Camber the Heretic (41 page)

—Ecclesiasticus 6:14

The days passed, and the weeks, and the summer solstice came and went. For the first month after the coronation, Valoret remained in a state of unease bordering on shock, the attack on Tavis now being openly regarded as an actual attempt on the lives of the two younger princes, perpetrated by Deryni.

To make matters worse, an unusually hot summer brought with it a mild but debilitating plague to which humans, for some reason, seemed far more susceptible than Deryni. Few folk of either race died, other than the very young or the very old, but human victims were apt to be bedridden for a month or more with alternating bouts of vomiting and loose stools, and might be badly scarred thereafter as a result of the shiny white pustules which sometimes accompanied the disease. Deryni either did not catch it, or else recovered within a fortnight, usually with no permanent ill effects.

Rumor began to run that perhaps the Deryni had had a hand in the coming of the plague, for certainly there seemed no other reason that Deryni should suffer less than humans. In some areas, rumor even had it that certain Deryni Healers were spreading it rather than curing it—and that magic was being used to try to undermine the new regime. Hubert preached a fiery sermon on the dangers of black magic, and the regular prayer for the king's health was modified to include a plea for deliverance from magic.

The summer wore on. Alroy and Javan finished their formal schooling at the beginning of July, though they would be continuing their practical education for many, many years, and immediately the entire Court packed up to move to Rhemuth at last. Restoration of the ancient capital, begun in earnest during the latter years of Cinhil's reign, had been stepped up almost immediately on his death, as soon as the weather allowed. By midmonth, when king and Court actually arrived in the city, the royal architects and master masons could report that at least the keep and the gatehouse of the old castle were now habitable. They hoped to have all the old castle fully secure before the first snow. The regents felt very strongly that a relocation to the old Haldane stronghold, with its positive associations for the old regime, would greatly strengthen the claim of the new one. Progress thus far, on both counts, had been impressive.

The massive octagonal keep, the heart of the castle complex, had been made weathertight and secure even before the Court arrived from Valoret, with new lead sheathing laid down on the conical roof and good grisaille glass inserted in all the windows of the top two floors. The keep was still somewhat more drafty than the old apartments at Valoret, for little could be done to keep the damp from rising through the garde-robe shafts and unused chimney flues; but garde-robes could be curtained or partitioned off, relegating the worst of their unpleasantness to times of actual use; and fires were kept burning most of the time in the fireplaces that had been restored thus far. The insulation of thick tapestries and carpets brought from Valoret also helped to make the rooms more hospitable.

Earls Tammaron and Murdoch and their wives shared the top floor of the keep, with separate sleeping quarters and the restored solar occupied in common. The solar gave access to a roof walk circling the top of the keep, and connected, via wall walks, to the castellan's quarters in the gatehouse at the south, and to the yet uninhabitable residential tower in the west. Rebuilding of the gatehouse, captured and then slighted during the Festillic takeover, had been the first project the masons tackled, when Cinhil gave the order to begin repairs. The gatehouse and keep now constituted a nearly impregnable defense, even without the added protection of the curtain walls and secondary defenses.

The king and his brothers were quartered on the floor beneath the regents, still with separate sleeping quarters, but once more sharing a common dayroom. Tavis, the royal squires, and Father Alfred, the boys' confessor, were also housed on that level in a series of tiny intramural chambers adjoining those of the appropriate prince, though these were suitable for little other than sleeping and storage of a few personal belongings. Below the princes lay the two-storied former great hall of the keep, now relegated to auxiliary kitchen facilities and quarters for the royal bodyguards; and the lowest floor was occupied by the many clarks and scribes who carried out the written business of the new regime. The keep's all-important well, storerooms, and cellars took up the three underground levels, these gradually being stocked with grain, flour, wine, and other provisions necessary to see the household through the winter.

A number of wooden outbuildings had also arisen in the castleyard to augment the facilities of gatehouse and keep. Chief among these was a large, hammer-beamed hall with a good slate roof, set against the north curtain and connected to the keep by a covered walkway, doubling as audience chamber, court, and feasting place. A stable with barracks above and a smaller servants' hall adjoining the kitchen tower had also been built, with bedchambers above and a buttery and pantry. A free-standing chapel and a temporary building containing an armory and smithy were also nearly completed, and a practice yard for horse and foot combat had been laid out between the two. Nothing was as spacious as Valoret, but it was adequate, and becoming more so with each passing day.

Perhaps the most comfortable accommodations in Rhemuth were enjoyed by its archbishop, the same Robert Oriss who once had been King Cinhil's superior in the
Ordo Verbi Dei
. In the thirteen years since the archbishopric had been reactivated, a new cathedral and episcopal residence had been completed, started and finished even before Cinhil had begun the restoration of Rhemuth as the royal capital. The Cathedral of Saint George, built on the foundations of an older church of the same name, and whose undercroft still sheltered the remains of almost all Gwynedd's Haldane kings, became the first of many edifices planned to enrich and glorify the former Haldane capital. The archbishop's residence was a fitting companion to such an architectural jewel.

Upon realizing the cramped and somewhat ordinary conditions at Castle Rhemuth, Hubert wasted no time in approaching his archbishop for a favor, one bishop to another; and soon Hubert was lodged in relative luxury and comfort with his brother bishop, who was flattered and somewhat awed that one of the royal regents should deign to grace his house with his august presence.

Earl Ewan became Duke Ewan that summer, his father, Duke Sighere, having been among the first of the old and already infirm to succumb to the plague; and shortly after the Court went to Rhemuth, he and Rhun returned to Valoret to supervise the army there, Ewan assuming his new duties as earl marshal in name, as well as in fact, and Rhun assisting him.

While this move divided the regents geographically, and diminished their immediate influence as a group over the king and his brothers, it also put Ewan and Rhun into daily close contact with the officers and men of Gwynedd's army—which reflected sound military reasoning, even if it did nothing to reassure the Camberian Council. By mid-August, the Council learned that Ewan had called up a large part of the Gwynedd levies and divided the by-now largely human army into two parts, the lesser one moving nearer Rhemuth under the direct command of Murdoch and Tammaron, with Hubert's brother Manfred executing their orders, while the rest encamped and held military exercises on the plain just west of Valoret.

No one knew why they had assembled, or against the threat of what enemy they conducted their maneuvers and practiced their battle skills, but some Deryni had their suspicions. Ewan was shaping to be a man without conscience, totally dedicated to carrying out the policies being determined by the regency of which he was a part; and Rhun the Ruthless could only serve as a further dehumanizing force.

But most Deryni ignored the warning signs, and said that nothing could happen.

Alroy and his brothers were little aware of what went on outside Rhemuth, other than to note that Ewan and Rhun were no longer so often about. Alroy's physical health had never been better, there in the milder climate of the plains country, and even Javan had far less pain in his foot than was his usual wont. Several times a week, royal duties permitting, the three boys would ride out on the rolling plain of Candor Rhea to hunt or fish or simply race like the wind on fine, blooded horses, sometimes taking their hawks, but more often accompanied by the great, red-eared coursing hounds which Earl Murdoch had given them. All three boys grew inches in that summer of 917, to the despair of the royal tailor, who must keep them in decent-length tunics; and the twins, especially, began to take on the leaner lines of young manhood as they wore into their thirteenth summer. In many respects, it was the happiest time the boys had ever known.

Yet, if the boys waxed strong in body that summer, mental stimulation was quite another matter. At the heart of all their waking activities were Murdoch and Tammaron and Hubert, who made a point of subtly stifling any royal interest in affairs of state. The king and his brothers were trotted out on feast days and for other ceremonial occasions, and the regents regularly brought Alroy piles of documents requiring the royal signature; but they discouraged him from participation in most of the actual decision-making unless he had been carefully coached in advance. True, Alroy was a king, but he was also a boy of twelve, they reminded him, and most matters of state were far too complicated for him to understand. There would be plenty of time to worry himself about such things when he was grown.

Given sufficient repetition of such indoctrination, Alroy began to accept it. He had never been particularly strong-willed; and the spark of defiance which had surfaced briefly at his coronation was soon replaced by boredom. Subtle medication prescribed by an obedient royal physician and given him on a regular basis as a tonic further helped to erode resistance. By summer's end, Alroy was essentially the placid, compliant prince who was all the regents' dream. Rhys Michael, too, appeared to be a model child, biddable and diffident to his elders while still retaining that merry, carefree outlook which had always been his trademark. Only Javan, of the three, was beginning to see through the regents' benign facade; and from the beginning, he was careful to conceal his true feelings.

Javan's first concern after the post-coronation turmoil, of course, had been Tavis's recovery. Though Tavis seemed to have effected a miraculous physical recovery, he had sunk into a profound depression once his life was no longer in danger, withdrawing for much of the time into his own private prison of grief and agonized loss. Many were the days when he hardly left his bed, staring at the walls and ceiling of his tiny sleeping cubicle while an increasingly concerned Javan sat and talked or read to him for hours, eliciting only minimal response. Only gradually did Tavis emerge, Javan's monologues at last evolving to long discussions and walks along the castle ramparts.

Tavis would not speak of Healing, however; and it was only when necessity compelled, in the form of an injury to Javan, that the maimed Healer could be induced to try to Heal again. Javan had twisted his crooked foot painfully while wrestling with one of Murdoch's sons in the castleyard, and could obtain no relief from the cold compresses which the royal physicians prescribed for the swelling. Tearfully Javan begged his friend at least to try to ease the pain. And when love for his young charge had finally overcome his self-loathing for his own fate, Tavis had agreed, laying hand and stump on Javan's foot—to Heal.

The Healing was a milestone in Tavis's recovery, for he soon found that the contact thus established was just as sensitive as it had been through the missing hand. The balance of energies was different, as he had maintained to Rhys all along, and any physical manipulations must be done with his right hand—but he could compensate for those. The discovery placed his future in an entirely different light, and restored him to his previous partnership with Javan.

That accomplished, the only other adjustment he had to make was to the reactions of others. He had tried to hide his maimed arm in the early days, wearing it in a sling held close to his body. After resuming Healing, he abandoned the sling entirely, and contented himself with merely having an empty cuff to his sleeve, though he was still a little self-conscious about it.

But his occasional patients other than Javan were often initially squeamish at the sight and touch of his handless appendage, and Bishop Hubert complained rather peevishly that the empty sleeve was unaesthetic. In an effort not to annoy Hubert unduly, Tavis did experiment briefly with wearing the hook he had sworn he would never use, but he found that it interfered with his function as a Healer. After that, he quietly returned to his empty sleeve, adopting a series of postures which would minimize the notice of others. Javan gave him a great deal of support in those early days, insisting that the Healer resume his regular duties as soon as possible, and encouraging him to share his talents with such others of the royal household as had need of a Healer's services. His dogged devotion to Tavis also helped to keep him out of the regents' sight.

By the time Tavis had recovered, of course, the royal household included Davin. Davin-Eidiard had been assigned directly to the command of Sir Piedur, who now headed the younger princes' personal bodyguard. After an initial apprenticeship and testing under the older man's tutelage, he was permitted to assume regular duties which kept him near the royal children a great deal of the time. He immediately proved excellent both with horses and with weapons, and a good teacher, as well, so he soon became a favorite companion of all three boys, but especially of Rhys Michael.

Unfortunately, this proximity to the princes also kept him near Tavis—which, while it was a major part of the reason he had been sent, also presented the greatest danger of discovery. To guard against this, and as part of Eidiard's personality, Rhys had given Eidiard a nervous distrust of other Healers, hoping that this might keep him from coming under Tavis's close scrutiny for as long as possible. Unfortunately, the need for that scrutiny did come; fortunately, it came only a few weeks into Davin's royal service, while he was still deeply blocked of all Deryniness and Tavis was still new enough in his restoration to Healer's function that he was not likely to notice any discrepancy.