The Bastard Prince (38 page)

When Sighere saw the king approaching, he handed off the banner to his son and came over to greet the king.

“'Tis glad I am tae see ye here, Sire,” he murmured, inclining his head slightly. “Ye didnae look too well during Mass.”

Rhys Michael gave him a wan smile. “I have some fever,” he acknowledged, “but I could hardly allow it to interfere with so important an event. I tarried to thank Father Derfel for offering Mass in Lady Sudrey's behalf. Would that I had more such priests in my service.”

Sighere nodded carefully. “Father Derfel is a braw priest, an' a credit to his callin'.”

“That was my thought as well,” Rhys Michael agreed.

“Aye.” Sighere's glance flicked to Stevanus, to Cathan, then back to the king, betraying nothing. Fulk had gone ahead into the hall.

“They'll be waitin' fer ye, Sire. Ye'd best go ahead in. I do thank ye for coming to our aid, if ye were not thankit before. Kheldour stands ready tae serve, as we hae served yer Highness these past days. By yer leave, Sire.”

So saying, he gave the king another nod of his head and withdrew to retrieve his banner. Stevanus watched him go, men turned to glance at the king, apparently suspecting nothing.

“You
are
looking peaked, Sire. Are you sure you're up to this?”

“I'm fine,” Rhys Michael said.

They went on into the hall, which was already crowded. Rhys Michael had not thought about it before, but it was hardly half the size of the hall at Rhemuth. Mostly empty before, it had seemed larger.

With a supper to follow, the high table was set up across the dais as usual, with trestle tables and benches along both long sides of the hall. In the open space between the arms of the U thus formed, almost against the high table, they had positioned a high-backed chair to serve as a throne. Up to the right of it, an intense-looking Duke Graham was listening to instructions from Rhun and Manfred, looking none too happy, while Lord Joshua and Father Lior looked on.

The group dispersed as Rhys Michael approached, Rhun drawing Manfred aside in some private converse and Graham starting to marshal the retainers milling in the hall, urging them to approach the dais and leave a center aisle. Father Derfel had come in while the king spoke with Sighere, carrying a silver-cased Gospel book and wearing a white cope over his alb and stole. Father Lior looked none too pleased that the priest obviously expected to participate in the ceremony.

“Your offer of assistance is most generous, Father, but I believe we have things under control,” Lior said.

“I've nae doubt that ye do, Father,” Derfel said smoothly, as Rhys Michael passed, “but I am confessor tae Lady Stacia and Lord Corban. They hae begged leave tae swear their oaths on the Gospel book from which they hear the word o' God each day; an' who but their confessor can better remind them o' those oaths, when the king is far from Eastmarch?”

Even Lior could not gainsay that argument; and if he had tried, Rhys Michael was prepared to put in his own arguments for Derfel's presence. Fortunately, Rhun was approaching, gesturing for Fulk to bring the king's crown and sword.

“I think we should begin, Sire,” he said, as Cathan took the crown from Fulk and put it on Rhys Michael's head.

You're burning up
, Cathan sent, adjusting the crown on the king's clammy brow.

Rhys Michael could only shrug as he sat in the chair provided and Fulk laid the sheathed Haldane sword across its arms. As the others took their places around them and the retainers of Eastmarch and Claibourne and Marley crowded into the hall, he tried to summon up the strength to get through this ceremony. He was feeling worse and worse.

A muffled roll of drums demanded the attention of all present, then began beating out a slow cadence suitable for a stately procession. In happier times, border pipes would have accompanied the new earl and countess down the length of the crowded hall, but not with Sudrey buried hardly an hour before, and not with the late earl but a fortnight before her.

The two came before him and made their reverences, Stacia still garbed in the unremitting black she had worn to her mother's funeral, Corban in drab border tweeds. Sighere had unfurled the Eastmarch banner and footed it on the step of the dais, and Graham stood beside Rhys Michael's chair, bearing the letters patent. Father Derfel waited at the young duke's elbow, the Gospel book hugged to his breast.

Rhys Michael glanced at Rhun and Manfred, keeping attendance from the other side, then turned his gaze to his Eastmarch retainers and their new earl and countess.

“My lords and ladies, people of Eastmarch,” he said, speaking quietly, but in a voice that carried to the far end of the hall. “Mere words cannot express the honor I feel to be here among you, and to know the loyalty that has surrounded me these past days, as we stood together against would-be invaders. You have paid a high price, for you have lost both your earl and his lady in my service. It is a price they were prepared to pay, but I cannot but wish that payment could have been made in some other coin. I knew Lord Hrorik but slightly, from my boyhood days, and only met the Lady Sudrey on the night before she laid down her life in my defense, but both were brave and honorable. I can only hope and pray that our Lord in Heaven will richly reward those who, in life, served their earthly lord so well and so faithfully.”

The hall had grown hushed and expectant as he went on, a murmur of approval whispering among his listeners. Rhun had an increasingly sour look on his face.

“But we have not come here today to speak more of Lord Hrorik and his lady, who are with us no more, but to acknowledge their daughter and heir, who comes before us to be invested as Countess of Eastmarch, and also her husband, Lord Corban Howell, who will rule as earl at her side. It is not often that so noble a title passes through the female line, but knowing what I do of the Lady Sudrey, I cannot think that her daughter will be any less noble as she assumes the office borne so faithfully by her late father. My lady? Lord Corban?”

At his gesture, the two came to kneel before him, Stacia directly at his knees, Corban a handspan back, for the two would give their oaths separately. As Stacia offered him her joined hands, he slipped his bandaged hand out of its sling to clasp her hands lightly against it with his good hand. Father Derfel had come forward with the Gospel and held it down beside their joined hands.

“Stacia, Countess of Eastmarch, I am prepared to hear your oath,” the king said quietly.

Her dark eyes did not leave his as she spoke.

“I, Stacia, Countess of Eastmarch, do become yer vassal of life an' limb, an' enter yer fealty, an' do homage for all the lands of Eastmarch, formerly held by my father Hrorik, an' before him by my grandfather, Sighere, Warlord o' Kheldour an' first Duke o' Claibourne. Faith and truth will I bear unto ye, tae live an' tae die, against all manner o' folk, sae help me God.”

Her hands were trembling between his, his injured hand throbbing to be so pressed, but he would not alter the symbolism merely for his own comfort. It struck him that this was the first time he had ever exchanged such oaths with any of his vassals with any sense that he actually had control over how the relationship was conducted. In truth, he had never been allowed an opportunity to interact with any of his vassals as king. The exhilaration made his blood sing through his veins and brought a faint flush to his cheeks that had nothing to do with fever.

“This do I hear, Stacia of Eastmarch, 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 Rhys Michael Alister Haldane, King of Gwynedd, Lord of Meara and Mooryn and the Purple March, and Overlord of Eastmarch. So help me God.”

When both he and Stacia had laid their hands on the Gospel and kissed its silver-chased cover, Corban Howell likewise set his hands briefly between the king's and then kissed the book, though he was not required to repeat the oath—only to affirm it. Rhys Michael liked what he could Read of Corban and had no doubt that the new earl was well content. In all practical aspects, this younger son of an impoverished family of gentry was now Earl of Eastmarch for Stacia's lifetime, the title to pass to their son upon her death. If one could not himself be born to such titles, attaining such a title by marriage was an entirely honorable and satisfactory way to establish his own noble succession. Young Corban had done well for himself.

There followed the investiture with the emblems of rank, each with its own symbolism. Handing off the Haldane sword, the king stood to place the silver circlets upon their heads, first Stacia and then Corban. He was awkward with only one hand—he had slipped his injured one back into its sling—but Father Derfel assisted him.

The banner that Sighere brought forward was easier to manage one-handed. Declaring it a token of Stacia's authority to govern Eastmarch in his name, the king delivered it into Stacia's hands. She, in turn, passed it into the keeping of Murray, one of her captains, as Sighere's son Sean brought forward the sword that had belonged to Hrorik.

This the king also gave to Stacia, in token of her duty to defend her people. After kissing the holy relic on its hilt, Stacia presented it to Corban, who followed suit and then enlisted the assistance of Duke Graham to belt the weapon around his waist. When that was done, the new earl stood to draw it and salute the king before sheathing it again.

Finally Rhys Michael presented Stacia with a cauldron, symbolic of her duty to provide for her people. Stacia herself took charge of this, laying her hand upon it in acceptance before another of her captains took it aside. The ceremony completed, Rhys Michael at last raised her up and turned her to face those gathered in the crowded hall, also gathering Corban to her side.

“People of Eastmarch, I give you your new Earl and Countess of Eastmarch. Be ye loyal and true, as they shall be to you.”

A lone piper struck up a jaunty march at that, as the men cheered and brandished their swords in support and a few of Stacia's men took her and Corban onto their shoulders and paraded them the length of the hall and back. Rhun and Manfred and some of the Gwynedd men looked a little dismayed at first, but it soon became clear that pride and high spirits prevailed, rather than any danger. While the demonstration continued, Rhys Michael sank back down on his chair, conserving his strength, trying not to look as if he were anticipating what, for him, would be the most important part of the afternoon's ceremony.

When the impromptu parade had returned, young Graham held up his hands for silence, men turned to face the king and bowed. Sighere also had moved closer.

“Sire, ane boon I would ask, before we adjourn tae tak refreshment,” Graham said. “I assure ye that it is within yer power tae give, an' that it isnae to the detriment o' yer crown.”

Rhun and Manfred drew closer, wary and suspicious, but Rhys Michael feigned ignorance of what Graham intended.

“Speak, my Lord Duke,” he said. “The king listens.”

Graham inclined his head, partially turning to address the court as well.

“Sire, as was my duty, I gave ye my homage and fealty at yer coronation. Neither of us were long come into our manhood at that time, an' it was said that yer Highness' health had suffered temporarily from the shock of yer brother's untimely death, both o' which perhaps lessened yer Highness' appreciation o' the oaths we then exchanged.

“Circumstances havenae brought me back tae Rhemuth since then, an' they didnae bring yer Highness tae Kheldour until a few days ago. But in these past days, I and mine hae seen ample evidence that the king to whom I swore allegiance out o' duty is also worthy o' that allegiance on his own merits. Accordingly, an' it please yer Highness, I beg yer leave tae renew my oath o' fealty at this time.”

Even having known that Graham was going to do this, Rhys Michael felt his pulse soar in excitement and pride and quickly swept his good hand before him in invitation for Graham to approach, before Rhun or Manfred could object. Paulin or Albertus would have forbidden it straightaway, as too public a display of personal support for the king, but Rhys Michael was gambling that neither Rhun nor Manfred was yet secure enough in his new office to make a public scene this far from home and on a point to which only those openly opposed to the king could possibly object.

As Graham came to kneel close before his chair, Rhys Michael sat forward and slipped his injured hand out of his sling again so he could clasp the young duke's joined hands between his own. As Graham's lips parted to speak the ritual words, Rhys Michael allowed himself to slip into the surface levels of the other's mind, reading the additional meanings already promised in their earlier conversation of the day before.

“Before God an' these assembled witnesses, I, Graham, Duke o' Claibourne, do affirm that I am yer man o' life and limb an' earthly worship. Faith and truth will I bear unto ye, tae live an' tae die, against all manner o' folk, sae help me God.”

As he finished the oath, he dipped to press his forehead to their joined hands, first briefly touching his lips to the king's fingertips. Rhys Michael did not think Rhun or Manfred noticed, but he felt the fierce surge of the younger man's devotion, and held the joined hands more closely as Graham lifted his head, even though the pressure made his injured hand throb worse.

“Graham of Claibourne, this do I hear,” he said, trying to keep his joy from showing but still convey his gratitude to the young duke. “As I swore at my sacring, so I pledge you anew—the protection of Gwynedd to defend you and all your people from every creature with all my power, giving loyalty for loyalty and justice for honor. This is the oath of Rhys Michael Alister Haldane, King of Gwynedd, Lord of Meara and Mooryn and the Purple March, and Overlord of Claibourne. So help me God.”