Childe Morgan

by Katherine Kurtz

  Seisyll snorted derisively and leaned back in his chair. “Camille needs to rein him in hard. She, of all people, is well aware what can happen.”

  “Aye, she is,” Khoren agreed, glancing at the others. “You did know, I trust, that she was present when Lewys ap Norfal’s final experiment went awry?”

  “Was she?” Dominy murmured, intrigued, as Oisín also leaned forward expectantly and Rhydon raised an eyebrow in surprise.

  “Aye, she was briefly one of his students—and had hoped to be his wife as well.”

  “Surely you jest!” Barrett repeated, cocking his head intently. “But she was a princess of Torenth before she took the veil.”

  “And he was of princely blood as well,” Michon said impatiently, “of the line of the Dukes du Joux. She was one-and-twenty, and very ambitious. But she lost heart when Lewys died—or at least I hope he died, because any existence he might have retained would have been far worse than any death.”

  “Did she not also set her cap for you for a time?” Khoren asked gently. “There were rumors for many years afterward. I remember my parents discussing it, when they thought I was asleep.”

  Michon quirked a mirthless smile. “She…made it clear that such a match would be agreeable—though I knew that her real motives lay in her hunger for the powers I might help her unleash.” He glanced aside wistfully. “It was shortly after I married that she took the veil and became Sister Serafina.”

  “And eventually surpassed most of her teachers,” Seisyll reminded them, “and became herself a teacher—sometimes of dangerous students.”

  “Unfortunately, that is true,” Michon agreed. “And while it is, indeed, worrying that the heirs of Torenth may be putting themselves at risk, it is perhaps of more concern that this Zachris Pomeroy may be putting ideas into Prince Hogan’s head. If Hogan should decide to assert his claim to Gwynedd, slender though that might be, it could be disastrous right now, with Donal no longer fit enough to lead an army and Prince Brion still too young. Best if we can delay that folly for at least a decade.”

  “There is Duke Richard,” Oisín reminded him.

  “Aye,” said Seisyll, “he could lead an army. But whether or not he could assume the Haldane powers, I have no idea. Presumably, Donal has made or is making provisions for Prince Brion to do so, in due course, but the prince is young yet. Best if Prince Hogan can be discouraged indefinitely from exercising his very dubious claim to Gwynedd’s crown, and spare Prince Brion the need to meet a magical challenge.”

  “Then it appears,” said Barrett, “that we must take steps to do exactly that. Khoren, might it be feasible for you to approach Camille about our concerns?”

  “If you deem it necessary,” came Khoren’s terse reply. “Geographically, the task logically falls to me. I must warn you, however, that she will see it as meddling. She is not a subject of Gwynedd. Nor are any of her nephews.”

  “No, but Zachris Pomeroy is,” Rhydon muttered.

  “True enough,” Barrett agreed. “But I doubt Pomeroy knows anything of this Council—unless Camille has told him, of course. But I expect she may consider herself outside our jurisdiction.”

  “Our jurisdiction is not bound by geography or her pride,” Michon said darkly. “Teachers have a moral responsibility to their students. They sometimes forget, in Torenth, that immoderate use of our powers can have serious repercussions. Deryni in Torenth never faced the backlash we endured after the Haldane restoration.”

  “What are you proposing, then?” Dominy asked Michon, also glancing at the others.

  “I would suggest that we authorize Khoren to approach her unofficially, saying that Pomeroy’s lack of moderation has come to his attention, and it concerns him—and that it is her responsibility, as Pomeroy’s teacher, to rein him in.”

  “And the matter of her nephews?” Oisín asked.

  “He should mention that, too,” Michon replied, turning his gaze on Khoren. “You need not elaborate on how you have learned of any of this. Let her worry about that.”

  “And if she refuses?” Khoren said.

  Michon merely folded his hands before him on the ivory table and sat back slightly in his chair, smiling faintly.

  “You have a plan,” Seisyll said.

  Michon inclined his head. “I think we need not go into details just now.”

  Dominy rolled her eyes. “You do love to be mysterious, don’t you, Michon? But God willing, we’ll not need your plan. Khoren, are you willing to carry out Michon’s recommendations?”

  “For all the good it is likely to do,” Khoren said darkly, “but I suppose it’s worth a try. Meanwhile,” he turned his attention to Michon and Seisyll, “I hope you bring us happier news from the court of Gwynedd. Please tell me there were no serious surprises.”

  Seisyll smiled like a cat with a bowl of cream. “Nothing seriously worrisome. Sir Kenneth Morgan is now Earl of Lendour for life, de jure uxoris.”

  “Is he,” Dominy said—a statement, not a question.

  “That is a very interesting development,” said Oisín.

  “The appointment is a logical extension of Kenneth Morgan’s past loyalty to the crown,” Seisyll allowed. “And it was actually a very shrewd move on Donal’s part, since it puts Kenneth in a stronger position to safeguard Alyce and their son.”

  Dominy snorted. “You know I have my doubts about the value of a half-breed Deryni,” she muttered.

  “Well, at least we know he isn’t Donal’s son,” Barrett said reasonably. “And as for being half-breed, he is only two years old. Let’s give him time to grow, and see how he develops. At very least, he has loyal parents who will raise him to be loyal—and God knows, Prince Brion will need loyal men around him when he eventually becomes king.”

  “And Kenneth Morgan is as loyal as they come,” Khoren pointed out. “As Earl of Lendour, he will be a strong bulwark to hold that part of Gwynedd against Torenthi incursions.”

  “So we shall hope,” said Seisyll. “For now, however, I think I prefer to keep our focus on the students of Sister Camille Furstána, who are not loyal to the crown of Gwynedd, and who may well attempt to overthrow it.”

  Chapter 6

  “Moreover, it is required in stewards,

  that a man be found faithful.”

  —I CORINTHIANS 4:2

  AS the festivities of Yuletide wound down over the next week or so, winter promised to settle in with a vengeance. The new Earl of Lendour kept Sir Jovett, his two new knights, and the knights’ sponsors in Rhemuth for a few days, while he drafted instructions to the regents of which he was now head, then sent them back to Cynfyn to await his arrival in the spring.

  Alyce and their son and Zoë settled back into the usual domestic routine for Rhemuth Castle in winter, though the heavy weather curtailed much outdoor activity, and the short daylight hours hampered many indoor pursuits. At least Zoë was there to share the tedium—and Alazais, for a few weeks, though she returned to Morganhall as soon as the weather permitted.

  February was grim, and early March little better. The several months after Twelfth Night were always lean, as folk hunkered down to await the spring. Except for a few hours around noontime, close work like reading, writing, and needlework must be done by precious candlelight or rush-light. The children of the court, including young Alaric, chafed at being kept indoors in the inclement weather, and the older ones brooded over their books and ciphering. In the evenings, huddled before fires in the great hall, music and dancing became staples of evening entertainment for the adults and young people, for these were pastimes that could be enjoyed by firelight and torchlight. Many a child was conceived during those long, cold nights when Rhemuth lay wrapped in winter’s thrall, though Alyce and Kenneth were not so blessed.

  As the winter wore on, the long nights, the forced inactivity, and the monotony of meals eked out from dwindling supplies were beginning to pall on everyone. The fighting men kept up their edge by arms practice in the castle yard or, when the weather turn
ed really foul, by moving their exercise into the great hall. By mid-March, the most hardened warriors were beginning to think even war preferable to the inactivity of the winter.

  But spring came at last, along with the celebrations of Easter. Shortly thereafter, as soon as travel conditions would allow it, a delegation from Lendour arrived in Rhemuth to escort their new earl and his family back to Cynfyn, Lendour’s capital, where Kenneth Morgan would enter into possession of his lands and present his son and heir to their people. His daughter Zoë traveled with them, as female companion for Alyce and governess for young Alaric, along with two maids and several grooms.

  The king had also given Kenneth the service of the newly knighted Sir Trevor Udaut as his aide, for Trevor’s father was one of Corwyn’s regents. And the two knighted by Kenneth at Twelfth Night had returned with the escort party: Sir Yves de Tremelan and Sir Xander of Torrylin. But by far the most congenial of the fighting men added to the new earl’s party was the leader of the Lendour delegation, Sir Jovett Chandos, who managed to spend most of the journey at Zoë’s side, and who, on the morning they were to arrive in Cynfyn, finally summoned the courage to approach Kenneth on a very delicate matter.

  “My lord, might we ride apart a little?” he murmured, drawing alongside Kenneth, who was riding with his wife. “There is a matter I would discuss with you in private.”

  “By all means, go,” Alyce said before Kenneth could reply. “I shall ride on ahead with Zoë and the other ladies.” And be gentle with him, darling Kenneth, she added, only in his mind. I believe he means to ask for Zoë’s hand.

  “We’ll catch you up,” Kenneth agreed, reining back and indicating that Jovett should fall in beside him. They waited for the rest to pass them by, then followed at the rear of the cavalcade, several horse-lengths behind the last baggage animals.

  “So, what’s on your mind, Jovett?” Kenneth asked amiably.

  The young knight looked distinctly nervous, though his voice was steady as he spoke.

  “My lord, I hope that I am in your esteem, and that you have found no fault with my service to Lendour. It has been my honor to serve your lady wife, and I am honored to be now in your service as well.”

  “And I, to have you in my service,” Kenneth replied, restraining a smile as he watched him sidelong.

  “Thank you, my lord. I—ah…”

  “Are you looking for a way to ask me for my daughter’s hand?” Kenneth asked gently. “You needn’t look so surprised, son—or so apprehensive. Alyce told me you might be asking—and my daughter has made it quite clear to me that she holds you in great affection.”

  Jovett gaped briefly at this revelation, scarlet briefly washing his cheeks with high color.

  “I—am right pleased to hear it, sir,” he began. “I had intended to ask for her when we came for Twelfth Night. But when you were named earl…”

  “Does that change your feelings for her?” Kenneth asked.

  “No, sir, not at all!” Jovett blurted, faintly rattled. “But I am only a knight’s son, and now she…”

  “Now, she is the daughter of an earl—an earl who would still be a simple knight, were it not for his wife’s rank,” Kenneth reminded the younger man. “I know where I come from, Jovett. I am of no more lofty a family than you are. Do you love her?”

  “With all my heart, my lord!” Jovett whispered. “And I promise you that I would do my utmost to make for her a worthy and loving husband.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Kenneth replied. “What more could a father ask, than that his children should be happy? Besides that,” he added, “such a marriage would bring practical advantages that probably will not have occurred to you.” He went on at Jovett’s look of question. “I am now Earl of Lendour, Jovett, but I am also in the king’s direct service. That means that I needs will be spending much of my time at court with him and Prince Brion. Accordingly, I will need men in Lendour whom I can trust. Who better than the husband of my own beloved daughter?”

  Jovett looked dumbfounded for a moment, then shyly averted his gaze. “My lord, I am honored by your confidence in me,” he replied, “but I am also young. Surely there are others better qualif—”

  “More experienced, perhaps, but few with more promise,” Kenneth said firmly. “And inexperience can be remedied. I know you, Jovett. And I know that your father has been serving as one of Lendour’s regents for many years—perhaps most of his career. I should like you to serve alongside him, as his deputy and eventual successor. And in my absence, it will be entirely fitting that my son-in-law should begin to speak in my behalf. A strong bond of loyalty already exists between our two families. Joining them by marriage can only strengthen that bond.”

  “Then—we have your consent, sir?” Jovett managed to murmur.

  “Of course you do, with all my blessings!” Kenneth replied. “Now, go to my daughter and tell her your news—though this will set her and my wife all atwitter for the rest of the journey, and then for weeks thereafter. Go, go! ’Tis a woman’s prerogative.”

  With a whoop of sheer delight, Jovett set heels to his mount and galloped up to the head of the column, where Zoë was riding with Alyce and the two maids. Kenneth himself followed at a more sedate pace, finally falling in beside a young knight with little Alaric up on the saddle before him.

  “Papa!” said the boy, reaching out one arm toward his sire.

  “Hello, son. Trevor, I’ll take him with me now,” he said to the younger man, reaching across to swing Alaric onto his own mount.

  Delighted, the boy settled happily against his father’s chest and sat a little prouder. He had even managed to stay clean since setting out that morning. As Kenneth slowly worked them toward the head of the column, the two chatted happily.

  The party approached Cynfyn just before dusk, with a glorious scarlet sunset in their wake. Perhaps half an hour before, they had stopped briefly for Alyce to wash her face and hands and tidy her hair before she and Kenneth donned coronets for their entry into the town. Jovett had moved to the head of the column with Sir Xander and Sir Yves, unfurling the Lendour banner before them.

  Jovett’s father, Sir Pedur Chandos, met them just outside the town gates, along with the seneschal, Sir Deinol Hartmann, half a dozen other mounted knights, and a contingent of the town elders afoot.

  “Welcome back to Castle Cynfyn, Lady Alyce,” Sir Deinol said, bowing in his saddle. “And welcome to the new Lord of Lendour and his heir.” With a nod, he sent forth a page standing at his stirrup, who bore a large ring of keys upon a scarlet cushion. “Sir Kenneth, it is my honor to offer you the keys to His Majesty’s castle of Cynfyn.”

  The page cast a curious look at young Alaric as he came forward and bowed, offering up his charge, and Alaric gazed down with similar interest. But as Kenneth laid a gloved hand on the keys in acceptance, Alaric reached out as one with his sire and firmly grasped the ring, lifting it slightly and looking up at his father in question.

  “Thank you, Alaric. And thank you, my lord seneschal,” Kenneth replied with a smile, nodding for Alaric to put the keys back. “And my son and I are most pleased to return the keys of Cynfyn into your good keeping. I am even more pleased to present to you your future lord, Alaric Anthony Morgan,” he went on, as Alaric dutifully replaced the keys.

  The waiting knights saluted with bowed heads and fists to hearts, eyeing both father and son with obvious approval, before Sir Deinol wheeled around to fall in beside Kenneth.

  “Cynfyn is ready to receive you, my lord—and my lady. Long have we awaited the return of Lendour’s heir.”

  Their reception into Cynfyn town and then through the gate to the lower ward was enthusiastic, with cheering townsfolk lining the street and casting flowers before them as they rode. Several of the women thrust bunches of posies into Alyce’s hands as she and Kenneth passed, and others looped flower garlands around the necks of their horses. One small boy darted out to offer Alaric a crudely carved figure of a horse, which gift elicited a delighted
grin and an unprompted thank you.

  That night, at the banquet prepared for their welcome, Kenneth and Alyce made more formal presentation of their son to the assembled nobles, then received the renewed fealty of all the Lendour knights who had not sworn before. A little later, Kenneth announced the betrothal of his daughter Zoë to Sir Jovett Chandos, to a roar of approval that fairly shook the rafters of the hall.

  “My wife and I thank you for this evidence of your welcome of this match,” Kenneth said, when the cheering had died down. “As the father of three daughters, only one of whom is wed, I must confess my delight that a second—and the eldest!—is now to be wed as well. I shall miss her, of course—as shall my wife, for the two are dearest friends as well as being related in…complicated ways.” He drew both women closer and laid an arm around each one’s shoulders, signing for Jovett to join them on Zoë’s other side.

  “This brings us to a somewhat delicate matter, one that I know will have occurred to at least a few of you. Most of you will be aware that, but for cruel fortune, Zoë would have been your countess, by marriage to my dear wife’s late brother Ahern—and in fact, the two exchanged vows as Ahern lay on his deathbed.” He paused to draw his daughter closer and gently kiss the top of her head.

  “Ahern’s untimely death was a tragedy for all of us, but life goes on. I am now your earl; and very happily, my daughter has come to care for your Jovett Chandos, whom she had known for some years as Alyce’s childhood friend as well as a young knight of rising prominence here in Lendour—and Jovett, likewise, has given his heart to her. So I count myself fortunate that I shall be acquiring a son known and respected by you all, and who can help to look after Lendour’s interests when I must be in Rhemuth with the king.

  “Meanwhile, I congratulate Sir Deinol and Sir Pedur and the rest of Lendour’s regents here in Cynfyn for training up such a fine cadre of young knights to carry Lendour’s interests forward. I am confident that Jovett will continue to be an asset to their numbers—and would, even if he were not to become my son-in-law, for he is a good and honorable man. And when my son is of an age to come into his inheritance—by which time I hope to retire to a quiet life in the country!—I know that he, too, will follow in the footsteps of his illustrious ancestors, and in the traditions that all of you have helped to uphold while you waited for him.”