Enter the enemy's throne room in RAGING SEA by Kim Headlee Ch 2/Sc 1-A #Arthurverse #SundaySnippets

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Copyright by Kim HeadleeToday's snippet represents more material that was cut from an early (circa 1990s) draft of Dawnflight to improve its pacing. It features the activities of an Arabic arms merchant, Adim Al-Iskandar, who is not above carrying, shall we say, less than savory cargo from time to time--if the price is right.

Electronic pack rat that I am and ever loath to waste good material, I found a place for this scene in Raging Sea. It might not make the final cut of this book either, but you are welcome to enjoy the first half of it it today and its concluding half next week!

Previous #SundaySnippets of Raging Sea 
 Chapter 1: Scene 1 | Scene 2 | Scene 3 | Scene 4 | Scene 5 |
Raging Sea Chapter 2, Scene 1-A©2015 by Kim HeadleeAll rights reserved.
ADIM AL-ISKANDAR puffed along behind the pair of guards as they escorted him to the audience hall. More guards followed him bearing the chests containing his most expensive wares. He tried not to think about the sealed gilt trunk made of fragrant pine, the contents of which he dared not guess.

He rubbed his arm where the gold torc pinched, reminding himself to have the bauble lengthened. His benefactress had indeed made the journey worth his while. And it was a bad business practice to ask questions about something that was none of his concern.

His Saxon escorts halted at the huge double doors of the audience chamber to exchange watchwords with the soldiers on duty. With a hand pressed to his silk-wrapped head, he took several deep breaths. The guardsmen swung open the oaken doors. Giving a final tug to his best green-and-red brocaded honey-gold robe and putting on his most genial smile, Adim Al-Iskandar of Constantinopolis entered the presence of the overlord of the West Saxons.

In all his travels, from Alexandria to Tarabrogh, Al-Iskandar had seen few sights to compare to this throne room. Though he was no stranger to Wintaceaster Palace, its splendor always stole his breath.

The vaulted chamber was ablaze with light cascading from clusters of burnished gold lamps suspended on thick chains fastened to the ceiling. Dozens more illuminated the gleaming white limestone walls.

Pairs of tall, fluted, snow-white marble columns marched the length of the hall. Their heads and feet bore the intricate art of a master stonemason. From each column hung the banners of the lesser kings and princes and nobles owing fealty to the king who had built this hall.

Arched recesses interrupted the two longest walls of the chamber at regular intervals. Within each recess stood a soldier of the Royal Guard. Over iron-linked hauberks they wore purple surcoats emblazoned with the crowned White Horse. Each man had a seax and longsword hanging from his belt, gripped a spear in one fist, and held a tall oval ash shield with a pointed iron boss in the other.

A magnificent tapestry smothered the wall between each guard-post. Here was the crossing of the first Saxons from the Continent to the Isle of Brydein at the invitation of the Brytoni King Vortigern, half a century earlier. Over there was a bloody scene from Liberation Night—which the Brytons had dubbed Night of the Long Knives—when the Saxons had rebelled against Brytoni authority by killing scores of nobles during a feast.

Many tapestries depicted heroic battle scenes woven in vibrant crimson and azure and gold to commemorate Saxon conquests on the island. Some portrayed hunts with hounds or falcons in muted forest green and gray and brown. Quarries ran the gamut the factual to the fantastic. The fleet stag raced beside the elusive unicorn; the quail covey fluttered toward the soaring phoenix; the fierce boar charged the ravening dragon.

How many hours of work these priceless treasures represented he could not even begin to guess.

The polished cream-and-jet marble floor was crowded with Saxon nobility dancing attendance upon their king. The men, tall and blond and robust, swaggered about the hall attired in surcoats that matched the columns’ banners. Their ladies were veritable blushing flowers of womanhood, lavishly perfumed and gracefully gowned and adorned with jewels enough to earn the envy of Queen Cleopatra herself.

At the far end of the audience chamber on a raised white marble platform stood the gilt throne. On the wall overhead, the crowned White Horse pranced across a deep purple field. Behind and to either side of the platform stood a dozen more royal guards. The mountain-size warrior standing to the throne’s left had to be their captain.

King Cissa sat his throne in full gold-crowned, ermine-robed, amethyst-sceptered majesty.

As Al-Iskandar jostled through the throng, he squinted to discern the identity of the couple, a middle-aged man and a younger warrior-woman, chatting with the king. They reclined on oaken chairs to either side of the throne, flanked by retainers whose black surcoats bore the Gold Hammer and Fist of the South Saxon King, Ælle.

Like Cissa, Ælle was crowned and robed in ermine. It stood to reason that the woman must be Ælle’s daughter, Princess Camilla. She wore a hauberk of exquisite silver links; purely ceremonial, Al-Iskandar recognized, since unalloyed silver was too soft to protect against the deadly bite of iron and steel. The scabbard strapped to her right hip was made of silver studded with garnets. A pity that the scabbard was empty, in deference to her host, for Al-Iskandar would have traded half his possessions for a glimpse of the weapon housed by such sumptuous furnishings. A slim silver circlet bound the princess’s long golden hair.

This had to be a state visit, then, perhaps to discuss trade agreements. He congratulated himself on his timing.

As gracefully as his bulk would permit, he went to one knee before the dais. “Your Majesties,” he greeted the monarchs in fluent Saxon, bowing and tapping fingers to chest and head. He repeated the gesture to the princess. “Your Highness.”

“Well met, Master Adim Al-Iskandar.” Beaming, Cissa rubbed his bejeweled hands together in childlike anticipation. “What fine weapons and armor have you to show us today?”

As news of the merchant’s wares flew from mouth to mouth across the throne room, most noblemen approached for a closer look.

Instinct warned him to transact his regular business first. While he displayed his costliest swords, daggers, greaves, belts, breastplates, and helmets, the gilt chest remained sealed. He politely but firmly sidestepped all queries about its contents.

***

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