King Kelson's Bride

by Katherine Kurtz

  “In the fullness of time, that could be as Duke of Carthmoor, as is his birthright—or he could pass that title on to Payne and his sons, if he should decide he wants to pursue a religious vocation. But there can’t be anything much sadder than—than being forced into a religious life when you don’t want to be . . . or being denied one, if that’s what you’re really called to do.”

  Rothana looked up at Araxie, clearly taken back by that last observation.

  “Marriage, even to Kelson, would have been a compromise, wouldn’t it?” Araxie ventured, after a beat.

  “Life is full of compromises. . . .”

  “True enough,” Araxie agreed. “But sometimes, if we’re very fortunate, we are given a second chance, to assemble a better set of compromises.

  “You’d already made several, by the time Kelson turned up alive—maybe because you were still searching for your greater purpose. I don’t think it was to be a nun . . . or a wife . . . or even a queen—but I do think you were meant to be a mother, and in a far broader sense than simply bearing children of your body—though Albin is a treasure who compensates for a great deal of the sadness that’s come along with this journey of discovery.

  “I think that what you’ve just been offered by the man you once thought to wed may well present a choice that is little compromise at all: to be the mother of a new renaissance of Deryni learning—right here, centered on the schola that you and the Servants of Saint Camber can build at this basilica, working with all of us. I think this is your true vocation, Rothana. It’s the work you’re called to do—for yourself, and for Kelson, and for God.”

  Rothana was actually smiling faintly by the time Araxie wound down, her former resistance all but dissipated.

  “Sweet, fierce, passionate Araxie,” she said gently. “You know me better than I know myself. What an advocate he has in you. And you’ve come to love him, haven’t you? I hoped you would.”

  Araxie ventured the beginning of a smile, suddenly gone shy.

  “He was the beloved playmate of my childhood. We are building on the affection we shared then—and yes, I think I do love him . . . and am coming to love him more, as the days pass.” She looked up boldly.

  “But I do not begrudge you the love that you and he shared. That would be as foolish as denying the past, which cannot be changed. All three of us—he and you and I—understand the duty to which we were born; we cannot abdicate that duty and still be true to who we were meant to be, not only for ourselves but for God and those around us.

  “The wonder of what is now unfolding—thanks, in no small part, to your generosity of spirit—is that the three of us can still do nearly all the things that you and he dreamed of. It will just be divided up a little differently than any of us anticipated—and maybe what we need to do for our Deryni race was always more than just two people could ever hope to accomplish.”

  Rothana was gazing up at her bemusedly, tears trembling on her lashes, slowly shaking her head.

  “You are wiser than I dared to hope, and gracious beyond reckoning. Having feared that I had lost all, I find that I yet have been granted the chance to share some precious part of the dreams that he and I dreamed. I count myself among the most fortunate of women.”

  She rose, her head held high, like the queen she very nearly had been, and Araxie and Richenda rose as well.

  “In love, I wish you a profound joy of our beloved Kelson, my dear friend. How ever did I choose so well? Be his wise and gentle queen, and bear him as many sons and daughters of your love as you both desire.” She lifted a hand to gently brush Araxie’s cheek. “I pray that, in the final reckoning, you may count me as a loving sister, and that you will permit me to share some small part of your life with Kelson, and to know his children, and to be the friend of both of you, and of them. For I have come to love both this land and its king, and I would serve them and their queen, as well as our people.”

  She drew herself up and dashed away the last of her tears with the back of her hand.

  “I shall accept the king’s appointment for the schola we shall found here together, and help teach those sons and daughters their heritage beside my own son. Would you tell him that for me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you. I beg you to excuse me now. The hour will soon be upon us to see Saint Camber restored, as our advocate. And first, I must see that my son has not been a burden to his grandmother.”

  The chapter house lay adjacent to the end of the basilica’s south transept, opening into the cobbled yard that lay in the angle of that transept with the long nave. Under the arched colonnade that ran along that side of the nave, the Servants of Saint Camber were assembling before the door at the southwest corner of the yard, preparing for the entrance procession that would enter the basilica through that door, pass down the long nave, and enter the new chapel through the arched doorway just before the north transept. The women had sheaves of flowers cradled in their arms, and several small children were proudly clutching single blooms.

  A man at the head of the procession was leaning on the staff of a bright banner divided red and blue behind the length of a silver-robed depiction of their saint, whose upraised hands were holding aloft a golden crown. Toward the back of the procession, Meraude and Jehana were talking to one of the woman Servants with apparent interest, little Albin between them. The boy was dressed in a miniature version of the adults’ grey robes, his Haldane-black hair caught back in a stubby g’dula, head tipped back to follow the conversation of the grown-ups with apparent interest.

  A few of the others invited to attend the coming ceremony had also been making their way across the cloister yard since Kelson emerged from the chapter house, slowly disappearing inside to find places in what would be a crowded chapel. He had been observing their comings and goings from the shadows of a doorway giving access to the south transept, with Morgan, the duke’s two young children, and Derry, who had been charged with looking after the pair while their parents were occupied in the chapter house—and Richenda was still occupied. Derry was crouched down beside Morgan’s son and heir, who was showing “Uncle Séandry” a pair of banded river stones he had picked up from a gravel path on the way there. Morgan had one hand resting lightly on his daughter’s shoulder, where it played gently with one of her curls as he peered idly back toward the chapter house for some sign of her mother. Kelson’s glances in that direction had a more impatient quality.

  Following the exodus of the king and his Deryni dukes and bishop from the chapter house, the Servants had spilled after them in twos and threes, all of them whispering excitedly among themselves as they withdrew to the far side of the yard; but neither Rothana nor Araxie nor Richenda had yet emerged. The yard was slowly emptying of everyone except the Servants waiting to process in. Dhugal had withdrawn with Duncan to help him vest, and would be serving Mass for his father, Deryni acolyte for a Deryni priest.

  Kelson sighed and leaned heavily against the doorjamb, folding his arms across his chest.

  “What do you think is happening in there?” he murmured.

  “I think,” said Morgan, “that between my wife and your future wife, Rothana probably doesn’t stand much of a chance.”

  “Then why is it taking them so long?”

  “I couldn’t say. But women’s magic is often more subtle than ours, and sometimes does take longer. You’ll see; just wait.”

  “I hardly have a choice,” Kelson muttered.

  Even as he said it, the door of the chapter house opened far enough for Rothana to emerge. Kelson stiffened, slowly unfolding his arms from across his chest and straightening, but she took herself purposefully across the yard toward the Servants at a brisk pace, head down and looking neither right nor left, briefly greeting Meraude and Jehana as she took Albin in charge. The four of them then moved farther up along the line of Servants, where Rothana and her son ducked into their place and the two Haldane ladies continued on through the door ahead and disappeared.

  �
��So, what happened?” Kelson asked under his breath.

  “We’ll see, soon enough—though perhaps not until afterward,” Morgan said, still fondling his daughter’s hair as she leaned against him. “We should be going in, though.”

  Ignoring him, Kelson craned his neck toward the Servants’ procession in hopes of getting a better look at Rothana and Albin, but they were shielded behind other grey robes. In the belfry chamber atop one of the west towers of the basilica, a bell began to ring out the Angelus, the salutation prayed to the Queen of Heaven at morning, noon, and night: three sets of three strokes, followed by nine solemn rings.

  Angelus Domini nuntiavit Mariae . . . The Angel of the Lord declared unto Mary . . . and she conceived of the Holy Spirit. . . .

  “Where are they?” Kelson whispered, wishing desperately for Araxie and Richenda to reappear.

  He bowed his head and tried to pray, seeking reassurance in the grace-filled phrases of the beautiful devotion; reflecting that, in a sense, just as that angelic messenger had sought Mary’s assent, whereby the world might be redeemed through her willing participation in the Incarnation of the Christ, even so were his own messengers seeking the assent of Rothana—not to take on the redemption of the entire world; only to stay on and be a willing participant and helpmate in the bettering of this small part of it that was his world, this land of Gwynedd. That she might insist upon withdrawing fully from his world, he was not prepared to accept.

  The bell in the tower paused, then began ringing again, in a regular but more spritely tempo, now summoning worshippers to the service soon to begin. A quiet bustle behind Kelson marked the approach of the now white-vested Duncan, a cassocked and lace-surpliced Dhugal, and the two archbishops—and Denis Arilan, quietly lurking behind them, though the latter was not vested for celebration; indeed, he wore but the plain black cassock of an ordinary priest.

  Instantly sobered—for Arilan could only have come here by means of the Portal elsewhere in the basilica—Kelson stood his ground against the purple bustle of bishops pressing past him to join the Servants and drew back with the Deryni bishop into the shadows of one of the side altars in the south transept, hoping there was no new crisis in the Torenthi capital. Derry drew Morgan’s children inside, to head for the Saint Camber chapel, and Morgan ducked outside.

  “I hope your presence doesn’t mean there’s more trouble in Beldour,” Kelson said distractedly, keeping one eye on the doorway to the sun-drenched cloister yard. “How is Liam bearing up?”

  “As well as can be expected,” Arilan said. “Once he’s gotten through his mother’s funeral, he should be fine. As you know, they do things differently in Torenth. Even if it weren’t for the circumstances of her death, it won’t be just a simple Requiem Mass he’ll have to face.”

  Dark silhouettes briefly eclipsed the glare of the open doorway: Araxie first, heading immediately in the direction of the service about to begin—away from Kelson; then Morgan, a hand on his wife’s waist and head bent to hear her whispered comments. But there was no time for the king to make inquiry of the three as they passed briskly on along the transept to disappear westward down the nave.

  “I don’t suppose there’s any progress finding Teymuraz?” Kelson asked mechanically.

  “No, Mátyás is still working on it; and Azim has his Order putting out feelers, but there’s still no sign. He may be lying low, as Azim said he might.

  “But I didn’t come about that. This is an important day for Deryni, and I wanted to be here to witness it. Hopefully, no one will think twice about how I got here; no need to be too blatant. But we’d better go in. They won’t start without you, and we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

  Still tight-wound, Kelson let Arilan escort him back down the nave toward the knot of people clustered before the Saint Camber chapel. The arch opening into the chapel had been swagged with a thick garland of flowers, their scent clean and citrusy amid the sweeter note of incense, and the space beyond was closely packed with the Servants and the dozen or so members of the king’s family and immediate household, numbering about a score.

  The chapel itself was bedecked with more flowers, adorning the sills of the high windows and festooning the doorway leading out to the gardens. At noon, no window caught the sun at an angle that could illuminate the chapel directly, but sunlight spilling from the garden door cast a wash of gold on those standing nearest. At the front of the chapel, two standing candelabra flanking the altar served to bring to life the gold of the mosaic behind—the crown in the hands of Saint Camber, and the nimbus of power surrounding him and King Cinhil.

  Kelson eased himself into a place just inside the archway from the nave, beside Morgan and his son. Richenda stood beyond, with Briony, Jehana, and Father Nivard. Besides the Servants and their children—and Rothana and Albin—most of the rest packed into the little chapel were his kin: Nigel and his family, Sivorn and her family, and the Ramsays of Meara, who were about to be family, whose second son, Brother Christophle, had arrived the day before, to see his brother and sister wed. Arilan remained quietly at the rear of the half dozen folk standing in the archway, for he would slip away as soon as the proceedings were concluded, to return to Beldour.

  As Duncan and the archbishops entered without fanfare, Dhugal setting aside a processional cross, little Kelric crept his small hand into the king’s and settled in contentment between Kelson and his father. Touched by that innocent affirmation of trust and honest affection, Kelson schooled his thoughts toward prayer.

  The ceremony of dedication and consecration that followed was exceedingly simple—and profoundly moving. After offering up a collect for their intentions, answered in antiphon by the Servants, Duncan proceeded to asperse and then to cense the inside perimeter of the chapel, passing sunwise from the east, across the great arch leading to the nave, then behind the Servants and back along the northern wall, establishing—though such was never said—protective Wards of a very special nature: not to physically prevent any normal ingress and egress to the chapel, but to contain and enhance the meditations that might be offered there in times to come. These Wards would remain in place indefinitely, and be maintained by the prayers and particular intent of all Deryni working prayerfully within them.

  Assisted, then, by Bradene and Cardiel, Duncan purified the virgin altar with water and incense and anointed it with holy chrism on the five consecration crosses carved at its corners and in the center. And it was with the pointed presence of an archbishop at either side that he laid his hands flat upon the marble and allowed a gleam of silvery handfire to briefly wash out across the surface. As he bent, then, to reverently kiss the altar, both archbishops did likewise before the three of them drew back to let Dhugal dress the altar for celebration of the Eucharist.

  The ensuing Mass followed the same general pattern of those being celebrated upon countless altars elsewhere in Christendom. But the Lesson was taken from an early account of the life of Saint Camber, the Acta Sancti Camberi, read with fervor by the ban-aba Jilyan. And the Gospel text that Father John Nivard delivered from the midst of the Servants, selected from the tenth chapter of Saint John, took on new meaning for those giving witness to this historic occasion.

  “I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep, and am known of mine. As the Father knoweth me, even so know I the Father: and I lay down my life for the sheep. And other sheep I have, which are not of this fold: them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd. . . .”

  In more pointed illustration that a new perspective was being offered this day with the reinstatement of this chapel dedicated to a Deryni saint, the Offertory was the opening canon of the Adsum Domine, anciently the office hymn of the Deryni Healers, who once had given freely of their precious gifts for the good of all—sung by Duncan in the common tongue, so that there might be no mistaking the aspiration that all Deryni of good faith might use their gifts only in benevolent and upright service.

  Here am I, Lord:r />
  Thou has granted me the grace to heal men’s bodies.

  Here am I, Lord:

  Thou hast blessed me with the Sight to See men’s souls.

  Here am I, Lord:

  Thou hast given me the might to bend the will of others.

  O Lord, grant strength and wisdom to wield all these gifts only as Thy will wouldst have me serve. . . .

  Duncan then kindled celestial fire to light a pure white taper, which he took to a sand-filled metal tray on legs, set just inside the door to the cloister garden. There he set the light as a symbol of the beacon all prayed would shine forth from what was begun today.

  And at the consecration of the sacred Elements, as Duncan lifted up first the Host and then the Chalice, he briefly let the glory of his shield-light enfold What he offered up, in visible affirmation of the Celestial benison attendant upon the sacramental act—this physical focus of Word made Flesh, which at last might be celebrated by Deryni without stifling this joyful manifestation of the unique gifts they brought to this outward expression of their faith.

  Not even among the Deryni present were there many who, hitherto, had been witness to such magic. Deryni and humans alike bowed humbly before the wonder, which showed forth yet another glimpse of how man’s yearning might reach toward Divinity. Not a few were moved to tears, some still moist-eyed as they came forward to receive the Sacrament. Most of the children were yet too young to have made their first Communion, but each came eagerly to receive a blessing.

  As Duncan touched the head of one such child—Nigel’s little granddaughter, come forward hand-in-hand with Princess Eirian, with Nigel shepherding both girls—Kelson reflected that the Deryni priest was as much a father to these little ones as he was to Dhugal, who lifted the paten under Nigel’s chin as he then received the Sacrament, a hand on the shoulder of each child, the polished gold reflecting God-glory upon that reverent face. Surely, it was always meant to be this way—this community of humans and Deryni joined before God in common intent, the two races sharing all of life in harmony, even as they shared this Sacrament.