“Jonathan!” Tristan cried. “God’s mercy, Justice Mischnal. They tried to kill the captain of the guard right in front of me just a short time ago. It’s him you must find and help.”
“The captain of the guard was sent away by this so-called prince hours ago, to escort his runaway servants,” Shneea said acidly. “He would know best where to find him.”
“They captured him, and tortured him to get information from me,” Tristan said. “He may already be dead. At least he deserves burial.”
“A search will be made of the dungeons and the surrounding woods,” Mischnal said. “We go at once to the Hall of Justice, and you and your brother must accompany us, queen.”
“My brother is detained,” Shneea said. “He will join us as soon as he can.” Tristan thought there was a note of uncertainty in her voice, and realized that Catarain was not among the men who surrounded him. Where was he? Probably disposing of Jonathan’s lifeless body. Tristan said as much and Shneea went into a rage, spewing foreign curses which became distant, then inaudible.
Tristan was conducted back to his own rooms and allowed to put on fresh clothing. His agony over Jonathan’s fate hardly allowed him to think, and what had happened to him would be nothing compared to what Shneea would do to Mayra if she caught her. In a daze he went with his unknown guides to the Hall of Justice.
A short time later Tristan was led into a vast room. As a child he had been in this place, a cathedral-like building rising four stories high, walls lined with benches, with great carved chairs for the chief justices. He was led to a seat in the examination dock, inside a heavy wood railing. He had to smile a little, because normally a prisoner had to stand. But he had limped badly coming out of the dungeon, thanks to the numerous falls in the King’s Hole, and the physician who had been called demanded that he be allowed to sit for the proceedings. He ached and his head throbbed, but he had been pronounced otherwise fit enough to attend to the testimony and to give answer.
Shneea spoke. “Can you prove a single instance where my brother or I have lied to your people? Look elsewhere for a deceiver, a man who has abandoned his kingdom.”
“He brought us documents written by the king,” another man’s voice put in. “The king would know his own brother, surely.”
“The king did recognize me, at once, when I first came to him,” Tristan said, “but can’t tell who anyone is now, Count Dinsda.”
“You see, he knows me, too,” the justice who had spoken exclaimed. “How can there be doubt about who this is?”
“He claims my husband wrote documents,” Shneea snapped. “The king was incapable of reading or writing. Is it not so?”
“Aye, God’s mercy, what a time that was, when the prince first disappeared and we found out,” groaned another man’s voice. It was Baron Granid, Tristan told himself, but didn’t speak out this time.
“And my brother has written everything for him for more than two years,” Shneea pursued. “Now, suddenly, the king can write pages of instructions and orders? It is a lie. The documents are forged.”
“Now, gracious queen,” Tristan said. “You have proved I am blind. Never yet have I heard of a blind forger.”
“Those false servants of yours did the writing, then,” Shneea snapped.
“No, no, Dunstan was always able to make shift to sign his name, and this signature is clearly writ in the same hand,” Mischnal said. “And that phrase, ‘I am Dunstan, King of Parangor,’ that is his way. However it happened, Dunstan has taught himself to write. I think, Queen Shneea, you’ll have to prove that this man is not who he claims to be. For myself I do not credit your claim that he is an impostor.”
Shneea said, “He abandoned this kingdom five years ago. He knew his brother’s weakness and dependence on him and that the kingdom would be ruined if he left. He has lived comfortably in a foreign land, profiting from his noble title. Not once did he attempt to return.”
“I tried many times to return,” Tristan protested. “I was told over and over that the journey was impossible. There was no one willing to take me. Then I became blind. It seemed even more impossible to return. And I could not imagine that I would be needed, so handicapped.”
“King Dunstan searched for his brother, cut a road through the forest, never gave up hope of finding him,” Shneea said. “As for the journey being impossible, I succeeded. And where is the ring of Parangor? Has every attachment to your homeland gone?”
“My ring ...” Tristan hesitated. “My ring I gave to my wife on our wedding night,” Tristan answered. “It was all I had to give her.”
“Yes, he claims to have married in Larcondale,” mocked Shneea. “My brother came to him as a representative of the kingdom of Parangor. He made no wife known to my brother. He wears no wedding ring.”
“My marriage was recorded in Larcondale, and performed under the laws of Tarraskida,” Tristan said, trying to remain calm. “At the time I owned nothing but my one ring. I was a farrier and a schoolteacher. I lived as the people there lived, on little or nothing.”
“He has been rehearsing this speech,” Shneea sneered. “He doesn’t want your pity, but he has told a tale of a poor lost prince, forced to work for his bread, blinded, yet finding happiness in a strange place. Can he be trusted to remain here if the king does die?”
“I have nothing to give my people,” Tristan said, rising to his feet and leaning on the railing in front of him. The justices behind him murmured uneasily at that. “God took me away from them. But He gave me a place of honor and responsibility even in the midst of being torn from home, and suffering the loss of my eyesight. God has taken everything I was in Parangor from me. Now he has brought me back to this place, in His time and in His way. So I know He will once more give me what I don’t have and make me able to be king of Parangor, if it’s His will that my brother dies.”
Several justices whispered “Amen” when Tristan fell silent. “You accused Prince Tristan of assaulting you, Queen Shneea,” Mischnal said. “Explain.”
“I lived in Larcondale,” Shneea responded. “This man came to demand a slave of mine. He offered no payment. I sent him away. He came back while I disciplined the slave for disobedience. He attacked me. I defended myself by throwing a brazier of coals at him. My husband died that same night, forcing me to flee lest these people who took that man’s part should take my life. I suffered terribly in trying to journey to this place. I wish him to be punished for the wrong he did to me.”
“Prince Tristan?” Mischnal asked.
“I was the schoolteacher,” Tristan responded. “The slave, whose name is Mayra, lived with her parents on the baron’s estate and came to school. Her mistress gave her cosmetics, hairdressings and perfumes. Mayra felt like a princess. Then Gregor took her parents on a trip with him. Mayra ceased to come to school. I went to the plantation but her mistress seemed to want me to pay to have Mayra come to school. Mayra came to me later, secretly and told me her mistress was forcing her to sleep with men.
“The girl was thirteen. Our minister said appealing to Gregor was the only way to help her. Gregor still hadn’t come back. He thought it best to return Mayra. I followed and sure enough, her mistress beat her because she fought the horror forced on her. I tried to stop the beating and the woman threw a brazier of coals into my face.”
A good deal of angry murmuring had greeted Tristan’s testimony, especially when he had told Mayra’s age. “I have admitted I beat a slave,” Shneea said with cold indifference. “It was my right.”
“Why is Lord Catarain still not here?” a justice demanded. “Send again to the castle and find him. Oh, here he is.” There was some confused noise and someone approached the justices, treading unevenly, not far from Tristan. Tristan reeled at the thick stench of blood in the air. He thought Catarain must still be stained by his concealment of Jonathan’s murder. “Lord Catarain, tell us how you came to find Prince Tristan,” Mischnal said.
“We had been clearing the road to Parangor,” Catar
ain said. “By order of the king, to search for his missing brother. My sister also wished to find the man who had wronged her, attacked her and driven her from her home. Rumors said Tarraskida believed we meant to take Larcondale for ourselves. We feared we would be attacked and killed by the soldiers we found everywhere in the woods. So we came secretly. We were captured all the same. When we were brought before the very man I sought I learned that he was the Prince of Parangor. I made known to him what he was accused of, and he agreed to go with us to answer the charge.”
“Is what Lord Catarain says true, Prince Tristan?” Mischnal asked.
“He has neglected to tell you that he said in my hearing that they wanted one man, and that they were determined to get him by stealth, or somehow make the people give him up.” Tristan heard Catarain gasp at that. “I felt they were enemies, because they scorned coming openly and telling us what they wanted. I believed Lord Catarain had a personal hatred of me, and others agreed. I still felt I ought to come with him and clear up the matter.”
“I accept Prince Tristan’s explanation as to why he didn’t reveal his blindness,” one of the justices put in. “If Lord Catarain spoke like that, I’d’ve been afraid too.”
“Prince Tristan, we understand why you thought the return to Parangor was difficult, but Queen Shneea made the journey, so we must ask how it was that you couldn’t.”
“I don’t know how she did it,” Tristan said helplessly. “When I was swept down the river and rescued, people said I was mad for claiming I’d come from Parangor, that we must have been at war for me to have looked as I did when I was found. Something isn’t right about what she says happened – the night she left – she didn’t – she wasn’t alone – Someone helped her fight me – held me back – someone powerful – And I – I heard horses – they went – they went east, not north – two horses – “ Tristan sank his head into his hands. He took a deep breath.
“That day the blacksmith I worked for pointed out a man riding out of town. He’d wanted a new shoe for his horse but wouldn’t wait. He was gone in a moment. He was tall and much more strongly built than me. His skin was the color of cinnamon. He had a black beard and long black braided hair. His clothes were rich, foreign. His eyes were very black, very piercing.”
Tristan heard an excited buzzing of voices behind him, but he didn’t stop. “I’m sure it was that same man who was at the estate, who grabbed me from behind. His height, his build, his strength, all were the same. After I was struck with the brazier, I couldn’t help hearing sounds of horses, two horses, one missing a shoe. I was a farrier. I knew the sound. It was the same man. He took her away with him, to the east, not north, not into the woods. That man – Whoever he was – He knows what she did, where she went.”
“You have almost perfectly described Lord Catarain, my Prince,” Mischnal said. “How is it you only now remember that someone else was there?”
“They got me down the King’s Hole,” Tristan said slowly. “Catarain and Shneea. It was his voice. Catarain held me, like that man held me before. It was the same. Everything was the same. I never heard him speak English then, and I can’t see his face now, but it is the same man. Ask him what they did, where they went.”
“Lord Catarain, answer this,” Mischnal demanded. “Can you tell us the truth about what happened there?”
A long silence followed. Finally Catarain spoke. “Yes, I was there.”
“Fool. Shut your mouth!” shrieked Shneea.
“I was there,” Catarain repeated. “I will tell all, but I will not speak unless I have a promise that I will not be put to death.”
“Liar!” Shneea raged. “Liar!”
“Silence her,” Mischnal said. “You must tell all the truth, about that night, about the records the king speaks of, about what you meant to do to our prince. Everything you can tell us must be told, and then it is possible we can find a way to be merciful.”
“I can do more than that,” Catarain said. “I can tell you where to find the captain of the guard. He lived, and I tended him, and hid him from her, and I can give him to you. But you must promise me life. That demon put a curse on me. I am not her brother. She was my wife years ago. I found her in Larcondale and tried to make her leave with me while the grape merchant was away. She has told me every bit of evil she has done, and made me serve her. She says if I don’t I will – I will be eaten alive by the demons in Hell, eaten forever. You must promise me life.”
Tristan scarcely recognized the voice of the sobbing, hysterical man who had been the cold, sophisticated Catarain. He didn’t know what had happened to Shneea, but assumed they had removed her from the hall.
“First tell us where the captain is,” Mischnal demanded. “Quickly, man, so that we may aid him.”
“In the dungeon there is a small chamber behind the one where you first saw the prince,” Catarain said rapidly. “It has no door of its own, just loose stones making a hole out to the place called the king’s hole. I stopped the wound she made, so that it bled no more, and I put him in there. I had no time to do anything else. He was alive when I left him.”
“Go to the place at once,” Mischnal cried. “A man’s life depends on your speed!” Running feet left the hall. “Now say on, Catarain. All you can tell us, as you hope for mercy.”
“Let me say one thing, Lord Justice,” Tristan said.
“Speak, Prince,” Mischnal said.
“Don’t fear curses, Catarain,” Tristan said. “No one but God can destroy your soul in Hell. No one but you can decide to reject Him and force Him to send you there. Repent, claim Christ, and no one can deny you a place in Heaven.”
“You would say this after all I have done?” Catarain wept. “You would give me hope, make me free from this madness, this terror she has been to me?”
“God says it in His Word,” Tristan said.
“The woman has done to death half a dozen men,” Catarain said. “She makes them desire her, weds them, drives them mad, kills them. All this you have seen done to your king. All this was done to the wine merchant in Larcondale. Then she takes what is theirs and disappears. Only this prince of yours ever made her fail. I came to her that day, because I still wanted her after all these years. She kept me hidden, didn’t want anyone to know I was there.
“But when the prince came and fought her over the slave, I had to come to her aid. We heard her husband return, and I told her we must flee. She tried to steal papers from his study but he was there, dying, and she could only find one that he had written upon. They thought she went north, alone. I was sure no one knew of my presence, that the prince had been so much hurt he wouldn’t remember I had held him back or be able to attend to our escape. We got horses and fled, to the east, past the carriage they had returned in. Our noise we thought they would think was only their own horses, left milling in the yard, and our tracks only more among many already in the dust. We went over the mountains and then by sea to Parangor, half a year’s journey, because she had heard of this mad king and thought him ripe for the plucking. I am like the fisherman, you see, the one who caught the wishing fish, and his wife wished for more and more, and could never be content. I thought if she could be queen she would be satisfied. I did steal money from the accounts, as she bade me, and I can show you the records I hid to cover my thefts. I was careless because I did not know King Dunstan was teaching himself to read. He saw them one day when he prowled around. I was sure he would never guess what we did.
“But she couldn’t forget the man who had robbed her of her last prize. She whispered to me every day that I must go back to Larcondale and cut off his head and bring it to her. The road project was already well along. I really meant to do as she asked and be done. But we were taken, and I learned this man was your prince. I had not the courage to shed royal blood. In our country it is one of the most damning sins, and I had enough sin on my soul. I brought him back for her, and then I saw her begin to scheme again, to get another husband, to shove me aside again.
Tristan was able to visit Jonathan after Catarain had finished his confession. “I heard everything you said,” Jonathan said in his harsh whisper, weaker than Tristan had ever heard him. Tristan clutched his hand and smiled. “About your Sweet Cecily, I mean. Every word. People have been telling me I should get a wife but I thought that’d be a burden, that I’d never be free again. What a fool I was. If I get my strength back I’ll find one as quick as I can.”
“My friend, start praying now that God will send you one,” Tristan said. “By the time you’re well perhaps she’ll be here.”
“That boy, the blacksmith,” Jonathan murmured. “Do you know he can beat me with a sword?”
“Alex?” Tristan grinned. “I didn’t know he was so skilled.”
“Of course, just now, you could beat me with a sword,” groaned Jonathan. “But he is fine. I want him in the guard. Make sure he doesn’t run away back to Larcondale.”
“I’ll tell him,” Tristan said.
Tristan asked to have an interview with Catarain. Outside a cellblock in the dungeons of the Hall of Justice he limped into the corridor and was given a seat. Still the thick scent of blood filled his nostrils.
“Catarain, are you badly wounded?” Tristan asked sharply.
“It is kind of you to ask, Lord Prince,” Catarain said raggedly. “My blade in your hand found a true mark in my leg.”
Tristan bolted up, all his aches and hurts flaring up again. He summoned a guard and sent for a physician.
“It is so strange,” Catarain murmured. “You alone of all these people have cared for my soul, have sought my good, and it is you I have wronged the most of all. I have taken to heart your admonition to seek peace with the true God, and am prepared to meet him.”
The Baron's Ring Page 18
