The King's Deryni (46 page)

It seemed a cold resolution to Alaric, who rather liked both Haldane princesses, but he knew there would be no appeal from the king's decision—and the queen's. When he returned to his apartment, he shared a little of what had happened with Duncan, in strictest confidence. All aside from the matter of Xenia's fate, and whether or not Count Sigismund had used his powers to seduce her, the expulsion of the Torenthi diplomats had troubling implications for all Deryni in the kingdom.

“I do understand why the king has taken such measures,” Alaric concluded. “Not only did a Torenthi Deryni use his powers on the king's sister, but he tried to control me. If he'd gotten the chance, he might even have mind-ripped me—or at least tried. But I do feel sorry for Xenia.”

Duncan nodded slowly. “Bad business all around. But it surely can't have been her choice, to marry Sigismund. I mean, if he forced her . . .”

Alaric shrugged. “At this point, it hardly matters, does it? She's a king's sister, and her honor must be upheld. And the king can't very well have foreign Deryni operating openly at his court, now, can he? Other than me, of course, once I'm grown—and I'm not foreign. But for now, de Nore and some of the other bishops are already trying to crack down on Deryni in the kingdom. We'll just have to keep our heads down.”

On the following Sunday, in the chapel royal of Rhemuth Castle, marriage banns were read for the coming union of Her Royal Highness the Princess Xenia Nuala Jaroni Swynbeth Haldane of Gwynedd with Sigismund Borislav Graf von Golzców, late of the court of the Torenthi Duke of Arkadia. Only Count Constantin and a pair of bodyguards were present to stand by the prospective groom, for the remainder of the Torenthi party had been ordered to depart earlier in the week, escorted to their ship at Desse by a company of Haldane lancers. The Torenthis were less than happy with the arrangement, but were obliged to accept the measure with reasonable grace. Alaric, for his part, was ordered to maintain a low profile until after the royal wedding—and to stay well away from the remaining Torenthi lords.

On the second day of February, the Feast of Candlemas, the Archbishop of Rhemuth presided over the marriage of Princess Xenia with Count Sigismund: a quiet affair celebrated at the chapel royal, in the presence of her Haldane kin and Count Constantin, who stood as witness for the groom. The king gave his sister in marriage, expressionless as he set her hand into that of Count Sigismund. The queen wept throughout. Afterward, following a modest wedding supper, the couple took up temporary residence in an apartment adjacent to the king's, until arrangements could be made for their departure for the groom's homeland. In the meantime, keeping Count Constantin amused became the responsibility of Duke Richard.

It was hardly an ideal situation. Under the circumstances, nothing could be deemed ideal, but honor had been satisfied. Few options seemed available for the immediate future, as winter deepened and the court turned to mostly sedentary activities. The pages and squires resumed their training, now geared to academic instruction or drill in the great hall. The king's thoughts, when they were not brooding on his sister's fate, turned to more serious contemplation of his own marital future, and more thoughtful scrutiny of the portraits given him by the Crown Prince of Bremagne and Prince Joscerand. He had known from the outset that the two younger girls were entirely too young, and he was not inclined to wait while they grew to appropriate young womanhood, but the eldest . . .

He decided that he should meet the young lady in question: Jehane Julienne Adélaïde de Besançon, Princesse de Bremagne. He and his crown council had only begun logistical planning for the journey, which would also call at several other foreign courts, when an unexpected visitor made an appearance at Rhemuth just at dusk, demanding audience with the king.

“He—ah—says that he is Count Constantin's elder brother, Sire,” Jiri Redfearn reported. The king was at table in the great hall with his uncle and Constantin himself, who immediately broke into a wide grin and glanced at Brion.

“And about time, too,” he muttered. “May he be admitted to the hall, my lord?”

Brion looked momentarily bewildered. “But, there hasn't been time to—”

Constantin only raised an eyebrow. “My lord, we
are
Deryni. Did you not think I would notify my family of my whereabouts?”

“Yes, of course,” Brion murmured, signing for Jiri to see to it as he and Richard and, then, Constantin all rose. Alaric had been serving at table at the far end of the hall, away from Constantin, and watched as Jiri quickly passed between the two long tables of gawking men set along the sides of the hall. As the great doors parted, Jiri greeted the men waiting outside, then led them back up the hall: perhaps half a dozen, wearing fur hats and fur-lined coats of bright brocades, led by a retainer holding aloft a sheathed sword with a white kerchief tied to the hilt. The man beside him, obviously the senior among them, was more richly dressed than the others, and Constantin immediately descended the stairs to embrace him.

“Brother, you come at last!”

“I should have preferred to wait until the spring, but I do appreciate the urgency. Pray, present me to your host.”

“Of course.” Constantin gave a little bow and turned to face the king. “My lord, permit me to present my eldest brother, Count Sergei Furstán-Arkadia, Regent of Arkadia, who has come to escort us home.”

“My lord,” Count Sergei said with a stiff nod.

“Count,” Brion replied coolly, returning the nod. “Have you supped?”

“We have not, my lord.”

“Then, perhaps you would care to join us.” Brion gestured toward the other side of the table where, at his nod, squires hastily began moving benches into place. “You must be cold and weary from your journey, from . . . ?”

“From Desse, my lord,” Sergei replied, removing his fur hat and shaking snowmelt from his side-braids as he mounted the steps and took a seat opposite the king. “At this time of year, it was not precisely a pleasant voyage along the coast, but my brother indicated that the newlyweds are eager to return to Arkadia. May I ask where they are?”

“Count Sigismund and my niece prefer to take most of their meals in their apartments,” Duke Richard said evenly, before Brion could answer. “I am Richard Haldane Duke of Carthmoor, the king's uncle,” he added, by way of introduction. “I trust you will agree that the situation is . . . somewhat irregular.”

Count Sergei inclined his head and smiled faintly. “So I am led to believe.” He picked up a cup that Paget had hastily filled. “But I drink to all your health, gentlemen,” he went on. “And we shall endeavor to depart soon after first light, lest we strain your hospitality unduly.” He lifted his cup. “To a peaceful night!”

It was a sentiment to which no one could take exception.

•   •   •

R
ATHER
than dawn, it would be nearly noon before the Torenthi party actually rode out of the castle yard. The count's announcement threw the queen's household into turmoil, given the short notice, but Alazais and the other ladies-in-waiting helped organize Xenia's belongings for transport. No one slept that night. The queen was near hysterical, faced not only with packing a trousseau that was not yet complete—though the remainder would be sent on, later in the summer—but also the imminent loss of her elder daughter. Silke, soon to be bereft of her only sister, quite possibly forever, wept inconsolably through most of the night. Xenia alone, of the royal ladies, remained exhilarated and focused, finally about to embark upon her new life.

All the court assembled the next morning to see off the bride and her Torenthi groom, lining up on the great hall steps. A troop of Haldane lancers waited in the grey March sunshine to escort the bridal party to Desse, crimson pennons bright against the snow. Trumpeters sounded a final fanfare for their Haldane princess as Xenia emerged with her husband at the top of the steps, muffled against the cold in a magnificent fur hat and fur-lined robe in the Torenthi fashion, brought as a wedding gift by Count Sergei. The king, his mother, his brother and remaining sister, and his uncle followed, and Brion himself handed the princess onto her favorite grey palfrey, stretching upward to bestow a final kiss on his sister's cheek before giving Count Sigismund a curt nod and stepping back with the rest of his family.

Alaric watched with Llion from one of the gatehouse walks as the bridal party rode out, careful to do nothing that might draw Torenthi attention to him. As Xenia passed under the gatehouse arch, she glanced back at her mother, her brother and sister, and lifted a hand in farewell, but Alaric did not think she looked quite as happy as she had when she emerged from the great hall.

“Do you think she is regretting that she married him?” Alaric asked Llion in a low voice.

“I think that, already, things may not be turning out quite as she had imagined,” Llion replied softly. “Or she could be breeding already,” he added with a shrug.

Alaric looked at him in alarm. Only recently had he begun to be aware of what a marriage actually entailed.

“She might be pregnant?” he said, half in disbelief.

“If I were a Torenthi count being pressured to protect the virtue of a sister of the King of Gwynedd by marrying her,” Llion said dryly, “I would make it my highest priority to put a Torenthi son in her belly as quickly as possible. Or perhaps that was his plan from the beginning.”

Alaric shivered, trying not to imagine what it must be like for Xenia, who surely had been an innocent, despite her protestations of worldly sophistication. Count Sigismund, for his part, had struck Alaric as a cad from the beginning, arrogant and self-centered.

“I pray that we are wrong about him, Llion,” he said, watching as the last of the Haldane escort moved out of sight to pass through Rhemuth town. “And I pray that God and our Lady will protect Xenia. I wish I understood why the king insisted that they marry.”

“To preserve the honor of Gwynedd,” Llion replied, looking away. “It is part of the price of a crown.”

“But continue thou in the things which thou hast learned and hast been assured of, knowing of whom thou hast learned them.”

—II TIMOTHY 3:14

T
HE
weather began to improve as March progressed. The winter had not been particularly hard. As the spring thaws began, indoor study and drill began to give way to more outdoor pursuits, though capricious spring rains could still wreak havoc with planned activities. Mud became the bane of stable grooms and castle laundresses.

Alaric continued to apply himself, practicing hard during the lengthening days and spending many an evening immersed in games of cardounet with Paget and sometimes with Llion or Jiri, though Llion disappeared for a few weeks just before Easter to take Alazais to Morganhall, where she would remain until after the birth of their first child. Jamyl's wife was also with child now, and suffering greatly from morning sickness.

Meanwhile, with the last of the guests finally gone and two of his knights soon to become fathers, the king began to look more seriously to his own future, especially the choice of a royal bride. He had already been presented with portraits of the King of Bremagne's three daughters, for his consideration. Alaric was not privy to what went on behind the closed doors of the council chamber, but he was one of the first ones chosen to accompany the king on his planned mission to Bremagne. Paget, now a senior squire of nearly seventeen, was also selected. The two were pleased and eager as the king called them into his withdrawing room, where Duke Richard was also waiting.

“I know there has been a great deal of speculation about who might become my eventual queen,” he told the pair, “but if I'm to make an informed decision, I need to start making the acquaintance of prospective royal brides. I certainly wouldn't agree to a marriage without meeting the woman in question.” He flashed them a nervous grin. “Besides, exposure to foreign courts is good experience for my future knights.”

The king had determined to keep his party small on this venture, lest he frighten prospective brides, but he did take along some of his most trusted advisors: Jiri Redfearn, Tiarnán Macrae, Jamyl Arilan, and Llion. Jamyl would have been permitted to bow out, for his wife of less than a year was enduring a difficult pregnancy; but he had determined instead to send her to the family seat at Tre-Arilan for her lying-in.

“Llion has the right idea,” he told the king, as they considered options over a pitcher of ale. “There's nothing either of us could do if we stayed. On the other hand, there might be a great deal we could do, if you started to choose an unsuitable wife!”

Chuckling, the king only shook his head. “Thank you, gentlemen.”

They left Rhemuth early in May, riding down to Desse with a small escort to meet the king's ship
Caeriesse
. By the end of May, with stops along the way at Concaradine and Nyford, they were sailing into Coroth's harbor. There, to Alaric's pleased surprise, the king had allowed for a two-week stay before continuing on their mission.

The visit began like most previous visits, given his increasing age. Now in his twelfth year, his regents deferred to him increasingly, at least in lesser matters, and now regarded him as a young man, and their future duke in fact. There were times, to be sure, when the king met in private with Corwyn's regents, to advise and be advised. But the regents were also careful to schedule assize courts and general audiences and even a few local progresses into the countryside, where Alaric himself had nominal command. Having watched and learned at his father's knee and then at the king's side, he had a grasp of protocol and legal precedent far beyond his years. And when Llion put him through his paces in training sessions with Corwyn's older pages and some of the squires, the boy excelled far beyond what his future staff had dared to hope.

“His trainers at Rhemuth have taught him well,” said Lord Hamilton, the seneschal, as he and Sir Crescence de Naverie, another regent, watched Alaric spar with a senior squire, using blunted steel and padded armor. “Given his rank, some of us feared he might be allowed to slack off from his training.”

Llion snorted, for he himself had trained as a squire under Lord Hamilton before being knighted by Alaric's father. “You think Duke Richard would allow
any
of us to slack off, my lord?”

“Well, it
is
a royal court,” Sir Crescence said, with an apologetic shrug. “And Alaric is a future duke. Exalted rank sometimes causes more allowances to be made than is wise.”

“None of us would be doing him any favors, if we were to allow that to happen,” Llion replied. “The king has great hopes for him.
I
have great hopes for him.”

Hamilton smiled. “And you have fulfilled the hopes we had for
you
, young Llion. I understand that you have wed the youngest of Alaric's half-sisters.”

“I have,” Llion said with a grin, “and she carries our first child. With luck, I shall return before she is delivered, but if not, she is in good hands with a sister and her aunt at Morganhall.”

Hamilton nodded speculatively. “You go from here to Bremagne, do you not?”

“Aye, and to several other destinations along the way.”

“Ah, yes, it all begins,” Sir Crescence mused. “Do you think the king will find a bride there?”

“Perhaps,” Llion said. “The King of Bremagne has several daughters. The King of Fallon has a niece. And there will be other noble ladies vying for his notice, wherever else we may call along the way. But methinks this bride-finding venture is only just beginning.”

The visit to Coroth also offered opportunities for Alaric to reconnect with a few of the friends he had made there. Viliam, alas, was not in residence, for he had been called back to his father's estates for further training, but Alaric did manage a few cardounet matches with Jernian Kushannan, whose skills had only sharpened since their last meeting. Jernian played with Paget as well, and trounced him handily, though Jernian was not yet fourteen and Paget was three years older.

Alaric teased Paget about the loss, but he was happy for Jernian, who had inherited his father's title two years before, and was still in much the same state of limbo as Alaric, with his own set of regents to administer his holdings. That change in status, plus his poor vision and less than outstanding physical ability, had encouraged his regents to shift his training increasingly to more academic pursuits, since he still professed himself keenly interested in military tactics.

“It will be an excellent use of his talents,” Brion declared, after watching Jernian and Alaric run a battle plan on a map of the local area. “That was nicely done, lads.”

“Thank you, Sire,” Jernian said with a grin, as Alaric clasped his shoulder in agreement.

In all, both the king and Alaric were pleased with the course of the visit, and felt confident that the Corwyn regents were doing an admirable job of running the duchy—as, indeed, they had done, off and on, for several generations now.

It seemed a perfect visit, and was made all the more special when, on their last evening in Coroth, the king had Llion and Jiri organize a special supper for all of Alaric's regents, held in the more intimate setting of the council chamber rather than the great hall. Paget and Jernian happily served both Alaric and the king that night and, when the meal was mostly ended, moved expectantly to either side of the king as he settled into his chair and glanced aside at Alaric, seated at his right hand.

“By your leave, gentlemen, I've a mind to conduct one item of my own business before we adjourn for the evening,” he said to the assembled regents, signing for Llion to join him at the head of the table. “Alaric, I have done some thinking, and I don't believe I really need a page to accompany me to Bremagne tomorrow.” He raised an eyebrow at the boy, and Alaric's heart sank. “What I do need—and I had planned for it from the start—is a second squire to assist Master Paget. Would you please come and kneel?”

Astonished and delighted, Alaric scrambled to his feet and hastily moved to obey the royal instruction.

“I know he is still a few months shy of twelve,” the king went on, turning his attention to the regents, “but as I hope you will agree, he is a very accomplished not-yet-twelve, as well as your future duke. Alaric, here before your regents, may I assume that you are willing to assume the duties and privileges of a Haldane squire?”

“I am, Sire,” Alaric said, grinning as he lifted his joined hands to the king.

The king smiled and briefly took Alaric's hands between his own.

“I have already received your oaths,” he said, “so I think we need not repeat them here.” He extended his right hand to Llion, who passed him the dagger of a Haldane squire. “Take this dagger as a symbol of those oaths, and as a reminder of your duty always to protect and serve my person and my crown.”

Eyes bright with unbidden tears, Alaric took the dagger and slipped it partially from its scabbard to kiss the blade, then closed and shoved it into his belt as Paget and Jernian knelt to buckle on the squire's spurs of blued-steel.

“The spurs were mine, when I served as squire to my father and Duke Richard,” Brion said, quirking a pleased smile at Alaric's look of surprise. “I had two pairs, and Nigel wears the other. Wear them as a reminder of your aspiration to knighthood.”

Alaric glanced back at his heels in delight as his friends finished buckling on the spurs, but he sobered as Llion brought forward the squire's doublet of Haldane crimson, ensigned on the left breast with the Haldane badge of a crowned lion rampant.

“One last thing, and we're done here,” Brion said, signing for Alaric to rise. “Receive the livery of my house. Wear it with pride and honor, that all may know you serve the Crown of Gwynedd.”

Alaric scrambled to his feet and held out his arms to shrug into the doublet that Llion offered—snug over his other clothes—then pressed his right hand to the badge on the left breast: the crowned golden lion rampant. He glanced around at his regents as they broke into applause and cheers.

“Surprised, are we?” Llion murmured, close by his ear.

“You know I am,” Alaric replied, so that only Llion could hear. “But very, very pleased.”

•   •   •

T
HEY
sailed with the morning tide. Alaric proudly wore his new livery as a Haldane squire as he took his leave of his regents and Jernian, and rode down to the harbor beside Paget, following the king.

The ship was waiting at the quay. The day was brisk, the winds fair. Brion's royal standard lifted straight from its mast as they caught the breeze and the tide. After sailing out between the twin beacons that guarded the harbor mouth, they headed due south and westerly until they passed south of the Isle d'Orsal, whose citadel dipped its banners in salute as they came abreast of it. They continued southward off the sandy beaches of Joux all afternoon, putting in that night at the Vezairi port of Trancault to sleep and take on local provisions.

“My father's first queen was Vezairi,” Brion mused, as he and his immediate companions supped at an inn close to the seafront. “I'm told she was quite beautiful—and gentle, like her name: Dulchesse. Very sadly, she proved barren—or near as makes no difference. Though she did produce several babes, they were all stillborn or died soon after birth. But her father was a grand duke of Vezaire: Nivelon, I think he was called.” He shrugged and lifted his cup of Vezairi white port. “That was a very long time ago.”

“To Queen Dulchesse,” Jiri said, raising his cup.

When all of them had drunk to the memory of the late queen, Alaric ventured a question of his own.

“Sire, have you been to Vezaire before?” he asked, for he and Paget had been allowed to sit at table with Llion, Jiri, Jamyl, and Tiarnán.

“No, never farther south than Tralia and the Hort of Orsal, though I'm told the southern kingdoms have their beauty. I imagine we'll see a bit of that on this trip, won't we?” Brion drained the last of his wine and rose.

“We'd best see about getting some sleep. The captain made it clear that he doesn't want to miss the morning tide.”

They stayed ashore that night, for the king preferred not to sleep aboard ship unless there were no other options. Next morning, awakened early by the bells of nearby churches and the cathedral farther up the hill, they walked with the king in the harbor market while they waited for the tide, breaking their fast with warm bread and boiled eggs and crusty cheese from canopied market stalls. Brion remarked that he had never tasted finer, and seemed to enjoy this experience of normalcy.

They sailed with the morning tide, and spent the day watching the sandy beaches of Vezaire give way to the marshy coastline of Logreine, with its serried vineyards marching up the hillsides beyond. That night, they anchored in the chalk-cliffed bay before Fianna, where Gezelin Count of Fianna entertained them to supper at his summer house perched on a bluff above. They dined on roast capon stuffed with bread and onions and apples, along with sea bass, and succulent pork carved off a carcass turning on a spit above the fire pit in the center of the hall. To wash it down, Count Gezelin produced some of the finest Fianna red that Alaric had ever tasted, for even the squires were seated at the table with the king and his knights.