The Baron's Ring

by Mary C. Findley

  “I can’t forgive all the wrong you’ve done,” Tristan replied. “But you’ve repented and sought God’s forgiveness, and so I seek your good as a brother in Christ.”

  “It seemed of little consequence when I would go,” Catarain said softly, “and now that I know I have done what I can to right my wrongs I am glad it was your hand that will set me free. I am sorry to cheat your justices.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Tristan said. “Perhaps God still has need of a man with such a loyal heart, now that it belongs to Him instead of a witch who held it so lightly. I happen to know what a woman has the power to do to a man, and I humbly thank God He brought me a wife He had prepared to lead me in His paths.”

  “You wed the little slave, did you not?” Catarain asked. “She was an enchantress. I wish I had possessed the courage to fight for her as you did. She was worth anything a man could suffer for her sake.”

  When the physician came he expressed doubt about whether he could save Catarain’s life. The wound was deep and Catarain had barely bound it up. He had lost a great deal of blood. Tristan charged him sternly to see what he could do. The healer frankly asked why he should trouble about it.

  “God may still wish to use such a fine warrior, a skilled engineer, and a wise administrator,” Tristan replied. “It’s for the court to say whether he should live or not.”

  “The Princess Mayra, wife of Crown Prince Tristan!” Gladring shouted from below. Tristan rose from Dunstan’s bedside, which he had hardly left except to see Jonathan, in the last two days. Dunstan had never moved, scarcely breathed. “Justice is coming, brother,” Tristan whispered to him, touching his shoulder. He hurried out of the room. Now that Shneea and Catarain were gone from the castle, Tristan could safely leave Dunstan in the care of a nurse. He had a boy to lead him around, Justin by name. Yet he had been pleased to find that the castle servants had cared for Mayra’s helps without anyone’s bidding. The whole place seemed happier without the queen and her “brother.”

  “My Prince!” Mayra’s voice cried out, and Tristan almost managed to fling himself down the stairs as he had years ago, so eager was he to wrap his arms around his wife. His injuries received in the King’s Hole still troubled him more than he cared to admit. Mayra had restored herself as much as possible, it was apparent, as he drank in her fragrance and thrilled to the sound of her ornaments. Her cropped hair she had somehow artfully wrapped in a silken turban, and Tristan was certain she entranced all who saw her. She buried her face in his chest. “You have been hurt,” she said in a low voice. “I knew I shouldn’t have left you.”

  “My Princess,” he whispered to the top of her head as he crushed her against him. “You are here, and all the hurts are healing faster now. Welcome back. Oh, you are most welcome.”

  “Baron, I mean Prince Tristan,” Alex’s voice said, “Captain Agman demands we send word straight back that you are safe and well or he’ll have an army here in four days. You look terrible, my Lord. What’s happened?”

  “Aside from a little banging about, as you can see, Alex, I am safe, and now I am very well.” Tristan couldn’t let Mayra go. He wondered how he had thought he could have left her behind, even knowing the dangers, when it was so hard to be parted from her at all. Suddenly he felt a strange movement against him. He pushed Mayra back.

  “What was that?” Tristan asked.

  “He started to move yesterday,” Mayra responded. “He must have liked all that horseback riding.” Tristan embraced her again. “You’re well? And so is he?”

  “Yes, my love,” Mayra assured him. “We already delivered Gregor’s proofs to the justices, and my mother and Thomas are giving their statements. To think the papers we looked so hard for were there in that blotter all along.”

  “He must have hidden them, then began to write his account of what he had learned,” Tristan said. “She came upon him and got that one paper, but he was dead and she didn’t know where to find the others. And Catarain made her get away. I wonder why she kept it.”

  “Thank the Lord she did,” Mayra responded. “It is the key to understanding the others. It would have taken weeks to sort through everything without it. The justices are coming, my love. We must get ready.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Draw me, we will run after thee: the king hath brought me into his chambers: we will be glad and rejoice in thee, we will remember thy love more than wine: the upright love thee.”

  Song of Solomon 1:4

  Tristan stood at the edge of the Hall of Justice, Justin at his side, waiting to be called to the king’s seat at the far end of the room. The justices, he knew, ranged in chairs on either side of that seat. Mayra must be in one of the galleries off to either side of the room. Catarain and Shneea would be standing at the base of the three broad steps leading up to the dais on which his seat and those of the justices rested. They would be shackled securely to poles. Guards would be close by them.

  There had been considerable question as to whether Catarain would live until the trial. Tristan had followed his progress anxiously and this very morning had learned that Catarain’s fever from his long-untended wound had finally broken and he seemed to be mending. Mayra had been horrified to learn about what had happened, very solicitous about Jonathan, and unable to comprehend what made Tristan so eager to see Catarain survive.

  “I can’t explain it,” Tristan admitted to her just as they had parted to attend the trial. “I just believe that God still has plans for Catarain.”

  “You are mad,” Thomas had said to Tristan when he had heard all that Catarain had done. “He has helped try to kill the king, kidnapped and abused the Crown Prince, defrauded the kingdom – Tristan – I mean My Lord Prince – The justices will recommend that he be sentenced to death. They cannot do otherwise.”

  The custom was for the ruler to pass by the accused, an ancient ceremony intended to prove that malefactors were in the power of the law and that the people, represented by the king, were safe from them. It was a custom Tristan could have done without, but he knew he would have to put up with many unpleasant customs if he was actually going to be king of Parangor. Many had advised him to ignore the tradition, especially considering the injuries he had received in the King’s Hole and his blindness, but he had thought it best to do what was expected of the king from the very beginning. The galleries were crammed with people, and Tristan wanted them to see respect for the laws of the kingdom, and to see that they were, in fact, safe.

  “Let the people see justice!” cried Gladring’s voice from across the room. Tristan stepped out, his hand on Justin’s shoulder, and they set off across the room. Tristan had paced it off an hour ago but it didn’t help. It still seemed an endless blackness. He was not even thinking about Catarain or Shneea when a voice hissed very close by him.

  “Justice,” said Shneea. And she spat on him. Considerable scuffling and rattling of chains ensued and Justin pulled him quickly away from the sounds. Justin guided him to his chair. The charges were read and the evidence was presented. Tristan shifted position and suddenly felt a jab. He reached into the side of his jerkin and a long, sharp object fell into his hand.

  “The Justices will retire to deliberate over this matter,” Mischnal’s voice spoke out of the reverberating noise in Tristan’s ears.

  “My Lord Prince,” Justin said urgently, and Tristan felt him kneel beside his chair. “Is something wrong?”

  “Help the prince,” Catarain’s voice said suddenly. “When the woman there accused with me spat on the prince she must have had another pin such as she used to attack the captain of the guard concealed on her person. I failed to see it when I pulled her back. The prince has been stabbed.” A tumult arose and Tristan had to shout to get quiet.

  “I am not injured,” Tristan said sharply and showed the pin in his hand. “Continue, Lord Justices, but remember what has been said and done here by Catarain of Kolt’Kutan as you consider these matters.”

  “Let us dispense with ret
iring,” another justice’s voice called out. “Our duty is clear. We advise the king to pronounce sentence of death upon Shneea, who was queen of Parangor. She has committed witchcraft, murder and treason, even to trying to steal the life of our prince in this very chamber, and she must die for it. For Catarain the justices ask that mercy be granted, that his life be spared because he has made truth known to us, and because he has even in this place put out a hand to help our lord. Let the king speak.”

  The tradition was for the king to rise, walk forward to the edge of the steps, and pronounce the sentence. Justin took Tristan’s arm and they walked together.

  “Let Shneea be burned to death. This shall be done at once, in the palace courtyard. To Catarain I grant the king’s pardon. He is free to go,” Tristan said. “It is the king’s word. It is justice. The people have seen it.”

  “Oh, my love, what a fright you gave us,” Mayra’s voice said as she kissed him on the forehead. “When you showed that terrible pin and I remembered what it had done to poor Jonathan I was sure you had been wounded.” Tristan had collapsed on his bed after being led away from the justice hall. He felt for a little hand and kissed it, unwilling to move any more. Everything seemed to hurt and he had no strength at all.

  “Justice,” Tristan murmured. “She said it to me as I passed. I had to show her that it was true. It couldn’t be delayed any longer.”

  “She is dead,” Mayra said, resting her hand on the hollow of his throat. “I lit the fire. And your brother went soon after. You are king indeed now, my husband.”

  “And you are my queen,” Tristan smiled. He toyed with the ring on Mayra’s thumb. “I told your father he had to be prepared to run the vineyard, to be Baron of Larcondale. I was right, wasn’t I? Now we can’t go back.”

  “I thought I would never be happy anywhere else but there,” Mayra sighed, “but I am happy wherever you are, my husband.”

  “I was only afraid that she might somehow escape and do more evil,” Tristan said.

  “God took care of His justice, my husband,” Mayra chided. “He put her in our hands, and He wouldn’t have let her escape.”

  “Does Alex know Jonathan has promised him a place in the king’s guard?” Tristan asked.

  “Yes,” Mayra laughed. “I thought he would split his face grinning. And Thomas has accepted your request that he become chaplain of the castle. He says he’ll finally have cause to open up his cases and use his wedding gifts again. What does he mean?”

  “I’ll tell you another time. What about Brentin? Will he come, do you think?”

  “From tailor to tavernkeeper to Magistrate to king’s chief advisor?” Mayra imitated the commanding little voice of Brentin to perfection and Tristan had to laugh, though it hurt. “Oh, he’ll come. How could he resist? We’re emptying Larcondale of its best citizens.”

  “Your mother and father are still there,” Tristan reminded her. “And Jerez, and all the soldiers who settled. And Janos. There are plenty of good folk left. Your father had better make sure they get a good minister, and a teacher, though.”

  “He will,” Mayra replied. “And he will send us Mitts, for we can’t do without her.”

  “Ah, Mitts. No, it’s true, we can’t. And I have one more idea. What has become of Catarain?”

  “He asked to speak to you when you were well enough,” Mayra replied. “We have given him his old room and treated him with courtesy he can’t seem to comprehend. I’m still trying to comprehend it myself, even though he told us about the pin that woman had before the whole kingdom. He saved your life, but it wouldn’t have needed saving if he hadn’t protected and helped that woman all these years.”

  “God ordered these things, my love,” Tristan replied. “We have seen a soul saved that all thought lost forever, haven’t we? That’s cause for rejoicing. Am I well enough to see him, my little physician?”

  “If you promise not to move,” Mayra said reluctantly.

  “Send for him, please,” Tristan requested. Mayra did, and in a few minutes Tristan knew that Catarain had entered. Tristan had begun to get used to the sound made when a person fell down on his knees, a sound that had startled him so much when Lord Drokken had done it back at their meeting in Larcondale. So it didn’t bother him too much when Catarain did it at his bedside.

  “I owe you my life,” Tristan said simply. “This kingdom owes you its king, and the life of the captain of the guard. And yet instead of rewarding you I want to give you more work.”

  “The king may command me,” Catarain said. “I have no other place in the world where I can hope my service would be welcome.”

  “I want you to finish the project of spanning the gap between Kenborana and Larcondale,” Tristan explained. “What you have is a road of sorts but it’s foul traveling. I know you can make it better if you don’t have to skulk and hide and hunt mysterious teachers along the way anymore. I expect there to be a good deal of traveling between the kingdoms now. I want to encourage much trade and other intercourse. Can I rely on you to accept the post of my Chief Engineer?”

  “May God richly bless the king for his mercy and his favor to such an unworthy servant,” Catarain said. “I accept this task and will make a road as smooth as glass for my king and his queen and all the people to travel on.”

  “Five years ago I never would have believed I would see the time of Dunstan’s death, or that he would change so much,” Tristan said after Catarain had gone.

  “He was like a lost sheep who finally found his Shepherd,” Mayra said. “He left you a letter among the papers Nylda found.”

  “Read it to me, please,” Tristan asked.

  “Dear Tris,

  How could you ever forgive me for all I did to you all those years? Yet you did. I saw it in how you took care of me, helped me, and gave me hope, even when you were in so much danger here. All I wanted was for you to understand that I learned what you tried to teach me. I wish it hadn’t been too late.

  I thank God you came back, that you’ll rule our kingdom, and be so much better than our father was, or I was. Thank God our people have a good king now. They needed one for so long. Thank God for your beautiful little wife. She will be a queen our people will never forget. She’ll give everyone light, and help everyone see.

  “I was so ashamed when I saw what you did with no sight, and what I couldn’t do with all my senses. I wasn’t even strong enough to see a wicked woman with two good eyes. I was so blind I made her my queen. But you saw everything and I know you’ll have found a way to make it all right.

  “God bless you, King Tristan of Parangor. Rule our people well. Dunstan.”

  “Come here, my queen,” Tristan said to Mayra. “Remember how you soothed all my pain on our wedding night? Can you do it again?”

  “I can try,” Mayra said, sliding into the bed with him. He folded her in his arms, and kissed her on top of the head.

  “What color is it now?” he asked.

  “What color is what?” Mayra was puzzled.

  “Your hair,” Tristan replied.

  “Oh, don’t ask,” Mayra groaned. “I am so glad you can’t see it.”

  “Mayra, you will always be beautiful to me,” Tristan laughed. “Don’t you understand? The only picture of you I have in my head is that radiant thing that stood in the moonlight outside the church. You’ll never grow old, you’ll never have wrinkles, you’ll never have gray hairs. You’ll always be moonlight and the scent of roses to me. How many women can say they’ll never grow old in their husband’s eyes?”

  Mayra kissed his chest. “How many women have a husband who can see everything except how beautiful he is, inside and outside?”

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