King Javan’s Year (42 page)

“
Veni Creator Spiritus, mentes tuorum visita, imple superna gratia, quae tu creasti pectora
…”

The choir sang a full four verses, after which the second archbishop censed the altar and the oblation with brisk efficiency while the corpulent Archbishop MacInnis intoned a sacring prayer. At its conclusion, the congregation were allowed to sit and the choir began a new chant: an unfamiliar setting for a familiar coronation formula, used even in Torenth.

“
Zadok the priest and Nathan the prophet have anointed him king in Gihon and they are come up from thence rejoicing
…”

As the anthem ended, two priests went to set a chair before the still-prostrate king, then helped him rise to his knees as the archbishop sat in the chair and the four knights bearing the golden canopy moved into place once more. Miklos could not hear the archbishop's words as he anointed the kneeling Javan on head, breast, and hands, for knowledge, valor, and glory; but he knew it for the most solemn moment of the sacring, whereby an anointed king became more than man but not quite priest, sealed unto his divine office by the unction of the sacring oil. He had sensed that moment of ineffable magic at his brother's coronation, and he sensed it anew as Gwynedd's anointed lord rose to be clothed in the garments of kingship.

Over the priestly robe of white linen went a new tunic of cloth of gold, stiff with bullion and laidwork and scarlet-winking jewels, ablaze in the summer sun that beat mercilessly through the stained glass windows. Around the king's narrow waist the archbishop fastened the white girdle of chivalry studded with jewels, while two of his knights fastened the golden spurs upon his heels. Though not yet old enough for formal knighthood, he was now the fount of honor for his kingdom, whence knighthood and all other nobility derived. Only a handful of those present knew that the delivery of these symbols to the king betokened no mere potential but a right already earned, by right of his own knights' election.

And over all, the great crimson mantle of earthly majesty—damask silk reembroidered with the Haldane lions in a darker shade of crimson and set with gems for eyes, lined with cloth of gold rather than fur for this summer rite, but no less rich, with a wide band worked round the hem in stiff bullion and gems, as wide as a man's two hands.

So adorned, his mantle spilling down the steps behind him, the king now was invested with more of the regalia of his office: first the State Sword, placed briefly in his hands to be kissed and then returned to the tall, gaunt man in black—who, according to Dimitri, was the Earl Marshal of Gwynedd as well as Grand Master of the new Order that had replaced the Michaelines.

As the man carried the sword back to the altar, there to lift it briefly in black-gloved hands before depositing it with a bow, a tight-lipped man in emerald and ultramarine carried forward a silver salver bearing a dazzle of red and gold—a ring, for the archbishop placed it on the king's finger with an admonition Miklos could not hear. Following that, a noble, fair-haired lad in grey, wearing an ornate but not royal coronet, brought forward the sceptre, an ivory rod encrusted with gold, which the archbishop set in the king's hands briefly, then returned to its keeper.

For now it was time for the crowning itself, the outward culmination of all this rite. Bowing to the king, the archbishop and his assistant took him by both his hands and led him across the sanctuary almost to the steps of the altar, where a kneeler had been set a short pace out and the king now knelt, hands clasped and head bowed. Solemnly, reverently, the second archbishop approached the altar and took up the crown, bearing it before him in gloved hands as he rejoined his fellow and gave it over. Javan lifted his head to gaze at it, blazing bright-gold in the sunlight, as Gwynedd's primate raised it above his head and likewise raised his prayer to heaven.

“Bless, we beseech Thee, O Lord, this crown, and so sanctify Thy servant, Javan, upon whose head Thou dost place it today as a sign of royal majesty. Grant that he may, by Thy grace, be filled with all princely virtues. Through the King Eternal, Our Lord, Who lives and reigns with Thee in the unity of the Holy Spirit, God forever. Amen.”

He set it on the king's head as the echoed “Amen” rustled through the cathedral and a trumpet fanfare announced the accomplishment to those without as well as within. The Deryni Prince Miklos of Torenth caught his breath to see a blur of subtle power briefly surrounding the king's head like a nimbus of light—though, looking around, no one else seemed able to see it, with the possible exception of his companion, who had watched the entire ritual in tight-lipped concentration. It was rumored, and had been for many years, that the new king's father had somehow wielded magic in the time of the other's father, and that the latter had taken his own life rather than accept defeat at the hands of such a man. Certain it was that the other's mother had perished in battle with the new king's father …

Miklos gave the king another careful look, extending his powers to try to fathom more of what he had seen; but it was gone, and King Javan of Gwynedd merely human once more. During the homage and fealty that followed, and then the Mass, whose form differed slightly from that to which Miklos was accustomed, he used the focused concentration in the great cathedral to try to Read the new king more clearly, but shields seemed to surround him—either from the natural warding produced by the structure of the liturgy or from King Javan himself, Miklos had no way of telling.

He was quietly thoughtful, his young companion tautly silent, as they made their way up to the castle afterward for the coronation feast and its informal Court. He wondered how King Javan would react when Miklos presented his brother Arion's compliments and requested a coronation boon of the newly crowned king.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-THREE

Delivei him that suffereth wrong from the hand of the oppressor; and be not faint-hearted when thou sittest in judgment
.

—Ecclesiasticus 4:9

It was midafternoon as Javan's coronation procession wound its way back up the hill to Rhemuth keep, through cheering throngs lining the streets. A faint breeze stirred outside the packed cathedral, but the sun was still blazing down. Javan was soaking wet beneath the thin silks of his coronation robes, and endured the slow ride back to the castle largely by anticipation of stripping everything off and collapsing for an hour or two before going back on display. Having fasted since the night before, he was also ferociously hungry, with a nagging headache pulsing just behind his eyes that owed to the heat as well as the hunger.

He was unhooking the clasp of his mantle even as he rode beneath the gatehouse arch of the inner ward, letting the crimson silk and cloth of gold slip from his shoulders as soon as he had drawn rein before the great hall steps. Waiting squires rescued the garment, to install it at his place in the hall for the festivities to follow, and Javan gathered his intimates to him with a weary gesture and headed directly for his quarters.

Once there, jewelled girdle and tunic of gold and underrobe of linen were likewise discarded before he plopped down on a stool. He guzzled two cups of cool water in quick succession while he let Charlan sponge him down, then just sat quietly in the faint breeze of the open window for a few minutes, eyes closed and thinking of nothing, while Jason and Robear removed the golden spurs and then the white boots.

“I've brought you some light refreshments, Sire,” Guiscard said, breaking in on his reverie to set a tray on the trestle table. “You haven't eaten since last night, and you should have something in you before you start on wine this evening.”

Nodding his agreement with a sigh, Javan moved back into the room to sit at his accustomed place. The time was sufficient for a quick debriefing while he ate. The others were drinking watered wine in the heat, but mostly saving their appetites for the banquet to follow.

“All right, let's start with the most startling development of the day,” Javan said as he attacked part of a cold joint of chicken. “The Kheldour lords were rather conspicuous by their presence. Does anyone know what they're planning? Am I going to have any unpleasant surprises at Court this evening?”

Etienne de Courcy leaned back in his chair, affable and easy even in the heat. “The situation, as you know, is very precariously balanced, Sire. It's encouraging that they didn't have to be coerced to offer you fealty, but the border attire was a blatant statement of separation, if they choose to make it so.”

“What about young Graham?” Javan asked. “He swore in his own right, so I suppose that confirmed that he's officially of age now. And while he wasn't exactly dressed for a coronation, it was a step up from riding leathers and northern tweeds. Any indications what kind of a man he's turning out to be?”

Jerowen Reynolds came to lean on the table beside Etienne. “Levelheaded, Sire—which is remarkable, considering that it was his father's death that started the quarrel.”

“He wasn't there; his uncles were,” Javan said with a snort, gesturing with his chicken. “
I
was there, and
I
find it difficult to keep a level head regarding those responsible. What do you think will satisfy them? What are they going to ask?”

“No one knows,” Etienne replied. “We weren't even certain they were going to show up, as you know. I'd expect a request for a private audience, at very least—and God knows what they'll demand.”

“
Demand?
” Robear said. “Since when do subjects
demand
something of their king?”

“They'll demand,” Javan said simply, washing down a swallow of chicken with wine. “
I'd
demand. And I would've demanded, three years ago, if I'd been able. Most of you weren't there. You didn't see what was done to Duke Ewan—and then to Declan Carmody and his wife and sons. I've never forgiven Murdoch for that and I never will. Now that I'm king, if the Kheldour lords demand justice, I'm going to do my best to give it to them.”

“Just don't underestimate Murdoch and his friends,” Jason said. “Your position is much stronger than it was even a few weeks ago, but you aren't ready for a showdown with the former regents as a group. And they
will
stick together—you can depend on it!”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Javan said. “Now, what other potentially tricky negotiations have I got to get through? Jerowen?”

The law lord consulted a written itinerary. “Hmmm, the usual delegations from various of our neighbors. You
are
aware, I assume, that Torenth has sent an official observer.”

“Yes, Hubert told me yesterday.” Javan set down his cup. “One of the king's brothers, I hear.”

Jerowen nodded. “Prince Miklos, he's called. He's not much older than you are. Said to be charming, brought only a small entourage. And of course, he's Deryni, like all the rest of the House of Furstan.”

“I see. And?”

Jerowen shrugged. “He and his men have behaved impeccably thus far, Sire. The Earl Marshal had archers stationed in the galleries at the cathedral, and there will be more on call tonight. Would you like Oriel or Sitric available as well? At least you'd know if Miklos was lying—and he'd know that you knew.”

Javan had gone very still, his mind racing furiously. Knowing what he did about the possible Torenthi links of Paulin's Deryni, the renewal of diplomatic relations with Torenth suddenly seemed suspiciously convenient. And an interview with a Deryni prince meant that Javan dared not even have Guiscard or Etienne attend him at the audience, lest Miklos detect another Deryni where none should be.

But perhaps he
could
have Oriel attend him. The presence of a Healer at the king's side could hardly be questioned, and might discourage any Torenthi trickery, if they thought he was under Deryni protection.

“Y-e-e-e-e-s,” he said, slowly drawing out the word. “I believe I
will
ask Master Oriel to be present. And I believe Lord Rhun had already infiltrated Sitric among the guards assigned to ‘escort' our Torenthi visitors. Tell me, though, is the Torenthi Court still harboring the Festillic Pretender?”

“Well, not officially,” Etienne replied. “Mark of Festil is believed to have gone into Arjenol to continue his schooling. It remains to be seen what kind of support Torenth will give him, once he's ready to make his move.”

“So we wait,” Javan said. “And meanwhile, we entertain Torenthi princes at our Court.”

Robear shrugged. “We're not at war, Sire. Haven't been for some years. And maybe he's brought an interesting gift.”

“Interesting—it could well be that.” Javan drummed his fingertips on the table for a few seconds, then shook his head.

“Well, gentlemen, it looks as if I begin my lessons in foreign diplomacy right near the top. Have those archers continue to stand by, will you, Jerowen? Unobtrusively, of course, but just in case. I'm told that for speed, an arrow is far quicker than a spell.”

Nervous laughter rippled among them at that, after which Jason resumed his briefing. A little later, when they had finished, Oriel came to examine his foot, which was fine, and to guide him into deep, refreshing sleep for an hour, while the others also changed their coronation finery for cooler attire.

An hour later the newly crowned king was rousing himself, somewhat restored, to don a long, sleeveless tunic of crimson silk over a thin white shirt of cotton gauze—not as elegant as his earlier attire, but it was infinitely more appropriate to the heat and looked kingly enough with the jewelled white girdle and the Haldane sword and the boots with the golden spurs and the State Crown. He was almost comfortable as he made his way down to the great hall to receive the official congratulations of his subjects and guests.

The entire atmosphere of the festivity was different from that of Alroy's coronation five years before. Then the order of the evening had been to amuse and entertain a preadolescent king and his younger brothers—and to show off the wealth and the power of the young king's regents. King Javan was already two years a man, however, at least in law. Accordingly, the protocol had been expanded to include more adult interests and diversions.