The Harrowing of Gwynedd (47 page)

Of the four Deryni normally at court, not counting the half dozen or so that were attached to the garrison, only Oriel was at all in evidence. Rhun and Manfred had taken Sitric and Ursin with them on campaign, and were not expected back until shortly before the twins' birthday. Javan spotted Declan Garmody occasionally, but that troubled man was still not back to full duty following his blowup of some three months before. Javan avoided him whenever possible, lest he endanger the risky and still fragile alliance he had formed with Oriel.

As for Oriel's wife and baby daughter, Javan had been able to learn little. He did discover that the families of all the collaborators were being held in carefully guarded quarters at Rhemuth Castle. Javan had caught a glimpse of Alana d'Oriel one day, taking the air in a walled courtyard where no one else was allowed to go, but any attempt actually to speak with her or with any of the other captives was impossible. Her quarters, like those of the other men's wives, were too secure for even a Deryni-trained prince to penetrate.

Thus did the weeks after Easter pass, both Javan and his allies mainly biding their time, waiting for Pentecost. Evaine continued her research, now with both Joram and Queron to assist her with the new documents they had acquired, and the Healer-priest scoured his memory for other bits of forgotten Gabrilite tradition that might have held a double meaning, and might be useful to them now.

Physical activity there was for the Deryni, too. As a break from their academic and psychic ferreting, they set about tidying and finishing the chamber under the
keeill
. To assist with the heavy work, Evaine enlisted the aid of her four loyal men-at-arms, their memories suitably manipulated, by their own consent, to guard the place's secret. Against the day when the revival of Camber should actually be attempted, they even built a set of wooden cubes like those Queron had described, though they painted the outsides as well as the insides black or white, before assembling them in the completed sub-
keeill
chamber. The men-at-arms did
not
assist with that, no matter how effective Evaine believed her control of the men's memories to be.

Mostly, though, the three Deryni bided their time, fretting increasingly as May counted out its latter days and Pentecost loomed closer, with the expected emergence of Revan's active ministry. For even had they settled on a clear procedure for attempting to revive Camber, they dared not risk it until Revan's mission was well underway, lest the attempt claim one or all of their lives and leave the mission leaderless.

Accordingly, though they marked the feast day of the king and Prince Javan with a Mass for their continued good health and prosperity, they did not expect any particular change in Rhemuth. Nor did Javan himself, as he let Charlan help him dress for the formal birthday court, following their attendance at a solemn High Mass in the cathedral earlier in the morning.

“What kinds of gifts do you think you'll receive, your Highness?” Charlan asked, as he pulled a tunic of bright blue wool over his master's head. “I shouldn't be surprised if there's a new sword, or perhaps new trappings for the R'Kassan colt—or maybe even a proper warhorse, to use until the colt is old enough for heavy work.”

Javan grinned and tugged at the cuffs of his sky blue undertunic, giving the oversleeves a shake to settle the knee-length tippets. The blue wool skimmed the lighter silk without hindrance, flaring into deep folds at the narrow hips, where Charlan knelt to fasten a belt of hammered silver plaques. The oversleeves hit at elbow length in the front, far more flamboyant than was Javan's usual wont—bright with scarlet, gold, and darker blue embroidery at their edges and all up in their lining, which was scarlet. The front of the overtunic was open to the waist, to show the high collar and embroidered front of the undertunic, all silver filigree work on the sky blue.

The shoes Javan wore, soft crimson leather with cutwork that showed discreet flashes of his black woolen hose, had been Charlan's gift to him, earlier that morning. He had not worn them to church, for the streets were too muddy to risk ruining them, but the rest of the day's festivities would all be indoor. Javan pointed his toe to admire them again as Charlan clipped a sheathed dagger to the belt of plaques.

“A new saddle would be nice,” the prince avowed. “Or a new bow. I'd like to have a new bow. My old one is too light a draw anymore, especially with the longer arrows I'm using now.”

He pantomimed drawing a bow and nocking the arrow to his ear, and Charlan gave the bicep of the bow arm a playful punch as he got to his feet.

“You've grown over the winter, sir,” he said, picking up a comb as Javan ducked to peer into a small wall-mounted mirror and began energetically raking his fingers through his short black hair. “Here now! Let me give you a hand with that, sir. I won't have the other squires thinking I can't take proper care of my young lord. Many's the eye that will be upon you today.”

“Aye, all the regents' eyes,” Javan sighed, though he stood still and let Charlan comb his hair. “Maybe most of them will go away again, as soon as this is over. At least I'll be of age in another year. Then I won't have to take orders from anyone.”

“Aye, but your choices will always be constrained by this,” Charlan said, crowning Javan with a silver circlet embellished with crosses and garnets. “And if you should set it aside, as the regents surely intend you should do, you'll be bound by other constraints, no less compelling.” Charlan cocked his fair head. “
Do
you intend to take Holy Orders, Sire?”

Looking at himself in the mirror, with the coronet shining in the wan light, Javan knew that he never could set aside his royal birthright willingly; but he dared not tell Charlan that, for Charlan could not help relaying the information right back to the regents, if asked about it.

“I couldn't do it right away, Charlan,” he said honestly, not adding that he could never do it, knowing the avarice of the regents, who would remain fiercely protective of their powers and perquisites, even once Alroy and Javan were of age. “It's a very important step, and I'm very young to make so far-reaching a decision. Father Lior and Father Secorim have been most helpful, but they have also made me realize how much more I have to learn, before I could presume to announce my life's intentions. I shall continue to meditate on the matter—which means, I fear, that I must continue to drag you to my nocturnal vigils and soul-searchings, to the detriment of your sleep!”

He grinned as he said the last, giving Charlan one of his most disarming smiles, and the squire chuckled, apparently well satisfied.

“Whatever your final decision, my lord, I shall always count it my honor and privilege to have served you,” he said, bending to kiss Javan's hand in renewed homage. “But for now, I think your Highness had best repair to the hall, or we shall never learn what gifts have been allotted you on your birthday.”

The gift-giving portion of the afternoon began well enough, though Javan was somewhat discomfited to see all five regents present with their families, and all four of the regents' captive Deryni—though the latter kept quietly in the background, and probably were not recognized for what they were by most of the foreign dignitaries who came to pay their respects to the king and his brother on their natal day. In a procession of worthies that took more than an hour, sumptuous gifts were laid before the royal brothers, accompanied by courtly speeches and no little braggadocio. By the time they were done, Javan had received two small Kheldish carpets, a brace of fleet deerhounds from Cassan, a mound of new sleeping furs from the mountains of the Connait, a pouch of freshwater pearls from one of the princes of Howicce, and a bolt of gold-shot scarlet silk from the Hort of Orsal. Alroy received similar gifts, but in greater number or of higher quality, since he was king.

They received nothing from Torenth, but they had not expected anything, since the King of Torenth still sheltered the bastard sired by the late King Imre on his equally late sister, and supported—at least in principle—the boy's claim to the throne of Gwynedd. Eventually, the House of Haldane could expect more trouble from that quarter, for young Mark of Festil had turned thirteen just after the first of the year, and his supporters surely would press his claim as soon as they thought there was any reasonable chance of winning.

But not now, and not in the immediately forseeable future, when their own Torenthi king was hardly a year upon his throne, and still of only eighteen years himself. Arion of Torenth would not lightly support a foreign war effort when his own hands were still uncertain on the reins of government; and his young kinsman's supporters were still smarting from the defeat dealt them by a Haldane army a decade ago, when they had sought to put the boy's mother on Gwynedd's throne. No, this day brought only silence from Torenth.

And when the foreign ambassadors had finished their presentations, Alroy's vassals came forward to make similar gifts to the royal twins: pouches of golden coins and brooches and clasps of silver most cunningly wrought; falcons, hounds, racing steeds; and even the promise of a breeding to a coveted stallion owned by Lord William de Borgos, whose racing stud was unsurpassed in all the Eleven Kingdoms.

One of the most popular gifts, given to Alroy and Javan jointly by a southern baron, was a Cardounet board made of ebony and olivewood, inlaid around the edges with mother-of-pearl and semiprecious gems. The pieces, too, were carved of ebony and olivewood, painted with the appropriate livery colors, and with real gems set on the priest-kings' crowns and the miters of the two archbishops.

Even Rhys Michael cast covetous eyes at that gift, though his attention and, indeed, that of all the court, were immediately diverted when Bonner Sinclair, the young Earl of Tarleton, presented Alroy and Javan with a wicker cage containing two pairs of sharp, ebon-bright eyes surrounded by sleek brown fur.

“What are they?” Alroy asked delightedly, as the man slipped the wicker catch on the cage door and let the creatures out.

“Ferrets, Sire,” Tarleton said, grinning. “They make wonderful pets, if they don't carry off all the palace treasure. They're prodigious thieves!”

The animals were a little skittish at first, and the male gave Alroy a sharp nip on the finger before running inside his tunic and finally settling in his sleeve. The other, intended for Javan, was soon scampering among the piles of gifts arrayed around the throne, filching coins and jewels, and ended up taking refuge in the lap of a delighted Rhys Michael.

“They do choose their own friends, your Highness,” Lord Tarleton told Javan apologetically. “I can bring you another, if you like, though I can't guarantee she'd be partial to you.”

“No, let my brother have her,” Javan said a little sadly. “My studies keep me too busy for a pet anyway.”

He was to regret his words a little later, for it seemed the regents had already decided he was destined for the cloister. When it came time for the regents to present their gifts, Alroy's were pointedly princely: new armor, a blunted tournament sword, a set of campaign maps of the border regions, a matched pair of boar hunting spears, and the crowning gift: a fully caparisoned warhorse the color of rich cream.

“Oh, he's magnificent! Thank you, Lord Tammaron,” Alroy gasped, as the stallion was led back out of the hall.

Javan's gifts were no less sumptuous, but clearly reflected the majority of the givers' ecclesiastical hopes for the king's twin. Duke Ewan gave him the bow he had coveted—a beautiful length of hand-rubbed hickory, inlaid along its back with horn—but all the other gifts were far more suitable for a man long in Holy Orders than a boy of thirteen: a richly illuminated Book of Hours, a rosewood and silver crucifix worthy of a cathedral chapel, a relic of the martyred Saint Willim sealed in a crystal reliquary, and from Hubert, a starkly functional silver chalice and paten and a chasuble of creamy wool, surprisingly plain compared to the other gifts.

“I'm told these were your father's, when he was a priest at Saint Foillan's Abbey,” Hubert told him, his tone hinting far more than his actual words. “When you come of age, you'll want to set up your own household, so I thought you might like these for your own use. It saves a chaplain having to bring his own,” the archbishop concluded, as he laid the folded vestment over Javan's arm, as if bestowing it on a newly ordained priest.

Javan tried to look suitably moved, but he knew what Hubert was really trying to convey and he doubted his father had ever even seen the vestments and Mass vessels that Hubert piled onto his lap. After murmuring something noncommital and reasonably gracious, he handed them off to Charlan as soon as he decently could, though he felt that everyone was watching him, even when the court bard read a poem in his brother's honor.

The mood shifted almost immediately, however, and made Javan almost forget about the archbishop's latest attempt to nudge him toward a religious vocation. For Earl Murdoch, after conferring briefly with Rhun, Tammaron, and Hubert, suddenly strode to the center of the dais and bowed perfunctorily to the king.

“By your leave, Sire, now that the gifts have been presented, we have one item of business that must be completed before we adjourn for your birthday feast. Have I your leave to speak?”

Alroy signalled his assent with a nod and a half-raised hand—as if withholding it might have made any difference—but it was clear to Javan that his brother had no notion what Murdoch was going to say. Javan thought
he
did, though. The chief regent had a scroll stuck through his belt next to a serviceable-looking dagger, and he made Alroy and then his brothers another, more formal bow before taking out the scroll, though he did not unroll it yet.

“My Liege, your Highness, my lords and ladies,” he said, half turning toward the hall. “I speak for my fellow regents in this matter, to acquaint you with a point of law. As some of you may recall, it was the decree of our late beloved King Cinhil, in setting up a regency council to govern his sons during their minority, that it would be the prerogative of any four of those regents to expel and replace a fifth of their number if they unanimously adjudged him to be incompatible with the majority. I regret to inform the King's Grace and this court that it has become necessary to exercise that prerogative.”