King Javan’s Year (72 page)

They managed to take him, but only at the cost of several men—and then his captain had ordered them to turn their swords on Oriel after all. But just when Baldwin was moving in with his remaining fellows for the kill, Oriel had seized him, and a great pain had burst behind his eyes, and suddenly Baldwin
knew
that the two men facing him, one of them his comrade, were
not
supposed to kill Oriel, and he must protect the Deryni.

After that, things got even more confused, with blinding lights and more pain, and then hands wrenching his sword from numb fingers and binding him—and he did not understand what had happened. He still did not understand.

The Council stirred uneasily as Baldwin finished. Clearly, he believed his account to be true—Oriel indicated as much as he came forward, and freely admitted seizing control of the man to save himself—but equally clearly, the whole story had not been told. Baldwin himself admitted that there were gaps in his memory that he could not explain, though he swore to the king on bended knees that he had never intended treachery.

He was trembling as he sat back into the chair they had placed for him, craning his neck to watch as Oriel came around behind him. He flinched as the Healer's bandaged hands dropped lightly onto his shoulders.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” Oriel murmured as he shifted his thumbs to brace against the back of his subject's neck, fingertips curving around the sides. “Relax now. You won't be punished if you only acted under compulsion.”

The man's eyes closed under Oriel's touch, and the Healer bowed his head. After several long minutes, Oriel looked up and drew a deep breath, though his subject did not stir. “Sire, I have no way to prove this to you, but it appears that Sitric approached each of the men involved and implanted certain beliefs and commands that could not be resisted. The crux of the story was that Gavin planned to assassinate me, and these men were to attempt to prevent it.

“A secondary imperative required that, once Gavin had been eliminated, they were to turn on me after all. I believe you will find that the other prisoner has direct memory of having heard Gavin boast that he would kill me—that he was tired of Deryni influence at Court, interfering with the king and subverting his good judgment. I'm sorry, Sire, but that's what the man claimed to have heard. You may verify it when the other man is brought in, before I lay a hand on him. I will leave the room, if you wish.”

The involvement of a possible plot by Sitric turned all attention briefly on Rhun, who had been Sitric's master, but Rhun denied any prior knowledge of the plot and stated unequivocally that he had never given Sitric any such orders. Oriel's confirmation of the truth of the statement shifted the focus back to himself, and elicited muttered rumblings among his listeners, some clearly in agreement with the sentiment allegedly expressed by the late Gavin.

“What of the magic that killed Sitric?” Paulin asked when the subject of Gavin's motives had been exhausted.

“What was it you wished to know, my lord?” Oriel replied.

“What does he remember of that?”

“Bright light, a sheet of fire enveloping Sitric. I—ah—had him under rather tight control at the time, my lord. I was trying to prevent his accomplice from butchering me as the
merasha
eroded my defenses. I—don't think he saw much else.”

Dimitri could read that this, too, was true, but again, something was missing. He told Albertus so, under the faint buzz of comment that passed among the assembled Council members as Udaut took the man out and brought in Nevell, the second man.

Nevell's story was much as his comrade's, with the addition that he did indeed relate the promised story of having heard Gavin swear to kill Oriel, because of his undue influence on the king. Oriel's probe revealed that the entire memory had been planted by Sitric, but of course he could not prove it, with Sitric and Gavin both dead. One thing that did seem certain, unless Rhun was lying, was that if Sitric had plotted the murder of Oriel, he had done so on his own, without Rhun's connivance.

“We certainly have no reason to doubt Lord Rhun's word,” Tammaron said, when Udaut had taken Nevell away and Sir Sorle had taken Oriel out. “I must point out, however, that neither does his lack of involvement prove that Oriel himself is innocent in this matter, Sire. Unfortunately, with Master Oriel now the only Deryni left at Court, we no longer have a check to ensure his own truthfulness. Especially in a matter that may reflect on him personally, we can hardly accept his word.”

“I believe Master Oriel is telling the truth, my lord,” Javan said, “but what do you suggest I do? What would convince you that it was Sitric and not Oriel who instigated the incident?”

The consensus was that nothing would, but in the end Javan only agreed to keep Oriel under closer supervision in the future, with Sir Sorle assigned as his new personal bodyguard.

“And for now, I'll have the two men-at-arms kept under house arrest, as well,” Javan said. “I'm convinced that they were innocent of any deliberate participation, but I don't see how I can trust them anymore. The next time there's a rotation to one of our garrisons far removed from Rhemuth, I want them sent out. Robear, see to it.”

“Aye, my liege.”

Javan dismissed them after that, returning wearily to his quarters and sending Etienne to report the proceedings to Joram and ask for guidance. Oriel, all but convicted despite his innocence, was moved into quarters directly across the corridor from Javan's, with Sorle in adjoining quarters on one side and Guiscard on the other.

And later that night, while the castle slept, Master Dimitri moved silent as a wraith to take his turn on the rota for guarding the two disgraced men-at-arms.

Javan was heading through the great hall the next morning with his brother and Sir Tomais and his own two aides, pulling on leather gloves in preparation for a brisk early ride, when Sir Robear came pounding down the main stair with Earl Udaut right behind him and headed them off at the great hall steps.

“Sire, I don't think you'll want to take your ride this morning,” he said, gesturing toward the doorway that led into the cloister colonnade skirting the garden, and not even looking to see whether Javan followed.

“Go with Robear, Sire,” Udaut urged. “It isn't going to be a pretty sight, though. It's as well you've not yet eaten.”

Even warned, Javan felt a little queasy as he drew up beside Robear on the far side of the garden, where a nude male body lay facedown in a flower bed. Rhys Michael and the others had gotten there ahead of him, except for Charlan, who had hung back to accommodate his master's slower pace.

“Who is it?” Javan asked, as his brother followed Udaut's gesture toward an open window some four stories above them, where several men were peering down and pointing.

Robear was kneeling beside the body and had turned the face to look at it, sighing and shaking his head as he did so.

“I believe you'll recall the name Baldwin, Sire?” he said.

“Dear God, did he
jump
?” Javan breathed.

“Jumped or was pushed.” Robear made as if to lift the body's shoulders and turn it over, then shook his head again. There was blood underneath, for the unfortunate Baldwin had impaled himself on several garden stakes meant to support young plants.

“Well, if the fall didn't kill him, these didn't help,” he said, standing and wiping his hands against the legs of his breeches as he glanced up at the window again. “I don't suppose it was any worse than that other poor bastard.”

“He's dead, too?” Javan said.

Up in the chamber Baldwin had vacated so precipitously, the hapless Nevell had found a slower if no less painful way of ending his life. Since he and his comrade had been under house arrest, without access to weapons, Nevell appeared to have smashed an empty wine flask and used one of the razor-sharp shards to slash both wrists almost to the bone and then start on his throat. He, too, was nude. If there had been doubt about Baldwin's intentions, there was none about Nevell's. The broken fragment was still clenched tightly in his stiffened fingers, his blood sprayed all over the room and spattering his white body. The dead eyes were fixed on the window through which his comrade had jumped, the mouth set in a rictus of mad triumph.

“Sweet
Jesu, why
?” Javan whispered, sinking down on his haunches as Guiscard knelt down to inspect the body.

“Perhaps despondency over having lost the trust of his king,” Rhun said coldly. He and Albertus had been among the men examining the room and the body when the king arrived, along with a
Custodes
battle surgeon. “These men had no future, Sire, for their liege lord had determined unjustly to banish them from his presence.”

“Don't be ridiculous!” Javan retorted, though his cheeks were burning. “That isn't sufficient cause to take one's life—and especially not like this. Robear, do you think this could be something left from what Sitric set, when he took them over?”

“Why not ask if it was something left from Master Oriel's work, Sire?” Rhun went on, not relenting. “If Sitric had set an order to self-destruct, they would have done it before they could be examined for evidence against him. But Oriel was in their minds only yesterday.”

“That's absurd!” Charlan blurted. “If they didn't speak out against Oriel yesterday, they obviously weren't ever going to do it. Why would he do such a stupid thing? It serves absolutely no purpose other than to set tongues like yours to wagging!”

“Sire, I suggest you curb this impudent puppy, or I shall be forced to whip him for his impertinence!” Rhun retorted. “Do you dare to defend the Deryni, boy?”

“You go too far, my lord!” Javan warned, lurching to his feet. “Charlan, to me. I'll have no quarreling among my own people. Guiscard, if you please.”

Guiscard had been continuing to inspect the body, ostensibly testing at the amount of rigor and examining the wounds, but rose immediately at Javan's summons.

“It wasn't Nevell's idea,” he murmured to the king as they headed back down to the great hall for food none of them really wanted. Rhys Michael had left them to return to his own apartments, saying he would have something sent up later. “I wish it were possible for Oriel to do a proper examination of the bodies, but after Rhun's remark, you don't dare order it.”

“Why not?” Javan whispered.

“Because if it's suggested that they were forced to do it, he's the only suspect—or you'd better hope he is. Because if he didn't do it—and you and I certainly didn't, or my father—that means there's another Deryni about. Unless it's Sitric's ghost, I can hazard a fair guess, and I expect you could, too.”

Javan pulled up short to stare at Guiscard. “Dimitri?
Here
?”

“Well, I doubt he could do it from
Arx Fidei
,” Guiscard replied. “And it's occurred to me that they wouldn't have risked Sitric if they didn't have a backup in reserve.”

“It has to have been one of the new
Custodes
who have appeared in the last month or so, then,” Javan murmured. “But there's been no one to match the face we got from Serafin.”

“He had a beard,” Guiscard said, suddenly sitting forward. “And he was wearing lay attire. But shave off the beard, and put him in
Custodes
habit—picture it, Sire.”

Javan sat back in his chair, suddenly deflated, now well aware where he had seen that face.

“The battle surgeon who showed up with Albertus,” he breathed. “He was at the inquest yesterday, and he was even with him this morning.” He closed his eyes and conjured up the image—the same greying brown hair, now cut short and tonsured, the dark eyes, always carefully veiled, the sensuous mouth—the tiny indentation in the right earlobe that once had permitted a gold earring to pass through.

“Dear God, what can we do?”

Indeed, as the king asked that question, Dimitri was already advancing his efforts on his masters' behalf, sequestered with Albertus and Rhun and Hubert in Paulin's dayroom down at the cathedral.

“This morning was most illuminating, my lords,” he reported, standing before them where they sat before the fire. “Knowing what you have told me of the king, I cannot swear that what I sensed was a Deryni power stirring; but it was very like Deryni. And it came from either the king or possibly the knight he calls Guiscard.”

“De Courcy?” Rhun said.

“I would tend to favor the king,” Dimitri said, “though I grant you it is possible that both were involved. This supports the impressions I was able to gather from the soldiers Baldwin and Nevell before setting other instructions in their minds. Not knowing to suspect the king, both
assumed
that Master Oriel was the source of the attack. But in fact, neither had any clear memory of the exact moment. Also, Master Oriel had a great deal of
merasha
in him by then. It does not seem likely that he could have focused sufficiently to raise such power.”

“It has to have been the king, then,” Paulin murmured. “The stories are true, and the Haldanes do have power. They may not be Deryni, but their power comes from the Deryni. And that, in itself, is sufficient reason to see him brought down and destroyed!”

No intimation of this intent reached Javan in the weeks that followed. The “battle surgeon” they thought was Dimitri was no more seen at Court—which tended to confirm that it was he who had been responsible for at least some of the recent unpleasantness—and Javan dared not inquire concerning him. He could only be glad of the man's absence and hope that neither he nor Guiscard had betrayed himself in his presence.

Sir Gavin received the lavish funeral merited by his gallant death in the king's service and was buried with all due ceremony at Rhemuth Cathedral. The suicides Baldwin and Nevell joined Father Faelan in the potter's field by the river. Rhun was allowed to have Sitric buried in holy ground at Saint Hilary's—a
Custodes
priest presided—and reluctantly agreed that the dead man's mother and sister might join Ursin's family when Javan sent them north to meet the holy Revan.