“I was to receive them, Sire,” explained Jamalc, “but they were never delivered to me. And afterward I could not find the widow to ask for them.”
“How much did you pay for the shop and stall?” asked Itazais.
“Six thousand kronari in silver.”
“That is a great deal of money to pay for a market stall, is it not?”
“It is a good stall, Sire, with an excellent shop. It is on the corner of the square near the entrance where everyone must pass.”
“I see,” replied his king. “What judgment do you recommend? “
“I ask only for the return of my goods and papers of ownership to the shop and stall.”
“Are there other questions?” asked the High King. No one ventured any further questions, so Ceremon said, “Then how do we judge?”
One by one the kings rendered their judgment, saying, “We find for the tanner.”
When the judgment had been rendered, Ceremon said, “Itazais, will you see that the will of the council is carried out and that justice is administered?”
“I will, Sire,” replied the king. He turned his attention to the tanner. “Jamalc, writs will be delivered to you authorizing the repossession of your property. The man who wronged you, and the former owner’s widow-for I perceive that they conspired together to defraud you-will be required to pay you three thousand in silver as punishment when they are found.”
“So be it,” said all the kings at once. Jamalc, beside himself with joy, bowed quickly and was ushered from the room.
The Keeper of the Record then called the next case, and so it went, the kings sitting in council, hearing grievances and dispensing justice for their people until the sun began to set and the big Bell tolled once more. The High King declared the convocation adjourned until the Bell should call them back to their places.
The kings filed out of the rotunda and their purple cloaks were hung on the golden tree once more. Belyn joined Aval-lach and Seithenin as they emerged from the vestibule and the three walked back to their rooms together. “You saw- what do you think?”
“I think,” replied Seithenin, “that Nestor is being most foolish. What his excuse will be, I cannot imagine. But the High King is certain to show him disfavor.”
“Failing to attend the council approaches treason,” said Belyn.
“If it is deliberate,” Seithenin reminded him. “We do not know that it is.”
“I like this less and less,” said Avallach. “If he does not attend tomorrow I think we must speak to the High King.”
“Yes,” agreed Seithenin. “Leave it until tomorrow. And if Nestor offers no explanation, I will demand one in council.”
Belyn grinned. “Do that. I know there are others curious about Nestor’s absence as well.”
“You did not speak to anyone about this…” warned Avallach.
“No, but I have heard talk. There is concern about Nestor beyond our own.”
“Then we are right to bring this out into the open-but tomorrow. Do nothing until tomorrow,” said Seithenin. “I will leave you now, my friends.” He strode away down the corridor.
“Well, Belyn,” said Avallach, “I am hungry. Join me at my table.”
“Ah, I would, brother, but I have promised to dine with my wife tonight.”
“Go then, and take my greetings to that beautiful lady. I hope we may see her before our visit here is ended.”
“See her you shall, but perhaps we should be more careful about being seen together.”
Avallach put his arm on Belyn’s shoulders. “We are brothers; it is expected that we should be seen together now that we are here. If Nestor’s spies are skulking about, they will see nothing unusual.”
The men embraced. “Until tomorrow then,” said Belyn.
“Tomorrow,” affirmed Avallach. “Rest well.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
When the Bell in the rotunda tolled the next day, the kings donned their purple cloaks and assembled in the council chamber. Avallach saw that Nestor’s chair remained empty and noticed, too, that several other kings regarded the vacant seat with frowns on their faces. Clearly, Nestor’s absence was beginning to create ill will among the other members of the council.
The High King entered and, as before, the council began: the Keeper of the Record came forward to call the first case of the day. But before the Keeper could read the name on his list, there arose a commotion in the vestibule. All heads turned as in through the arched doorway strode Nestor, the purple cloak flying behind him, his face set in a terrible scowl: his brow like a lowering storm cloud, lightning darting from his glance. His long flaxen hair was wet with sweat and hung at his shoulders in damp ropes; dust soiled his clothes and boots. He was a lean man, narrow of frame, with fine, almost delicate features.
He bowed to the High King, making the sign of the sun with his hands, and then whirled away to take his seat.
The room erupted in a babble of voices, and the gallery behind the circle of chairs buzzed with suppressed excitement. Ceremon gazed levelly at the wayward king and when order had been restored in the room he said, “Welcome, Nestor. I am glad you have deigned to join us.”
Nestor winced under the bite of the High King’s sarcasm and his demeanor changed. “Sire,” he replied, “I am keenly aware of the difficulty my absence has caused, and I deeply regret the inconvenience.”
Ceremon stared, his gaze growing hard. “You regret the inconvenience? That’s all you have to say?”
“I beg your indulgence.”
“I do not understand.”
“Sire, if it pleases you, I am not prepared to speak of this matter further at present. I beg your indulgence.”
“That you shall not have!” shouted Ceremon. “That you shall never have until I have heard an explanation!”
Nestor glanced worriedly around the room. “I would rather not, Sire.”
“You!” the High King cried, leaping from his chair. “What you prefer is of no interest to me at this moment. I demand an explanation, and I will have it or I will have your crown!”
Nestor grimaced, as if a wound pained him. He pulled himself slowly from his chair and shuffled to the center of the circle. “Sire,” he said softly, “I had hoped to avoid this. Open confrontation was not my intent.”
“We are waiting,” said Ceremon hotly.
“Then I will put it plainly. Nearly two weeks ago I sailed from my harbor to come to Poseidonis. On the fourth day out, we were hailed by a ship in distress, near an obscure island off the coast of Mykenea.” He drew a long breath and shut his eyes, as if it were too painful for him to continue.
“I ordered my ship’s captain to turn aside and help the disabled ship in any way we could, fearing loss of life if we did not. But no sooner had we pulled alongside the ailing vessel than we were secured by grappling hooks and attacked.
“As we had no weapons, my ship’s crew was slaughtered without mercy and I was taken captive.”
The gallery gasped aloud.
“Go on,” said the High King. “We are listening.”
“I Believe the plan was to kill me outright, but I bargained for my life with gold. This caused a dissension among those leading the attack. I seized the opportunity and pressed for my release. I convinced them with gold and was put adrift in a small boat, reaching shore on the evening tide.
‘ ‘I continued on foot for two days until I came to a village where I could hire a horse. I have ridden for five days and arrive as you see me.” Nestor spread his hands to emphasize his deplorable state.
Ceremon frowned. “A most shocking tale, King Nestor. How do you account for this strange event?”
“It was clearly an act of war, Sire.”
“The word comes quickly to your lips,” observed the High King.
“I know no other word by which such an act might be called.”
“Nevertheless, it is a serious indictment, Nestor.” Cere-mon’s voice was cold and flat. “You must be prepared to name the
perpetrator of this outrage.”
Nestor turned slowly and, with an expression of utmost anguish, raised his hand and pointed his finger. Avallach did not know which shocked him more: Nestor’s finger pointing directly at him or the man’s brazen audacity.
‘ ‘It was…” whispered Nestor hoarsely, as if being forced to name his attacker was bitter agony, “Avallach of Sarras.”
“Liar!”
The shout came not from Avallach but from the chair beside him. Belyn was on his feet, fists clenched, his face livid. “It is a lie!”
Startled voices cascaded down from the gallery to whirl inside the rotunda. “Silence!” shouted Ceremon sternly. He took up his staff and pounded it on the floor until the blows rang in the chamber. “Silence!”
When he regained control the High King said, “A most grave offense has been brought before us-for which the punishment is death. There must be no further distraction.”
His eyes swept the room and settled on the king standing before him. “Nestor, you must be aware of the fact that your accusation cannot be accepted by this council without proof.”
“I understand, Sire.” He sounded almost penitent.
“Well, have you any proof?”
“If it pleases you, Sire.” He clapped his hands loudly and a porter entered the chamber from the vestibule with a small chest in his hands. “After the attack I was taken aboard the other vessel and locked in the ship’s stores Below deck while the murderers debated my fate. I searched for something wherewith to prove myself if I should make good my escape. I had almost given up hope when I found this…”
He opened the chest and drew out a length of cloth, shook out its folds to reveal a portion of a king’s banner. Even without the royal insignia, the green and yellow colors were instantly recognizable: Sarras.
“By this I knew I had been attacked under Avallach’s order,” Nestor said loudly, his tone betraying a note of triumph. He took the cloth and handed it to the High King, who glanced at it and had it passed on to the next king to examine.
“You present us with a most shocking indictment, Nes- tor,” replied the High King. He shifted his gaze to Avallach. “What have you to say to this, Avallach?”
“Nothing at all,” replied Avallach equably. “I have never considered it polite to comment upon the ravings of the insane, nor profitable to engage in argument with lunatics.”
There were chuckles around the room; many in the gallery laughed outright and the tension in the rotunda melted. It was clear to all present that Avallach would not be drawn into dignifying Nestor’s absurd accusation with a defense.
“My sympathies, Avallach,” replied the High King, who also appeared relieved. “Still, Nestor has leveled a most serious accusation. Have you no reply?”
“Oh, it was a most amusing tale, Sire-especially the part about riding from the Mykenean coast to Poseidonis in five days. A singular feat of horsemanship, it would appear. I must remember to tell my children.”
Nestor glared furiously and opened his mouth to denounce Avallach, but the High King raised his hand.
“What of the banner?” asked Ceremon. “He has produced a piece of your royal banner.”
“Has he indeed?” wondered Avallach coolly. “I saw only a scrap of green and yellow cloth without insignia.”
“It was his banner!” said Nestor angrily. “I swear before the gods that it was.”
“Let us ask the council for an opinion,” said the High King.
“Sire,” began Musaeus of Mykenea, “aside from the banner, which appears genuine, I too am inclined to doubt certain details of Nestor’s story.” There was general agreement among the assembly.
“Speak freely,” ordered Ceremon.
“As Avallach has already pointed out, it would be most difficult to reach Poseidonis from the coast in only five days- even riding day and night. And then there is the matter of the attack itself-are we to suppose that one of our number would make sucrr an unwarranted attack on another king without provocation?”
“If I may speak, that is precisely the point I wish to emphasize,” said another king.
“Yes, Hugaderan?”
“Sire, it seems to me that just such an attack, because of surprise, would be most successful. And if it were to fail-as it obviously did through the cowardice of those involved- it would not likely be Believed. Is this not the very situation we see before us?”
“As you say,” replied the High King, “I am inclined to wonder precisely what it is we see before us.” He waved the comment aside. “Does anyone have anything further to say? No? Then I invoke the High King’s privilege and propose to resolve this matter myself-if the principals will agree.”
“As you wish, Sire,” replied Avallach.
“Agreed,” said Nestor through clenched teeth.
“Then take your seat, Nestor,” ordered Ceremon. The king made a curt bow, glowered at Avallach, and sat down. “Now then, let us be about our business. Let the Keeper of the Record call the first case.”
The council administered justice until the Bell tolled, ending the day’s session. As the kings filed from the council chamber, Ceremon called to Nestor and Avallach, “I will expect you both to dine with me in my apartments this evening. An usher will bring you.”
Avallach joined his brother and Seithenin, who were waiting in the corridor beyond the vestibule. When the kings were alone together Seithenin said, “That was neatly done, Avallach. I admire your aplomb; I doubt I could have comported myself so.”
“It was an inspiration of the moment, I assure you. If we had not already suspected something like this, I would have reacted quite diiferently,” replied Avallach. Turning to Belyn, he said, “Do you have the documents you took from Nestor’s spies?”
“Of course. They are safely locked away.”
“Bring them to me. I may need them when I dine with the High King tonight.”
The meal in the High King’s inner chamber was an exercise in sullen diplomacy, in which Ceremon managed, barely, to keep peace between the two kings. Avallach seemed inclined toward civility, while Nestor maintained a bruised and brooding silence, broken only by harsh snorts at Avallach’s occasional remarks.
When at last the meal was finished and the three reclined over sweet almond liqueur, the High King said, “I had hoped that we might reach agreement over the unfortunate incident brought before us in council this morning.”
“Agreement, Sire?” asked Nestor archly. “I would expect an apology-not that I am prepared to accept one.”
“Let us not speak of apologies, Nestor,” countered Aval-lach, “unless it is for the slander you have committed against my name and honor.”
“You call me slanderer!”
“More, I call you liar,” said Avallach, sipping his liqueur.
“Please!” interrupted Ceremon. “The agreement I had hoped for was this: that Nestor withdraws his complaint and that Avallach disregards the hurt caused his name.”
Both men bristled at this, but Nestor spoke first. “His hurt! What about my hurt? I lost a crew and ship and suffered mightily for my exertion.”
“Did you, Nestor?” Ceremon looked at him steadily. “As it stands, there is no convincing proof of your assertion.”
Nestor threw his finger in Avallach’s face. “No proof! He”
“No proof,” insisted Ceremon, color rising to his face. “By the gods of earth and sky, man, there is no proof. You cannot come into council with such a transparent tale and expect us all to fall bedazzled under the spell of your words. In truth, there is no compelling reason to Believe you, Nestor.”
The kings glared at one another. “I beg Avallach’s indulgence,” said the High King, “for I perceive his hurt to be me greater.”
Nestor scowled; his hands gripped the edge of the low table as if he would overthrow it.
Ceremon turned to Avallach. “What do you say, Avallach? It is getting late and we must reach agreement somehow.”
“Very well,�
�� said Avallach slowly. “For the sake of understanding between us I will submit to the agreement and will seek no retaliation for this insult.”
“Well?” The High King turned to Nestor.
“Since both of you conspire against me, I have no recourse but to submit. So be it.” Nestor stood up slowly and threw a murderous glance at Avallach, then turned on his heel and went out.
When he had gone, Ceremon poured more liqueur into the tiny crystal cups. “His is a devious mind, Avallach. But now that it is settled, let us put it behind us.”
“I only hope that it is settled, Sire.”
“Do you have any idea why he chose to indict you?”
“I protest that I do not. The affair is a mystery to me-as obscure, I might say, as the reasons behind these.” He reached into the pouch at his hip and withdrew the documents confiscated from Nestor’s spies in Belyn’s shipyards.
“What is this?”
“These were taken from two Ogygians caught in Belyn’s shipyards; they were posing as Azilian merchants. But, as the papers indicate, they were interested in considerably more than hiring a vessel.”
Ceremoe perused the papers, frowning. “Yes, I see what you mean: granaries… number of gates to the city… depth of harbor… fresh water supply… From this I would expect” he looked up worriedly, “-an invasion.”
“Our thoughts precisely, Sire.”
“Who else knows about this?”
“Only myself and Belyn.” Avallach hesitated, then added, “And Seithenin.”
“You are not to tell anyone else. In fact, you are to forget the entire incident.”
“Forget, Sire? But, these,” he indicated the sheaf of documents, “in light of Nestor’s deplorable behavior in council-“
“I will deal with this in my own way, Avallach. Leave it to me.”
Avallach stared at the High King for a moment. “As you will, Sire.” He drained his cup and stood up. “If you will excuse me, it has been a long day and I wish to retire.”
“Yes, of course,” agreed Ceremon aflably. He rose from his couch and walked with Avallach to the door. “We have all had a trying day, I dare say. Sleep will do us all good.”
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