Page 6 of Whiskers and Wiles

Someone else of his old acquaintance believed the same thing, if the whispers and evidence he’d stumbled across at various points in the past twenty years was anything to go by. He knew full well that Kat was a spy in service to Queen Matilda of Mercia, just as she knew, or at least thought she knew, that he was a spy in service to King Swithin. They each knew what the other was fighting for, and often in the past few years their paths would cross. But part of Waldorf despised the idea that his worst enemy was working to achieve the same goal that he was.

“Enough, enough!” King Swithin shouted, banging his ringed hand on the table.

The startling noise shook Waldorf out of his thoughts and silenced the other men around the table, who had continued to debate while he’d drifted off to the past.

“I’ve had enough of this discussion,” the king went on. “We’re not getting anywhere, and I’m hungry. This meeting is adjourned until such a time as one of you can bring me something more interesting to add to the discussion than you’ve already brought.”

The men around the table glanced to each other in surprise, like they couldn’t imagine anything new to add to the topic.

“What more do you need to hear?” Cuthbert asked. “It’s a simple matter of keeping the men in charge, the way God intended. God is a man, after all.”

“I believe there is a growing movement in Mercia to return to the old religions, where a Mother Goddess is worshiped,” Desmond pointed out.

“Blasphemy!” Lord Jeremy gasped. “The Bible says?—”

“No, no, no!” King Swithin cut him off, grimacing and waving his arms as he did, before the man could go on. “Take your theologizing somewhere else. I’m not interested. Go! All of you!” After a few blinks and a moment of hesitation, the men at the table pushed their chairs back and stood. “Not you, Waldorf,” the king added in the midst of the din of scraping chairs, causing Waldorf to pause halfway through rising.

Waldorf glanced across the table to find Cuthbert staring peevishly at him. A few of the others looked jealous that Waldorf had been asked to stay while they had not. At least one of the others sent Waldorf a sympathetic look, like he was about to be dressed down for something, before rushing from the room.

“What a bunch of buffoons,” King Swithin said, pushing himself to stand once everyone else had gone and he andWaldorf were alone. “The whole lot of them doesn’t have a pair of brains to rub together.”

Waldorf arched one eyebrow at the unusual metaphor. “If you say so, your majesty,” he said.

“I do,” King Swithin said. He finished standing and gestured for Waldorf to follow him over to a much more comfortable set of chairs under one of the windows that looked out onto the streets of London below.

Even though Joint Parliament did not begin for another fortnight, all of the monarchs of the New Heptarchy and most of the important nobles in Britannia had already flocked to London. The city-state increased in size fivefold during the winter months, when Joint Parliament was in session. Waldorf could hear the hustle and bustle of merchants whose yearly livelihood depended on commerce during the next few months and smell the delicious scent of baking bread that wafted up from the bakery across the street from Wessex’s embassy, where King Swithin stayed while in London.

“I’m through with all this unity talk,” King Swithin said, as grouchy as ever. Waldorf nearly choked on his own spit in shock at the king’s seemingly divisive statement until he went on with, “I want unity for Britannia and I want it now.”

“That is good to hear, your majesty,” Waldorf said.

“Furthermore, I do not care if Britannia is united under the Mercian Plan or some other plan,” the king continued.

That shocked Waldorf almost as much as the idea of Swithin not wanting unity at all.

“You wish to see unity under Mercia’s laws?” Waldorf asked to be clear.

Swithin sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m not as young as I used to be,” he said. “I’m tired. I would like nothing more than to retire to my estate near Winchester and to live out the rest of my days shooting and napping in the sunshine.”

Waldorf couldn’t decide whether to frown or smile at that picture. “Why not simply abdicate to Cuthbert, then?” he asked.

“Because Cuthbert is a dolt who would drive Wessex into the ground,” the king answered quickly and loudly. “I would rather live forever and be forced to remain as king than have that idiot become king.”

Waldorf truly did want to laugh then, but he refrained.

“The only way I see myself gaining the peace I desire in life is if Britannia is unified and Wessex falls under central rule,” Swithin went on. “And the only waythatis going to happen is if the Mercians get their way.”

“I agree,” Waldorf said cautiously. He did agree, and he believed the Mercian Plan was the only way Britannia would unite. But to hear his uncle say he wished to covertly support the plan, which was what he was essentially saying, came as a surprise in so many ways.

It was a welcome bit of news, though. All these years, and at last, Wessex was about to comply with the mission of the Badger Society. Waldorf never would have thought that the deciding factor would have been King Swithin’s reticence to have his own son assume the throne of Wessex.

“What do you wish me to do next, your majesty?” Waldorf asked.

King Swithin sighed impatiently. “I don’t know, man,” he said. “That’s your mission, not mine. I simply want you to ensure that debate about the Mercian Plan begins when Joint Parliament does in two weeks. Once that happens, I should be able to order Wessex’s ministers to vote for it.”

Waldorf could hardly believe his ears. “Yes, your majesty,” he said, pushing himself to stand. “I shall begin my efforts immediately.”

“Go on with you,” the king said, making shooing motions with one hand while rubbing his temples with the other.

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