The Golden Cage (37 page)

The central hall of Lord Beylin's castle was bright and airy, modelled on the Neuadd, though not on the same grand scale. Its windows were glazed with clear glass, and the morning sun shone through from a pale blue sky outside. It was early still, but Beylin sat on his throne-like seat at the end of the hall, deep in conversation with a group of men wearing the distinctive cloaks of merchants. Her entrance unnoticed, Beulah watched the noble for a moment as he negotiated. She was forced to revise her
opinion of him; his skill at commerce was quite at odds with the somewhat needy and foppish appearance he presented to the world.

‘Your Majesty. I didn't expect to see you so early.' The merchants scattered as Lord Beylin leaped to his feet and crossed the hall. ‘Did the servants not bring breakfast to your chambers?'

‘I dismissed them. I don't like to be fussed over. Nor do I need someone to help me dress.'

‘Of course not. But can I offer you something now?' Beylin looked around, catching the attention of a young page who had been taking notes during his negotiations. The boy put down his pen and scurried over.

‘Go to the kitchens and tell them to prepare breakfast for the queen. To be served here in the hall.' Beylin turned back to Beulah as the lad scurried off on his errand. ‘Will the Duke of Abervenn be joining us?'

‘Actually, that's why I came down. I've been searching for Clun since I woke, and I can't find him anywhere. Have you seen him this morning?'

‘No. No, I haven't.' Beylin frowned, then turned back to the group of merchants who were hovering uncertainly around the throne-like chair at the head of the hall. ‘Gentlemen, have any of you seen His Grace the Duke of Abervenn this morning?'

The merchants came forward as if they had been waiting to be brought formally into the presence of their queen. Beulah counted five men, all well dressed and clearly prosperous if the size of their girths was anything to go by. The tallest of them, a balding man with grey tufts of hair sprouting from his ears, reached the queen
first and knelt extravagantly on one knee. Sighing, Beulah offered him her hand to be kissed.

‘May I present Terquid Squiler, head of the guild of horse merchants.' Lord Beylin sounded almost as bored as Beulah.

‘Your Majesty, you grace our humble little town with your presence,' Squiler said. ‘My fellow guild members and I would like to welcome you to Beylinstown.'

‘But have you seen the duke?' Beulah took back her hand before the merchant started to drool on her ring. Squiler rose to his feet, turned and looked at his companions. There was a great deal of head-shaking and shrugging. Then one of the merchants spoke up.

‘I saw a young man walking through the town just before sunrise, Your Majesty. But he didn't look like no duke to me.'

‘Describe him.'

‘I'd say he weren't yet twenty years, ma'am. But tall and strong. He had the ruddy cheeks and fair hair of a Graith Fawr man, I'd say. I didn't recognize him, didn't pay him much heed, to be honest with you.'

‘Did you see where he was going?'

‘Towards the south wall and the river gate, ma'am. Down where the barges unload and the main livestock markets are held.'

Beulah was wondering how best to dismiss them before they started to press her for trading privileges or reduced taxes, when Beylin stepped in.

‘Gentlemen, thank you,' he said. ‘Now if you would excuse us, the queen has not yet broken her fast. Perhaps we could continue our discussion later this morning.'

As if on cue, the doors were thrown open and a small army of servants appeared. The merchants bowed and made their exit, though Beulah could see that they were not best pleased at the interruption to their negotiations.

In moments the top table had been cleared of paperwork and laid for a meal. Platters of cold meats, dried fruits and warm-smelling bread appeared, enough to feed the queen's guard let alone just herself and Lord Beylin.

‘All this just for me?' Beulah asked as she was escorted to the table, given the throne-like chair to sit in.

‘My cook is perhaps a little overzealous,' Beylin said as he sat himself down to her left. ‘But he's worth indulging. Have some of this fruit – it comes from Eirawen, I'm told.'

Beulah looked at the food spread in front of her, then across the table to the near-empty hall. Outside the day was growing brighter as the sun climbed over the courtyard walls. She had no appetite right now, at least not for the exotic things Beylin was offering. She was more concerned about Clun.

‘I'm not hungry, truly.' She stood, finding it almost impossible to move the heavy chair back. ‘I must go and find my husband before he gets into some kind of trouble.'

‘Then permit me to accompany you, ma'am.' Beylin stood, dabbing at his lips with a napkin even though he had not eaten anything.

Beulah acquiesced with a nod. She would have liked to have gone alone, but that would not have been wise. Even if she could look after herself in a fight, being recognized by a crowd of her loyal subjects would have been awkward at best. In the end they were joined by a small
contingent of her guard, led by Captain Celtin, which meant that far from being able to move around unnoticed, their progress through the town was marked by an ever-increasing crowd of excited onlookers.

The river gate was as its name implied. Where the Hafren met the town walls, two great towers had been built, one on either bank, and a large stone arch constructed between them. The river here was relatively narrow, but deep. On either side the warehouses and loading docks of the richer merchants towered over the stream. Beylin led the party down to his personal dock, and they took a boat to the heart of the commercial sector.

Outside the gate, beyond its original walls, the town was rapidly expanding, with new warehouses and docks stretching far south. Behind them, on the low hills on either side, Beulah could see endless rows of wooden fencing: holding pens for the cattle and horses that were the lifeblood of this place. Even early in the morning the air was thick with the dust and odour of moving animals. And somewhere in among it all was Clun.

They disembarked at a particularly grand warehouse and dock complex that belonged to Beylin himself. A tall thin man dressed almost entirely in black came to greet them, an expression of near panic on his long, lined face.

‘My lord. This is so unexpected. If I'd but known …'

‘Relax, Verran. I've not come to spring a surprise audit on you.' Beylin introduced Beulah to his chief accountant, and the man's pale face turned whiter still.

‘Your Majesty.' He bowed low then fell silent, lost for words.

‘We're looking for His Grace the Duke of Abervenn,' Beylin said. ‘He was seen coming this way at first light.'

‘I'm sorry, sir. I've been in the warehouse since before dawn, doing an inventory. I've not seen anyone but my assistants.'

‘Then we'll have to look for him in the livestock rings.' Beylin turned back to Beulah. ‘I wanted to show you them anyway, ma'am. I thought you might be interested in the horses.'

They set off from the warehouse out into the livestock yards and towards the main auction ring. The town was a small trading centre compared with Candlehall, but Beulah was quietly impressed with how efficiently it was all run. The holding pens were neatly arranged, each separated from the next by a track wide enough for two wagons to pass. All the roads were hard-packed dirt, but drainage ditches had been dug to carry off any rainfall before it could turn them into a muddy quagmire. Thought had gone into the allocation of pens too, with breeding cattle separated from meat stock, and in turn separated from sheep. What pigs were traded in Beylinstown tended to be kept at the furthest end, away from everything else. Lord Beylin had spent a great deal of money building up this market and taken the best advice on how to lay it out. It had obviously paid off handsomely, judging by the number of pens occupied and the steady noise coming from the nearby auction ring.

‘What are they selling today?' Beulah asked as their small party entered the substantial wooden barn that housed the auction ring. Several merchants were standing about, though it was not as busy as she had expected.

‘I'm not sure, ma'am.' Beylin went up to the nearest merchant, questioned him, then returned.

‘There's a horse auction going on, but there's some unhappiness. Seemingly the best two beasts were bought privately before the sale even started.'

‘Does that happen often?'

‘Not usually, ma'am, no. The auctioneers have been known to bar breeders if they do it too much. It's their fees that pay for all this.' He gestured to take in the pens, the barn and everything else. ‘Sure, there are some who try to fool them – bring a few broken old nags for the ring and use the pens to showcase their quality stock. There're merchants who'll try to get a better deal that way too, but generally they know the system's there for their benefit.'

Beulah looked over to the nearest pen attached to the auction barn. A few sorry-looking horses stood motionless in the sun, their heads drooping, eyes closed. Only their swishing tails whisking away the flies showed that they were alive at all. If this was the standard of horseflesh being sold at this market, then the best of the crop couldn't have been worth much.

‘I was looking for a horse myself. My old mare was killed by a dragon, and the replacement died when we were attacked by bandits outside Corris. It's a shame there's nothing here fit for riding. I wouldn't even eat some of these.'

‘Those are indeed poor specimens,' Beylin said. ‘But I've no doubt there'll be better inside.'

The interior of the barn was cool and airy. Lit by big open windows high up in the walls, it was arranged around a central ring about twenty paces across. On one side
wooden benches climbed in tiers. Opposite them, on a low dais, the auctioneer stood behind a tall lectern, like a priest at Suldith prayers. Alongside him an assistant sat behind a table, entering details into a large ledger.

Beulah motioned for her guard to stay in the chamber behind the tiered benches, entering the main body of the barn with just Lord Beylin and Captain Celtin for company. She wanted to observe the auction with as little disruption as possible. And, who knew, there might even be a horse worth bidding for, though she was doubtful about that. If the merchants outside thought that the finest beasts had already been sold, then she didn't much fancy buying second best.

The hammer fell, signalling the sale of a pretty mare with a foal, as Beulah settled herself down on a wooden bench just a few paces away from a group of farmers. They looked at her once, nodding by way of a hello, then went back to their discussion of the livestock on sale. It was obvious they had no idea who she was, and Beulah was strangely relieved by the knowledge. Beside her Beylin wore a dark travelling cloak over his elegant courtly clothes, and Celtin was dressed like any other warrior priest of his order. Without their guards to attract attention, they could have been anyone.

‘And our next lot, a pair of fine young geldings from the Nebo stud. Gentlemen, ladies, these two have been broken both to saddle and harness. They would make good carriage horses, but equally could be ridden over rough ground. Shall we start the bidding at one hundred crowns the pair?'

Beulah listened to the sum come down to fifty crowns, then slowly climb back up as the punters were drawn in. The horses were nice enough, certainly worth the initial asking price, if not a lot more. They were a little skittish in the ring, but not so bad that they would be unmanageable. No doubt they would find their way down to Castell Glas and the household of some minor noble or rich merchant. Looking around the room, she could see plenty of interest, but the gathered farmers and merchants were eyeing each other warily, not wanting to show their hands.

She had never been to a real auction before, and Beulah found the experience fascinating. There were mock auctions at court, where the nobles bid for useless trinkets, or even each other, as a sort of game. It was just another way to flaunt their wealth, as far as she could tell, like the absurd costumes and town houses large enough to sleep an entire clan. This was different. This was the commerce that fed the Twin Kingdoms. Farmers and breeders produced; merchants bought and sold; and a small fraction of every transaction made its way back to her treasury.

Beulah watched as the geldings were knocked down for a hundred and seventy-five crowns the pair. Then a huge stallion was led in, eighteen hands if he was an inch and darkest black all over. His eyes were fierce and wild; no one had managed to tame him yet. The halter around his neck was made from rope as thick as a man's wrist, and two handlers struggled to keep him in check. Sweat sheened his flanks, and he wheeled this way and that, frightened by the strange room but determined to fight rather than flee.

‘A feisty one, this. A genuine Gomoran stallion from the Gwastadded Wag. As you can see, he's been habituated to men but not tamed. And he's certainly not broken. You all know how rare these horses are, so who'll start the bidding at a thousand crowns?'

The room wasn't silent: there was too much noise coming from the great horse and the scrabble of would-be punters getting as far from the front row of benches as possible. But the atmosphere changed, as if there had been a collective intake of breath. Beulah wasn't surprised. A thousand crowns was a lot of money for just one horse, however magnificent he was.

And yet he was a truly regal beast. If he could be broken, if she could bend him to her will, then he would make the most perfect of gifts for Clun.

Guiltily Beulah recalled that it was her search for her missing consort that had brought her to this place. She scanned the auction room on the off chance that he might have come here, but he was nowhere to be seen, much like the bids the auctioneer was trying to elicit.