The Children of the King by Sonya Hartnett Page A

not always true. As we speak, there are soldiers in France doing what they might not
choose
to do. But we mustn’t judge our Duke as we would judge a man alive today. He was the product of an age of great violence. He was hardened to it, as were the people who surrounded him. Remember that — and remember the other thing.”
    “Power?” said Jeremy.
    “Power,” confirmed Peregrine. “For the person without power, there was only the mud.”
    “Tell us about little Cecily,” begged Cecily.
    “The little princess Cecily? She is growing older and more pleasing, as are all the King’s children. Indeed, another prince has been born by now, making a fine pair of brothers. We’ll talk about those boys later: but the Princess Cecily, I’m sorry to say, is not, and never will be, our concern.”
    “Aw,” said Cecily.
    Peregrine topped up his glass, and bolstered Heloise’s too. He rang for the maid and ordered warm milk for the children. This was brought, in steaming mugs; Cecily let hers grow a crinkle of skin, fished it out and fed it to Byron.
    “And so back to the Duke,” Peregrine resumed. “He decided it was time to marry, and why not? Unlike the King, he wasn’t so foolish as to marry for love. Love could be found anywhere, if you were a duke. But there was a young lady suitable for marrying, and she suited because she brought with her the promise of a rich estate. Land, titles —”
    “Power,” said Jeremy.
    Peregrine smiled. “Now you understand. The Duke married into vast tracts of cool northern land with its marshes and moors, its valleys and rivers. And the people of this region, who, like their countryside, were often sneered-at as being brutish and untamed, would come to love their Duke, and claim him, and offer him a place of safety, just as he would always love and need this northern land, and the affection of its people. The couple made their home in a castle on the banks of a river in the heart of this country —”
    “Snow Castle?” asked Cecily.
    “— not Snow Castle — and soon they had their own little son. You might think peace should now reign: but the quest for power is strange in that, once the quest has begun, the destination always seems to shift ever further away. What power one has is never enough; whatever happiness one had turns to bitterness.
    “The middle brother, Clarence, sat in his castle and stewed. After his rabble-rousing of some years earlier, the King had kept him on a short but generous leash. He had wealth and titles, yet he believed himself deprived. He wanted glory, he wanted attention, he wanted, he wanted . . . he wanted the weight of the crown. The worm that is power ate at him, stripping off his skin and lapping his blood and then gnawing at his bones. He felt unappreciated, neglected, deprived. Now the worm crawled up his spine and began to dine on his brain —”
    “For goodness sake, Peregrine!”
    But the children were enchanted by the machinations of this invertebrate, and tamped down Heloise’s protests with waving hands. Nevertheless Peregrine abandoned the creature and sipped his claret, smiling quietly. “You can see where this is going, can’t you? Demented Clarence, squawking in his castle, provoking the King and Queen’s displeasure with a string of complaints and lies. Poor Clarence is digging his own grave. At last he found himself standing at the crumbly edge of it: the King had him arrested and brought before a court. The court was told of Clarence’s malice and gossip, his lack of loyalty to his king. No one spoke in protest when the death sentence was pronounced — certainly not the Queen, who saw Clarence as a threat and wanted him removed. Our own Duke likewise made no attempt to save his brother. Perhaps his silence was due to powerlessness — mad Clarence was beyond redemption — or perhaps it was due to power: the Duke would, after all, inherit the lion’s share of his brother’s legacy. So Clarence was put to death, and