The Baron's Ring

by Mary C. Findley

  By the time they camped for the night Tristan was exhausted and ready to collapse. He had brushed his hand over his wife’s hair and found her beautiful tresses transformed into an unruly, short-cut thatch of what Alex had managed to inform him was a kind of muddy straw yellow. She wore coarse, padded clothes and acted the part of a natural fool to perfection. Catarain had informed them as they ate beside the fire that by tomorrow noon they would arrive in Kenborana. Tristan commented on the amazing feat that had been accomplished by the building of this road. Catarain had laughed.

  “I was able to offer your brother some assistance in re-establishing the economy of Parangor while enabling him to continue this goal that he would not be denied. He would have his road south along the banks of the Brenget, as far south as needed, for he still believed he would find you one day. It was my duty to serve my king, so I went along with his plan, especially as it became apparent that I would be able to get justice for my sister, and so serve my queen as well as my king.”

  “Your sister?” Tristan echoed, wanting to hear another side of this mystery Jonathan had hinted at.

  “Always, always we were to search for the lost brother,” Catarain said, contempt heavy in his voice. “Never did we expect to find him, my sister and I. No, we searched for the man who had wronged her. Your brother, who loves my sister and would do anything to please her, was glad to lend his men and money to the cause of finding her justice. It is a pity he has become so unwell, or perhaps he would have come himself. It is awkward, however, that we have found that the attacker is also the lost brother.”

  “I don’t know who your sister is,” Tristan protested. “How could she even know me? How could I have attacked her?”

  “It is really very ironic and strange,” Catarain chuckled. “You will understand it soon enough.”

  Tristan lay beneath the open sky with Mayra and Alex on either side of him but he felt utterly alone and in darkness. He wondered why he had been so stupid as to think he had puzzled out the reason why Lord Catarain had come to Larcondale, how he could have let himself be trapped in this man’s meshes of so-called justice. He was sure now that he had brought Mayra along into a death trap. Finally things were beginning to come clear to him: Why Catarain had been interested in the scars from his burns; Why he didn’t know the name of his sister’s attacker, but knew that he had been known as a teacher in Larcondale; that they had insinuated themselves into the royal household, and that Dunstan was now ill.

  Tristan had wondered whether he would know anything about his old home when they arrived. As soon as they entered the courtyard he heard a familiar voice that confirmed his theory about the identity of Dunstan’s wife.

  “So, my loving brother, you have brought me what I asked,” Shneea’s voice rang out, as the party came to a halt. Tristan dismounted, found Mayra, and shoved her behind Alex. His purpose was perfectly clear to the young man and Mayra seemed to disappear.

  “You asked for the teacher of Larcondale,” he said, standing straight and tall and, he hoped, facing in the right direction.

  “There is a complication, my beloved sister,” Catarain’s horse jangled up alongside Tristan. “You see, this is not only your hated enemy the teacher, he is Prince Tristan of Parangor, brother of your beloved husband, heir to the throne of your kingdom.”

  She could not suppress a startled gasp. “The ring!” She cried. “I could not think what it meant. But of course. You are my husband’s brother.” Tristan forced himself not to withdraw as she came very near and drew a hand down his arm. Her scent was both alluring and oppressive, her clothing tinkled with what he presumed were the same profuse gold and jeweled ornaments she had worn as Gregor’s wife, the ones she had taught Mayra to wear. “You are not the pale man of books I took you for. And I did not hurt your face so very much as I had supposed. It is still very pleasing to look at.”

  She was so close, so obviously studying him, but Tristan dared not withdraw. “It hurt enough,” he said softly. Tristan could almost feel waves of rage pulsing from Shneea in spite of her soft tone.

  “I am not so much disposed to hate Prince Tristan, now that I know who and what he is. Indeed, old wrongs can be forgiven, and so they shall be. Prince Tristan, you are welcome in your old home.”

  Tristan longed to be sure that the queen had not somehow recognized Mayra. He was sure old wrongs were neither forgiven nor forgotten, though he was certain Shneea was already hatching a new plan to keep the throne she had thought was securely in her hands. He did not see himself as being any safer whatever scheme she settled upon. Certainly he had more than a little cause to fear for Mayra should Shneea discover her presence. He knew Alex and Mayra were somewhere nearby but he could do nothing as he was carried along in the little procession made by the queen and her brother ushering them toward the castle.

  “My king and husband will be so glad to see you, Prince,” Shneea observed, “for he has done nothing but search, search, search for the poor brother lost in the river. We were so certain you must have died. But always he hoped. It is such a pity he has fallen ill. Perhaps you will give him strength.”

  As they entered the castle Tristan tried to call up in his mind a picture of the great entrance hall. He knew that doors led off to the left to the kitchen, dining hall and servants’ areas, and to the right to the library, the king’s study, and to the great audience chamber. The stairway led up to the king’s chambers at the top, with hallways extending west to what had been the queen’s chambers and Dunstan’s, to the east his own apartments. How much had changed in five years he could not know.

  “You must be weary from your journey,” Shneea simpered. “We will make your old quarters available to you, of course. My husband has seen to it that they were kept like a shrine in your absence. My brother and I dwell in the west wing. Your servants will be given places among our own.”

  “My servants will remain with me,” Tristan said hastily. “I am used to having them by me. Besides, if the king is so ill, it is my duty as his brother to try to care for him, and to relieve you of what must have been a great burden. They can assist me in seeing to his needs.”

  “I will tend to my husband’s needs myself,” Shneea said.

  “Nay, and soil or tear your beautiful gown?” Tristan scoffed. “You have been without your brother all this time while he cut the road, and cooped up with a sick husband. I propose the two of you take a little holiday, while my brother and I become reacquainted.”

  Mayra and Alex took their places at his sides. Tristan knew they had no idea where to go, but now he did. He mounted the stairs confidently enough and blessed the Lord for his brother’s madness and the haven he would find in his room, the same as when he had left it if Shneea spoke true.

  Dunstan he was certain was installed in the king’s chambers. Tristan also knew there was a passageway hidden in the panels of the king’s chamber that gave out into his own quarters. It seemed unlikely that Shneea would know of it. He and Dunstan had used it to play tricks on their father as boys. He had a much more serious purpose in mind for it now. “Does anyone follow?” Tristan asked softly.

  “No, Baron,” Alex responded. “They are wide-eyed and open-mouthed, but they can think of no excuse to come after us. Do you know who that woman is?”

  “I do,” Tristan said soberly. “Someone whose hopes and plans I am about to ruin again, if God is willing. Alex, if she should have any cause at all to study my page, to be close to him or alone with him for one moment, you haven’t done your job. Understand?”

  “Baron, I could hardly agree with you more,” Alex murmured. “I was a fool to let this happen, but I never dreamed it was that woman. The page must be got out of here at once, at all costs. You were right from the start. Please give me a good beating if we all get out of this with our skins.”

  Mayra made an unpleasant noise, no doubt to show what she thought of that plan, but Tristan ignored her. He found the knobs to the doors of the king’s chambers under his hand and ope
ned them.

  A fetid smell of sickness burst upon them as they entered he bedroom. Tristan wanted to escape at once, but he closed the doors behind them.

  “Dunstan,” he called out.

  “Tris?” croaked a voice he did not recognize. Something moved, the giant bed that had been their father’s creaked, and Tristan moved forward. He found the edge of the bed just as a fleshy, trembling hand gripped him and almost pulled him over into the bed.

  “God’s mercy, it is you,” the voice rasped. “I knew you were alive. I knew you’d come back and help me. Oh, Tris, it’s all gone wrong. You’ll help me make it right, won’t you?”

  “Of course, Duns,” Tristan said softly. “But first we’re going to get things cleaned up a little.”

  “I’ve been so sick, Tris,” Dunstan groaned. “Can’t you get me some water? All I have is this brew Shneea gave me, and it’s like drinking hot coals.”

  “Alex, get servants to take this filthy bedding out of here,” Tristan ordered. “And make sure they bring plenty of water.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “We’re going to make an unnecessary lot of noise, Duns, because we’ve got to talk to you and hope no one can hear.” Obediently Mayra and Alex began shaking sheets, making loud snapping noises, moving things around with heavy scrapings. Tristan took a bottle from his brother’s hand and sniffed it. “Brother mine, I wouldn’t have any more of this brew if I were you. I believe your wife is poisoning you.”

  “Help me, Tris,” Dunstan whimpered.

  “God will help us all,” Tristan said.

  An hour later the air in the room was breathable, the bedding clean, and Dunstan washed and installed, propped up with pillows, drinking plain water concealed in the bottle that had contained Shneea’s “medicine.” Alex had informed Tristan that Dunstan seemed to have fainted two or three times during the process of cleaning up him and the room. His breath came in wheezing pants, his bulky frame seemed to have turned completely to fat, and he could not walk across the room. They did not talk again until the servants from the castle had left the room.

  “Who are these fellows?” Dunstan asked at last.

  “These are friends, Duns. Alex and his brother Aryam. The boy is a mute,” Tristan explained.

  “And what has happened to your face, Tris?” Dunstan demanded. “Can there have been someone crueler to you than I? Or did I cause that too, when I threw you in the river?”

  “Actually, that is a token from your wife, Duns,” Tristan said lightly. “She threw a brazier into my face. She’s brought me here to answer a charge of assaulting her. I recall it somewhat differently. But, she didn’t know I was your brother, so it seems all is forgiven.”

  “She was so beautiful,” Dunstan murmured, “and I wanted her, and I needed him. Everything was going to ruin, and they fixed it all. He was building the road, and getting money again, and taking care of everything. And she was – I couldn’t live without her. So I married her. But it’s not right – Something’s not right. Tris, read this.” He fumbled in the drawer of a stand beside the bed and thrust a paper at Tristan.

  “Duns ...” Tristan hesitated. Mayra dug her fingers into his arm and hooted a warning. Alex took the paper from Tristan.

  “Baron, the queen will expect us to get you settled in your own quarters,” he said crisply. “With the king’s permission, we should go for now.”

  “We should,” Tristan agreed. He leaned close to the mountain of pillows and spoke softly in his brother’s ear. “Duns, rest, and don’t eat or drink anything your wife brings you. Spill it, drop it, hide it in the chamber pot. We’ll get you good food and we’ll be back soon.”

  Tristan took them to his own rooms. Mayra made a disgusted noise. “Everything is like a shrine here,” Alex groaned. “Including about three inches of dust.”

  “Cleaning time again,” Tristan sighed. “At least there’s no smell.”

  Soon the chambers were habitable. “What did Dunstan give us?” Tristan asked softly, as they sank down together on the great bearskin hearthrug. Alex had built a roaring fire and they spoke in low tones.

  “My love, I think this came from the papers Gregor brought back with him, the ones that were never found after he died,” Mayra whispered. “She must have stolen them. It looks like he was gathering proofs while he was away.”

  “Proofs of what?” Tristan asked.

  “Proofs that the queen had a long history of doing just what she did to Gregor, and is doing to your brother,” Mayra said. “There is only one page here, but it would be a start to getting her burned as a witch. I think there must be more somewhere. This is a record in Gregor’s hand of things he found, but the actual documents have to be somewhere else.”

  “Do you think Dunstan has more?” Tristan asked.

  “No, that drawer was empty except for this paper,” Alex replied. “We have to find the rest.”

  “We have to get you out of here,” Tristan said sharply, taking Mayra by the arm. “What if she gets to know who you are? She wants to marry me when my brother dies, you know, or kill me somehow. Whatever her plan, it doesn’t allow for me to have a wife already, one that defied her and helped ruin her, and could contest her claim to the throne. You are in ten times the danger I am. Now do you think I feared for nothing?”

  “I never thought you feared nothing,” Mayra said. “Of course I didn’t think it would be her, but I’m not afraid to fight her. She shall know from me what it is to be faithful to my husband, to help him instead of destroying him.”

  A knock on the door of Tristan’s chamber startled them. Alex went to answer it. Mayra hid the paper Dunstan had given them while Tristan composed himself and stood waiting to see who had come.

  “My Prince Tristan, I came to welcome you home,” said a voice that almost made Tristan burst into tears.

  “Gladring,” Tristan said. A gnarled but still strong pair of hands clasped his own and held them. “Still Master of Horse, old friend?”

  “Nay, my Prince, retired by force,” Gladring replied. “My lady the queen felt I was giving my opinion too freely. But I have been allowed to linger about, to see old friends in the castle, and I can command a few like myself who will die in your service.”

  “God be thanked,” Tristan said. “These are Alex and Aryam, who are also too good friends to me for me to be worthy of them. The boy can’t speak, but –”

  “Except in here, where we have to trust a few people and let them know that my prince cannot see without my help,” Mayra said in a low voice. “I’m more than the prince’s friend, Gladring. I’m his wife. We need your help to fool the queen and her brother. They don’t know yet that my husband is blind, and they mustn’t know. You have guessed it, because he doesn’t even know that Jonathan has come with you. Isn’t that so?”

  “Aye, little one, I see it now,” Gladring said uneasily.

  “I didn’t know if you wanted me to tell him, Tristan,” Jonathan said. “I brought him here as soon as I could, so he could help. I should have whistled, or coughed, or something, but one doesn’t make rude noises around the Master of Horse, as you well know.”

  “You carry off the mockery of a sighted man in fine form, my Prince,” Gladring said. “We saw you come in, and we had no thought that this was the case. But we believed you had died. What has been going on with you these five years?”

  Tristan told him about his trip down the river and his new life in Larcondale. Alex and Mayra had to chime in where Tristan spoke too slightingly of all he had done.

  “Your minister friend said God would work in you,” Gladring said reverently. “Work He has. You are not the boy who left. You are the man who will help us all. And I came here to try to help you. But what will you do, then?”

  “First, I must get my wife away from here,” Tristan said.

  “Stop saying that!” Mayra stormed, still keeping her voice almost inaudible, but shaking in every limb. “I will not go. I will stay at your side. You can never fool the queen without me, and w
hat will she do to you if she knows?”

  “Gladring, Jonathan, her history with the queen puts her in the greatest danger,” Tristan said. “She was her slave, subject to cruelty I can’t speak of, and deeply concerned in the queen’s enmity toward me, which I can’t believe has really been forgiven or forgotten. Surely the queen will see through this disguise, for she isn’t blind.”

  “My Prince,” Gladring said in astonishment, “I’m sorry. I was so glad to see a way of helping you, and I didn’t understand the danger. I will have her sent away.”

  “Indeed, I am Prince Tristan’s wife, and you can’t order me, Gladring!” Mayra said. “And you, my foolish husband, could turn your back and never know if I was really gone. I will not go. So keep me under your hand and protect me too, if you think you can. You must have help. I’m here to help you. The queen is so vain and full of herself she’ll never look at a scraggly boy who dogs your steps. I’ll teach you to see this castle just as I taught you to see our home. It’ll be easier since it was your home before. This is how it will be. During this time we have been arguing your brother has been lying helpless in her power. We must go to him.”

  “You mean to follow me about the castle?” Tristan said to Mayra.

  “Tristan, you have to have help, or your weakness will be discovered,” Jonathan said. “Surely you understand this. And your Sweet Cecily has been accustomed to helping you to ‘see,’ or I’m much mistaken.”

  “I don’t think you can answer these arguments, my Prince,” Gladring said. “I’ve been married many years, and I’m not sure I could send my wife away from me or order her not to aid me in danger if she’d a mind to do it. This little one loves you fiercely and she’ll do her best. Can a better helper stand by your side?”