the mirror. Behind her stood a group of nervous seamstresses and some of her ladies, all afraid to comment. Having just been dressed in her proposed coronation outfit, Isabel gazed at herself in horror. For she wore a tightly bodiced gown with a protruding skirt, made from heavy silks and velvets and embroidered with enough jewels to feed the city for a year. From her shoulders hung the heavy purple cloak of royalty with thick ermine lining. She could hardly breathe or move for the weight and the coronation ceremony required her to walk through the streets to greet her new subjects. For hours. In mid-afternoon. “I won’t make three paces in this weather without fainting. I’ll have to wear something else.”

The faces of the ladies reflected in the mirror varied: most horrified, few amused. Angeline stepped forward. “But Your Highness, this outfit was selected by the Dowager Queen. I don’t think she meant for you to change it…the cloak is tradition.”

Over the past weeks, Isabel had grown tired of Tamora’s steel hold over the court. Everyone acted differently here, so deferent to the old queen and too observant of the rules for Isabel’s taste. Nobody seemed willing to stray from the etiquette and when Isabel tried to lead them, they shied away like nervous horses before a stream. Everywhere it seemed was Tamora’s influence and opinions – no picnics on the grass in the courtyard, no dancing after dinner, no singing in the evening. All activities that Isabel enjoyed most were altered or shunned by Tamora. Isabel had no desire to hear anything more about Tamora. “Let me ask you something, Angeline, let me ask all of you something: Who is the wife of your king?”

Angeline blinked. “You, my lady.”

“Yes,” Isabel said, untying the cloak from her shoulders and letting it fall to the ground. “I am queen of this court, not the Dowager Tamora, which means it is my customs, my pleasures and pursuits, that will become part of court life. Her reign has ended; mine has begun.” She held out her arms imperiously to be undressed. The ladies sprang to do her bidding, replacing the formal gown with one of the lighter ones Isabel preferred. She wanted them to know, wanted everyone in the blasted court, including Christopher, that she would do as she pleased. Dusty traditions would be shod for better ones, with Isabel leading the way. She would not live in a court that she disliked. She would create her own etiquette.

“Will that be all, my lady?” Angeline murmured.

“Yes. Have the seamstresses make up a simpler dress in plain silk. Purple, as is right. I won’t wear the cloak.” Isabel looked at the ladies. “This need not be discussed outside of this chamber.”

D

On her wedding day, Isabel had felt sure that at any point during the ceremony she might faint from nervousness and excitement. In the days leading to her coronation, she expected similar anxiety. After all, it would be her most defining moment as a queen and for centuries to come a portrait of her in her coronation dress would adorn the great hall of every royal palace in the kingdom. But when she stepped outside of the palace gates to walk the streets among her future subjects until she reached the ancient coronation spot, Isabel felt far from nervous. Walking between the contingent of guards, in her flowing purple silk dress and a necklace of diamond weaving, Isabel looked like a queen in every way.

People from throughout the kingdom had come to the city to see the new queen crowned and they jammed together in order to glimpse Isabel or touch her should they be lucky enough to find a spot near the barricades. Thirty years or more had passed since the last queen’s coronation, but Isabel wondered as she grasped the hands of so many common people if they noticed any difference in her from her successor. Did they find her as competent a candidate as Tamora that day years ago when she now doubt strolled the same streets stiff gowned and bedecked with jewels? In her less elaborate costume, with her hair curling loosely down her back, did the common people think her not enough to be their queen?

A few minutes of her progress banished any doubts, for the people screamed her name so loudly that Isabel heard nothing else. At her feet they threw flowers and they lunged at the barricades to reach her, just to skim one finger against her sleeve. As the third royal child of a small nation, Isabel had never known such admiration nor seen such celebration. Even when her father had toured the cities of his country, the people had not exhibited such jubilation as she now experienced.

It took an hour to walk the mile from the palace to the temple, what with Isabel stopping so often to hold the hands of old ladies and accept posies from beribboned young girls. When she reached the temple, Isabel climbed to the center of the steps and turned back to the roaring crowd, waving to them on the moment before she formally accepted the role of queen. It was her last moment as a princess, her last moment of belonging to a far away country and a far away father-king.

When Isabel took her first step down the long aisle in the temple, she felt conscious of being alone. This ceremony was not unlike a wedding – a marriage to the country – but here she made her own way down to the altar. With slow steps Isabel passed every noble and titled member of Christopher’s court, all standing in reverence of Isabel. Each person sank to their knees as she passed, acknowledging the place she was to hold in their country. Isabel kept her eyes focused on Christopher, who sat in his throne on the dais with Drake and Tamora standing behind him. To his right, the smaller queen’s throne sat empty, the first time Tamora had not sat there in decades.

Isabel climbed onto the dais and knelt before her husband. Christopher rose from his seat, accepting the ceremonial scepter from Drake. “Princess Isabel, we have already accept you as our wife and now wish you to be our queen. Do you accept the role of queen, to sit at our side from now until our deaths?”

“I accept,” Isabel said, trying to make her voice loud enough to fill the hollow temple. Christopher took the crown from Tamora’s waiting hands and placed it atop Isabel’s loose hair. Then he offered her the scepter, which she took into her hands. Isabel then stood and let Christopher guide her to the empty seat. They sat in their respective thrones for a few moments, long enough to allow the court a clear picture of their new queen. Then Christopher extended a hand toward Isabel, and when she placed her hand in his, the couple stood in unison, beginning the long walk back down the aisle and through the streets to the palace. The long journey from captive princess to crowned queen had finally ended.