"Sire, I crave your forgiveness if my poorly chosen words give offense." The words were formal, but the voice was not that of a courtier. Something about it caught her interest. "Please I beg of you, let your wisdom see beyond my failure, sire, believe I speak with only honest intent."
"Your words are rash, brother." Ferdinand snapped. His heavy gaze showed ominous signs of displeasure.
Mariette pushed forward. Gaining the front of the crowd, she had a clear view of the man who was so foolishly courting the King's anger. Kneeling before Ferdinand was the strangest supplicant she could remember seeing at court. Dressed in what might once have been the pale robes of Tarsien, the old monk was as haggard and worn as his threadbare robes. He knelt, thin hands clasped as in prayer, his gaunt face staring up at the King. He showed neither deference nor pride, just a grave and fearless dignity.
"Sire, I say again, an evil grows and spreads within this realm. Shadow knights bring fire and death to your land. I have seen the burned villages, the people slaughtered like animals. A shadow lies across the land. An ancient evil that has not been seen this side of the great sea for centuries, but it returns now and soon its power will be great again."
"You speak in riddles," Ferdinand answered. "Do not mutter and mumble to me of old evils, brother. I grow tired of these baseless threats. This realm is safe, content and prosperous as never before." He glanced round and the watching courtiers nodded agreement. "Men are free to worship as they choose, and make the best living they may. There is no discontent for such an evil to feed on here."
"Sire, there is truth in your words. For some, this is a land of peace and contentment. But this evil thrives on the weakest. Through brutality it seeds fear and feeds on men's desperation. Soon it will be too late."
"And what or who drives this evil, brother? For nothing in this life exists but to satisfy someone's need or desire." Ferdinand stared down at the old monk, signs of temper plain on his face. "Who will gain from this, brother, and what is your request to me?"
The old man bowed his head and spoke with plain sincerity. "Sire, I do not know who feeds this evil, or for what purpose. It is hidden as yet, but it will not remain so." He paused, looking up to meet the King's gaze. "I want nothing and make no request, sire, but only beg that you heed my words and that your wisdom and strength will protect those in dire need."
Mariette craned forward to see more of the monk; too distracted to hide her interest. He remained kneeling, waiting patiently for the King's response. She saw that the old man's words had moved Ferdinand, but only to furious displeasure. The King was scowling, his patience clearly exhausted.
"Your concern for our people's welfare does you credit, brother. We set the peace and prosperity of all our subjects above everything. We will consider what you have told us." Ferdinand raised a hand in dismissal. "You have our thanks, brother. If we require further information, we will send for you."
For a moment, it seemed the old man would protest. But he rose silently and made his bow. The guards parted. Slowly he stepped down from the dais. Mariette watched him, wondering if he knew he would get no further hearing. That Ferdinand only wished him silenced and gone. If he did, he gave no sign of it. He made his way through the ranks of courtiers with quiet dignity. She did not dare approach him openly, but as he crossed the hall, she turned to follow. The dense crowd parted in deference to her rank. Moving quickly she managed to keep the monk in sight until a man stepped forward to block her path. Across the hall, she caught a last glimpse of the tattered, dull gray of the monk's habit and then it was gone.
She found herself face to face with Edouard de Chamfort. Dressed for court in midnight blue velvet, with the scarlet badge of knighthood glittering against his chest, he bowed.
"Mariette." His smile showed a mix of pleasure and apprehension.
She marveled at his duplicity. As he bowed over her hand, she had a moment to look for Roslaire. She saw him among a group on the far side of the great hall and prayed he would stay there. Smiling, she turned to Edouard. "This is a surprise. What are you doing at court?"
"I come to ask a boon of my uncle." His lips curled in amusement as he saw her face, but his voice was bitter. "I know it is a fool's errand."
"What is it you will ask for?" She had to keep his attention as she moved to draw him away from Roslaire's eye-line. She hid her true feelings and tried to work out how best to manage this unlooked for meeting.
"His permission to form a company of knights."
She stopped, uncertain she had heard correctly. "Are you mad?" The Chancellor had told her Ferdinand intended to curb Chamfort's strength.
Again, his lips curled, but it was more snarl than smile. "Perhaps, though as King's Champion surely it is my right."
It was so unexpected it drove everything else from her head. She again spoke without thinking. "You really mean to do this?"
"I am commanded to."
"Who would suggest such madness?"
He looked away as if he regretted admitting so much. "Is it such a strange request for a loyal nephew to make?"
"Does your father know?"
He shrugged. "He will soon enough. So, what do you think?"
Despite every misgiving, she had to answer honestly. She owed Rupert that much. "Edouard, you should speak to your father. I do not know who has advised you in this matter, but to me it seems an unwise course."
He nodded. "Perhaps you are right, but at least the gossips will enjoy the show."
"Edouard, this will cause more than gossip." She hesitated. It was impossible to speak freely among the crowds of courtiers. She could not guess what game he was playing. He was fiddling with a cuff as if he was bored, but she could not believe he did not understand the implications. She tried, without success, to read his face. "At best he will refuse you." It was an understatement. They both knew a simple refusal to such an extraordinary request was unlikely. "What possible gain is there in asking?"
He shrugged and turned away, eyes scanning the hall. "I missed you at Chamfort, you left without saying goodbye. Are you still cross with me?"
The change of subject threw her completely. Lost for words she stared at him until he smiled.
"I see I have disappointed you. Does this mean I am to be replaced?" The attempt at humor hardly covered his apprehension.
It was perfectly done, for a moment she could not believe he was anything but what he seemed. "Edouard I..." Then the anger came to save her. She paused. He would know the truth soon enough.
The crowd shifted, eddying and flowing around them as people entered and left, intent on their business. Mariette watched them and calculated. She had not planned for this moment, not expecting Edouard at court had left her unprepared, and his intention to petition the King amazed her. She wanted to know more.
But as the moment lengthened, he pre-empted her. He smiled, his tone light with self-mockery. "It's all right, you don't have to explain. I am replaced. Is he younger, prettier? No, wait." Abrupt as a hound to the scent, his head lifted and his gaze fixed across the room. His smile faded, and he laughed bitterly. "Of course, one must always pay attention to rumor. Not replaced but surplus, you did not expect me and are well suited already?"
For a moment, the words meant nothing, then she followed his gaze and his meaning was clear. Across the room, towering above a laughing group, she saw the wild excess of Roslaire's golden curls.
"Edouard, I promised…"
"Nothing, I know. What have I done that you would humiliate me like this? But of course, the rules of the game were always yours." His smile was vicious. "Is this your price?"
"I have not humiliated you."
His gaze scanned the hall, passing over the groups of whispering courtiers. "You think not?"
"I did not know you would be at court."
At last, he met her gaze. The smile was gone. Could this be an act? She could hardly believe it.
"And what does that mean, Mariette." He asked very softly. "The humiliation
was only meant to be a private one."
The duplicity of it stung her to fury. "Edouard, how dare you pretend…" She stopped abruptly as a court official hurried towards them.
"Sieur Edouard, the King will hear you next."
With a nod to the man, Edouard took her hand, pressing his lips to her palm. It was an intimate and insulting gesture. "Felicitations on the return of an admirer, may he bring you the greatest pleasure."
He was gone before she could speak. Alone among the crowd, she stood for a moment, shaken. No one approached her, but she could feel the stares. She heard her name echo among the whispers. Quickly she turned towards the dais where the King sat. Twelve chairs flanked his throne, each with the crest of the Duke who held a seat on the King's royal council. She took her seat and turned to watch as Edouard came forward to face his uncle.
He was unarmed. She had not noticed it before, but now she saw that he did not even carry a dagger. For some reason, it made her apprehensive. The herald announced him. Mounting the dais, Edouard sank to one knee, in the position of any supplicant. He looked up towards his uncle, awaiting the King's pleasure.
Ferdinand showed none. He ignored his nephew and continued speaking with Basile de Autrens. The young Chancellor listened in silence. He looked unhappy. As the King finished, Basile spoke softly, clearly trying to explain, his anxious words were too quiet to reach beyond where they sat. At length, Ferdinand raised a hand for silence. Basile obeyed at once, and the King turned away scowling. It was clear that the monk's inopportune comments had soured his temper. The court sensed this and gathered to watch. A murmur of anticipation spread across the hall.
Finally, Ferdinand looked to his nephew. A moment passed, but he did not raise Edouard from his knees or call him forward so they could speak privately. Instead, Ferdinand raised his eyebrows. Given no clear signal, Edouard remained kneeling in silence.
Ferdinand sighed. "Sieur Edouard, you wished a boon of us. Speak then, we have other pressing matters."
"Of course, sire," Edouard answered. He smiled. It was not quite impertinent. "I have come to beg your permission to raise, train and lead a company of knights." He spoke quietly, and there was complete silence as he finished.
For a moment, Ferdinand looked amazed. Then his fist closed, crumpling the paper he held. "Does Chamfort not have enough knights?"
"You mistake me, sire. The request is not for knights to train at Chamfort."
"Then speak clearly, boy, and have a care before you do. What are you asking?"
"As King's Champion, I ask for the right to raise and lead knights myself. I would lead men sworn to protect your realm and, by the gift of their skill, offer honor and protection to my sovereign."
Ferdinand rose, but his gaze remained fixed upon Edouard. He leaned forward, fists braced against the arms of his chair. "Does your father support you in this request?"
"No, sire. He knows nothing of it."
There was a whisper of sound as the court expelled pent up breath. Mariette felt no such relief. She wondered what game Edouard was playing, and why he would risk embroiling his father and Chamfort. It was insanely dangerous. One look at Ferdinand's face confirmed it.
"You claim this request is yours alone, but why make it when you may serve us with the other knights of Chamfort."
"The service offered by Chamfort does not satisfy me."
The contemptuous arrogance of it silenced even Ferdinand for a moment, and when he spoke, it was with tetchy precision. "We are well pleased with the service and loyalty shown by your father and the knights of Chamfort." Forced to diplomacy, Ferdinand's words were smooth as honey.
"An endorsement which I am sure will gladden my father's heart, sire. But I can do more."
"More?"
"I am King's Champion, tradition demands that my skill serve you directly, sire."
"You speak of a tradition long forgotten."
"And one I would renew. I know you seek knights to bring glory to your court and to protect your person. I am your Champion, who better to bring them to you?"
Ferdinand straightened, staring down at his nephew with a suddenly hooded gaze. Someone coughed. It was the only sound as the court watched the drama. Few understood the sting of Edouard's comment. But there was no mistaking the look on the King's face. Mariette wondered if Edouard really meant to suggest he would like to benefit from his father's misfortune. At last, Ferdinand spoke, again forced to a public show, he answered with deadly clarity.
"It is true. I do intend to call the most skilled knights to my personal banner, wherever they are found. But by what right do you claim leadership of these men. What qualifies you for such an honor, Sieur Edouard?"
"I would claim no honor, sire, but only wish to serve as best I may."
"No honor." Massive fists hit the chair in staccato accompaniment to the King's immediate anger. "Sieur Edouard your arrogance passes all understanding. You ask for a position of power and trust, close to my person." With brutal sarcasm, the King laid repeated stress. "An honor, reserved for those our finest commanders, offered in return for rare and excellent service." The hall echoed to his voice, and then to a chilling silence. "I ask again, Sieur Edouard, by what right do you claim such honor."
"By no right, sire, and I make no claim. I ask only for the boon and offer humble service."
The King's laughter ripped across the tense gathering and triggered responsive smiles and rude sniggers. "You mock us, Sieur Edouard." The hall stilled to gloating expectation. "Rarely can service less humble have been offered. Admit now that in seeking this prize you are driven by pure ambition and vaunting pride."
Edouard smiled and bowed his head. "You mistake me, sire."
"Have a care, Sieur Edouard. You may bear the title of Knight, and hold affection as our brother's son, yet your request is improper and by raising it you invite question as to your motives."
Mariette heard the gasps. A hiss of shock slid around the hall. Ferdinand took no notice. If he knew that for most present his anger outmatched the fault, he did not care. No one was amused now, as a young man recently hailed a hero faced royal censure. The court shifted restlessly.
Apparently chastened, Edouard answered the King softly. "My pardon, sire, if my petition is inappropriate it is withdrawn." He paused. "And if my motives raise question, the offense is unpardonable and offers insult to my liege and to my family."
Sharply the King overrode him. "This ill-judged request casts no dishonor on your family. As always our brother offers loyalty and service beyond question."
Against all sense, Edouard smiled at this double-edged victory. He kept smiling as he waited for the predictable result; no one got away with baiting Ferdinand in his own hall. The court watched breathless as a well-known dislike hardened to enmity.
The King moved round the table. "Edouard de Chamfort, your request is ill conceived and lacks humility. It is refused." No one moved as Ferdinand approached his nephew. Reaching down the King's hand closed hard over the scarlet badge of knighthood on Edouard's chest. With a brutal jerk, Ferdinand ripped it free. "Your knighthood in our service and all attendant privileges are revoked." He turned away. For a moment his back offered a broad target, and Mariette thought she understood why Edouard was unarmed.
As she watched, the King turned round. Now he smiled as he said. "Was there anything else, Edouard?"
"No, sire." Edouard rose and bowed. His grace denied cramped muscles and taut nerves. The respectful depth and length of his bow seemed nicely judged to provoke. Edouard hesitated; he lifted his eyes to the heavy features of his uncle. For a long moment he held the King's gaze then, without a word of protest, he turned and moved between the ranks of courtiers. They watched in absolute silence. Then a rustle of disruption spread, the young knights moved to follow Edouard. His comrades from the summer campaign left the hall. By their silent action, they made protest. Mariette shivered as it seemed the future shifted and settled before her.
The moment she was free to le
ave, Mariette stepped down from the dais and hurried through the crowds. Reaching the doors, she found Roslaire blocking her way. With a quick smile, she stepped round him.
He followed. "So, that is your boy?"
"He's not my boy."
"No, I doubt anyone will hurrying to claim to him just now." Roslaire matched his pace to hers. "Is he always so reckless?"
The words had a familiar edge. She glanced up, but his expression was bland. "He is known for it."
"How charmingly juvenile." Roslaire laughed. "You must be glad that I came back?"
"Why?" She was wondering who might know where the monk had gone and gave him only half her attention.
"I would think there are many reasons, but at least now you do not risk being caught up in the wrangle over the succession." When she did not answer, he said softly. "Perhaps you have been a little reckless too, sweet Duchess."
"You have something to say, Roslaire?"
"No, but maybe it is not wise for you to not rush to comfort him."
She almost laughed, but catching his gaze she said, "I am not going to Edouard."
"What is the hurry then?"
"I have other concerns. Is that so surprising?"
"And these concerns are?"
They were passing through courtyards, following a quiet cloistered walkway. Mariette stopped and turned, giving him her full attention. Roslaire came to a halt. He was smiling, but his eyes were shadowed and, casual as he seemed with one shoulder leaning against the wall, he betrayed a certain tension. She understood then that she would have to make a choice. If she wanted to use him, she must offer something in return. The answer came quickly, whatever diversion he provided Roslaire de Lyon was worth more than that. He had wealth, power and influence. A network of informants wider in scope than any other she could access. He would not scruple to see the job done.
"The old monk. I want to find him."
For a moment, he said nothing. He shifted frowning. "The one who angered the King, but why?"
"I want to hear his story. The attacks he spoke of, Montmercy suffered many similar."
"Ferdinand did not seem concerned."
Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3) Page 42
