Elliott, Kate - Crown of Stars 3 (98 page)

"Why, bless you, Your Majesty," she said with a chuckle, "he hadn't enough wits to try, nor would anyone let him. He was misshapen in the body, poor lad, as sweet a soul as you might wish, but he was simple in the head."

"I pray you, Your Majesty, have I your permission to speak?" said Alain. His voice warmed Hanna; she had never heard him speak before, but there was nothing nasty or irate in his tone, nothing to trouble one's heart or scrape raw one's soul. Henry nodded. "The hounds never troubled Lackling."

It was an astounding observation to make in the face of the really awful accusations just thrown at him by his rival. The young noblewoman sitting at Geoffrey's side—most likely his wife because she held a young child on her lap—leaned over to whisper in Geoffrey's ear, and he sat back, looking irritated, but keeping his mouth shut.

"What are you saying? I don't understand your meaning." Henry sat back in his chair, hands curling over the dragon armrests. Their carved tongues licked out between his fingers, and he rubbed them absently as he listened.

"They never troubled him," repeated Alain. "They never lunged at him or tried to bite him, as they would everyone else." He pointedly did not look at Geoffrey.

"Everyone but you," retorted Geoffrey. His face went from red to white in an instant, the complexion of a sinning man, or a fearful one. "Because you're an agent of the Enemy. You used sorcery to enslave them, just as you used sorcery to bind my cousin to your will. We've all heard the story that the elder Count Charles Lavastine was accused of having made a pact with the Enemy to get those hounds. Why would any man want them? We've all seen and heard how vicious they are. They can only be creatures of the Enemy, and if they obey you, it must be because you are a servant of the Enemy as well!"

"Hold!" cried Henry, raising a hand for silence as the crowd began to mutter and stir. The hounds growled softly, but Alain merely touched them on their muzzles and they lay down, resting their great heads on their forelegs. The king paused while Hathui bent to whisper in his ear. He nodded, and she gave an order to a steward, who hurried away. Hanna edged forward on the bench, got stuck again, jammed between a noble lady and her companion. She thought of crawling under the table, but the noble lady's whippets had hunkered down in a pack under the table and not only did they growl at her as she bent over to survey her chances, but they had made a stinking mess of the rushes underneath. She shoved her way back up on the bench as the king began again to speak.

"This is a grave accusation, Lord Geoffrey, not only against Alain but against Count Lavastine, his father the younger Charles, and his grandfather Charles Lavastine as well. Do you mean to imply that all of them were in league with the Enemy?"

At once the young noblewoman and an older man who resembled her leaned over to whisper furiously to Geoffrey while he by turns looked irate and mortified. The child on the woman's lap fussed and was given a fig to chew on to keep it quiet.

The crowd had begun talking and there was a buzz of anger below it, like bees smoked out of their hive, but Hanna couldn't tell who the anger was directed against. Alain did not move except to pat the head of one of the hounds. Tallia glanced at her uncle. She seemed to have eyes for no one but Henry, and even so her gaze was more like that of a rabbit eyeing the hawk that would like to eat it than that of a trusting niece. Hadn't she married Lord Alain last summer? Of course she had! Why wasn't she sitting beside him, then?

"Nay, Your Majesty," said Geoffrey finally. "It is evident that Count Lavastine and his father Charles were innocent."

"Then do you lay a claim against the elder CharJes Lavastine and his conduct?"

"No one knows what he got in return for the hounds, but it brought ill luck into his house. The story goes that his own mother died in childbed the day he got the hounds. He himself never had but one child although he married four different women, and his son had only the one living child although his wife was brought to bed ten or twelve times. My cousin Lavastine had only the one child, and not only were she and her mother murdered by these same hounds, but it was rumored that the girl wasn't his get at all, that his wife had committed adultery. Two times more he made ready to marry, and both those women died under unnatural circumstances. And last, that same ill luck brought this liar to Lavas Holding, this man who tempted my cousin and bewitched him. And killed him, too, so I hear. Everyone agrees it was sorcery that killed him, some foul creature of the Enemy. Even those who will speak no ill of this bastard acknowledge that my cousin died in an unnatural way. It's true, isn't it?" he demanded at last, for the first time glaring belligerently at Alain.

"That sorcery killed Count Lavastine?" answered Alain. "Certainly I believe it is true, and I was the first to say so." This calm remark caused so much stir, people bending and talking and gesticulating to their neighbors, that Hanna was able to skip across from one bench to another and thereby move herself so far forward in the crowd that she was finally halfway to the front. "He was killed by a curse set on him by Bloodheart, the Eika chieftain he defeated at Gent."

Lady Tallia flushed, color creeping into her cheeks. Her attendant touched her on the shoulder, as if to signal her, but Tallia made no attempt to speak.

"A clever ploy," said the noblewoman sitting beside Geoffrey. Her voice was as sweet as honey and only somewhat more cloying. "But you have no proof."

"Prince Sanglant would testify that there was a curse. When he was Bloodheart's captive, he saw an unnatural creature brought to life to fulfill that curse. That creature, that curse, is what killed my father."

Hanna winced, and it wasn't until then that she realized that she had fallen, heart and soul, in favor of Lord Alain over Lord Geoffrey, simply by reason of their demeanor here in this hall. Yet what was the mood of the crowd? She was only a common-born girl. The nobles would, no doubt, rally around their own.

Henry looked angry at the mention of Sanglant. "Then there is no doubt in your mind that you are Lavastine's son?"

Alain answered without hesitation. "Perhaps it's true that I am not Count Lavastine's son. I can't know and I don't know, for I never knew my mother. I was raised by free-born merchant folk in Osna village, a sister and a brother called Bella and Henri after the children of King Arnulf the Younger after you and your sister, Your Majesty. They told me only that I'd been born in Lavas Holding to an unmarried woman and that they'd agreed to foster me. It's only when I came to serve for a year here at Lavas Holding that Count Lavastine noticed me. /
never asked to be named as his heir.
But he acknowledged me as his son, and he honored me with his trust. I will obey his wishes and act as rightly as he tried to all his life, because that is the trust he handed to me on his deathbed. I swore an oath to him there to uphold this county and the title of count, as he wished for me to do. Any woman and man in this holding will testify that is true. Many of them witnessed." Around the hall, isolated people nodded, but Henry's noble followers merely looked on. "I know my duty," he finished. "It is up to you, Your Majesty, to judge otherwise if you see fit."

"You admit you might not be his bastard?" demanded Henry, clearly amazed.

"God enjoins us to tell the truth, Your Majesty, and the truth is that I don't know."

Geoffrey's kinfolk stirred and smirked; some looked outraged, and some looked gleeful. Their expressions were mirrored here and there in the hall by courtiers, who surely must now be wondering if a common boy had shown them up and embarrassed them by pretending to be one of them. He had the same fine proud line in his posture, only his expression was tempered by a gravity and modesty that was more truly noble than any wellborn man or woman there except for the king. And they would hate him for that.

But Alain had already gone on. Perhaps he was oblivious. Perhaps he didn't care. Or perhaps he was really that honest, a miracle in itself. "My fa— Count Lavastine named me as his son and treated me as his son. That his wishes should be dishonored in this shameful way is disgraceful, but I am well aware on my own account that we are all tempted by pride and envy and greed and lust to act in ways that God cannot approve. But I ask you to consider this, Your Majesty. It is Lavastine's judgment that is being questioned here, not my worthiness."

Geoffrey looked furious. His kinfolk muttered among themselves, annoyed and angry at being lectured, and Geoffrey's wife sat the little child straighter on her lap, as if it were on display at a market and she wanted to fetch the highest price for it. Henry looked thoughtful, leaning over to make a private comment to Helmut Villam. His niece sat as stiff as a statue, looking desperate. Had she been forbidden to speak? What did she wish for?

Hathui was looking around the hall trying to gauge the reaction of the court, and Hanna, seeing her chance, lifted a hand to catch her attention. It took a few moments, but Hathui finally saw her and at once brought Hanna to the king's notice. Stewards moved forward into the crowd, paths were made, and Hanna was able to come forward and kneel before him.

"Where is my daughter?" asked Henry. "How does she fare?"

"She is well, Your Majesty. She is married—" A general cheer rang out at this statement, and Hanna had to wait for it to die down before she could go on. "She and Prince Bayan have won a victory over the Quman." As there came further rejoicing, she edged forward enough that she could speak to Henry in a low voice. "There is more, Your Majesty, but I am charged by your daughter to relate it to you in a more private setting, if it pleases you."

Henry sat back, and when the crowd had settled down, waiting for his response, he lifted a hand. "I want my dinner, and I have heard enough for today." He rose, and the assembly was thereby dismissed.

But that evening at twilight Hanna stood beside Hathui, and together they watched the king pacing in the garden as a fine drizzle dampened his cloak. She had given him Sapientia's message, and now she simply had to bide her time together with all the other Eagles who rode in attendance on the king, waiting to be sent out again.

"He still mourns his mother," observed Hathui, "may her soul rest in peace. I tell you, Hanna, the king needs good cheer in his life, not dispute after dispute like this one!"

"Then you favor Count Alain?"

"Thank God I don't have to pass judgment! Lord Geoffrey's accusations are troubling, and hard to disprove. But Count Alain is no fool. King Henry respected Lavastine, and as Alain said, it is harder to pass judgment on the actions of a dead man than on the worthiness of a living one."

"Do you think so? The dead man can't defend himself."

"But a good reputation is its own defense, It's harder to pass judgment exactly because he can't defend himself, because the whole of his life is laid out before you. Who are we, then, to decide we would have acted differently, and that our actions would have turned out for the better?" The rose garden was laid out between the great timber hall and the stone tower, bound on the other two sides by a roofed walkway and a log palisade. A half dozen servingmen lounged under the shelter of the walkway's roof. "I do believe also that Lavastine and Alain will always be linked in the king's mind with his own wishes for Prince Sanglant. For that reason, I think him likely to favor Count Alain over Lord Geoffrey."

Hanna hitched up her hood and held it tight under her chin. The wind shifted, and a mist of rain blew into her face. From the other side of the log palisade she heard the sound of horses being led into the stables after their afternoon's exercise. Grooms called out to one another, laughing and joking.

Footsteps crunched on the path behind them, and they moved aside for Villam to pass. He conversed with the king for a few moments, then went back the way he had come, into the stone tower.

"Is there news of Liath?" asked Hanna softly.

She couldn't see Hathui's expression, but she felt the other woman stiffen and shift a little away from her. "She ran off with Prince Sanglant. Nay, you knew that. You were still with the court then. The Council of Autun found her guilty of the crime of sorcery, and excommunicated her. If you have any traffic with her, Hanna—

"I'll be excommunicated in my turn. But nevertheless, she is my friend, and whatever she was accused of, I know she's innocent. What happened to Father Hugh?"

Hathui grunted under her breath. "He was sent to Aosta to stand trial before the skopos. Only she can pass judgment on a man of his rank."

"You've heard nothing since from Liath? No word of Prince Sanglant?"

"Nothing," replied Hathui, even more softly. "And I've looked..."

Her tone held a caution in it, but Hanna's curiosity was piqued. "What do you mean, that you 'looked'?"

Hathui glanced around to make sure no one stood within earshot, but the stewards were far away and the king had walked to the farthest corner of the garden, where the curve of the stone tower met the palisade wall. Here a dog rose climbed a fretwork, and he touched a flower, bent to smell it, then, as with a fit of temper, snapped it off.