King Javan’s Year (39 page)

“As your Grace will have been informed,” she went on, “it was my father's wish that, having no sons, Cassan should pass through me to my eldest son, who comes now before you to acknowledge you his sovereign overlord and asks to be granted tenure of Cassan as a Duke of Gwynedd in perpetuity for himself and his male issue. May I present him to your Highness?”

“Please do,” Javan said, handing off the scroll to Charlan and beckoning the two to rise. Only reluctantly did he turn his gaze toward the boy and the black-clad woman who brought him forward—for Anne of Cassan was breathtaking.

At the prompting of the black-clad woman, the little boy knelt at Javan's feet, head ducked shyly over hands folded as if in prayer but peeking out from under a shock of dark hair with wide eyes that missed little, eliciting a faint smile from Javan. The woman in black remained standing.

“Sire,” Anne said, “my mother, the Lady Duvessa Sinclair, Dowager Princess of Cassan.”

The Lady Duvessa inclined her head at the introduction, and Javan returned the salute, wondering whether she was related to Paulin and Albertus, whose family name also was Sinclair.

“My lady, you are most welcome,” he said. “May I offer my condolences on your loss and my wish that this merging of our lands may prove as prosperous for all our peoples as your late husband dreamed. I shall cherish your grandson as if he were my own son.”

A faint smile curved Duvessa's lips. “You are most gracious, Sire,” she murmured. “The boy is bright. He is all one might have wished in a grandson. Would that his grandfather could have lived to see him grow to manhood.”

“I share your sorrow, madame, having lost the opportunity for my own father to see
me
grow to manhood,” Javan replied. “When the time comes, and if it pleases you and his parents, it would be my pleasure to have him fostered here at Court, to learn the ways of rule. Cassan is far away, and I shall need to rely on my loyal Duke of Cassan to uphold my law—as I know his regents shall do, during his minority. I believe that the three of you are to be constituted his governors?” he said, gesturing toward Anne and Fane as well.

“That was my father's wish, Sire,” Anne said, moving closer to set her hand on her son's shoulder. “It is ours as well, if it please your Grace.”

“It pleases us very well, indeed,” Javan replied, glancing aside at his waiting clergy, and at Hubert in particular. “My Lord Archbishop, are you prepared to witness an exchange of oaths?”

“I am, Sire,” Hubert said, moving forward in cope and mitre, a deacon following him with a richly bound Gospel book.

“Very well,” Javan said. “Which of you shall speak for—Tambert, is it?”

“It is, my lord, and I shall speak for him,” Duvessa said, coming to stand behind her grandson, as his parents knelt to either side and each placed a hand on his shoulders.

Young Tambert, who had been watching all these proceedings wide-eyed from around his folded hands, essayed a bright smile as Javan leaned forward, over the Haldane sword, to clasp the joined little hands between his two.

“Hello, Tambert,” he said softly, engaging the boy's eyes and smiling. “My name is Javan. Shall we be friends?”

At Tambert's earnest nod, Javan flicked a glance up at the boy's grandmother to proceed.

“We, the regents for Duke Tambert Fitz-Arthur Quinnell, heir to all of Cassan, do pledge the following on his behalf,” she said. “That the said Tambert of Cassan does become your liege man of life and limb and enters your fealty, doing homage for all the lands of Cassan formerly held of the last sovereign Prince of Cassan, his grandfather. Faith and truth will he bear unto you, to live and to die, against all manner of folk. This is our pledge as well, so help me God.”

Javan had been Truth-Reading as she spoke—she meant what she had said—and he briefly turned his talent on Anne and then on Fane, whose murmured repeats of “So help me God” bore no hint of deception. Drawing breath, Javan returned his gaze to young Tambert, who was gazing up at him with rapt fascination.

“This do I hear, Tambert of Cassan and the regents for his Grace,” he said. “And I, for my part, pledge the protection of Gwynedd to you and all your people, to defend you from every creature with all my power, giving loyalty for loyalty and justice for honor. This is the word of Javan Jashan Urien Haldane, King of Gwynedd, Lord of Meara and Mooryn and the Purple March, and Overlord of Cassan. So help me God.”

So saying, Javan released Tambert's hands and turned toward Hubert to lay his hand on the Gospel and kiss its jewelled cover, after which Hubert offered it to Duvessa, Anne, and Fane to do the same. The archbishop was turning to give it back into the hands of the deacon who had brought it when Tambert tugged urgently at the edge of Javan's tunic, which was all he could reach.

“Me, too!” he whispered, in a
sotto voce
that reached every corner of the room, producing an amused chuckle from several present.

“You, too?” Javan said, leaning down gravely to Tambert's eye level. “What do you want to do? Kiss the book?”

Tambert nodded sagely.

“Ah, I see,” Javan said, staying Hubert with an upraised hand when he would have continued to hand the book away.

“But, Sire—”

“No, stay. Let's see how much he understands,” Javan murmured, leaning back toward the boy. “Tambert, do you know what that is?”

“God's word,” Tambert said, quite emphatically.

“That's right, it is,” Javan said approvingly. “Do you know what it means, when you kiss the Book of God's word?” he asked.

Tambert looked uncertain.

“It means,” Javan said, “that a promise has been made in front of God. Did you make a promise today, Tambert? I did. I promised to be your friend and to take care of you and all the other people who live back at home in Cassan. Will you promise to be
my
friend, in front of God?”

Tambert's face had lit up as Javan explained, and he clapped his hands enthusiastically and nodded.

“Friends!” he crowed.

Only partially restraining a droll grin, as others around him tried less successfully to keep their chuckles smothered, Javan held out his hand for the Gospel Hubert was still holding. Hubert relinquished it without a word, watching in amazement and grudging respect as Javan took it between his hands, one at each end, and brought it down to where Tambert could see it.

“Here is God's word, Tambert,” he said, hefting the book. “You know and I know that God hears everything we say. When I kiss the Book that has God's word in it, that means that I know He has heard what I promised. I promise, before God, to be your friend, Tambert.”

He could feel Tambert's eyes on him as he bent solemnly to kiss the Book again. Being friends was a gross simplification of the oaths he had exchanged with Tambert's guardians, but it was the crux of what Tambert might be able to understand. Apparently he did, for as Javan straightened, Tambert's little hands were creeping up to touch the jewelled cover, the eyes of sunlit blue turning to his in a child's pure trust.

“Friends,” he said simply. And as he leaned forward to plant a loud kiss on the Book, a murmur of amused approval rippled through the room.

Laughter was in Javan's eyes as well, but he kept his face solemn as he whispered, “Thank you, Tambert,” and handed the Book back to Hubert. He had not planned any further ceremony, with Tambert being so young, but now he beckoned the boy's mother nearer.

“My lady, your son has demonstrated amply that he understands what this is all about,” he said in a low voice, the sword resting on his knees between them. “Under the circumstances, I think it would be slighting him to withhold the rest of the formality that confirms him in his title—unless you think he might be frightened by a drawn sword.”

She looked surprised as he lifted the sheathed sword slightly between them, but then she smiled tentatively.

“Do you mean to dub him, Sire?” she asked.

“Unless you would prefer it otherwise.”

Clearly pleased, she bent to whisper to her son, who listened avidly and then nodded. As she settled back to her knees beside him, shifting a glance to husband and mother likewise to kneel, Javan slowly rose, carefully unsheathing the sword as he did so and handing off the scabbard to Guiscard. He brought the blade to his lips in salute, both hands on the hilt, then looked down at Tambert, smiling reassurance.

“Tambert of Cassan, I confirm you in your rank and title as Duke of Cassan,” he said, bringing the flat of the blade down lightly on the boy's right shoulder and then the left. “We'll do this again when you've come of age and can claim your title in your own right,” he went on, touching the blade lightly to the top of the boy's head. “And then, in about fifteen years, I hope to do this once more, when it's time for you to receive the accolade of knighthood.”

The boy's gaze was one of awe and pure hero worship as Javan passed the sword to Guiscard to sheathe, and he broke into a sunny smile as Javan then bent to take Tambert's two hands in his.

“Rise, most excellent Duke of Cassan.”

Tambert scrambled to his feet and, to Javan's surprise, threw his little arms exuberantly around the royal knees, laughing delightedly. His parents looked mortified, though the grandmother was barely containing her smile, and Tambert's mother came forward immediately to rescue Javan.

“I do beg your pardon, Sire,” she murmured. “He isn't usually this demonstrative.”

“No, it's all right,” Javan replied, himself now chuckling as he bent to lift Tambert onto his hip. “It isn't often that a king gets such an enthusiastic show of affection from one of his dukes. Why, thank you, Tambert,” he said as the boy threw his little arms around Javan's neck and planted a wet kiss on the royal cheek. “Tambert and I are going to be great friends, aren't we, Tambert? And he's going to grow up to be a very fine duke.”

Softening a little, the boy's mother smiled. “Methinks he shall serve a very fine king as well, Sire,” she murmured. “I thank you for your kindness. You are—not what I expected.”

“Oh, and what did you expect?” Javan said easily, looking into the blue-grey eyes.

“An awkward boy, unskilled in the ways of statecraft,” she said bluntly. “I see that I was mistaken.”

To Javan's surprise, she then sank in a deep, formal curtsey, far more profound than duty required. Struck again by her beauty, Javan let the boy back down to the floor and took the mother's hand to raise her up, keeping it in his for just a trifle longer than protocol demanded.

“I thank you, my lady,” he murmured, bringing it to his lips in salute. “I look forward to watching young Tambert grow into gentle manhood, as must surely happen, with so gracious a lady for a mother.”

The whole exchange could not have taken above a few seconds. As he released her hand, things began moving again, Fane coming forward to retrieve his son, daughter and mother making their bows as they prepared to return to their places. A proud and beaming Earl Tammaron came forward to usher them out, turning back to Javan as the immediate area before the throne cleared.

“I thank you for your kindness to my grandson, Sire,” he said. “This being the only business to come before you this morning, may I dismiss the Court?”

“Certainly,” Javan said, taking back his sword from Guiscard.

“My lords and ladies,” Tammaron said, moving slightly to the side and turning to face the room, “his Highness gives you his leave.”

As the Court made their ragged obeisances and slowly began escaping to the larger and cooler confines of the great hall, Hubert came closer to delay Javan's departure. Guiscard and Charlan drew back slightly, ready to rescue their royal master, if need be. Paulin and Albertus had paused just outside the door but still in sight of Hubert, obviously waiting for him to come out as they conversed quietly together.

“It was well done, what you did for the boy, Sire,” the archbishop said grudgingly as the room slowly emptied. “God grant that he remembers this day when he comes to manhood.”

Javan favored Hubert with a nod. “I intend that he shall, Archbishop,” he said. “Would that my other duke loved me half so well. I take it there's been no word, as yet, whether Graham and the other Kheldour lords intend to attend the coronation?”

Hubert looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Alas, Sire, there has not. But most of the rest of the expected baronage have arrived. Also, a fair number of representatives from our neighboring kingdoms, who will present their credentials and felicitations tomorrow, after the coronation. Which reminds me—Lord Udaut bade me inform you that a Torenthi delegation is expected to arrive sometime later today. Rumor has it that the Torenthi king is sending one of his brothers as his personal envoy.”

Javan pursed his lips. “A Torenthi prince in Rhemuth. Who authorized
that
?”

Hubert made a grimace of distaste. “The practice is not of
my
making, Sire. It is ancient custom that a new king's coronation be witnessed by representatives of neighboring kingdoms, so that they can testify as to the legitimacy of the reign. We are not at war with Torenth, after all.”

“No, they're only harboring the pretender to my throne,” Javan said.

“Well, no one expected that King Arion would be so bold as to send one of his own brothers as witness.”

“Foreign Deryni at Court, then,” Javan said neutrally, watching Hubert's expression and thinking about the mysterious “foreign” Deryni currently in Paulin's employ. “I don't like that. What precautions are being taken to ensure that our Torenthi visitors remain within the bounds of good guestship?”

Hubert pursed his rosebud lips in annoyance. “‘Within the bounds of good guestship,' all is being done that
can
be done, Sire. The Lord Constable will provide an appropriate guard of honor.” He smiled primly. “And I believe that Lord Rhun has arranged for Master Sitric to be among them. I've also ordered that archers be strategically deployed, with orders to watch for any sign of treachery. If you wish, I can have them dress their arrowheads with
merasha.
”