From there, after escorting Ahern back to Cynfyn, Richard had returned to Rhemuth, in case his presence should be required in Meara that season—and Ahern had set about recovering as much as he could of his former abilities. It had caused him no little pain as he began to exercise again, for he was constantly testing the limits of his strength and endurance, but he was determined that his injury should be as little an impediment as possible.
He had taken up the bow first, before he could even stand for very long, for he could shoot while perched on a stool, with his stiff leg propped in front of him. Competence with a bow did not require agility of foot, but strong arms and a steady eye.
By midsummer, his accuracy had surpassed even the level it had been before he rode off to Ratharkin the season before. When he could stand longer, he also resumed whacking at a pell with his sword—dull drill, starting over with exercises he had first learned as a small boy, but it served the double purpose of building up his sword arm again and venting his frustration at his limitations.
As the summer wore on, he began to shift his thinking to his strengths instead. He would always find it more comfortable to walk with a stick, and would never recover the agility on foot that he formerly had enjoyed; but he found, to his relief, that riding was not the impossibility he had feared—though he must mount from the right instead of the left, since he could not bend his left knee. In time, he would learn to vault astride, unimpeded by the stiff knee.
His first few times back in the saddle—using a mounting-block, much to his disgust—his thighs had ached for days afterward, and his seat had been atrocious. But lengthening the stirrups improved his stability and his comfort, and gave him the leeway to develop a different style and balance to accommodate the stiff knee.
Soon, as his healing stabilized and his strength returned, he was riding at the quintain again, resuming his drill with sword and lance. Sé and Jovett worked with him daily, and Sir Deinol, his seneschal in Cynfyn, kept him to a disciplined regimen of physical training. Early in the autumn, as campaign season waned, Duke Richard again rode over from Rhemuth, also escorting the young earl’s sisters for their promised visit, and, after watching Ahern train for several days, declared his belief that, if Ahern continued his present progress, the accolade of knighthood might not, after all, be beyond his reach in another year’s time.
No news could have lifted Ahern’s spirits more, or those of his sisters. Hearing Richard’s declaration, Ahern resolved to redouble his efforts, taking advantage of Richard’s presence to beg his personal tutelage, which Richard gladly gave.
“He could do it, couldn’t he?” Alyce said to Sé and Jovett, the day before she, Marie, and Zoë were to start back for Rhemuth with Richard and his party. “He could still win the accolade.”
Standing along the barrier fence of the tilting yard, the five of them were watching prince and future duke spar from horseback with blunted swords. Both men were laughing, and Ahern let out an exuberant “Aha!” as he scored a stinging hit on Richard’s shoulder with the flat of his blade, much to Richard’s consternation and delight.
Sé smiled and nodded, watching every move of both men. “There’s precedent. Over a century ago, there was a King of Gwynedd who mostly fought on horseback. Javan Haldane was his name. He was born with a clubbed foot, so he had to wear a special boot—which made him not very nimble when it came to swordplay on the ground, but on a horse, there were few who could match him. Mounted, his actual sword and lance work were excellent, and he was a superb bowman.
“Very sadly, none of that could save him, in the end. He was betrayed by his former regents, ambushed in the field. Archers shot his horse out from under him and then cut him down without mercy, along with two of his closest friends. I believe one of them was a distant cousin of yours, Lady Zoë.”
“Charlan Kai Morgan,” Zoë said, nodding quietly. “My father shares a middle name with him. I remember being taken to his grave when I was a child. He’d been King Javan’s squire when he was still prince. He died at Javan’s side, trying to defend him.”
“Then your father is the latest in a long tradition of loyal Morgan service to the Haldanes, isn’t he?” Jovett said admiringly. “Aside from Duke Richard, perhaps, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have at my back in a fight than Sir Kenneth. Well, maybe Sé,” he amended, with a teasing glance at the other young knight.
“Well, now that Ahern is making such an amazing come-back, we will make a rather formidable trio, won’t we?” Sé said easily.
All of them gasped as Ahern evaded a particularly deft maneuver on the part of Duke Richard and wheeled his mount for another pass.
“Would you look at that?” Jovett cried.
“It’s all thanks to you and Sé,” Alyce said, unable to take her eyes from the field.
“No, it’s all thanks to Ahern’s determination,” Sé countered. “We simply encouraged him to do what only he could do—and we bullied him occasionally, in the beginning, when the frustration made him falter. But his recovery has been a result of his own hard work. A lesser man might have sat back with his leg propped up and rested on the laurels of his valor at Ratharkin. But just look at him!”
He gestured toward the field, where Ahern and Richard were engaged in an astonishing display of horsemanship, breathless with the sheer joy of partnership between rider and steed, wheeling their mounts and darting, feinting, neither ever managing to land a blow on the other.
“What more could one ask of any man?” Sé went on. “Especially one who has answered the challenges he has done. And he is still only sixteen. What will he be two years from now? I have little doubt but that Richard will urge the king to grant him the accolade. On that day, you may be certain that Jovett and I shall be present.”
THEY stayed but another day in Cynfyn before heading back for Rhemuth, arriving early in October. The children of the royal household all were thriving, especially the newest prince, but the choicest gossip stirring the queen’s household was the news that the Lady Elaine, wed in June to the son of the Duke of Cassan, in distant Kierney, was expecting their first child the following May.
“Goodness, they didn’t waste any time!” Alyce said, as she and Marie joined Vera in her room for a snack of cakes and ale, to share the news from Cynfyn. Since Zoë was also with them, and had not been told of Vera’s true parentage, the three sisters took care to guard their speech.
“Well, Jared will be duke someday, so he needs to secure the succession,” Vera said. “The same could be said about your brother. I don’t suppose his eye was caught by any of those pretty maids in Coroth?” she added, with a twinkle in her eye.
Alyce shook her head. “Not that I was aware of. He seems to have been far more focused on getting back his health—and he’s succeeding marvelously!”
In ever-more-delighted detail, she described Ahern’s dexterity on horseback, and his skill on the field with Duke Richard.
“We talked about little else on the way back from Cynfyn,” she concluded. “Duke Richard was most impressed by how far he’s come.”
“It sounds like he’ll receive his accolade after all, then,” Vera said. “That’s wonderful news. Now we just have to find him a lovely girl to be his future duchess. How about you, Zoë? Alyce, wouldn’t you and Marie love to have Zoë for a sister?”
“I would,” Marie said promptly.
Zoë blushed furiously, flattered by the compliment, but Alyce’s smile of agreement had a more thoughtful cast to it. In fact, she had noticed Ahern watching Zoë more than once, when he thought no one was looking—and Zoë herself had seemed somewhat taken by the young earl, and certainly dazzled by his horsemanship and sheer determination.
“I would say that such a development is not beyond the realm of possibility,” she allowed. “He did seem—attentive.”
“Alyce!” Zoë protested, blushing even more.
“I predict nothing . . . ,” Alyce said, raising both palms in a protestation of innocence. “I mer
ely comment on what I have noted, when neither of you thought I was watching. And I would be willing to bet that a letter from him will arrive before the month is out.”
“Oh, you . . . !”
“No, you!” Alyce countered, as she glanced at Marie and Vera and the three of them pounced on Zoë for a bout of tickling that continued until all four of them were breathless with laughter.
“Oh, stop, stop!” Zoë begged. “You’ll have Lady Jessamy in here, wondering what on earth is going on!”
Her caution was enough to deflate their brief digression into childishness, though all of them were grinning as they ranged themselves against the fat pillows piled at the head of the bed and caught their breath.
“How I do love all of you,” Alyce murmured, when she had caught her breath enough to speak. “Promise me that we shall always be friends and sisters—regardless of who Zoë marries!”
“We promise,” the others said in unison, taking Alyce’s hands and joining them, clasped in their own.
“Friends and sisters forever!” Vera added. “No matter what happens.”
ONCE returned to Rhemuth, the four friends settled quickly back into the routine of the court, now with Vera as a welcome part of their circle. Now relieved of some of the tutoring duties that previously had occupied her. Alyce found more of her time freed up to pursue her own interests, returning to her explorations of the royal library and in the scriptorium. And these were interests shared by Zoë.
During their absence in Cynfyn, the first returns had begun to trickle in from the king’s commissioners of inquiry, and were being compiled by a battery of scribes and copyists now filling the chancery and several additional chambers in one of the garden wings. As she and Zoë became acquainted with the compilations now starting to take shape, and recognized the scope and importance of such a survey, the two of them began to conceive a fitting acknowledgement of the king’s foresight in ordering such an undertaking.
“This really will be an incredibly useful document,” Zoë said, when they had pulled out several scrolls from King Malcolm’s commission of inquiry and compared selected entries against the current commission’s findings.
“It will, indeed,” Alyce agreed. She leafed through another packet of parchment scraps bundled together by baronies and townlands. “I wonder if the king might like to have a special, illuminated extract of the collated returns from some small area, perhaps with fine calligraphy and some illumination—nothing too ambitious. If we started right away, we perhaps could have it ready to present to him at Twelfth Night court.”
“This is still very early in the process,” Zoë replied, holding one of the slips closer to a candle to read its heading. “What area did you have in mind? What area is complete enough, at this point?”
“I know it can’t be perfect,” Alyce said. “Compiling all the returns will take several years. I think King Malcolm’s inquiry took more than two, and some returns were still missing when they stopped working on it. But I thought we might start with Dhassa. For some reason, that seems to be fairly complete.”
“I’ve heard they’re very punctilious in Dhassa,” Zoë replied, scanning the cramped lines on an irregular scrap of parchment. “I suspect it comes of keeping track of all those tolls to get into the city, because of the pilgrimage sites. But we could do an illuminated cover page, and fancy capitals for the sections dealing with the actual shrines. Have you ever been to Dhassa?”
“No. But there must be people at court who have.”
“We can talk to them, then, and get some descriptions. It would be fun to incorporate some of the local features. But no scrawny lions!”
Alyce grinned. “I promise—but only if you promise not to include any fat squirrels.”
“Agreed!”
THEY enlisted the patronage of the queen to assist in their undertaking, and had the thin volume ready for Twelfth Night court. Alyce had compiled the text and copied it out in her best court hand, Zoë had done the illuminations, and Marie and Vera bound it in crimson velvet embellished with silk and gold laid-work on the cover and along the spine. They had wrapped it in white linen tied with a length of creamy yarn, and Alyce hugged it to her breast as the four of them waited at the back of the great hall.
But first came the business of the court: the formal enrollment of new pages, including a proud Prince Brion—Prince Blaine and Krispin looked on jealously; the pledging of new squires, and several knightings, though the girls knew none of the newly dubbed young men.
Late in the day also came Sir Rorik Howell to report the death three days before of his father, Corban Earl of Eastmarch, and to pledge his fealty to the king, thereby obtaining the right to enter into his inheritance.
“We receive this news with much sadness, Sir Rorik,” Donal told the muddy, exhausted young man who knelt before him, offering up his father’s seal as earl, as a sign that he acknowledged the king’s right to confirm the succession. “Nonetheless, we understand that your father was ill for many months, and that release will have been a blessing, for him and for his family.”
“God grant that he now rests in peace, Sire,” Rorik murmured dutifully—and Alyce could Read that his regret was genuine. “I pray that I may be as wise a guardian of his people.”
“They are now your people, Rorik Howell Earl of Eastmarch,” Donal said, enfolding the young man’s joined hands in his and raising him up. “Accordingly, before these witnesses, I hereby receive your pledge of fealty and I confirm you in your lands and honors. Go to bed now, young Rorik, for I know you have ridden solid for three days, and probably will have ruined several good horses in the doing of it. Tomorrow, when you have rested, we shall make more formal acknowledgement of your new status.”
A murmur of sympathy and approbation followed the new earl as he bowed and retreated from the hall, followed by a squire who had been directed to see to his needs. There came next an announcement by an emissary of the Earl of Transha that the wife of young Caulay MacArdry was lighter of a son and heir, born the previous October and christened Ardry. The news of the birth somewhat lightened the sober air left in the wake of the sadder news brought by Rorik of Eastmarch, and left the king in mellower mood by the time the formal business of the court had ended. As he and his queen retired to the withdrawing room behind the dais, for a break and light refreshment while the hall was set up for feast to follow, the girls followed at the queen’s beckoning.
“Sire, I have conspired with the demoiselles de Corwyn and their friends to produce a special Twelfth Night gift for you,” the queen said, as she and king settled into chairs before the fire and the girls hesitated at the door.
“A gift?” the king said, setting aside his crown and running both hands through his thinning hair.
“Aye, my lord. Ladies?”
At the queen’s gesture, the four of them came to kneel at the feet of the royal couple, Alyce still clutching their precious manuscript to her breast.
“Sire, you will be aware that Twelfth Night marks the Feast of the Epiphany, when, by tradition, three kings brought gifts to the newborn Child in Bethlehem. This is why we give gifts at this season, in memory of their gifts.”
“That is true,” the king said patiently, smiling faintly.
“This past year has marked the giving of another great gift: your Majesty’s great commission of inquiry, by which the rights of lords and commons throughout this land shall be safeguarded and preserved.”
Tremulously she offered up her package in both hands, placing it in his.
“In the spirit of this season, then, the four of us decided to create a modest memento to commemorate the importance of this latest inquiry—an extract of the findings concerning the city and environs of Holy Dhassa—and we have set it forth in a form befitting its importance in the history and preservation of our land, and hopefully pleasing to your Majesty.”
She watched as he untied the yarn holding the linen wrappings in place, his eyebrows rising as he turned back the linen a
nd caught his first glimpse of what lay within.
“My lord,” said the queen, “Lady Vera and Lady Marie created the binding and its fine embroidery. The illuminations are Mistress Zoë’s work, and the scrivening was done by Lady Alyce. The balass rubies and the gold bullion thread for the binding were my own humble contribution. I hope you are pleased,” she concluded, as the king opened its cover, greatly touched, and turned the first page slightly toward the queen.
“What a truly remarkable gift,” he murmured, as Richeldis ran an appreciative finger along a bit of the binding. “I shall look forward to finding the time to examine it properly. Dear ladies, I thank you. Now, where is my new page?” he added, turning to look for Prince Brion, who was standing proudly behind his father in his page’s livery, craning his neck to see.
“Boy, take charge of this, please—and mind your hands are clean! Ladies, I see a squire lurking by the door, waiting to unleash petitioners, but I shall charge my son and heir to guard this well for me.” He leaned forward to kiss the hand of each of them, then nodded to the squire as he put his crown back on.
“Let’s have the first one, Gerald. “I should like to see everyone that I must, before the feast is served.”
AFTER Twelfth Night, the rhythm of life at court settled back into its usual routine. The first months of the new year were marked by heavy storms and freezing cold, leading to a late spring. Perhaps because of the sharp lesson of two years previously, Meara was still quiet, but Iolo Melandry, the royal governor, warned that the peace was precarious, and might not hold.
The peace did hold, all through that season, but word came early in the summer that the newly married Countess Elaine, a bride of less than a year, had died in childbed after delivering a son. The boy’s father had christened him Kevin Douglas McLain.
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