The King's Deryni (47 page)

“You must take some of our wine with you when you sail in the morning,” Count Gezelin said, as he topped up the king's glass. “Your father used to keep a very fine cellar, and always ordered wine from us. It is the mark of a civilized court,” he added, holding up a pale Vezairi glass to the light. “This is a particularly fine vintage.”

They slept again in proper beds that night, guests of Count Gezelin, and departed the next day with several cases of fine Fianna red packed with straw between the bottles.

Fallon was to be their next stop: Fallon, where the king had a niece of marriageable age, said to be intelligent and accomplished. After skirting the rocky coast of Fianna, they rounded the great cape called Jupe de la Vierge and sailed between the steep basalt cliffs guarding the bay at Nikidari, Fallon's capital. At the quay beneath the castle heights, outriders from King Alberic were waiting with horses to escort Brion and his party up the winding road that led to the royal palace.

Said palace proved to be a soaring assortment of whitewashed domes and cupolas, gilded spires, and rich-hued glass. As King Alberic's majordomo led the way up a wide set of pristine marble stairs, Alaric was careful to maintain a fitting demeanor for a squire attending on the King of Gwynedd, but he was also taking in as much as he could of the Fallonish court, noting the livery of royal emerald-green and white on the palace retainers, the well-polished weapons, the sumptuous carving on the columns, the gilt work on the carved doors.

Vast heraldic tapestries adorned the walls of the great hall—he recognized some of the coats of arms from his studies of the great families—and the marble floors gleamed under the broad swaths of sunlight that pierced the high clerestory windows. Their footsteps echoed on the polished marble.

The king's private reception room, to which they were led, was a cool sanctuary of white marble, arched windows, and silken tapestries, with fine Kheldish carpets underfoot and cushions of silk and velvet brocades on the chairs and benches. King Alberic himself was waiting in the wide window bay of the room, along with members of his family: a wife and grown sons, Alaric guessed, and also a thin, somewhat gangly girl in a gown of dark blue who just might be the king's niece they had heard about, though if she was accomplished, it was not in the arts of social interaction.

“Cousin,” King Alberic said, coming forward to extend his hand to Brion in greeting. “Welcome to my home. I trust you will dine with us this evening, and perhaps spend a day or two as my guest.”

“Alas, we may only stay the night,” Brion replied. “But we thank you for your hospitality this evening.”

King Alberic and his queen proved to be amiable hosts, he as tall and thin of body as she was short and stout, both of them somewhat advanced in years. Both were effusive in their welcome and distant with their offspring. Perhaps it came of presenting a niece for their royal guest's assessment whose appearance and demeanor fell somewhat short of what was usually desired in a royal consort. The Princess Kerensa Alathea of Fallon, though richly garbed and no doubt generously dowered, was rail thin and gawky, and somewhat reminded Alaric of a stork, all beaky nose and bushy brows and angled elbows. Her eyes were handsome enough, of a rather engaging sea-foam color, but the wiry hair escaping from beneath her jeweled coronet and silken veil was mouse-brown.

A sallow complexion and crooked teeth did nothing to improve first impressions, nor did her apparent inability to string together more than half a dozen words at a time, when Brion tried to engage her in conversation while at supper. Alaric felt sorry for her, and tried to be both pleasant and attentive as he helped serve her and the queen. But Sir Tiarnán, long a widower, apparently saw past her physical shortcomings, for he soon had cajoled a smile from the princess, and even had her laughing by the time supper was over. Later that evening, as everyone retired, Sir Tiarnán looked thoughtful, and spoke privily with the king for some little while.

“What do you suppose that's all about?” Paget whispered to Alaric as they readied the king's chamber for the night.

Alaric shook his head. “Your guess is as good as mine, but I do think that the princess was somewhat taken with Sir Tiarnán.”

Paget looked at him owl-eyed. “You think he might be considering a match for himself? He would aim as high as a princess?”

“It's possible. He's been a widower for many years, his children are all but grown, he's been lonely. And she may not have many other prospects. It might be a kindness, for her.”

“And for him?”

Alaric shrugged again. “They seemed to have things to talk about. Both of them could do far worse.”

The king had nothing to say about his conversation, of course, when he returned to the royal quarters and readied for bed; but the next morning, before they left, Alaric saw Sir Tiarnán speaking privily with King Alberic.

Later, when they mounted up to return to the harbor, Alberic rode down with them, along with his niece, who fell to the rear of the procession with Tiarnán. When they parted at the dock, Tiarnán kissed her hand tenderly.

“So,” the king said to Tiarnán, when they had all boarded their vessel and the crew began raising sail and casting off the lines. “May we be allowed to know what the lady said?”

Tiarnán did his best to look unflustered, but he kept his eyes on the princess as the ship pulled away from the dock.

“When there is something to tell, I will share it with you, Sire,” he said quietly. “But I have great hopes.”

Brion nodded. “Fair enough.”

•   •   •

T
HEY
were three days sailing on along the coast of Fallon, anchoring at night in sheltered coves and occasionally going ashore. Alaric and Paget spent a great deal of time watching from the ship's rail, taking it all in, for neither knew when fate might again take them this far from home. Alaric might well venture this far, for a duke's duties sometimes took him far afield; but Paget would serve at the will of his king, and might well find himself back in Meara, near where he had been raised.

The fourth day found them drawing into the mouth of the River Laval, which formed a bay flanked by the Fallonese port of Ruyère to the north and the Bremagni town of Cinq-Eglise, named for the five churches that crowned its bluff. They could hear the bells ringing as they drew near, and dropped anchor just offshore to await a skiff flying the colors of Bremagne and rowed by six sets of oars. The man standing in the bow, bracing himself on the flagstaff, wore the white and blue of Bremagne.

“Ahoy, the boat!” the captain called down to him. “We seek the court of the King of Bremagne. Is he yet in residence at Cinq-Eglise?”

The man in the bow swept off his cap and made a bow. “He is. Do you come from the King of Gwynedd?”

The captain indicated Brion, standing to his right. “I do. This is Brion King of Gwynedd.”

The envoy made another, more profound bow.

“My master's respect, Sire—and welcome to Bremagne. Will you come ashore? I shall take you to His Majesty.”

“. . . I desired to make her my spouse, and I was a lover of her beauty.”

—WISDOM OF SOLOMON 8:2

T
HEY
found the king with his family in the floral gardens at Millefleurs, the Bremagni summer palace. Across the manicured lawns, nearer to the buildings, King Meyric was lounging under a shady tree with several of his councilors of state on stools around him, watching as his two sons indulged in archery practice a short distance away. From nearby, the sweet music of a pair of lutes drifted toward them.

The king's daughters were also in evidence. Nearby, before a set of hedges trimmed with a crenellated top, three auburn-haired girls in pastel gowns were playing ball with a pack of long-eared, short-legged hound puppies, to a great accompaniment of puppy yips and girlish shrieks of excitement. Clearly, the three were sisters.

“Please wait here, Majesty,” their guide said to Brion, then headed off across the grass to confer with the Bremagni king. Meyric lifted his head, glancing in their direction, then scrambled to his feet, smiling broadly as he started toward them.

The girls, meanwhile, had summoned a pair of pages to take charge of the hound puppies and were making their way toward their sire. The tallest of the three, in the lead, cast a curious look in the direction of the approaching visitors. Like her sisters, she was slender and graceful, with masses of auburn hair tumbling wild around her shoulders. Unlike her younger sisters, who tripped along close behind, she had a woman's body, and the smoldering glance of a woman as her eyes met Brion's.

Alaric sensed the king's response and glanced at him surreptitiously, catching his quick intake of breath. If this was the princess they had come to meet, Bremagne might well be the last of their bride-finding embassies.

“Cousin of Gwynedd!” King Meyric called, as he strode briskly toward Brion, with hand outstretched. “Welcome to my home!”

“Cousin of Bremagne, I am pleased to be here,” Brion replied, taking the proffered hand. “I hope our arrival does not come at an inconvenient time. We were not certain whether we should find you here or at Rémigny.”

“No, no, we always leave the capital for the summer,” Meyric replied. “I love my Millefleurs, though it is too cold in the winter months. But you must meet the flowers of my heart, and the sturdy vines of my house.” He turned to sweep an expansive arm in the direction of his offspring, all of whom were converging on the royal pair. “You have already met my eldest, Prince Ryol, at the Hort of Orsal's investiture,” Meyric said. “His younger brother is Prince Trevor. And permit me also to present my darling daughters: Ursuline, the youngest of my brood; dear Aude . . . and Jehane.”

The boys had offered polite bows to the visiting king. The three girls dropped him graceful curtsies as their names were spoken. Though all three were lovely, and even the younger ones were mature for their ages, it was Jehane whose green gaze immediately locked on Brion's as she rose from her curtsy.

“My Lord of Gwynedd,” she murmured, as Brion came to clasp her hand and graze its knuckles with his lips.

“Princess,” he managed to whisper.

They moved inside after that, to take refreshment and speak of the plans Meyric had made to entertain his royal visitor. Alaric sensed that his own king was doing his best to be personable and polite to all the Bremagni royals, but it also was clear, at least to Alaric, that the king was totally captivated by the eldest princess, and she by him. King Meyric kept up a lively conversation at first, continuing to extol the beauty and virtues of all three of his daughters, but Brion and Jehane seemed to hear little of it.

Dinner that evening was a relaxed affair, since the visitors had only just arrived, but King Meyric clearly intended to capitalize on Brion's obvious interest in his eldest daughter. That night, at table, he seated Brion at his right hand and Jehane to Brion's right, with the two younger daughters directly across from him and the boys to either end. Brion's four knights were seated across from the family.

The arrangement only enhanced Brion's first impression of Princess Jehane, and gave ample excuse, when musicians began playing later in the evening, to take the Bremagni king's eldest daughter onto the floor numerous times for dancing. Jamyl and Llion dutifully partnered the two younger girls, as did Jiri and Tiarnán; Meyric's queen had passed away several years before. By the time Gwynedd's king retired to the apartments set aside for his use during his stay, with Alaric and Paget to attend him, he was as flustered as Alaric had ever seen him, though he said not a word regarding his dinner companion.

All of them rode out hunting the next day: a more stylized and formal affair than was the custom in Gwynedd, but it provided ample opportunity for the couple to interact. If anything, Princess Jehane looked even more enchanting than she had the previous evening, in riding clothes of emerald-green that set off her eyes and her auburn hair.

The king clearly was smitten, and even Alaric and Paget found themselves falling under her spell. Jamyl and Llion, both of them very happily married men, thought her utterly charming. Brion hung on her every word, and claimed nearly every dance with her again that evening, though more of the Bremagni court joined them this time. By the time they returned to their apartments the second night, Alaric was fairly certain that the king had made up his mind.

“So, do you think you may have found your queen, Sire?” Alaric asked, as he helped the king peel off a damp linen shirt.

Brion only smiled enigmatically and shrugged, continuing to undress. “It could be, Alaric. It could well be.”

The king's pattern of activities in the following days became a series of ride-outs, hunting parties, walks in the gardens, and dining in varying degrees of formality, always chaperoned, but always with opportunity for the young couple to interact. After a few days of this, Llion informed Alaric and Paget that the two of them would be joining training sessions with the squires of King Meyric's court, lest they lose their edge while the king did his courting.

It was a relief to both young men, for idleness was outside their experience since beginning their training. Details of Bremagni drill somewhat differed, but the two quickly found that the basics of combat training were much the same in both kingdoms. Paget, being nearly of an age for knighthood, soon found good sport sparring with some of the young knights of the Bremagni court, and mostly held his own with them. Alaric felt harder pressed, for he was young for a squire; but especially in exercises involving skill or horsemanship rather than sheer strength, he excelled repeatedly—and he seemed to be growing taller.

Joining the Bremagni squires also had side benefits that neither had anticipated. Both of them soon discovered that the afternoon sessions with formation riding and archery, both mounted and afoot, attracted a growing audience of the young ladies of the court, which invariably led to further interactions after practice was done for the day. Both Alaric and Paget were handsome young men, highly accomplished in their martial skills, and exotic for being foreigners. Paget, being older, became the amorous focus for several of the young ladies of similar age, and enjoyed the attentions of more than one of them in the weeks of his residence at the Millefleurs court.

Alaric, too, received his share of feminine attention, and not a few of his admirers did more than merely admire from afar. Bremagni girls, he discovered, were much more forward than their Gwyneddan sisters, and took liberties that were not always easy to ignore. He might have been largely inexperienced in matters of the heart, but his blond good looks and athletic ability, plus impeccable manners and his obvious rank by dint of his service to the King of Gwynedd, made him all but irresistible to the ladies. Much sought after on the dance floor, for he was a graceful partner, he knew better than to seek out inappropriate attentions, but that did not prevent the bolder of his pursuers from teasing.

By early July, the king had approached Jehane's father to ask for her hand. Though King Meyric heartily approved the match, and the two kings settled down with their advisors to work out the broad terms of the marriage contract, it soon became clear that keener legal minds would be required to finalize the details. Very soon, Jamyl was sent back to Rhemuth on the king's ship, to fetch suitable negotiators—who returned several weeks later without Jamyl, for the young knight had learned that, in addition to his wife nearing her term, his father was gravely ill, and likely to die.

“I'm very sorry to hear that,” the king said to Sir Raedan des Champs, who was one of the newly arrived team, along with two priests from the chancellor's office, sent to work out the details of the marriage settlement. “I don't know that I've met Jamyl's father, but I did know
his
father, Sir Seisyll Arilan. I know that my father relied on him greatly. And it saddens me that Jamyl himself may soon have to deal with his own father's passing.”

The three newcomers dined with the two kings that night, meeting with King Meyric's legal team, and settled down the next day to finalize the necessary documents. A particular point of contention was the actual wedding date, along with the wedding venue.

“I am perfectly willing to come to Bremagne for the wedding,” Brion said, “but Twelfth Night is not at all suitable.”

“It is a traditional date for royal ceremonies,” King Meyric insisted.

“As it is in Gwynedd,” Sir Raedan replied. “But it is also the dead of winter: hardly suitable for us to travel to Bremagne, or for His Majesty to bring home a new queen.”

“Could they not travel back to Gwynedd over land in the spring,” one of Meyric's courtiers suggested, “and make a wedding tour of it?”

Tiarnán shook his head. “My king cannot be away from his kingdom for that long. And an arduous journey over land, through many different kingdoms, strikes me as a needless hardship for all concerned. In late spring or summer, Bremagne lies an easy sail across the Southern Sea from Gwynedd, as Sir Raedan and the two fathers have recently demonstrated.”

“There is an additional advantage to waiting until the spring,” Father Creoda said quietly. “The bride is yet young. It would do no harm to delay for a few months.”

“She is of age,” Meyric's chancellor pointed out hotly.

“Yes, of course, of course,” Creoda replied. “But she is not yet fifteen. Since one of the principal purposes of a royal marriage is ensure the succession, it stands to reason that a young woman of—ah—somewhat more mature years will be better prepared to fulfill that royal duty.”

It was a telling observation, and resonated with most of those present. In the end, a compromise was reached, whereby the wedding would take place at the Bremagni capital on the first of May, after which the King of Gwynedd and his bride would return by ship for a second blessing of the royal couple at Rhemuth cathedral, and the formal crowning of Jehane as queen.

Meanwhile, Alaric continued to expand his experience at the Bremagni court, especially regarding the fair sex. He did not see much of the Princess Jehane in those days counting down to the betrothal, for she was much occupied in the company of Brion or else sequestered with the seamstresses and other artificers who were preparing her trousseau.

The two younger princesses were a different story. Aude and Ursuline, who were thirteen and eleven, had taken an immediate liking to the handsome young squires from Gwynedd, and especially Alaric, who was closest to them in age. They were charmed that he, in turn, was fascinated by their hound puppies, and was willing to spend time chasing and rolling on the grass with them. In addition, he and Paget often found themselves recruited to join the Bremagni squires as an escort for the younger princesses and other young ladies of the court on leisurely midmorning rides in the countryside, before it got too hot.

Afternoons offered more sedentary occupations well suited to the heat: singing and playing at musical instruments, dancing, the reading and composition of poetry, artistic pursuits, sometimes archery, all interspersed with leisurely strolls in the palace gardens. To Alaric's surprise, it seemed that ladies in Bremagne did not play cardounet or other strategy games.

Fortunately, he and Paget found that gentler occupations held their own allures. In the evenings, once the service of dinner had been accomplished, there were always divers musical activities to wile away the long summer twilight: dancing, listening to singing, and sometimes mummers' plays. King Meyric was fond of dancing, and encouraged Brion and Jehane to take to the floor often, dancing nearly every dance.

The other gentlemen of Brion's party likewise were drafted as dancing partners. The handsome young squire from Gwynedd proved intriguing to ladies both young and not so young, and was much in demand as a dance partner and simply as a companion for casual conversation while musicians performed in the background.