Blaze of Silver

by K. M. Grant

  Will was bewildered by the sea of faces. Some of the people he recognized. Most he did not, but through them all he focused on only three. Directly in front of him were Richard, the emperor, and Amal. He was so relieved to see the king still alive that he did not need to see anybody else, not even Queen Eleanor, who sat directly behind her son. All her seventy-two years were written over her face but still she sat upright.

  The emperor raised a hand and the company fell silent except for a continuous murmur from the public gallery. Will’s chest tightened. Was this Richard’s moment of freedom? He could not tell. Added to that, the emperor was much younger than Will expected. Dressed in green velvet, with the imperial crown balanced precariously on his head, he sat nervously on an ornate throne set on a dais between two pillars. Amal hovered behind him looking sickly. Life at the imperial court, with its rich food and bawdy jokes, did not suit an old spy used to the harder life of the Syrian mountains. He was more emaciated than ever and his bright tunic only accentuated the depression rooted in his face. Richard sat below the dais and Will was comforted to see that Hal was at his shoulder.

  It was soon clear that this was no joyful scene of reunion and freedom but a trial, and to his alarm Will found himself the defendant. Yet even as two soldiers stationed themselves on either side, his alarm diminished. Will could not see the king’s face but Richard seemed to be sitting easily, his legs splayed out. Occasionally he addressed his mother and her expression too was encouraging. If the king and Queen Eleanor were relaxed, Will need not worry.

  The emperor began to speak and the translators took deep breaths for the emperor spoke quickly and in German, to stamp his authority. The charge against Will was treason, both against his king and against the imperial majesty. Will had conspired with his friend Kamil, so the emperor declared in tones that were entirely reasonable, to steal Richard’s ransom and thus to prevent the emperor from doing his Christian duty and releasing a holy and respected crusader. He could not, naturally, release Richard with the ransom unpaid since that would send out a signal that the empire was weak and the emperor’s reputation would be sullied. With regret, therefore, without the ransom entrusted to William de Granville, Earl of Ravensgarth, he must keep Richard locked up.

  Will looked at the king but Richard said nothing.

  A man unknown to Will was summoned to speak in his defense. Will signaled that he would defend himself. The request was denied. The defender did not even look at his client but puffed out his chest. Will was just a young knight, he said, easily led astray. The fact that he was here now, having come voluntarily to throw himself on the mercy of the king and the emperor, should speak in his favor. He would not be treacherous again.

  Will surged forward, restrained only by the soldiers. Surely Richard would speak up? But still Richard said nothing. Will clenched his fists and tried to keep his temper under control. There must be some reason for the king’s silence, he thought. He will speak soon. He could see Hal tense.

  Now Amal was summoned to bolster the case for the prosecution. “I wish everybody to see that this is a fair trial,” the emperor said again and again. “We do not condemn without evidence.”

  With his perfect German, Amal was the perfect witness. He spun his tale in sorrow, not anger, and he told it so well that the audience was moved almost to tears. They stared with hostile eyes at Will. How shocking, they muttered, for a knight to be seduced by the lures of a false Saracen friend and the promise of easy money. What price Christian chivalry now? They shook their heads even as they licked their lips like prowling foxes scenting blood. Amal warmed to his theme, his crackling voice bleeding Kamil’s reputation dry. The audience shuffled their feet. Some called out “Shame!” others something worse. Richard shifted slightly. When he had finished, Amal bowed his head and slid back behind the throne.

  The emperor cleared his throat. “It is a dreadful thing,” he said, and the French interpreter relayed his words in a voice scratchy as a quill, “that a crusader hero like Richard should not be able to return in triumph to his own lands. How much it pains me to see him still confined. Yet the terms of the ransom that King Richard himself agreed to, a ransom which was to make up for all the king’s shortcomings, have not been honored. What can an emperor do in such circumstances? If there has been wrongdoing, somebody must be punished. That is the law.” He coughed.

  Now, Will thought, now Richard will stand up and this charade will be over.

  But still nothing. Only Hal was on his feet, staring wildly from Richard to Will to Richard and clasping his sword. He too could not believe what was going on. A groan began to swell through the crowd. They knew what was coming next and it made them rustle their cloaks in anticipation.

  The emperor flapped his hands until the swell died down. He sank his head into his chest as if he was debating. Then he sighed and began again. “This knight’s betrayal,” he gestured in the direction of Will, “has been terrible indeed. But,” he paused for effect, “I have decided, in my own way, to be merciful.” Will held his breath. “I have decided that Richard, Duke of Aquitaine and King of England, should not be required to remain here until more wagons of silver can be gathered and delivered.” To Will’s surprise, Richard’s expression did not change. “I ask for only two things in exchange for his freedom,” the emperor continued. “He must swear allegiance to me”—at this Richard looked genuinely surprised and horrified, and Queen Eleanor leaned forward and spoke quickly to him, which the emperor pretended not to notice—“and he must oversee the punishment of this wicked knight, William de Granville, Earl of Ravensgarth, who, despite his youth, must pay the heaviest price for his treachery. That is my decision. Freedom for the king and death for the knight. It is simple and, I believe, fair. Does King Richard agree?”

  Will lurched backward. He had eyes only for Richard now. It was clear what had happened. Despite all Will had said, the king had struck a deal with the emperor, a deal in which each would get what they craved most: the emperor Richard’s homage and the legal execution of the only knight who knew of his hideous pact with the Old Man, and Richard the ability once again to exercise his kingship in more than name. The logic was as perfect as it was deadly.

  At last Richard got up and walked heavily toward Will. In his face Will read his fate. Half of the king’s mind was weeping for a young man who had been more loyal than any son. He did truly love and respect him. But the rest wept only for his benighted kingdom and his wounded lands, consolidated so carefully and now pulled apart like a sheep mauled by wolves. Will could follow the king’s thoughts as if they were his own. Richard’s subjects had given all they had for the ransom. If they did not get their king in return—and soon—the spring fields of England and France would be speckled not with wildflowers but with blood, and the dull rattle of sword against sword would drown out the cries of newborn lambs. It was clear to Will that to avoid this Richard would have sold his own mother, and Will was hardly that. There had been no better bargaining tool than the information Will had provided and it was this that had sealed his fate. He was to die a traitor’s death to save both his king and the imperial honor.

  At first, a sense of appalled horror and indignation engulfed him. Will’s whole self revolted against such a calculation. He wanted to cry out and denounce a king who would condone such black injustice. But when Richard approached and looked Will fearlessly in the eye, not begging, not apologizing, but simply regarding him as an equal, a different feeling entirely overtook him. Though the king did not speak, Will knew he was being asked to understand the dilemma and to weigh up the situation dispassionately. Richard was asking his most trusted knight for the greatest sacrifice he could ever make. Will’s life for a king’s freedom. Will’s life for a kingdom’s safety. Will’s life for the good of countless others who were defenseless without their lord and crying out for peace. Will’s life could deliver all that.

  Richard’s eyes were hard as flint, but below them, the edges of his mouth were creased. Will could
not take his eyes from those creases. They called to him. They told him that the king could not do what he needed to do on his own. Richard might not beg but he needed Will as he had needed nobody else. At that moment, Will held the king in the palm of his hand.

  Slowly, then like an onrushing tide, Will’s indignation was swept away. He half wanted to cling on to it. He half wanted to scream and shout that the king was a monster. But instead he found himself possessed by a mad bravery. It overtook him with such force that he could not resist it and within moments he stopped trying. Breaking away from the king’s gaze he stood straight as a spear. He, Will de Granville, Earl of Ravensgarth, would save the king and the kingdom. Maybe he would save the world. He could already see himself approaching the scaffold, head held high. He could see his body being cut down and Ellie crying and tending his grave as tenderly as she tended Gavin’s. She will love me forever now, Will thought. To her, I will always be a hero. I shall never disappoint her. The thought was momentarily thrilling. It filled him with power and the audience was astounded to see him smile, one brilliant, glorious smile, which even the dirt smeared on his face could not disguise.

  But just as quickly this reckless bravery gave way to reality. What was he thinking? Whatever Ellie thought and whatever the truth, forever after the de Granvilles would be known as the family who had nurtured two traitors, himself and Kamil. People would talk about their friendship and nod their ignorant heads as if they had always seen this coming. Moreover Ellie herself would be besmirched by association. How could Will allow that? Suddenly, he felt her kiss and saw again the look in her eyes when he had left her. His smile vanished. What use was all that to a dead man? Was he really going to throw away their future together, just when he had really begun to believe that it was his for the asking? And yet he was the king’s servant. He must help the king. He gripped his arms to his sides.

  Richard saw all Will’s inner turmoil and did not flinch from it. Part of him even rejoiced to see, reflected back at him, a vision of his own youthful, better self, when his head was hot with similar heroic visions and not cold with grubby considerations of statesmanship. He wondered, humbly, how many kings could boast of a knight who believed it a matter of honor to be dishonored for the sake of the kingdom? When he had cut his deal with the emperor, he had been certain that Will would not let him down, for Will was the finest man he knew. Yet now, with the young man’s unblinking eyes boring into his, his barefoot stance still proud, and his mouth never betraying for an instant the terror he must now be feeling in his heart, it was Richard who hesitated. A trick of the light meant that the king thought he could see Sir Thomas and Gavin standing at Will’s side. Their expressions were not friendly.

  He took a step back, almost crashing into Hal, and his hawk-eyes circled the whole hall. He had to speak but he had no idea what he was going to say. All he knew was that he must say something to put off the dreadful moment when he, with his own mouth, would condemn Will to death. That moment would certainly come. There was no other way. But not quite yet. “I thank the emperor.” Richard knew his voice sounded much too loud. He began again. “I thank the emperor.” Then he saw Amal and hatred bubbled up in him like oil boiling in a barrel. The hatred was useful. Its heat could help the king finish this terrible undertaking. His voice hardened. “A man who plots to betray a king deserves to die. It is the ultimate in treachery.”

  The emperor did not want Richard to speak further. Executing Will was all very well in theory but in the flesh Will looked too young and fresh for such a sacrifice. The sooner this business was over, the better. But Richard did not stop. “Do we all in this hall believe that?” he asked, glaring at Amal as a man glares at a rat. “Is a person who, in league with a Saracen enemy, betrays a Christian king, worthy to live?”

  “No, no,” the people shouted back, enjoying themselves.

  The emperor twitched. This was getting a little close to the knuckle.

  “Whoever he is and whatever his rank?” Richard was psyching himself up. Soon he must point to Will. His finger trembled at the thought.

  The crowd was baying. “Whoever he is and whatever his rank.” Some began to point at Will themselves. Several leaped forward, rolling up their sleeves, waiting only for Richard’s nod to begin a public lynching. Richard did not dare to look at Will but now braced himself and raised his hand, his finger pointing to the ceiling, ready to snap down. The crowd’s bay became a bellow until a commotion in the public gallery distracted them. A cry, loud and high pitched, demanded a hearing. “Let me through! Let me through! I WILL get through. I have something very important to say. If you don’t let me through, may God have mercy on your souls, for your families will be cursed forever.”

  Will, who had hardly been aware of breathing at all, found himself breathing very fast. So hard was the blood pounding in his ears that he could hardly hear the voice and when he did, he could not believe it, for it was a girl’s voice, and not one he either expected or wanted. Those peremptory tones could only be Marissa’s. But how could it be her when she was shut up at St. Martin’s? Yet there she was, elbowing her way to the front, tolerating no obstruction.

  Will’s mind began to race. He did not want her here. If he was to sacrifice himself, he did not want her to see. Nor did he welcome a delay. It must be done now or all his courage would desert him. In desperation, Will turned to Richard. “Get her out,” he cried. Richard gestured to the emperor, who summoned his guard. They ran to the gallery and seized Marissa, pulling her into the hall, trying to stop her still calling down curses if she was not allowed to have her say.

  Now Queen Eleanor was frowning. Her family had been cursed, with terrible results, over many generations. It had made her very superstitious, and she did not want them cursed any more. The girl might be simply a troublemaker but what harm could it do to hear her speak? She made up her mind and sent a message via a servant to the emperor. “Let the girl speak.”

  The emperor did not know how to refuse.

  Marissa never knew that she had the queen to thank for giving her a hearing. All she knew was that this was the moment for which she had been waiting. For just a minute she who was so powerless would be all-powerful.

  Now that Marissa was so near him, Will began to sweat. What could she know? She would just humiliate herself and him. She was going to mess everything up. Couldn’t she see? Will must die a traitor so that Richard could go free. He tried to talk to her but she took no notice. She concentrated only on the emperor and the crowd. “It may not be customary but it is surely right,” she said in a voice as piercing and clear as Elric’s, “that the defense should be able to question the prosecutor.” Nobody denied it. “In that case I would like to call that man there”—she pointed to Amal—“down onto the floor again. He spoke so eloquently. We should hear some more.”

  Amal shook his head but the audience had become intrigued and Marissa reeled them in. He was forced down and shrank in front of her, a blighted crust against a smooth young sapling. But still, he had the emperor behind him. There was nothing this girl could do to hurt him. Why, she had barely seen him since they crossed the sea months ago. He stood up a little taller and tried to turn from abject crow into confident raven.

  “Ah, Amal,” Marissa said to him, “I greet you.” Amal bowed, then, crucially, realized his mistake. Marissa had spoken in Arabic. She had learned the words from Ellie as they rode. At the imperial court, his name was not Amal and he was supposed to speak only German. Quickly, he righted himself. The emperor gave him a glassy stare. With increasing satisfaction Marissa circled him like a cat. She hoped Ellie had heard her perfect pronunciation from where she was standing in the gallery.

  “I wonder at you, Amal,” Marissa purred, now in Norman French, “that you find it so easy to live among us.” One of the translators came to stand by Amal’s ear but Marissa courteously dismissed him. “You needn’t bother with that,” she said. “Amal speaks perfect Norman French. Just translate for the emperor and for the audi
ence.” The translator looked confused and sat down. His fellow translators, when the emperor did nothing, scattered themselves about the hall and did as Marissa had told them.

  “Now,” Marissa said, “I think, Amal, you should tell the emperor who your real master is.” Amal tried to look at her pleasantly but blankly. Why had he been so frightened? This girl could never beat him, a spy of the Old Man’s. He would just stare at her like this, with no apparent understanding, and eventually the crowd would grow weary and she would have to withdraw.

  Marissa hardly hesitated. With absolute confidence, she told her own tale. She told of Amal’s arrival at Hartslove, his infiltration of their hearts and minds and of all the good things he had done. Then she spoke of his treachery and his allegiance to the Old Man of the Mountain. She warmed to her story, spinning, weaving, drawing in listeners who were soon hanging on her every word. It was as if Marissa had been born for the role. Nor did she spare Kamil. Only when she told of his end did she relent, and the audience groaned in sympathy.

  When she had finished, Amal neither blinked nor frowned, only resolutely retained his look of patient confusion. Now a new murmur arose. Marissa had certainly spun a good yarn but there seemed no reason to believe it was true. And there was Will’s blood to be spilled. They would not be denied that now, when it had been promised.

  The emperor found his hands sticky on the arms of his throne. He needed to take control for he had no idea how much Marissa knew of his part in the Old Man’s plot or how much more she intended to say. He could not think where she had come from or who on earth she was, but he knew now that he should have snubbed Queen Eleanor and never have let her open her mouth. Yet still, he reminded himself firmly, she had no proof of anything. His hands grew less sticky as his mind raced. “As I am sure Queen Eleanor will agree, you are an excellent storyteller,” he observed loudly, making sure to sound kindly. “You are to be commended, young lady, for your skills—and also for your love.” Marissa flushed, her composure rattled, and the emperor was immediately reassured for it confirmed something useful. “Yes,” he continued, “your love, for I can see that it is your love for this knight, William de Granville, Earl of Ravensgarth, that brings you here now to save him. Yours must be a great romance. But alas, my poor servant”—he indicated Amal—“cannot be sacrificed even in the face of such passion.” The crowd began to snigger and Will, caught between pride at Marissa’s courage and fury at her interference, wanted to punch them.