The Chosen Prince (23 page)

“Hear me out,” Pyratos cries, “and then you shall judge.”

They fall quiet again.

“I would never have harmed my uncle. He was like a second father to me. And looking back, remembering his soft and careful words, I am astonished at the subtlety of his mind, the greatness of his understanding, and the goodness of his heart. Indeed, if he could be brought back to life this night, I would gladly give over my throne to him, abdicate, and let him rule in my stead—”

“Would that it were so!”

“Sadly, that is not possible. He is lost to us forever. But his wise counsel is not. And though in my grief I followed the poisonous path of revenge, this night I have been recalled to my better self. I swear to you”—and here he literally beats his breast—“that the trial of King Alexos shall be my last act of retribution. Once my uncle's death has been fully and truly avenged, I will put away all thoughts of war and rule as Claudio would have had me do. I shall devote the rest of my life to honoring his memory. And you will find in me a friend to the poor, a supporter of all that is honest and fair. What say you, my good men? Will you pardon me for the sins of my past and give me another chance, so that I may become everything I ought, for which I was anointed by the immortal gods—your true and righteous king?”

It's a good speech, spoken with passion, the pauses in all the right places. His men aren't inclined to trust him, but they're moved by his words. They are searching their hearts and consciences, wondering what to do, when Claudio steps out of the fog and into camp, dressed in his dingy robe, formerly a coverlet, yet strangely godlike with the noble features of his face set off by his snowy beard and long, wild hair. As he appears, the vision fades and he is bathed in a circle of golden light.

A hundred men gasp as one. Many sink to their knees. The king tumbles off the bench, onto the ground. It is the kind of entrance every actor dreams of.

“Nephew,” he says, addressing Pyratos, who is even then scrambling to his feet. “I am glad to know you remember me so fondly.”

For a moment the king is speechless. Then:
“Claudio?”

It's not that Pyratos doesn't recognize his uncle—the man hasn't aged that much. He simply can't believe his eyes.

“As you see,” Claudio says.

“But I thought—”

“—that I was dead. I know. And indeed, it was a very close thing. But Athene was kind to us and brought us here to this island. And so I stand before you now, very much alive.”

Aria pulls away from Vasos, who doesn't try to stop her, and runs into her father's arms.

“I rejoice that it is so,” says the king, trying his best to sound sincere.

“And I also rejoice, nephew, that you've had such a sudden and dramatic change of heart, that you see the error of your ways and regret the evil you have done. That
was
genuine, was it not—all those things you said?”

Pyratos chokes, clears his throat, and tries again. “Yes,” he says. “I was sincere in confessing my failings. I shall be a better king heretofore.”

Nikomedes, one of the chief noblemen of Ferra, steps forward now, bows low to the duke, then turns to the king. “If that is so, my lord Pyratos, if you spoke honestly—”

“I did. I meant every word from the depth of my heart.”

“Then I am glad. For it was such a stirring speech, it very nearly brought me to tears. I warrant I could give it back to you word for word even now, especially the part where you said—what was it exactly?—‘If only my uncle could be brought back to life, I would give over my throne to him this very night. I would abdicate, and let him rule in my place.' Something like that; close enough. So tell us, did you mean that, too? Or was it just another lie?”

“I . . . I meant it at the
time
, but you see—”

But his words are lost in a roar of derisive laughter. It is so full of scorn that even Pyratos can see that he is finished. Not one man among them would support him. He's made a pledge and they are holding him to it.

“And I mean it still,” he says.

The laughter stops.

“Then, if you will,” Nikomedes says, “say the words properly here and now so that there shall be no mistake. I will help you if you like.”

“No, thank you, Lord Nikomedes, I am quite capable of abdicating with no assistance from you.” Pyratos stares down at his feet, takes a couple of deep breaths, then looks up into the expectant faces of his men.

“As the gods have wrought a miracle and brought my dear uncle Claudio back from the dead, and as he was ever highly esteemed for his wisdom, his temperance, and his judgment, I hereby renounce my throne and my title of king, though it came to me by rights as the only son of—”

“Get on with it!” shouts a voice from the crowd.

“My title, as rightfully mine, is rightfully mine to refuse, abdicate, and resign. And this I now do, formally and absolutely. I choose as my successor the honorable duke, my uncle Claudio.”

He removes the diadem from his head and makes
to hand it to his uncle, but Lord Nikomedes steps in.

“That was handsomely done, Pyratos,” he whispers. “But it wouldn't be proper for Claudio to crown himself. So if you haven't the stomach to set it on his head, which I certainly understand, then I will gladly do it for you.”

“No,” Pyratos says, shooting Lord Nikomedes a venomous look, “I am quite capable of doing that as well. Uncle, will you kneel?”

Claudio does and Pyratos lays the diadem on his head. Then, giddy with relief now that he is safely on the other side of the most dangerous crisis of his life, he adds (and who can say whether he means it or not), “May the gods forgive me for my many sins. Long live King Claudio!”

CLAUDIO SITS AT THE
table with Pyratos and Lord Nikomedes. They discuss, phrase by phrase, the exact wording of the document that will officially transfer the throne of Ferra from Pyratos to his uncle. As each section is agreed upon, Nikomedes writes it down.

Pyratos leans pointedly away from the other two, as if none of this really has anything to do with him. When asked a question he nods and occasionally he speaks, but never once does he look at them.

Aria watches, impatient. She knows what they're doing is important, but it's taking so long! Meanwhile, the king of Arcos is still chained to a tree. Why couldn't they free him first and work on the document later?

Teo appears at her side and slips an arm around her waist. She responds in kind, hugging him close and leaning her head on his shoulder. “I didn't see
you,” she says. “When did you get here?”

“Right after Papa. I came in from the side.”

“You were supposed to wait in the temple. Why did you come here at all?”

“Papa had a strong foreboding that you were in danger. He told me to stay behind, but I followed him. I was worried too. What happened to your cap?”

“Oh,” she says. “The king of Arcos pulled it off.”

“Why?”

“He didn't say. I think he knew me for a fraud.”

“And then there was trouble?”

“Yes. Did you see?”

“Some of it. More than enough—I saw it as I was coming down.”

“What do you suppose they'll do with Pyratos? Is it possible they'll let him go free?”

“I guess that's up to Papa.”

Nikomedes has finished the document. Claudio signs it, then hands it to Nikomedes, who turns it around to face Pyratos, giving him the pen. For a moment, Pyratos stares at the instrument, as if he can't remember what it's for. Then, in a single rapid movement, he scrawls his name and angrily tosses the pen aside.

One last step remains and then they will be done. Nikomedes holds a stick of sealing wax over the lamp's flame. When it begins to melt, he holds it over the
scroll. Thick gobbets of molten wax drop onto the parchment, dark red against ivory, like dried blood. He reaches out to Pyratos as if asking for something. But Pyratos just scowls at the lord's open hand.

Finally Claudio leans in and whispers to his nephew and, as if in physical pain, Pyratos slides the gold signet ring from the little finger of his right hand. He looks at it for one last, bitter moment, then throws it as he had the pen. The ring bounces and is about to go flying off the table, but Claudio catches it neatly and hands it to Nikomedes, who presses the bezel into the hardening puddle of wax, imprinting the document with the royal seal of Ferra.

Pyratos doesn't watch; he's turned away again. So he's spared the sight of his uncle slipping the ring onto his own finger: the ultimate symbol of kingship, more important even than the crown.

The men rise and Pyratos turns to go, but Claudio calls him back. Then he walks around the table and, to everyone's surprise, offers both hands to his nephew in an unmistakable gesture of forgiveness. With amazement and relief, Pyratos takes them. However false his apology may have been, Claudio has accepted it.

The official business now over and Aria's patience having come to an end, she releases Teo and goes to
stand beside her father. He is in conversation with Nikomedes and a few of the other nobles, so she makes herself obvious and waits. The result is pretty near immediate; the men fall silent and turn toward her.

“The king of Arcos is still imprisoned,” she says. “Shouldn't we go free him now?”

“Yes, daughter, we should.”

It's decided that Dimitrios and Lord Nikomedes should be the first to approach the prison guards. As men of the highest rank, well-known and highly respected, they are the most likely to be believed. They also bring Vasos, who is one of them, to vouch for the truth of everything they say.

But the guards are already prepared for astonishing news. There's been enough going on this past hour, between the fanfare, and the glowing lights, and the shouts of angry men, to make them conclude that something momentous has occurred.

Nikomedes takes the lead, explaining in a simple way what happened. Then as proof of Pyratos' abdication, he unrolls the document and presents it to the guards for their inspection. They lean in and study it with interest, though none but the officer can read (and even he can't make out the writing in the
darkness of early morning). But it certainly looks official. One of them touches the seal with his finger and nods, satisfied.

Then their new king is brought forward. This turns out to be a lovely moment, for one of the guards remembers Claudio from the old days. He exclaims and falls to his knees, then laughs aloud. If there were any remaining doubts, they have been dispelled.

The guards are glad to set their prisoner free. But the key to the manacles is on a ring which is on the officer's belt, so first he must undo the buckle and take off the belt. Aria can't wait another second. She worms her way through the knot of jabbering men and streaks across the clearing to the tree.

“You will not believe—” she gasps breathlessly.

“We heard,” Leander says with a dazzling smile.

“Oh, but they are so very
slow
! I cannot bear it.”

The officer finally arrives and shoos everyone aside so he can get down beside the king to unlock the iron cuff. When it's done and the officer has stepped back again, Aria takes his place beside Alexos. Gently, she touches the raw place on his wrist where the manacle has worried the skin. But he doesn't look down to examine the damage. He only looks at her.

“Aria,” he says—oh so solemnly. His voice is whispery, shaking.

“How did you know my name?”

“I dreamed it. But listen, please.” He seems absolutely terrified; she can't imagine why. “Before I get up from here, before we go anywhere and things are said and done, I want you to know how grateful I am for what you tried to do. You put yourself in terrible danger; I was frantic with fear when they took you.”

“It was nothing worse than a slap and some ugly words. And now you are free, Pyratos has gotten what he deserved, and everything's right with the world. Please, let me help you rise.”

“I'm too heavy for you to manage. My friends are well accustomed to doing it.”

She sees that this is true. Peles and Leander slide in, one on either side of the king, each gripping him under the arm and lifting him with ease. Now the physician hands him the cane and for a moment they remain as they are, making sure Alexos is steady.

“You've been immobile for a long time,” the physician says quietly. “You'll be stiff and the pain will be worse than usual. Take care you don't fall.”

Alexos doesn't look at him. He just gazes down at the grass, his thoughts somewhere else. He is breathing hard and there are tears welling in his eyes. But he nods to say that he's all right, he can manage on his own. Then, as grave as a prisoner going to his
execution, Alexos advances haltingly toward Claudio and the other officials.

Aria watches him with a strange mixture of pity and awe: the roll of his shoulder as he leans on the cane, the way he swings the imprisoned leg forward and carefully settles his weight upon it. And somehow he is all the more beautiful to her because part of him is damaged and because he has accepted it with such ease and grace.

Halfway across the clearing, Alexos stops. Teo has just emerged from behind the tall brush that grows along the path. Both stand frozen, staring at each other in silence, and everyone feels the charge of tension in the air. The moment expands unbearably until finally Alexos speaks, his voice clouded with emotion.

“Teo?”

And Teo says,
“You!”

“Leander, help me,” the king whispers, harsh and urgent. “Peles, slide the latch so I can kneel.”

But Leander doesn't move. He just stares, openmouthed, at Teo. Beside him, the physician sways slightly, as if knocked off balance. Only Peles does as he is bid.

“Oh, Teo!” Alexos cries, his voice rough with pain.