Beyond the Hanging Wall (21 page)

“I am the reason Cavor seeks,” Maximilian said, and Joseph could hear the almost concealed hurt in his voice. “I escaped from the Veins some days ago.”

“A prisoner,” the woodsman spat, and hefted the axe in his hands. “Wretch! I…by the
gods
!
What is that on your arm?
”

In the act of raising his axe to strike Maximilian down, the woodsman’s arm trembled and his hand slipped on the haft of the axe, the weapon sliding from his clasp and clattering to the floor. Joseph hesitated, then bent down and picked up the axe, placing it safely out of the woodsman’s reach.

Maximilian’s eyes did not waver from the shocked stare of the woodsman. “It is the Manteceros, friend.”

“But you died!” the man whispered. “You were taken by a bear!”

“
What?
” Vorstus ejected.

“Peace, Vorstus,” Maximilian said calmly, holding out a cautionary hand to the monk. “Let us hear what our friend has to say.”

“Two years after your disappearance,” the woodsman said, stumbling over the “your”, “I found what remained of your bones in a bear’s den not far from here.”

“And why did you think it was me?” Maximilian asked, although his heart grieved for the anonymous youth sacrificed for the sake of an evil pretence.

“Because of this, my Prince,” the woodsman said, calmer now, and he slipped to his knees before the prince. “Because of this.”

In his hand he held the Persimius ring.

They shared a meal, then talked some more, then Maximilian laid himself down to sleep, for he would have a long night ahead of him.

“Has Cavor sent troops into the forest, Alaine?” Vorstus asked the woodsman.

Alaine shook his head and scratched his thick beard. “I last saw troop movements two days ago now, and they were spreading westwards and south towards Ruen. As far as I know the forest is clear.” He glanced at Vorstus, then at the back of the sleeping prince. A grin split his beard. “You’ve had the gods’ own luck, Vorstus, to avoid patrols in the open country before the forest.”

“Well,” Garth said quietly, staring at the gathering dusk outside the window, “Maximilian has finally earned some luck, methinks.”

Alaine sobered. He had been deeply affected by Maximilian’s story. “People will be glad to hear of his return.”

“Do you think so, Alaine?” Vorstus asked sharply. “Cavor has been a good king by and large.”

“Ah,” said Ravenna softly to one side, the dusk gathering about her like a loving mist, “but Maximilian was a beloved prince.”

Alaine nodded. “You be right, m’Lady,” and Ravenna smiled a little at the title. “As a boy Maximilian walked in the gods’ own sunshine, and I think many will want to see that brightness about Escator again.” He turned to Vorstus. “Will he claim, Brother?”

Vorstus nodded. “He will prepare himself tonight, and will claim on the morrow.”

“Brother,” Alaine hesitated. “You have not said outright, but I am no fool. I have watched Cavor pull northern Escator apart in search of Maximilian. It was Cavor, was it not, who schemed to make away with the young prince?”

Vorstus indicated the other three, all watching the woodsman carefully now. “It is what we think, Alaine, although we have no proof.”

“The proof is in Cavor’s over-reaction to the escape of a lone prisoner,” Alaine said dryly. Then he made up his mind. “The prince will need friends. Friends who will be prepared to step forth once he makes his claim public.”

“We will stand forth!” Garth exclaimed, miffed.

Alaine nodded, and touched Garth briefly on his knee. “I know you will, young man. But Maximilian will need more than the four of you in this room. Vorstus,” Alaine kept turning to him as the natural leader of the
small group now that Maximilian was asleep, “let me prepare the way for you. Let me begin to spread word.”

Vorstus was uncertain. “Premature action could harm rather than aid.”

“Once his claim is made then he must needs act quickly; Cavor will not let the matter rest. Maximilian will need friends, more than are held in this room, and fast.”

Vorstus made up his mind. “Very well. Here,” he reached for a small piece of paper from a pack and scribbled some names. “Start with these men. They are members of the Order of Persimius. Tell them what has happened. They will help you. Already we have a substantial network waiting only for this day.”

“Good.” Alaine scanned the list then hid it in the pocket that until recently had harboured the Persimius ring. He looked one last time at Maximilian, then without another word he rose to his feet and strode to the ruined door, sliding his axe into his belt as he went. He paused, tipped a finger to his forehead in brief salute, then was gone.

Once night had fallen, Vorstus woke Maximilian. The prince refused the drink and meal Ravenna offered, spoke briefly but quietly with Vorstus for a few minutes, then slipped out the door.

Garth watched him go with concern. “Vorstus? What does he do? Will he be all right?”

“Peace, boy.” Vorstus sat down beside Garth and Ravenna. “He will be well.”

“He goes to prepare for the claim,” Joseph said, his eyes dark and reflective. “And for that he needs a night alone for meditation and prayer.”

“Oh,” Ravenna said, understanding his refusal of food. “He needs to fast. He will make his claim cleansed both spiritually and physically.”

Vorstus looked gently at her. “Yes, child. Yet despite all he has endured, I think Maximilian’s soul is already pure and sweet, sweeter by far than that of the man he would supplant.”

When Garth woke in the morning, Maximilian was back, sitting in a shaft of sunlight that fell through the window. His face was calm, his eyes still, and Garth thought he had never seen a man more at peace with himself and the world about him.

The Manteceros on his arm seemed to leap and twist in the morning sunshine.

“When?” Vorstus asked as he rose from his bedding.

“Soon,” Maximilian replied. “But you have time to breakfast.”

Again the prince refused food, although he took a sip or two of clear water, and the others ate quickly and silently. The air was tense with expectation, and Garth wondered that Maximilian showed none of the excitement that so evidently gripped everyone else. Even Ravenna, normally so composed, dropped a plate and several forks, muttering her apologies even as her cheeks stained with embarrassment.

The prince’s mouth twitched, and he watched her as she moved about the room, but he said nothing.

Finally all was ready. “What do we do now?” Garth asked Vorstus under his breath as they threw cold dirt on the fire and spread the few remaining coals out to die on the hearth.

“Now? Now we wait, boy, for today will be in Maximilian’s hands.” Vorstus turned to one side and lifted a small pack from a cupboard.

As if he had heard him, Maximilian stood up from his stool. “It is time,” he said, and stepped out the door.

“Every heir is taught how to claim almost before he can walk,” Vorstus explained quietly as they followed Maximilian down a gently sloping forest path away from the ravine. “The procedure becomes instinctive.”

“And the verse that the Manteceros taught me?”

“It was a cryptic reference to the procedure used to claim, boy. Every heir knows it, and its meaning.”

Garth eyed the small pack that Vorstus had seized from a cupboard as he’d left the hut. A sword stuck inelegantly out of one corner, but whatever else the pack held remained a mystery. “Vorstus?” Garth inclined his head at the pack.

Vorstus shrugged Garth’s curiosity aside. “Be quiet, boy. This is a reverent moment, and likely one you will see only once in your lifetime.”

Maximilian led them down a path towards the heart of the forest, his pace brisk but not overly fast. He still wore only a simple pair of breeches and some boots, and Garth wondered that he would not dress more formally for such an important day.

They walked for over three hours, Maximilian never hesitating at a fork in the path or even when the trail disappeared completely. Garth glanced back several times to where his father and Ravenna followed, but they only nodded at his glance, their faces as calm and unquestioning as Vorstus’.

Finally, when Garth was wondering if all the claim consisted of was a hike through the forest, Maximilian came to an abrupt halt.

He tilted his head to one side, his blue eyes blazing. “Do you hear it?” he asked, and for the first time that day Garth could detect a trace of tension in the prince’s voice.

“Yes,” Vorstus replied gently. “I hear it, Maximilian Persimius.”

Garth strained for a moment, then heard a soft roar above the normal sounds of the forest.

But Maximilian did not wait to answer the question that sprang to Garth’s lips. Without another word he turned back to the trail and strode forth, his pace noticeably hurried now.

The others hastened after him.

Within half an hour Maximilian led them to a great waterfall, a green lake spreading out from its misty base. Jewel-like lilies, their velvet pads so broad and thick it seemed a man could use them as stepping stones, spread over the calmer sections of the lake, while fish flashed just beneath the lake’s surface.

But Maximilian had no eye for any of this beauty. He stared at the waterfall, then he turned to Joseph. “Will you witness?” he asked tersely.

“Assuredly, Maximilian Persimius,” Joseph said without hesitation.

Maximilian jerked his head in thanks, then he turned to where Garth and Ravenna stood. “Will you name me?” he asked, his voice softer now.

Garth opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but Ravenna answered for the both of them. “Certainly, Maximilian Persimius.”

Maximilian relaxed enough for a small smile. “Then I thank you.”

Finally he turned to Vorstus. “Are you ready?”

“I am, Maximilian Persimius.”

Maximilian took a deep breath. “Already seventeen years have been wasted. I have no taste for lingering.”

And with movements swift and smooth he stripped himself of his clothes and stepped to the side of the lake.

“In crystal do drown me,” Vorstus said low, but very clearly. Garth glanced sharply at the monk. Vorstus had assumed an air of utmost authority and gravity, and Garth realised that this was not Brother Vorstus who stood before them, but the Grand Abbot of the Order of Persimius.

“In crystal do drown me,” Maximilian repeated, and in one graceful action he dived into the lake.

They watched the progress of his pale body as he swam deeper and deeper, ever further into the centre of the lake until he vanished beneath the still green waters. Garth held his breath in sympathy with the prince, and only became aware of it when his chest tightened in agony.

Just when Garth thought that he must have drowned in truth, the prince’s head broke water at the very centre of the lake. He ran his hands back through his hair, wiping it out of his eyes, then shook his head and looked about.

As soon as he spotted the group standing at the lake’s edge, he swam back to them with long, lazy strokes. As he stood from the water, Vorstus stepped forward and touched the prince’s forehead, then his
chest, with slow, deliberate movements. “You are washed of your sins, Prince Maximilian Persimius. Do you wish to proceed with your claim?”

“I do,” Maximilian said, and Vorstus reached down into the pack he’d left close by, pulling out a long white silk shirt. Maximilian held out his arms, and Vorstus slipped the shirt over the man’s head and neck.

As it tumbled down over the prince’s damp body Vorstus spoke again, this time touching Maximilian briefly on the mouth. “Do you swear only to speak with the words of truth, Maximilian Persimius?”

“I do so swear,” Maximilian replied.

“Then wear always the white of truth draped next to your skin to remind you of your vow, Maximilian Persimius.” Vorstus reached down again, and this time he withdrew a pair of brown hose from the pack. “Do you swear to renounce pride, and embrace humility as a lover?”

“I do so swear,” Maximilian replied quietly, and stepped into the hose as Vorstus held them out.

“Then draw the dirt-brown of death up about you, Maximilian Persimius, to remind you that death and the decay of the grave await at the end of your life, and that pride is a road that leads nowhere.”

Vorstus reached into the pack again, and Garth, Ravenna and Joseph found that their eyes were filled with tears at the solemnity and majesty, yet the utter simplicity and extraordinary beauty of this ceremony.

Now Vorstus held a surcoat of crimson silk in his hands. “Do you swear that you will not hesitate to spill your own blood in the defence of your people?”

Again Maximilian swore, and Vorstus helped him don the crimson surcoat as a visible reminder of his vow.

This time, when Vorstus straightened up from the pack, the severity and solemnity of his face was relieved with a small smile. In his hands he held a pair of sturdy brown leather boots.

“Then Maximilian Persimius, you will have need of courage if you speak nothing but the truth. Exist in total humility, and fight to the death for your people’s needs. Accept these, as a gift from the order and from your people themselves.”

Maximilian smiled, and slipped the boots on.

Finally, Vorstus offered the prince the sword. It was sheathed in a scabbard of spun gold and silver, and hung from a belt of the same fine craftsmanship. “Let the light bind and hold you tight in its loving hands, Maximilian Persimius,” he whispered, belting the sword about the prince’s hips, “for none deserve it more than you.”

Then he stepped back, his face once more grave. “Who will name this man to lay claim to the throne of Escator?” he called, his voice shockingly loud in the stillness of the forest.

“I will!” Ravenna stepped forward, her voice ringing confidently. “I name him Maximilian Persimius, son and heir of the king dead, and I name him fit claimant to the throne of Escator!”

“And I!” Garth had suddenly realised his role in this ceremony. “I also name this man Maximilian Persimius, son and heir of the king dead, and fit claimant to the throne of Escator, and my naming adds weight!”

Maximilian, whose head had remained bowed through this exchange, now looked up. His face was bright with hope, and his eyes blazed with some inner fire. Whatever else Maximilian may have lost in the Veins, he had not lost his sense of destiny.

He stared, but it was not the small knot of people before him that trapped his eyes.

“Then step inside the green shadowed parlour, Maximilian,” Vorstus whispered, his voice now hoarse with emotion, “and claim what is rightfully yours.”

Maximilian stepped forward, and both Ravenna and Garth hurriedly stepped aside. He brushed past them, hardly aware of their existence, and lifted his foot onto the first step of the Pavilion that now sheltered beneath the trees behind them.

Garth and Ravenna could not stop a gasp of surprise. It had not been there a moment ago, and both instinctively understood that Maximilian had somehow called it from the dream world into this.

Ravenna’s eyes followed Maximilian as he stepped into the Pavilion. They were filled with vastly increased respect.