King Javan’s Year (25 page)

Javan, having been subjected to the constant harangues of the
Custodes
for nearly three years on the evil of the Deryni and how they must be isolated from all decent folk, could only agree.

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

And why stand we in jeopardy every hour?

—I Corinthians 15:30

Javan managed to avoid any confrontation with the dangerous Sitric in the first days that followed, but the same could not be said of Rhun, his master. Possibly on the advice of Murdoch and the others who had been faced down in earlier encounters, even Rhun dared not make open defiance of the new king—not yet, at any rate—but his staunchest advocates could not have called him cooperative. He offered his resignation dutifully enough, when the Council met on the morning after Alroy's funeral—knowing Javan dared not accept it—but criticism and obstruction were to become regular features of his activity within the Council context. Keeping him on the Council rankled, but Javan really had no choice.

Far more pleasing was the return of Baron Hildred, Alroy's former Master of Horse, who also had arrived just in time for the funeral. Hildred had no part of politics and wanted none; his focus was horses and those who rode them well. All three Haldane princes had begun their experience in the saddle under Hildred's tutelage. The appearance of another friend at that first Council meeting after the funeral brightened an otherwise taut day for the new young king.

Javan was grateful as well for the briefings that Jerowen and Etienne had been giving him over the past few days. For as soon as Hildred and Rhun had made token resignation of their offices—and Bonner Sinclair, who had missed the funeral but arrived in time for the meeting—Earl Tammaron produced a letter from his son, Fane Fitz-Arthur, the sole member of the Council yet to turn up.

“My son begs you to pardon his absence, Sire,” Tammaron explained as he unfolded the letter Fane had sent. “A bereavement in his wife's family requires his continued presence in Cassan—though he intends to be present for your Grace's coronation and to present his compliments at that time.”

“I am sorry to hear of his bereavement,” Javan said, immediately guessing what Tammaron was about to tell him and very glad he had paid attention to his various briefings. “His wife is the daughter of the Prince of Cassan, I believe?”

Tammaron gave him a formal inclination of his head, as if surprised that Javan remembered.

“She is, Sire,” Tammaron replied. “Alas, it is her father who has passed away—Prince Ambert Quinnell. He had been ill for some time. However, under the terms of treaties drawn up during the reign of your late father—”

“Why so modest, my lord?” Javan said, schooling himself to a taut, slightly ironic smile; for if he played this right, Tammaron's vanity would have him eating out of the royal hand. “Under the terms of the bridal contract that
you
negotiated, your son's marriage to the Princess Anne set in place an irrevocable covenant by which Cassan devolves to Gwynedd upon the death of her father, he having no sons. I thank you for Gwynedd's new duchy, my lord.”

“Well, I—”

“It was brilliantly done, my lord,” Javan went on, keeping up the momentum. “Would that I may have someone as shrewd as yourself to negotiate on my behalf when I eventually wed. You have done Gwynedd a great service, and I shall not forget.”

“You—
are
aware, I trust, that Fane is not to be the first duke,” Tammaron said tentatively. “That was the original provision, but it was changed after the birth of Fane's son, Ambert's grandson.”

“Yes, young Tambert,” Javan said easily. “I was so informed. Named, I believe, for both his noble grandfathers.”

At Tammaron's look of astonishment, Javan allowed himself a faint smile. The thought of a long regency for one of his vassals was not particularly appealing, but having the jump on Tammaron was exquisitely satisfying.

“I thank you for conveying your son's message, my lord,” he said, reaching out to take the letter Tammaron still had not managed to read to the Council. “Baron de Courcy, I shall ask you to send an appropriate reply to Cassan. Say that I shall be pleased to acknowledge my new duke when he arrives for my coronation and to receive his homage and fealty through his most excellent regents.

“Say also to Lord Fane that, as he now has a duchy to administer, I excuse him from further obligations as a Council lord and shall accept his resignation when he offers it, for I would not have his old obligations interfere with his new responsibilities as regent for his young son. Please assure him that his seat shall remain vacant until a worthy replacement can be chosen to succeed him.”

So couched, no one could find any reasonable cause to object without sounding deliberately contentious. Tammaron even nodded his agreement, for the logic of Javan's decision was inescapable; the regent of a faraway duchy the size of Cassan could not possibly give useful service to the Council as well. Not even the volatile Murdoch raised an objection, though glances were exchanged among several of the other former regents.

Grateful that he seemed to have avoided yet another potential disagreement with his balky Council, Javan refrained from mentioning his other duke just then, for Graham, the young Duke of Claibourne, was an extremely sore point with the former regents, Murdoch in particular. He allowed the discussion to move on to the subject of possible coronation dates, finally settling on the last day of July, but when they finally adjourned, he held back Jason and Robear with Charlan after the others had left.

“I wasn't going to mention it during the meeting, but no one has yet said anything about my
other
duke,” he said, “and no one has mentioned him in any of my briefings thus far. Are the Kheldour lords going to show up for the coronation?”

The three knights exchanged guarded looks, both Robear and Charlan deferring to Jason.

“I'm afraid the Kheldour situation has not improved during your absence, Sire,” Jason said. “If anything, it's deteriorated. No one from Kheldour has been seen at Court since young Graham and his uncles came to have his title acknowledged as Duke of Claibourne and his regents sworn in. You were still here when that happened, I believe.”

Javan nodded agreement as Jason continued.

“Since that day, so that no one can say they've violated the letter of their feudal obligations, Claibourne and the Earls of East-march and Marley have continued to send their taxes and minimum levies for royal service—but nothing beyond what the law requires. Even that has slipped in recent months.”

“How so?”

“Well, young Graham would have reached his majority earlier this year—which means he should have come to Rhemuth to have his coming of age confirmed and his regency officially ended. Need I say that he didn't come?”

“I can't say I blame him,” Javan murmured, “when the man responsible for slaying his father still sits on the royal Council and has never been held accountable. I'm not sure I would have come, in his position.”

“The question is, will he come to
you
, once he learns that your brother is dead?” Robear retorted. “If he doesn't—if he and his uncles fail to appear at the coronation, if they decline to acknowledge you as their overlord and do homage for their Kheldour holdings—reasonable men could justly construe that Kheldour has withdrawn from the alliance that brought Kheldour to Gwynedd in the first place. If that should happen, you're in no position to attempt bringing them back into the fold by force. Any war you fight in the next few years almost certainly will have to be against a Festillic pretender trying to invade from Torenth and regain what he regards as his throne.”

“I'm aware of the Festillic danger,” Javan murmured. “I know I can't afford to fight with Kheldour.” He paused a beat. “You really think they won't come?”

Jason snorted. “I'm almost more afraid that they
will
come and decide that this is the time to renew their quarrel with Murdoch.”

“Murdoch was responsible for the death of the boy's father,” Javan said sharply. “And what he did to Declan Carmody and his family—I'll never forgive him for that!”

All three men looked distinctly uncomfortable, for all had been present at that terrible birthday court three years before, forced to witness the cold-blooded execution of Declan's wife and young sons and the cruel tortures inflicted on the former Deryni collaborator until he finally died.

“Ewan did attack Murdoch first, Sire,” Robear said uneasily.

“Yes, after Murdoch provoked him!”

“Yes, but it wasn't perceived that way by the Court,” Jason said, “and your witness would be judged faulty because you were a minor at the time. If you try to reopen the case after this long, you will be perceived as being either soft on Deryni or escalating a personal vendetta against Murdoch. I don't think you can afford either perception.”

Javan sighed heavily, knowing Jason was right—yet another burden of the crown he was struggling to keep.

“I hadn't in mind to go after Murdoch,” he finally said. “At least not now. Back to the Kheldour lords, though—do you think they'll come?”

“I believe Etienne has sent notification north to inform them of your brother's death, Sire,” Robear said. “Also, official summons to appear at the coronation. Whether or not they comply remains to be seen—and the consequences, whichever way they go.”

Which was all anyone could say, at this point. Shaking his head in resignation, Javan picked up the Haldane sword and got to his feet.

“Thank you, gentlemen. You've given me yet another thing to worry about. It isn't your fault,” he added, flashing them a tight smile. “It simply means I'm walking a sword-edge rather than a mere tightrope. Let's go down to the great hall and get something to eat.”

He thought about how to ease the situation while he ate a light midday meal with his knights, vaguely distracted from their easy banter. The prospect of a secession in Kheldour, not to mention possible war against a Festillic invader, had brought home the very real military challenges he might have to face, in addition to the more insidious threats he had already anticipated from the former regents. By the time they had ridden out for an afternoon's light exercise, galloping along the long, straight stretches beside the riverbank, he decided that part of his personal preparation for either eventuality lay in making himself better physically fit for the job he had inherited. After even this short jaunt, his thighs ached.

“I want you to put me back in training,” he told Robear and Jason as they rested their horses in the shade of a stone bridge that spanned a stream just above the city. “I haven't had a sword in my hand in three years, other than to cut myself at the Accession Council, and I'm not sure I even remember how to draw a bow.”

The latter certainly was not true, and all of them knew it, for Javan's skill at the archery butts had been better by age twelve than most of the men in the Haldane Archers Corps. Jason himself had encouraged it, for archery was a martial art not dependent upon agility of foot.

Swordplay was another matter entirely, however. And it
was
true that three years of mostly sedentary pursuits at
Arx Fidei
had not exactly provided the opportunity for ongoing physical development of a king who might need to lead men into battle, much less defend himself against rebellious subjects.

“You'll give us free rein?” Robear said, casting him one of those sidelong glances that Javan knew meant he was going to have to work, and work hard.

“I wouldn't have asked, if I didn't mean to do it right,” Javan replied. “I'm not expecting it to be easy. I need you to make a proper knight of me, though, if I'm to live up to the pledges we exchanged a few days ago.”

“Are you willing to make the regular commitment of your time?” Jason asked. “It can't be done overnight, or slapdash.”

“I'm well aware of that,” Javan said. “You can have my mornings, when it's still a little cooler; I'll keep other businesses to the afternoons, at least until we're well started. I want you to push me as hard as you think I can stand, and then some. I know it's going to involve a lot of sweat and not a little pain. I'm not looking forward to that. But I've got to do it. Next time one of the Council lords tries to defy me, I may need more than a glib tongue to get me out of it.”

A glib tongue continued to keep Javan's opponents off balance in the next few weeks, as concern turned increasingly to planning for his coronation, but thereafter his days began in the practice yard, alternating between weapons drill, riding, and weapons drill while riding. He spent hours striking at the pells to begin building up his shoulders again and sparring with one or another of his knights. He spent more hours at the archery butts, quickly regaining his accuracy but appalled at how light a bow he had to use at first to do it.

On alternate days, training shifted to the breaking yard, where Baron Hildred endeavored to bring his riding skills back up to their previous level. Javan had been a bold and brilliant rider before leaving Court and remembered everything he had ever been taught; but getting disused riding muscles to obey him again was a humbling experience. Hildred took him back to basics for the first week or so, putting him up on a smooth-paced, reliable palfrey at the end of a lunge line and making him circle for what seemed like hours at the trot and canter, going over low jumps, deliberately falling off—all without stirrups.

Later, when he began to get legged up again, the arena sessions alternated with the tilting yard, working with lance or spear, and sword drill from horseback. Once he could draw one of the powerful little R'Kassan recurve bows again, there was shooting from horseback as well. It was all very hard work; but in this as in all the other disciplines he had resumed, Javan was pleased to find that his body performed far better at sixteen than it had at thirteen.