The King's Deryni (10 page)

“What happens when he's rested enough?” Duncan wanted to know.

Vera suppressed a chuckle at the question: seven-year-olds wrestling with the great conundrums pondered by wise men throughout the ages.

“We don't know that, my love. But God knows His plan for each of us. And the plan for the two of you, right now, is to get yourselves ready to attend Grandrew's funeral. Would you do that for me, while I finish dressing? Duncan, I've laid out that sleeping lion brooch with your plaid—and yes, I
know
that the wool is itchy and hot in summer. Alaric, tell Llion that I said you should put on one of your heraldic surcoats, in honor of your great-uncle. And both of you should wash your faces and comb your hair.”

The boys did as they were bidden, Alaric pulling on his Corwyn surcoat over his shirt and breeches and then rejoining his cousin when it was time to go downstairs. To his surprise, he found his father and Llion in urgent consultation with Jared and a knight he recognized from his father's manor at Morganhall: Sir Calix Howard, who had married his former nurse, Melissa, and stayed on at Morganhall to protect the household there. Alaric's two Morgan aunts lived at Morganhall—Aunt Delphine and Aunt Claara—and also Claara's granddaughter Clarice Fraser, who was six.

More important, his sister Bronwyn lived at Morganhall, and she was only four. He adored Bronwyn, and hoped nothing had happened to her, but the serious expressions on the faces of the grown-ups sent him pelting across the hall to join them.

“Papa, what is it?” he blurted. “Has something happened to Bronwyn?”

“Nay, nay, she is well,” his father replied, circling his son's shoulders with a reassuring arm and giving him a quick hug. “It's your Aunt Claara. She's taken a bad fall and broken her hip. Now, hush while Sir Calix finishes telling me about it.”

Calix, a short, sturdy man in his fifties, with grey-streaked side-braids mingled with his hair, glanced uncertainly at his lord's son and heir, then at Kenneth.

“Shall I really continue, my lord?” he asked in a low voice.

Kenneth inclined his head. “Alaric is the future Duke of Corwyn, Calix. He needs to be exposed to life in all its misfortune as well as its triumphs.”

“Very well, my lord.” Calix ducked his head in agreement. “But whatever the outcome, I fear you will need to make some changes at Morganhall. Lady Delphine declares that she is perfectly able to continue running the estate, as she has long done, but she will need help in the daily management of the household. That has always been Lady Claara's function.”

“I understand,” Kenneth said.

“And you will need to engage several more maids to help with the care of the children,” Calix went on. “My Melissa will help, of course, along with our own daughter, but more hands will be required. And if Lady Claara should not survive this, I think it likely that Sir Paxon will soon come to take little Clarice back to his own people.”

“Aye, that would not surprise me,” Kenneth agreed. “And given what has happened, perhaps 'tis time to reconsider Bronwyn's care, though I had thought to delay a bit longer.”

At Calix's look of question, Kenneth went on.

“It has been in my mind for several months, Calix. The timing is ill, but it has always been my intention eventually to move my daughter to Lady Vera's care, as was the wish of my dear wife.” He cast a sidelong glance at Jared. “But right now, Vera will have her hands full, settling into her new station. I cannot ask that of her yet.”

“That need not be a concern just now,” Jared said low, speaking for the first time. “She must accompany me to Ballymar, of course, to bury my father, and we'll progress through Cassan on the way back here. But I fully intend that Twelfth Night shall see us back in Rhemuth. By then, you should know what changes are required at Morganhall—and I assume that you still intend to visit Lendour and Corwyn this year, as you usually do?”

Kenneth sighed and nodded. “Now, more than ever—especially if I must shift personnel to Morganhall.” He glanced at Llion, who was waiting expectantly. “We'll leave immediately after the funeral, Llion. If you'd be so good as to begin making the arrangements. . . .”

“You needn't stay for that,” Jared interjected. “Family must come first. Andrew would understand.”

Kenneth shook his head. “No, Andrew is my family as well: my mother's only brother. I can spare a few more hours to pay my final respects. Have I time before Mass to write a quick letter to the king? He should know of my change of plans.”

“Use my writing room,” Jared replied, with a gesture toward the withdrawing room off the great hall. “Someone will call you when they're ready in the church.”

“Even a child is known by his doings, whether his work be pure, and whether it be right.”

—PROVERBS 20:11

A
S
it happened, there was more than enough time for letter writing, for the start of Duke Andrew's Requiem was somewhat delayed owing to the sheer number of local folk come to pay their respects to their late duke. Accordingly, it was mid-afternoon before Kenneth could lead his party out the gates of Culdi, riding hard along the route they had traveled only weeks before. As on the journey north, Alaric rode a small horse rather than a pony, but this time with no other child along to keep him company. Fortunately, he was accustomed to interacting with adults, and rode in turn with several of his father's knights besides Llion.

Other than boredom and the hardship of the road, then, their southward journey was uneventful. They reached the ancient Morgan seat nearly a week later, to find that Claara seemed to have survived her injury, but was unlikely ever to walk again. After spending a few minutes at her bedside, and greeting his daughter, Kenneth conferred briefly with Father Swithun and the household steward, Master Leopold, then asked Delphine to join him in his quarters.

“I'm sure you've thought about this in the past several weeks,” he said, pouring her a cup of ale. “Calix tells me that you're going to need additional help, if you're all to remain at Morganhall.”

“Of course we shall remain at Morganhall,” Delphine said indignantly. “Morganhall is our home.”

“And that is why I'm making arrangements to bring in some assistance.”

Delphine nodded, her momentary indignation appeased. “Good. I'm perfectly willing and able to continue managing the estate, but help would be welcome, especially now. Leopold and Calix are treasures, but they are still only two men—and it would ease my mind considerably if we had more of a male presence here. I had been meaning to mention it the last time you were here, but none of us like to admit that we're getting older. Now, with Claara virtually an invalid—well, we
could
use the additional help.”

Kenneth nodded. “I already have some men in mind.”

“I am very glad to hear it,” Delphine replied. “I should hate to see the estate fall into decline. It would be good if there were something left by the time all of us are gone—perhaps a dowry for Bronwyn. God knows, Alaric shan't need the income, what with his duchy and with Lendour after you. But we must think about these things.”

“Indeed, we must,” Kenneth agreed. “I shall have this resolved before the winter snows. Can you manage until then?”

“With God's help. Your daughter Zoë sends us supplies from time to time, and men to help with the harvest. Will you go to Lendour when you leave here? I know she would love to see you and Alaric.”

He smiled. “And I am pining to see my grandchildren. I must make my annual visit to Lendour, in any case—and to Coroth, as well.”

Delphine nodded. “And what of Bronwyn? This is the only home she's ever known.”

“I know that,” Kenneth replied. “And you and Claara are the only mothers she's known. Alyce wanted Vera to have the care of both the children, in time. But now is not the time, with Vera and Jared busy burying Duke Andrew.”

“I'm aware of that,” Delphine said. “And don't mistake me. Bronwyn is a delight, and I don't regret a minute of having her here. But you need to make permanent arrangements sooner rather than later. She's very attached to Claara's granddaughter. Clarice, she's called. Her father will probably arrive any day now. I sent him word soon after Claara's accident, when it became clear that Claara would not be able to care for her any longer.”

In fact, little Clarice's father arrived the following afternoon: Sir Paxon Fraser, a handsome knight in the service of the Earl of Rhendall. After he had greeted his young daughter and paid his respects to his mother-in-law, he joined Kenneth in the solar room that overlooked the castle garden.

“Have a seat and take some ale, Sir Paxon,” Kenneth said, pouring from a glazed pottery pitcher into a pair of treen cups. “It's cold from a spring in the cellar. Just the thing for a sultry afternoon.”

Sir Paxon smiled nervously and sat, taking the cup Kenneth offered and lifting it in salute.

“Thank you, my lord. Good health to you.” He took a long quaff and, at Kenneth's gesture of invitation, held out his cup for a refill.

“You appear to have ridden hard,” Kenneth remarked. “Am I to gather that the Earl of Rhendall keeps you quite busy?”

Sir Paxon gave a genial shrug. “He keeps all his household knights busy. But I have no complaints. He is a good overlord, and has given my son a place as page in his household.”

“Mine is soon to enter Duke Jared's service,” Kenneth said, jutting his chin in the direction of the garden below as he sipped at his ale. “And I gather that our daughters have become fast friends. I am hoping I can persuade you to let her stay here awhile longer, while I sort out more permanent arrangements.”

Paxon glanced into the garden below, where the two girls were playing with a clutch of gangly stable kittens. Nearby, in the shade of a pear tree near the garden wall, the mother cat had found a comfortable perch on Alaric's chest as he sprawled in the cool grass.

“The girls
are
close in age, aren't they?” Paxon replied. “And they seem to get on well. How old is Bronwyn? A little younger than my daughter, I think?”

“She will be five in December,” Kenneth replied, trying not to dwell on the reminder that, in December, it also would be five years since Alyce's untimely death. “How old is Clarice?”

“Six, nearly seven. And she can be a handful. With Claara laid up, Delphine certainly won't be able to keep up with the pair of them.”

“Delphine assures me that she can manage for the present, if she has help,” Kenneth replied. “I intend to leave for Lendour within the week to secure that help. I have retainers there that I can spare. It would only be for a few months—a year at most,” he added hopefully. “I had already planned to move Bronwyn to the care of Vera McLain, as was her mother's dying wish. But frankly, this is not a good time, with Jared just come into his ducal rank. I assume you heard that Duke Andrew passed a few weeks ago.” Paxon nodded that he had.

“Jared and Vera won't even be back in this part of the kingdom until late autumn,” Kenneth went on. “You would be doing me a great service if you'd allow Clarice to stay here until I can make my arrangements. But I do understand, if you'd prefer to have her with you.”

Paxon sighed and sat back in his chair, toying with his cup. “It isn't that, my lord. My own duties keep me often in the field, and she and her grandmother adore one another, so I'd prefer not to deprive them of one another's company—especially not now.” The younger knight looked up with another sigh. “But there are additional factors to consider. Clarice has a brother she hardly knows; I should like to remedy that. Granted, Kian has his duties as page, but they would be in the same household; and the earl has a daughter only a few years older than Clarice: Meraude, she's called. Exposure in an earl's household is far more likely to fetch my girl a good marriage.”

“All true,” Kenneth agreed. “Morganhall can't compete with the household of the Earl of Rhendall.” He sighed. “But we're only talking about a year, maybe less. Claara has survived this current crisis, but one cannot predict the future. And Delphine is not getting any younger, either. Children in the household will help to keep both of them young, but it's only a matter of time before my sisters pass on. For that matter, I'm not getting any younger myself, Paxon, and I have two young children to think of. At least the three grown daughters are settled.”

Paxon nodded slowly. “I do sympathize, my lord. Suppose that, for now, we simply leave matters as they are. For now, I shall leave Clarice here with her grandmother, and we'll discuss this again in the new year.”

“Thank you,” Kenneth said, extending his hand. “I do appreciate it.”

•   •   •

A
LARIC,
for his part, found his days at Morganhall little different from the routine at Culdi or Rhemuth, aside from the opportunity to become better acquainted with his sister. He had seen Bronwyn but little in the first few years of her life, as she changed from infant to toddler, but his father usually did bring him to Morganhall to visit her several times a year.

Lately, however, she was becoming increasingly precious to her elder brother, much more a companion and playmate and less a nuisance. He welcomed the opportunity to help teach her her letters, and to tell her about what he remembered of their mother—of whom Bronwyn had no memory whatsoever. He told her, too, about participating at the king's birthday court, and riding at the tourney, and the sad journey to Culdi. But she had not known Duke Andrew, so his passing meant little to her on a personal level. Nor had she yet met the king.

A love of riding the two of them shared, however, even though Alaric was far more advanced. Llion found her a natural rider, and commended the instruction she had received from Sir Calix and Master Leopold. Bronwyn was managing quite a feisty pony, and clambered right back into the saddle whenever she fell off, which was seldom.

Alaric, by contrast, was deemed to have progressed beyond ponies, by dint of his experience on the rides from Rhemuth and Culdi. Though he would continue to ride ponies when training with other young riders, Llion decided to continue some of his instruction on horses. To that end, Alaric was given the occasional use of a steady and reliable Llanner mare called Dilys, belonging to Sir Calix, and began learning to jump the mare over obstacles in the field.

He soon found that taking a full-sized horse over hedges and ditches was somewhat different from popping one of his ponies over pre-set fences in a riding ring—with the result that he, like Bronwyn, sometimes “dismounted” well before he had intended, and from a greater height than that to which he was accustomed.

“That looked painful,” Llion said, catching Dilys's reins as Alaric picked himself up from a particularly abrupt dismount.

“My balance was off,” Alaric muttered.

“So it was,” Llion replied, and gave him a leg up. “Try that one again.”

But he far preferred riding in the field to going round and round in an arena. He and Llion rode out most mornings, usually with one or another of the other household knights, and Llion gave him sword drill every day, in-between other activities.

Nor was more academic training neglected, though it was not Llion who provided it. For a change of pace, and to keep his mind engaged as well as his growing body, Aunt Delphine had him read family histories to her, and practice his scrivening, and even taught him the Torenthi alphabet.

“You will wish to learn at least a little Torenthi,” she told him, “since Corwyn's nearest neighbor outside Gwynedd is Torenth. It's a challenging language, but there is much to learn from Torenth.”

“But, they're our enemies,” Alaric objected.

“No, some of their leaders merely have other objectives than we do in Gwynedd,” she replied tartly. “You will find that true of many people you think are enemies. Besides, many of them are Deryni, as your mother was. And it is also a very good idea to know your enemy,” she conceded with a wink.

Flashing her a cheeky grin, he returned to copying out a list of simple words in Torenthi.

She also gave him exercises in accountancy, which he would need in the management of the estates he would eventually inherit.

“I know this is not your favorite pastime,” she told him, as he labored over yet another column of figures she had set him to add up, “but one day, the numbers will mean something to you, when they pertain to the production of crops and animals and timber and such, coming from your lands. A knowledge of accountancy is part of the job of every noble lord, be he simple knight or a duke holding vast estates, as you will be.”

The perverse pen he was using chose that moment to deposit an ugly blot on his figures, and he flung it down in exasperation.

“Here, now, none of that, young man,” Delphine said, putting the quill back in his hand and, at the same time, applying a blotter to the mess. “As a future duke, I know you think that you will always have others to do your accounting—and you
will
have clarks aplenty to carry out most of these tasks. But you must be able to go over an account and see for yourself whether the figures are accurate, or whether your reeves and stewards are cheating you.

“It does happen,” she added, as the boy looked up in indignation. “Subordinates sometimes assume that a duke cannot be bothered to concern himself with such details. But many a fine estate has been run into the ground by dishonest stewards, especially when the master or the heir is young—or set apart for some other cause. You know what I'm talking about, young man.”