The King's Deryni (22 page)

Sighing, Alaric nodded and turned to sink down on his haunches against the wall beneath the window, hugging his arms around his knees, not meeting Llion's gaze as he slid to a sitting position.

“Alaric,” Llion said softly, “what you tried to offer to Maxen was an act of kindness, to ease his pain—except that you are who and what you are. Aside from the danger to
you
, there might have been a danger to Maxen. There are those who would view such a ‘kindness' as a corruption, the imposition of an evil power—a taint that might haunt young Maxen for the rest of his life.”

Alaric had looked up in horror as Llion spoke, his eyes wide.

“But, that isn't true—”

“Of course it isn't true,” Llion replied. “But many believe that it is. Remember the grey mare, lad. They would say, ‘Oh, Maxen of Coldoire. He let a filthy Deryni lay hands on him, to spare him pain. Do not trust him, because a godless Deryni sorcerer has corrupted him. The devil has besmirched his soul.' That is what some would say.”

Llion had not raised his voice, but his tone cut like a lash, underlining ugly words that both of them had heard all too often. Alaric flinched as if struck by physical blows, and buried his face in his folded arms atop his knees. After a moment, Llion realized that the taut shoulders were shaking in silent sobs. Sighing, he moved quietly to sit beside the boy, enfolding the taut shoulders and holding him close until the sobbing finally ebbed.

“Alaric, you did nothing wrong,” Llion said at last. “You must learn better discretion, but your heart is true. With time, they will forget—those who even understood what you offered. And in another fortnight, we shall be away from here, at least for a time.”

They did not go downstairs for supper that night; and later, when Kenneth and the king returned, Llion told the boy's father about the incident, and all of them resolved to be more careful in the future.

•   •   •

T
HE
final days of Advent approached at last, and with them all the preparations for the great feasts of Christmas and Epiphany. Late Advent also brought a reunion of Alaric with his beloved cousin Duncan, who arrived a week before Christmas with his parents, his elder brother, and an escort of bordermen from the highlands of Cassan, colorful and exotic in their tartans of green and black and white.

The first night of their arrival, ducking out early from the feast to welcome the new Duke of Cassan and his family, the two boys betook themselves to Alaric's room, in the apartments he shared with his father and Llion, where they could be assured of privacy to catch up on all that had transpired during their separation. First, of course, was the very disturbing interview with Duke Richard, warning him not to use his powers openly, which went double for Duncan.

“You can block pain?” Duncan whispered, wide-eyed.

Alaric nodded slowly. “I think I started on animals, and then I did it for Llion, when his horse bit him.”

“A horse
bit
Llion?” Duncan repeated, wide-eyed.

“Well, it was one of the stable horses, not any of our regular mounts—and I did distract him.”

“Can you show me?” Duncan wanted to know.

“Not here, not now,” Alaric replied. “After Twelfth Night, when I go back to Culdi with you. It isn't safe here.”

Duncan accepted the decision with good grace. “That's probably a good idea. Maybe Mama can help, too.”

“I'm hoping she can.”

Alaric's report of beginning to Truth-Read was also relegated to another day and time, before they shifted to the less dangerous topic of pages' training at court, and identifying friend and foe among the other pages and squires, and Alaric's apparent aptitude for military tactics.

“You really tried to read Orkény in the original?” Duncan asked disbelievingly, when Alaric had told him how he came to receive special tutorials with Duke Richard.

“Well, how was I to know it had been translated?” Alaric countered. “I found the Torenthi version when I was rummaging around in the royal library, and the king had already said that I could borrow anything I liked. Aunt Delphine's tutoring proved useful, though. I was able to puzzle out the most important points well enough to impress Duke Richard.”

“Which is no easy feat, from all that I've heard,” Duncan replied. “You must tell me all about it.”

In the coming days, Alaric would do precisely that, but mostly, since regular pages' and squires' training had been suspended for the Christmas interval—other than Duke Richard's continued tutelage of his new protégé—the two played like the boys they were, haunting the stables and the castle kitchens, exploring the vast corridors of Rhemuth Castle, and secretly observing life at court.

On the day after Christmas, having heard Christmas Mass in the chapel royal on the feast day itself, they accompanied their fathers in the traditional procession that marked St. Stephen's Day, when the king and his family rode down to the cathedral in their finery and crowns. There, after a Mass in honor of the first Christian martyr, St. Stephen, it was the custom of the king to hear informal petitions on the cathedral steps while the queen and her ladies distributed largesse to the city's poor. On this occasion, while the new Duchess Vera attended on the dowager queen and the king's two sisters, assisting in the distribution of alms, the boys served among the pages helping to carry the parcels of food and clothing.

Kenneth and Jared attended as part of the king's entourage, though it was Brion himself, assisted by his uncle, who actually received the petitioners. As Kenneth and Jared observed from the sidelines, Kenneth found himself reminiscing about another St. Stephen's Day, now nearly a decade past, when, with the late king's permission, he had asked for the hand of Alaric's mother.

“I'll never know where I found the courage to actually ask her,” he told Jared quietly, as they watched a young widow present a petition to the king and bask in his undivided attention. “Granted, I knew that Donal desired the match. I was a safe pair of hands, and I was aware that he had already informed Alyce of his wishes, so I knew she wouldn't turn me down. But I'd never dared to hope that our marriage would go so far beyond what one usually expects of an arranged marriage. She made me feel like a young man again, Jared.”

“I know you miss her,” Jared said quietly.

“Every day.” Kenneth allowed himself a heavy sigh, then braced himself with a smile. “And lately, with her gone, I've been feeling like an
old
man—not that there's anything I can do about that. At least she left me with a son.” He jutted his chin at Alaric, who was handing a bundle to a boy about his age, in tattered clothes and with rags wrapped around his feet. “He'll be a fine man, won't he?”

“Of course. And you have a beautiful daughter, too—and beautiful grown daughters.”

“I do,” Kenneth said softly. “I only hope I live to see all of them grown. I
am
getting old, Jared.”

“Nonsense.”

“No, I'm fifty-three years old, and I haven't stopped since I came of age. I've served three Haldanes, and hope to serve at least one more. But I don't like the feel of this latest Mearan venture.”

Jared looked out over the cathedral steps again, at their sons attending on the queen. “From what I've heard, it isn't apt to become a full-blown military campaign,” he said softly. “I was picking up rumors as we rode down from Cassan. Princess Aude could hang on for months, maybe years. And so long as she does, she won't let Caitrin marry, and the Mearan succession stops with her father.”

“Aude has a grandson, Princess Onora's boy.”

“Young Judhael is destined for the Church, quite possibly a bishopric. He's been in a seminary for several years.”

“Princes have left seminaries before. Cinhil did.”

“True enough. But Caitrin is the one with fire in her belly. However, if she doesn't marry—and she
is
getting on in years—there will be no fiery candidate for her to promote.”

Kenneth stretched in the weak December sun, allowing himself a heavy sigh. “Somehow you manage to reassure me.” He saw the king rising, and shifted his attention to the squires starting to bring up the horses. “It looks like we're done here. I don't know about you, but I'm looking forward to a hot meal when we get back. You cannot fault the Haldanes for their charity, but I have often wondered why they chose Saint Stephen's Day to exercise it. It's always one of the coldest days of the year.”

“. . . Lo, I am come to great estate . . .”

—ECCLESIASTES 1:16

K
ENNETH
spent the next week briefing Jared on the plans for a Mearan visitation and listening while the new duke shared his observations with the king. In addition, the king was busy working with Richard and the chancellor on plans for Twelfth Night court, the most important administrative date in the court calendar.

Unlike many a Twelfth Night in the past, that of 1100 dawned clear and not too cold, enabling many visitors from outlying regions of the kingdom to make the trip to the capital. It was the first of a new century and the first since the king's own knighting. The mood was festive in the great hall of Rhemuth as the court assembled and noon approached, but one of the attendees spelled potential trouble for the Morgans, father and son.

It had occurred to Kenneth that Bishop de Nore might make an appearance, since his nephew was being promoted to squire. Sure enough, de Nore was there among the attendees with his sister and her family, hard to miss in his purple cassock and purple skullcap and great purple cloak. Not on the dais, where the archbishops would sit, but prominent enough by his mere presence, attended by a chaplain and two dour, black-clad household knights.

Llion spotted them just before court was to begin, and came to warn Kenneth and Alaric, who were waiting at the rear of the hall with Jared and his family, since the king had decided that the ceremony of Jared's reception as Duke of Cassan should take precedence over the rest of the court's business. Kenneth was attired in the crimson and white of Lendour, with Lendour's coronet on his brow, and bore the ducal coronets of Cassan on a cushion of azure silk, ready to come forward at the king's command. Alaric stood at his side with the lesser coronet of Kierney on a similar cushion, and wore a surcoat of the Corwyn duchy to which he was heir.

“I suppose he does have a legitimate reason to be here,” Kenneth said sourly, not looking in the direction of the supposed man of God who seemed to serve quite a different God from that revered by Kenneth and his son.

Llion snorted. “Yes, to taunt you and the boy,” he muttered. “Do you think the king is aware that he's here?”

“I'm sure someone will have told him,” Kenneth replied. “Jiri or Tiarnán will have seen him, or even Duke Richard. But there's little that de Nore can do in the full sight of the court, with the king present.”

“So we hope,” Llion muttered.

Kenneth gave a grimace, and Alaric controlled the urge to crane his neck for a look at his nemesis, but Kenneth shook his head minutely.

“Do not let him intimidate you,” he said quietly. “Stay focused. And Llion, I want you to circulate into their general vicinity. Make certain that de Nore sees you. Hopefully, that will discourage anyone from getting carried away by an excess of zeal.”

At that moment, the chamberlain thumped the foot of his staff on the oak floor to call the assembly to order. As Llion headed off in the direction of the de Nores, the crimson-clad dowager queen and her daughters entered the hall from behind the dais, attended by several ladies-in-waiting and a few pages. A second thump as the waiting courtiers settled themselves, and then the herald's cry:

“Pray attend His Majesty, Brion Donal Cinhil Urien Haldane, King of Gwynedd, Prince of Meara, and Lord of the Purple March.”

At this declaration, the king himself entered the hall from the side, preceded by Duke Richard bearing the sword of state and accompanied by the twelve-year-old Prince Nigel, who was currently Brion's heir presumptive. As was customary at important formal courts, Brion wore Haldane crimson and gold, with the Haldane lion
rampant guardant
bold upon the chest of his robe and the snow-white leather of a knight's belt circling his waist. A crimson mantle lined with silver fox was fixed to his shoulders, and the state crown of intertwined leaves and crosses confined the sable hair, which fell loose to his shoulders. Three of the king's gentlemen attended him, taking places behind and around the throne: Jiri Redfearn and Tiarnán MacRae, who were legacies from the old king's reign, and Jamyl Arilan, one of the king's younger boon companions.

Gwynedd's two archbishops followed behind the king and his brother—Desmond of Rhemuth and Paul of Valoret—coped and mitered in festive white and gold, pausing before their chairs of state set to the right of the dais, where the latter gave the assembled company his blessing before all took their seats. First on the agenda, before the expected knightings, and the taking of new squires and pages, came the official recognition of the new Duke of Cassan.

Bare-headed and arrayed in the blue and silver of Cassan, with the sleeping lion and roses upon his chest, Jared stood in the midst of his tartan-clad bordermen, flanked by his wife and his elder son. Duncan, his younger son, bore the sheathed ducal sword across his palms, waiting with Kenneth and Alaric.

The herald glanced at the king and, at his nod, turned his attention to the party waiting at the back of the hall—and at Jared's nod, drew himself up to rap with his staff on the great hall floor.

“Your Majesty, the late Duke of Cassan having passed into the company of his ancestors, his eldest son and heir, the high and mighty Jared Douglas McLain Earl of Kierney, now become chief of all the McLains, makes bold to present himself and his house before the throne of Gwynedd, that he may be recognized in his estate and enter into your homage for the lands and honors of Cassan.”

“Let him approach,” the king replied with an eager smile.

The ducal party moved slowly forward, led by Sir Tesselin of Harkness carrying the banner of Cassan. The Cassani bordermen followed directly behind him, sweeping apart to line a wide aisle through the center of the hall, down which Jared, his lady, and his two sons slowly moved, Duncan leading with his father's sword, to halt half a dozen paces from the stair, where all of them made their reverences.

“Your Majesty,” Jared said, taking another step forward with another, lesser bow, “I regret to inform you of the passing of my father, the high and mighty prince Andrew Tairchell McLain Duke of Cassan, and request that you recognize me as his successor and permit me to enter into your homage for the lands now accruing to me. In token thereto, I surrender up my sword.”

Rising, the king lifted his hand in summons for Jared to approach. Bowing again, Jared took his sword from Duncan's hands and ascended the dais steps to kneel at the king's feet and offer up the sword across his palms. As Brion received the sword, passing it into Prince Nigel's keeping, Jared lifted his joined hands in the ancient gesture of homage and fealty, waiting until the king's hands had encircled his own before speaking.

“I, Jared Douglas McLain, do enter your homage and become your liege man for Cassan and Kierney. Faith and truth will I bear unto you and your lawful successors in all things, so help me God.”

“And I receive your homage most gladly, Jared Douglas McLain,” Brion replied, “recognizing you as Duke of Cassan and Earl of Kierney, and I pledge you my loyalty and protection for so long as you keep faith with me and my house.”

With that, the king released Jared's joined hands and held his open palm out to Prince Nigel, who set a heavy gold signet in his hand. This Brion slid onto Jared's left forefinger.

“Receive this ring as a seal of fidelity to the oath you have sworn, and as a symbol of your authority.”

Gesturing for Kenneth to bring forward the ducal coronets, he took the one intended for Jared and placed it on his brow.

“Receive this princely coronet as a mark of my esteem and trust, and as a symbol of your rank,” he said, turning then to take back Jared's sword from his brother Nigel and lay it across Jared's hands.

“And finally, as a sign of my charge to defend the lands I have entrusted to you, I return your sword.”

“All these charges I shall respect and keep in honor, my Liege,” Jared said, then kissed the cross-hilt before slipping the sword into its hangers at his waist.

He kissed the royal hand, then rose to turn and beckon Vera forward. Taking up the smaller ducal coronet, he set it on his wife's tawny hair, kissed her on both cheeks, then beckoned for Kevin to join them. Alaric followed with Kevin's coronet, wide-eyed and proud to be part of this historic occasion.

“Sire,” Jared said, lifting a hand toward his elder son, “I present my son and heir, Kevin Douglas McLain, and ask that you grant him the courtesy title of Earl of Kierney, to hold that style and title until he comes of age, and then to hold it in truth, eventually to succeed me.”

“I am pleased to grant your request,” the king said. “Young Kevin, kneel and swear fealty to your father.”

Straight-backed and solemn, Kevin came to kneel before his father and offered up his joined hands, which Jared enclosed in his. The eleven-year-old's voice was steady as he made his oath.

“I, Kevin Douglas McLain, do become your liege man of life and limb and earthly worship. Faith and truth will I bear unto you, to live and to die, against all manner of folk, so help me God.”

“And I, for my part, will be a faithful liege to you, Kevin Douglas McLain, giving justice and protection so long as you keep faith with me, so help me God.”

Jared reached across, then, to take the coronet that Alaric offered, placing it on his son's head and then raising him up to kiss him on both cheeks.

“Congratulations, son. Now the
real
work begins!”

“I will not fail you, my lord,” Kevin replied, eyes shining.

There followed the more usual activities of a Haldane Twelfth Night court, for which Alaric, Duncan, and Kevin retired from the dais to rejoin Tesselin and the Cassani men. Duchess Vera was invited to sit with the queen and her ladies.

First came the new pages to be enrolled for pages' training: five wide-eyed seven- and eight-year-olds in clean white tunics and black britches and boots, each to kneel before the king, state his name, and make his promise of loyalty before receiving the scarlet page's tabard that would mark him for the next half-dozen years as a Haldane page. Kenneth had joined the king on the dais, so Alaric watched with Duncan and Kevin, dreaming of the day when he, too, might wear the king's livery—though now he knew, from hard experience, that a page's life was about far more than a smart surcoat.

Next up were the pages being promoted to squire. Alaric found himself standing on his tiptoes to see past Llion, grinning ear to ear as Paget Sullivan came forward with his father to make his pledge of fidelity to the king, then allowed his father to buckle on the blued-steel spurs of a squire. Alaric could imagine his friend's pride as he received his squire's dagger from the king's own hands and kissed the blade in salute.

When Cornelius Seaton likewise had been invested, along with a new boy from Howicce, the queen came forward to bid all three boys exchange their pages' tabards for the more elegant scarlet tunics of a Haldane squire, with the king's cipher embroidered on the left breast. Paget was beaming as he adjusted its folds and cinched it with the plain red leather belt that squires were allowed. The tunics were for more formal occasions and court functions; at other times, a hip-length crimson vest sufficed, over the same white tunic that the pages wore, but even the crimson vests bore the king's cipher: a privilege coveted by all the boys in training. The fathers of the boys looked on in pride as the king gave a final admonition to the newly liveried squires.

Sir Evan Sullivan looked appropriately proud, as did all the fathers. Sir Errol Seaton appeared to be gloating, and Bishop de Nore was not far away, accompanying father and son as they melted back into the crowd. He cast a contemptuous glance at Alaric as he followed his brother-in-law and the new Seaton squire back to his sister.

“That should be the worst of it,” Llion murmured close beside Alaric's ear.

Alaric said nothing, only ducking his head in agreement.

The knightings came last, with only three young men slated to receive the accolade on this day, for a number of candidates had elected to be knighted with the king, the previous summer, even if a bit early. First to be called forward was Claud de Saeva, son of the king's castellan, Sir Robert. Claud had grown up in the castle, training from early childhood with the royal household, so he was well qualified for the honor. Godwin Godreddson was the second son of Captain Godredd Colbertson, an officer of the Marley heavy cavalry, and esteemed for his tactical sense, as Alaric had discovered when called to the king's withdrawing chamber to explain Orkény's battle tactics.

The third and final young man slated for the accolade was Innis de Pirek—or Innis Pirek-Haldane, as was more technically correct, for his family was descended from a distant Haldane cousin, though young Innis had elected to put aside that part of his name, lest he be accused of currying special privileges in the Haldane court. His elder brother, knighted several years before, still used the name—Sir Michael Pirek-Haldane—and their father, Sir Quentin Pirek-Haldane, was the Earl of Carthane. Earl Quentin had made the long ride to Rhemuth for his younger son's knighting, but he did not look well. He leaned heavily on his elder son's arm as they followed Innis and the Carthane banner forward. A squire in the colors of Carthane carried the sword intended for the candidate, with the straps of the golden spurs looped over the quillons.