King Javan’s Year (26 page)

Mornings usually ended with a gallop down to the river again, where he could relax a little and pretend that he still enjoyed riding. Sometimes, when he got down from his horse at the end of a morning's training, his legs would hardly support him for their trembling—and it had nothing to do with his weak foot. His shoulders ached almost continually, for most of the skills he was reinstating made use of upper body strength, to compensate for his lessened mobility on foot.

Noonday sessions with Oriel after a bath became a regular feature for those first few weeks, the only way Javan could revive himself enough to face his afternoon obligations—for meetings seemed to multiply weekly, sometimes with the Council, increasingly with various commissions and assize courts, sometimes with staff from the earl marshal's office regarding plans for the coronation, now definitely set for the thirty-first of July.

One rather more pleasant if bittersweet accomplishment of those first few weeks was to arrange Oriel's longed-for reunion with his wife and daughter. It did not last long, and Javan had to reinforce his demand to the
Custodes
guards with the threat of Charlan and Guiscard lurking at his back, hands on sword hilts; but at least until one of the men summoned higher-ranking reinforcements, Oriel's joy was uncontained. While his own men barred the open doorway, Javan watched moist-eyed as the Healer wordlessly embraced his wife and then knelt to entice a tousle-headed toddler from behind her mother's skirts, to meet the father of whom she had no memory.

But all too soon, a well-armed
Custodes
captain was striding up to the doorway to end the scene of domestic happiness. With him came half a dozen more
Custodes
knights who looked even less inclined to be swayed by royal whim or sentiment.

“Sire, this must end at once,” the captain said, courteous but single-minded. “I have standing orders that the Deryni collaborators are not to be granted access to their families. My authority comes directly from Brother Serafin as Grand Inquisitor, as set out in the Statutes of Ramos. Master Oriel will have to come away immediately.”

Javan considered arguing the point, for he doubted that the
Custodes
commander's orders extended to laying hands on the king, but Charlan and Guiscard were not immune. Furthermore, current law did give Serafin the right to issue such orders—and further time stolen in defiance of the increased
Custodes
presence clearly would be of little worth.

“I had forgotten those were your orders,” he said quietly, reluctantly beckoning for Oriel to come away. “Master Oriel has been a steadfastly loyal servant of this Court for many years now and had not seen his little daughter since shortly after her birth. It seemed a harmless kindness to repay him for his services.”

“The Grand Inquisitor does not deem it harmless,” the captain replied, watching Oriel like a cat fixed on a mouse as the Healer tearfully disentangled his daughter's arms from around his neck and gave her back into the arms of his wife, unable to look at them as he returned to the king's side.

Javan said nothing as he shrugged and turned to go, but he would never forget the look of despair on Oriel's face as the door closed behind them, the Healer's hand outstretched in final farewell to the weeping woman and the rosy-faced toddler who was blithely waving good-bye to him, wide-eyed and innocent beneath a tangle of red-gold curls. The incident left Oriel bound to him even more firmly and made Javan all the more determined that he must do whatever he could to reverse this blight that the former regents had set upon his kingdom.

To do that, he needed to survive; day-to-day survival depended partly upon domestic stability to bolster his efforts. His personal household began to take shape during those first few weeks, as his schedule became more fixed and some routine began to emerge. He had not yet dared to dismiss any of the officers of the previous reign, but the Court slowly began to include men of his own choosing. He named Lord Jerowen Reynolds to the seat being vacated by Fane Fitz-Arthur and appointed him Vice Chancellor. Baron Etienne de Courcy became his confidential secretary, and Guiscard became one of his aides.

The appointment he broached to the Council at a meeting in mid-July, however, had more personal implications, for it touched on a more personal need. And unlike the other appointments he had made, he must gain permission for this one—and from the
Custodes Fidei
. It represented a backing down from the adversary stance he had been forced to assume against the Order while securing his throne, and it rankled—but keeping Paulin and Albertus totally on their guard would only make things more difficult. Paulin was already annoyed over the Oriel incident.

“One last item this afternoon, gentlemen. I should like to make a personal request of Father Paulin,” Javan said, forcing himself to keep a suppliant's face as he addressed the
Custodes
Vicar General, “but first, to offer him an apology.”

“An apology, Sire?” Paulin looked dubious.

“Yes, Father. I formed my decision to leave Holy Orders in good conscience, and after sober reflection, but I regret that the manner of my leaving may have left ill feelings—with my abbot, in particular, and with you, Father. I also regret any disrespect I may have seemed to show to you, Archbishop,” he added, casting his glance at Hubert. “I learned much under your tutelage and I am grateful for it. I am also grateful for the grace with which you have handled my dispensation from Orders.”

Hubert nodded, and Paulin inclined his head cautiously.

“Your Highness mentioned a personal request,” the latter said.

“Yes, Father.” Javan drew a deep breath. “I desire to appoint a personal chaplain. The confessors I used when last I lived at Court are no longer available. Father Boniface has died, and his Grace has other duties that take him often from Court—as is only proper, for he has other sheep to tend besides this rather black and wayward one.” He essayed a glance at Hubert and saw the archbishop was covering a faint smile with one pudgy hand.

“Perhaps his Highness would care to avail himself of my offices,” Archbishop Oriss said, looking slightly affronted. “I believe that my auxiliary, Bishop Alfred, has occasionally confessed him.”

Javan shook his head as if distracted, returning his attention to Paulin.

“I thank your Grace, but I have found a less busy priest I think would better serve my needs,” he said. “One nearer my age, who knows something of my past few years. He is a
Custodes
priest, Father General, whose wisdom and counsel I came to respect while resident at
Arx Fidei.
”

“One of my priests, Sire?” Paulin said, uncertain whether to be pleased or suspicious.

Javan kept his expression bland and guileless as he made himself meet Paulin's eyes. “His name is Father Faelan. He was not my confessor at the abbey, as you must know—only one of my tutors—but it is clear that his superiors must count him a worthy representative of his Order, else they would not have kept him there after his ordination, to train up more like him. If you have no objection, I would ask that he be transferred to my household, to serve as Chaplain Royal.”

“Faelan, you say?” Paulin murmured, glancing across at Albertus, who shook his head minutely—but in nonrecognition, not disapproval.

“Yes, Father. I don't believe I ever heard his surname, but I found him gentle and pious—and sensible. I believe he could provide responsible guidance without being stodgy—no offense to any of my previous confessors, of course.”

“Of course,” Hubert murmured, no longer smiling, though Paulin almost was.

“Very well, Sire,” Paulin said, jotting the name on the edge of a paper. “I make you no promises, but I shall inquire regarding this Father Faelan; and if he is deemed suitable, you shall have him, as a gesture of goodwill on my part—and for the sake of your immortal soul.”

Javan inclined his head in what he prayed Paulin would take for humility. “I thank you, Father. I shall await your decision.”

He hoped, as they moved on to other topics, that he was not putting the kind young Father Faelan into an uncomfortable position, for Faelan was not any part of Javan's intrigues. He had been a friend, though; and Javan had a desperate need of friends.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

Surely I will keep close nothing from you
.

—Tobit 12:11

In the days that followed, others besides Paulin of Ramos made inquiries touching on the king's business. One evening, with the coronation less than a fortnight away, Guiscard lingered after supper in Javan's apartments when everyone but Charlan had gone.

“I've found you a site for the Portal,” he said when Javan had sent Charlan off to the cellars for a new flask of wine. “It's on the level just below us, next to that room where the new library's being assembled.”

Javan scowled, trying to picture it. “I thought it had to be at cellar level,” he said. “Doesn't the floor need to be natural rock or earth?”

“That
is
the floor requirement,” Guiscard replied, grinning. “But you don't really want to go skulking around the cellars to get to it, do you? Kings who do that are apt to arouse some suspicion.”

Remembering the difficulties surrounding a now-blocked Portal in the cellars of Valoret Castle, then disguised as a garderobe, Javan had to agree.

“Aye, I'll grant you that. But most of these rooms have wooden floors. This one does.” He drummed his heel twice against the floor to make his point. “In fact, I think this whole wing does.”

Guiscard smiled, obviously pleased with himself.

“The room I'm talking about is just above the cellar vaults,” he said. “Do you know what's between the curve of a stone vault and the floor of the level above?”

“No, I'd never really thought about it.”

“It's filled in with earth,” Guiscard said. “Good, solid earth, right underneath the flagstones in that room.”

“Ah.”

“And a king doesn't need any excuse to use his library at odd hours—or to slip into a disused guest chamber right next to it.”

“No, indeed. We'll still have to be careful, but it's brilliant. Where did you say it was again?”

“Actually, you may never have seen the library the way it is now,” Guiscard said. “Restoration on that part of the castle probably began after you left Court. I had the impression it was all quite new when I came to Court last year.”

Javan nodded. “I seem to recall talk of a library, the few times I've been back in the last couple of years, but I was always closely watched on those visits home—and before that, after the Court moved here from Valoret, we weren't in residence for very long before they packed me off to the abbey.”

“I'll take you down to see it, once I've gotten the go-ahead from Joram,” Guiscard said. “We don't want too much traffic through there, but a tour of the new library and environs with the Master of Works wouldn't be amiss. It's your castle now, after all.”

“Hmmm, I suppose it is,” Javan murmured. “Once Joram approves the site, what happens next? He said something about needing five or six people to actually do it.”

“Well, you've got de Courcys for two of them,” Guiscard said. “Not that either of us has ever even seen a Portal set up, much less participated in the process. He says that doesn't matter, though. Whoever's directing the work will bring all the participants into proper focus.”

“Joram won't be doing that, then?” Javan asked.

Guiscard shook his head. “He's too recognizable, if anyone saw him infiltrating the castle. Actually, I don't think he's decided who
will
be doing it.”

“Ah.” Javan cocked his head at the older man. “Who else for participants, then?” he asked. “You and your father and I only make three.”

“Oriel,” Guiscard replied. “But you're not to tell him until closer to the night. No sense increasing his risk before we must. From there, we'll have to fill in with humans. He suggests Charlan, to round out the complement.”

Javan pursed his lips. “I'd hoped to avoid that. Charlan doesn't know anything about any of this.”

“I know. But he can be blocked afterward.”

“Again.” Javan rose and moved into the window embrasure, looking out at the deepening night. “I don't like
using
him, Guiscard. And this wouldn't just be like erasing his memory of escapades he shouldn't see, so he can't reveal them under questioning.”

Pursing his lips, Guiscard went into the window embrasure with the king. “You've been doing it for years, Sire. A king cannot afford the luxury of sentimentality.”

“No, this is different. I've tried not to do that since I've come back as king. Back when he was my squire, I had no choice. But he's a knight now. He's
my
knight now. I'm obliged to protect and defend him and to deal honestly with him. I've already violated that obligation to a certain extent, in taking him to Saint Hilary's with us those two times. It was necessary, I know, but I—don't know if I can stretch that necessity to cover what we'd ask of him in helping set up the Portal.”

“If you won't just use him, would you consider levelling with him?” Guiscard asked quietly. “He's a good man; I'd stake my life on that—we're
all
staking our lives on that. You could give him the protection he needs, with his permission.”

Javan nodded. “I've been thinking about that. Unless I'm totally wrong about him, I think he'd help me willingly in this and agree to any measures necessary to protect both of us. And if he—had any misgivings, I suppose I could still erase his memory of the entire encounter and put things back the way they were before, so far as he was concerned.”

Guiscard smiled and shook his head. “You're worried about interfering with his free will, but if his will doesn't turn out to be the same as yours, you're prepared to interfere even more with his free will.” Javan looked up sharply. “That
is
what you're proposing, you know.”