King Javan’s Year

by Katherine Kurtz

  “I’m sure he did,” Hubert muttered. Paulin ignored him and went on.

  “As you can imagine, the prospect of willing service was tempting, but my knights still were wary. However, when it was suggested that Dimitri provide some surety for his loyalty to his potential employers, he and his brother readily agreed that the brother should be held as hostage. I feel confident that we have taken ample precautions to protect ourselves.”

  Hubert was aghast by the time Paulin had finished his story.

  “I cannot believe that you recruited a Deryni without consulting me,” he said.

  Paulin drew himself up in uneasy defense. “You have had the benefit of Deryni assistance until recently.”

  “Yes, but—” Hubert wrung his hands. “I suppose his motives could be as he presented them. You’re sure this brother really is his brother?”

  “I’m sure that he is Deryni,” Paulin replied. “He was tested with merasha. So was Dimitri. Both of them went into rather spectacular convulsions.”

  Hubert nodded. “Then he has at least put one of his own kind at risk, if he plays us false and we find out. How extensively have you used him?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve been cautious. I kept them in Carthmoor for the first few months while I applied small tests. Collos is still there, recovering his health, but I had Dimitri brought to Arx Fidei when Father Faelan was being vetted for the king’s service.”

  “He read Faelan?”

  “Not a probe. I was not yet sure of him. Only Truth-Reading. But Faelan’s resistance had been lowered by—other means.”

  “I’d guessed as much, from his condition when he first arrived. Was Javan told?”

  “He knew Faelan had been bled, but I told him it had been for reasons of health.”

  “Suppose Faelan told him otherwise?”

  “If he did, it will only have confirmed to Javan that he himself will place Faelan in further danger if he attempts to subvert him from his duty to the Order,” Paulin said. “It’s yet another threat to keep the king in line.”

  Hubert nodded, caressing his bishop’s ring with his other hand. “Returning to Serafin’s death. Did you have this Dimitri question Faelan about that?”

  “I’ll get to that,” Paulin replied. “After Serafin’s burial, my first priority was to question Lior in finer detail, with Dimitri present. Besides, Faelan had not yet arrived. Lior could offer no insights from his conscious recollections of the night Serafin died, but I asked if he would consent to have Dimitri conduct a probe on the night in question. I could have ordered it, of course, but Dimitri tells me that results are generally better if the subject is willing.”

  “And Lior agreed to this?”

  “He did. Both he and Serafin had become accustomed to working with Dimitri in Carthmoor. During Dimitri’s questioning, Lior did indeed recall further details of a conversation in Faelan’s quarters that night, but it was as unremarkable as one might expect, given Lior’s earlier failure to remember it. He and Serafin left after only a short time. The rest of that night you know. The interesting thing is that Dimitri said there was something else brooding underneath the surface—a vague impression that Javan himself might have been present at some point. Or maybe the three of them were simply talking about the king. Dimitri could not be certain.”

  “Curious,” Hubert murmured.

  “Shortly after that, Father Faelan finally arrived,” Paulin went on. “After his previous interview, I wanted it to be as benign as possible, but I also wanted to find out what he knew about Serafin’s death. I let his own imagination supply the apprehension for the first two days, encouraged by fasting and little sleep. After Mass on the third morning, when he was brought into the abbot’s parlor for questioning, he was already a little light-headed from the fast and the Communion wine on an empty stomach.”

  “An effective preparation,” Hubert agreed.

  “It did seem to have the desired effect. I reinforced his apprehension by suggesting that if he did not give strict attention to Lior’s questions, suitable encouragement could be employed to loosen his tongue. Since Albertus was handling a rather bloodstained length of leather thong at the time, Faelan understood the threat precisely—though the abbot somewhat diminished its effect by observing that one month was really too soon to bleed him again.”

  Hubert snorted. “Abbot Halex still has much to learn of our methods.”

  “Indeed. The same cannot be said for Dimitri, however. Were he not Deryni and also an adherent of the eastern strain of our faith, I might almost be induced to recruit him for our Order—though he serves well enough, as he is.”

  “Go on with the account of Father Faelan,” Hubert said a little impatiently.

  Paulin inclined his head. “I’ll skip the details. The crux of the matter is that Father Faelan could add nothing to Lior’s earlier account of the interview by himself and Serafin, and knew nothing of any appearance by the king. I had Dimitri probe him to make certain. Nor could Faelan supply anything else in the behavior of either Javan or any of his close retainers in the past month to suggest anything at all untoward regarding Serafin’s death.”

  “Then it sounds as if this was a dead end,” Hubert said after a moment. “I always thought it was a long shot that Faelan was somehow involved. He’d only been back at Court for two days when it happened, and he’d been Truth-Read not a week before. And then this hint of Javan’s involvement—” He shook his head. “I know how the coincidence must prey on your mind, Paulin, but I don’t see how there could be any connection.”

  “Very well. I’ll drop the notion for the moment,” Paulin agreed. “Now that you know about Dimitri, would you like me to bring him to Court? With his true status unknown, of course.”

  Hubert looked at him sidelong. “We’d already talked about eliminating all Deryni from service. You propose to add one to the problem?”

  “This one is ours, Hubert, and a willing servant.”

  “Perhaps he is,” Hubert murmured. “Perhaps he is.” He toyed with his pectoral cross, running it back and forth on the center of the chain.

  “Let me think on the problem for a few days,” he said after a moment. “We do have at least one other Deryni available at Court, if we really need one. Not Oriel anymore, of course, but I’m certain Lord Rhun would let us borrow Sitric. Granted, he lacks finesse, but perhaps the time for subtlety is past. We shall see what the next little while brings—and next month’s report from the exasperating Father Faelan.”

  “Then the man called Dimitri brought me a cup of wine,” Faelan was saying to Javan. “He said that I was weakened from my fast and wasn’t thinking clearly. I probably shouldn’t have drunk it on an empty stomach. It went right to my head. I remember feeling dizzy, and I—think Dimitri put his hands on my head. The next thing I knew, I was in the infirmary, and one of the brothers was feeding me hot broth.” He blinked and refocused on Javan’s face.

  “I—don’t think I told him anything, Sire, but he’s—Deryni, isn’t he?” he whispered. “He—must have Read my mind while I was unconscious. I—don’t think I can face that again. The other was bad enough, but—”

  He started to shake then, and Javan had to take control, blurring the disturbing memories and forcing calm upon the priest. Faelan’s fear was understandable, but Javan would have a month to reassure him that he could indeed go on. This month’s interview apparently had done little harm, other than to terrify Faelan again with the prospect of what they could do to him any time they chose.

  But there was no time to pursue this further just now. With Lior lurking outside, Faelan must not appear to have done anything besides his sacramental duty when they went out of here—which must be soon, else they risked arousing curiosity about what Javan had needed to confess that took so long.

  Quickly he did what needed to be done. A few minutes later, as the two of them emerged from the sacristy, the priest’s face was bland and serene, the king’s expression suitably thoughtful and contrite. Sending
to Guiscard to come and also make confession to Faelan, to further reinforce the illusion covering the past quarter hour, Javan knelt at the altar rail and recited a Pater Noster and three Aves as self-imposed penance for the necessary deception, then rose and left with Charlan. Ten minutes later Guiscard also joined them in the king’s quarters.

  “Everything’s all right,” the Deryni knight said softly, when he had closed the door behind him. “I had a bit of a mental scurry to come up with something minor to confess on the spur of the moment, but Lior seemed almost bored by it all, when Faelan and I came back out. I kept an ear cocked while I did my penance, but Lior only exchanged a few words with Faelan before he left. Faelan’s gone to his room now.”

  “Then at least everyone’s safe for the time being,” Javan breathed. “Ask me again in about a month, though. It’s going to be increasingly difficult for Faelan to keep going back. They didn’t bleed him this time, but next time it will have been more than two months. Between the terror factor of not knowing if they’re going to do it again and the very real danger if they do, I can’t say I’d blame him if he didn’t want to go—which presents yet another set of problems. Incidentally, it’s also now certain that Paulin has that Deryni we’ve been worrying about.”

  In the next few days, though, Paulin gave Javan more immediate problems to worry about.

  “I am given to understand that questions have been raised about the Ramos Statutes, Sire,” he said the next afternoon, as soon as the Council had been called to order. “Perhaps your Highness would care to direct those questions to someone better acquainted with their intricacies. I believe you wished to be instructed on certain points of theology regarding Deryni.”

  The ensuing diatribe—for by no means could it be termed mere instruction—went downhill from there, with Paulin launching into a two-hour disputation on the evil of Deryni and their magic, followed by an almost equally lengthy defense of the actions of the Council of Ramos. By then it was time to adjourn, and Javan had a headache.

  Nor was Paulin satisfied to drop the matter the next day. He spent the first hour of the next meeting reiterating what he had said the day before, hardly even slowing down when Javan backed down entirely from theological arguments and insisted that he really had only been asking about questions of procedure.

  Even that seemed to elicit hostility from some, especially those who had been personally involved in the Ramos Convocation. It soon became clear that any significant inroads into easing the draconian legislation against Deryni would be over Paulin’s dead body—and very possibly over Javan’s dead body as well, if he persisted in his inquiries. Paulin stated unequivocally that he had the support of Gwynedd’s Primate and all her bishops as well as his Order—a statement in which Hubert and Oriss immediately backed him. After a frustrating and increasingly tense afternoon trying to shift to almost any other topic, Javan adjourned the meeting and went off for a vigorous gallop with Rhys Michael and his aides and some of his younger knights, returning only when it was nearly dark.

  The next day Javan asked Rhys Michael to open the meeting with a brief presentation concerning the index on which he and Lord Jerowen had been working. The prince was articulate and well informed and actually succeeded in arousing some enthusiasm for the inquiry currently in progress. So positive an impression did he make that Javan was not at all surprised, the following day, to hear Lord Udaut suggest that the king’s heir presumptive might benefit from taking on additional responsibilities.

  “These are times of peace, so a military exercise is hardly suitable for his Highness’ further tutoring,” Udaut concluded, “but since the prince has shown a penchant for administrative work, perhaps he might accompany one of the commissions currently gathering information in the countryside—sit on a few baronial and county courts, hear a few cases to interpret the laws he has been reading about. It surely would prove a worthwhile apprenticeship and might well be useful to the King’s Grace.”

  The logic could hardly be faulted, and several of the commissioners were only now leaving Rhemuth to take up their duties. Among others, a levelheaded western lord named Ainslie was due to leave for Grecotha in less than a week, with Sir Jason to escort him thence. The area was peaceful, there on the borders with Rhendall, and far from Culdi and Michaela, and Javan knew he could rely on both Ainslie and Jason to keep a headstrong prince focused on business.

  In addition, Rhys Michael’s absence from Court would materially reduce the chance that he might run afoul of Sitric or even the mysterious Dimitri. If either Deryni discovered that Rhys Michael had shields, which only Deryni were believed to have, further inquiry almost invariably would lead to the discovery of Javan’s even more damning abilities. Somehow, he doubted the Custodes would make fine distinctions between Deryni powers and the powers of a Haldane king.

  “What say you, Sir Jason?” Javan asked, raising an eyebrow in the senior knight’s direction. “Do you think Lord Ainslie could use another good head?”

  Jason rose and made Javan a slight bow. “His Highness has always been a quick study, Sire,” he said, “and I have heard nothing but glowing reports from Lord Jerowen on his diligence and grasp of the law. If his Highness would like to join Lord Ainslie’s commission, I am certain his assistance would be most welcome.”

  “Brother?” Javan said, turning his gaze toward Rhys Michael and containing a droll smile. “How say you?”

  Rhys Michael’s answering grin was like a ray of sunlight at the other end of the table. “Could I really? You’d let me go to Grecotha?”

  “With appropriate reservations, certainly,” Javan replied, forcing himself to keep at least a somewhat decorous expression. “You may be a prince, but Lord Ainslie is my royal commissioner and he has the last word. Under the circumstances, I would appoint Sir Jason to the commission as well. If you’re willing to abide by his direction, with no argument or discussion, I’ll commission you as his deputy.”

  “But it would still be my first commission!” Rhys Michael could hardly contain his excitement. “I can hardly believe it.”

  His exuberance drew sour looks from Rhun and Hubert and a few of the other Council lords, and after the meeting adjourned, Tammaron drew Javan aside privately to express doubts about the prince’s maturity for such an assignment. Albertus also looked dubious, but Rhys Michael’s delight was so infectious that Javan determined to proceed anyway. After all, his brother would turn fifteen in another two weeks. In law, he was already a man. It was time to begin taking on some of a man’s responsibilities.

  That evening, after confirming that Lord Ainslie had no objection to the addition of two more deputies, Javan had Lord Jerowen draw up the necessary warrants—first the official ones naming Sir Jason and the Prince Rhys Michael Alister Haldane as deputy commissioners for Grecotha; then a third, private one, he hoped never to be used, charging Sir Jason with the prince’s safety and giving him absolute authority for anything short of capital force to keep said prince in line. Javan hoped and prayed that the latter document would never be needed, but he knew he must take precautions to protect his only heir. He also would miss Jason’s company and counsel in the next few months—but at least he knew his brother could not be in better hands.

  Almost before Javan realized, the next week was past and Rhys Michael was away. To ensure that the prince did not take advantage of his greater freedom to send or receive letters from Culdi and Michaela, Javan decided at the last minute to send along Sir Tomais as his brother’s aide, since the young knight had served previously as the prince’s squire and knew all his patterns for mischief.

  “I’ll keep an eye on him, Sire. Don’t you worry,” Tomais assured him.

  Actually, Javan became far more worried as he watched them ride out—but not about Rhys Michael. As they headed out that bright September morning, led by Tomais bearing the princely banner, Rhys Michael was in prime Haldane form, straight and proud in the saddle, gaily clad in the royal blue of the heir, flanked by Jason on one side and
Lord Ainslie on the other. A party of scribes and clerks made up nearly a dozen more, with a score of household cavalry to escort them.

  And behind them rode Paulin of Ramos with a half dozen of his Custodes knights, ostensibly summoned to attend on a dying brother at Arx Fidei. For the extra safety afforded by numbers, the two parties would ride together as far as the abbey, after which the princely party would continue north toward Grecotha. Javan was glad to see Paulin go—and even more glad when he received the first message from Jason after passing Arx Fidei, confirming that Paulin’s party had turned off at the abbey without incident, and the rest of the royal commission were proceeding on their way.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  But a sore trial shall come upon the mighty.

  —Wisdom of Solomon 6:8

  Within a week, word had come of the safe arrival of Lord Ainslie’s party in Grecotha, with assurances from Sir Jason that Rhys Michael’s behavior was a credit to his House. At home, Javan allowed himself to relax a little, as the dog days of summer encouraged lazy afternoons and a general slowing down of the work of the Council.

  Meanwhile, once he had heard that Rhys Michael’s situation seemed to be well in hand, Javan decided that the time had come to resolve the merasha question. Guiscard had been ready for some time, only awaiting the king’s instructions. On the evening they selected, Javan quit supper early with the pretense of the headache Joram had recommended, sending for one of the court physicians to bring him a strong sedative.

  The man left a few minutes later, convinced that the king had drunk it down and was sleeping peacefully. In fact, the cup still containing the sedative was pushed to the back of a little table beside the royal bed. Javan was sitting in the middle of the bed, boots and belt removed and his feet tucked under him, watching Guiscard empty the contents of a twist of parchment into a second cup he had filled from a pitcher set close beside it.