“What about the prince? Did Chatriyon lend any?”
Alensson shrugged. “Some. But he had to maintain his court at Shynom. Remember that this was all before the Maid. He relied on others for his own living just as I did. As long as men were willing to risk their coin that he would become King of Occitania someday, he could eke out his days and pay for soldiers he couldn’t afford on his own. The battle of Vernay crippled Atabyrion.”
Ankarette leaned forward. “I don’t understand what happened, though. You broke through Deford’s lines. That’s usually a good thing.”
He smiled at her. “You know military tactics, eh? You’re more than a poisoner? I presume so. Yes, it is normally a good sign. We thought we were striking the main front of the army, but we had attacked on the flank where their lines were thin. The victory was a costly one for Deford’s army, but while they lost several thousand men, we lost more. When my men saw they were surrounded, many tried to flee back to Vernay for protection. Deford cut them down in their retreat. Many commanders drowned in the moat. The counts of Omaul and Chevronne both died like that. Good men, princes of the blood. Once our main army was in retreat, Deford encircled the Atabyrions and slew them almost to the man, taking few for ransom. When the battle was over, Deford marched triumphantly back to Pree, the capital of Occitania, and was met with a celebration as if he were King Andrew himself.” His lip quivered with disgust. “He took the victory as a sign that the Fountain was on the side of Ceredigion. It was a festive moment. And I was sent to Callait to rot for five years.”
Ankarette looked at him compassionately. Her heart ached for the man, but even more for his young wife. “Such a fall must have been very difficult for you.”
Alensson started pacing, stroking his chin and cheeks with a wrinkled hand. He was a such a riddle of a man, one that had fascinated her for years. Again she was struck by the enormous opportunity that was laid before her, to learn his history from his own mouth instead of a book.
“Of course it was!” he said with vehemence. “But I did not let the imprisonment shake me. Or shape me. The Fountain favors the bold. I was determined to be free, to repay every crown that had been borrowed on my behalf. I longed to see my wife. You cannot imagine what torture it was being parted from her. I thought she would hate me as the months rolled on. I could not see her, but we could write to each other. How her notes of encouragement comforted me. I grew to love her more in those years of privation than many husbands ever love their wives.” He swung his arms wildly to emphasize his point. “Troubles are the furnaces, my dear. Troubles and heat, troubles and heat. Does not a baker need fire to stiffen the dough? For every kind of pie, there is the proper time in the ovens. The Fountain has a purpose—nay a recipe!—for each of us. If we endure the flames well, then we become more than the eggs, the flour, the spices, the drabs of honey!”
Ankarette smiled at his comparison. “I’ve never heard it put that way, but you are right. Even my own king, the man that I serve, was captured and held prisoner. It was his adversity that helped him establish a strong kingdom.”
Alensson snapped his fingers and then wagged his pointer at her. “You see it, Ankarette Tryneowy. You understand it!” His eyes were big and eager. “In my five years as a prisoner in Callait, I did not rot . . . I cooked. Some men grow lazy in confinement. They grow cynical. I only grew more ambitious. I kept my body hard and firm by practicing with the guards. Through it all, I was a good-natured captive. Gall never attracts bees. You know this to be true! One year turned to two, then two turned to three. My wife, Jianne, helped bring it all together. She could have left me in the dust. Many women would have. Instead, she lived in a humble cottage. She kept a few fine gowns, of course, for when she needed to visit a countess or an earl, but she lived humbly, her only constant companion a single maid who never abandoned her, and she wrote to me, and slowly she assembled a vast fortune. Two hundred thousand crowns!” His voice throbbed with unquenched devotion. “She bought my release with sweat, and patience, and promises to repay that we dared not hope to be able to fulfill. When the sum was gathered, even Deford was surprised. He’d hoped to be able to keep me captive until he’d vanquished the rest of Occitania.” A sly grin stole over his mouth. “But his ambitions had proven to be more of a challenge than he’d thought.”
Ankarette felt a blossoming admiration for this woman she’d never met. “When were you reunited with your wife?”
He folded his arms and leaned back against the window abutment. “It was the summer, nearly five years after the failure of Vernay.” He paused. “At the time, they said Vernay was a repeat of Azinkeep. But no one remembers it anymore.”