Childe Morgan cm-2

by Katherine Kurtz

  * * *

  The king lingered hardly a fortnight, drifting in and out of consciousness but never really lucid enough to convey proper instructions to his heir. He slipped away in the early morning hours of the fourteenth of November, cradled in the arms of his beloved queen and surrounded by his two surviving sons, his half-brother, and most of the members of the royal council, with two archbishops praying for the repose of his soul.

  «He’s gone», the royal physician murmured, when a final breath rattled from Donal’s lips and no more followed. As he leaned closer to confirm, then gently closed the king’s eyes, Richeldis gave a tiny sob, turning her head away. Duke Richard drew himself to attention and made a final bow to his dead brother, then a deeper one to his nephew, who was now become Gwynedd’s sovereign lord at fourteen years of age.

  «The king is dead», Richard said steadily. «Long live the king!»

  Looking dazed, the new king bent to kiss his sire’s hand a final time, then slipped the Haldane Ring of Fire from a slack finger, though he did not put it on, only closed it in his fist, which he then brought to his chest in salute, head bowed.

  The eight-year-old Prince Nigel, now become heir presumptive until his brother should produce an heir, came next to pay his respects, urged forward by Kenneth, tears trickling down his cheeks as he bent to kiss his father’s cheek. His two sisters had said good-bye a few hours before and been taken to their rooms, though it was doubtful whether they slept. The two archbishops, after approaching to bow deeply to the silent figure in the queen’s arms, then withdrew a short distance and knelt in prayer, beginning the traditional litany for the dead.

  «Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine…Et lux perpetua luceat ei.

  «Tibi, Domine, commendamus animam famuli tui Donal…» O Lord, we commend to Thee the soul of Thy servant Donal, that, having departed from this world, he may live with Thee…

  Chapter 21

  «He left behind him an avenger against his enemies, and one that shall require kindness to his friends».[22]

  Few in Rhemuth Castle slept much in what remained of that night, as scribes began to prepare the letters announcing the king’s death and the crown council began drafting preliminary plans for the late king’s state funeral. The archbishops, retiring to the cathedral, set in motion a succession of Masses for the departed king’s soul and began their own discussions regarding the new king’s coronation. Given the difficulties of winter travel, it was suggested that the ceremony should coincide with Twelfth Night Court, hardly six weeks away, when most of those required at a coronation would already have made plans to journey to Rhemuth. King and council concurred.

  That day, while a sleep-deprived new king let himself be swept along with the endless minutiae of taking up the reins of government, deftly guided by Duke Richard, the late king’s body was prepared for burial and laid out in state in the chapel royal, where a rota of Haldane lancers was organized to provide a continuous guard of honor, augmented by additions of knights and other notables.

  Meanwhile, the royal apartments were cleared of the late king’s personal belongings, the dowager queen moved to the quarters traditionally reserved for royal widows, adjacent to the royal gardens, and the few personal items belonging to Prince Brion moved into his new lodgings. It was Lord Kenneth Morgan who, that first evening after Donal’s passing, returned to the late king’s apartments privily to deliver certain Haldane regalia into the new king’s keeping.

  «Lord Kenneth», Prince Brion said dully, himself answering Kenneth’s tentative rap on his door. The jet-black of his hair and the black of his mourning attire made his pale face appear to hang in midair against the semi-darkness in the chamber beyond.

  Kenneth glanced past Brion into the obviously empty reception chamber, then nodded to the boy. Brion had allowed his mother to appropriate the Lorsöli carpet he had received in June, so there was little yet in place to mark the space as his own.

  «May I come in, my Liege?» he said quietly.

  Not speaking, Brion inclined his head and stepped aside to admit the older man.

  «I’ve brought several special bequests from your father», Kenneth said, when the king had closed the door. «They probably would have come to you in time, but he wanted to be certain that you understood the importance of these particular items». He produced a cloth-wrapped bundle from underneath his cloak, about the size of a man’s two fists. «Shall I show you?»

  Somewhat taken aback, Brion gestured vaguely toward a small table set before the fire, flanked by two straight-backed chairs with arms. The movement caught firelight in the stones of his father’s ring.

  «Please», he murmured, as he moved toward the table, himself settling onto one of the chairs.

  «Thank you, Sire». Kenneth set his bundle on the table and took the other chair, then reached into the pouch at his waist to produce a much smaller lump of folded fabric.

  «I think this may be the more important of the two items», Kenneth said, unwrapping the lump to disclose the Eye of Rom, glowing like a burning coal in its cocoon of scarlet velvet. «I don’t think I ever saw your father without it, in all the years I served him». He gestured toward the more modest hoop of braided gold wire still affixed in Brion’s right earlobe. «Shall I help you change over?»

  Brion’s hand had gone to his ear as Kenneth spoke, and he nodded somewhat dazedly, reaching out with his other hand to not quite touch the Eye of Rom as the older man rose to come to his other side.

  «Thank you», the young king whispered, as Kenneth bent to the task of opening the hoop. «It did occur to me, right after he died, that the Eye of Rom now belonged to me. But I thought it might have seemed…well, ghoulish, to just take it from him right then — far different from merely putting on his ring».

  «No, you did the right thing», Kenneth said quietly. He removed the hoop and put it in Brion’s hand, then took the Eye of Rom from its nest of velvet and carefully threaded its wire through the royal earlobe. Brion closed his eyes as the deed was done, biting at his lip as Kenneth closed the fastening.

  «There, that’s better», Kenneth said. So saying, he returned to his chair to begin unwrapping the larger bundle, containing his smile as the young king exhaled a deep breath and dared to look at him again, gingerly touching his right ear.

  «Should I…feel different?» he asked softly.

  «I don’t know», Kenneth replied truthfully. «It’s my understanding that my wife will be able to clarify many of the questions I’m sure you must have». He folded back the last layer of fabric in the larger bundle to reveal a wide silver cuff-bracelet engraved with a pattern of running lions with their legs and tails interlaced. «When you speak to her, you’ll want to have this with you. And that Haldane cloak clasp that your father always wore».

  Brion nodded, picking up the bracelet to finger it thoughtfully. He was already wearing the cloak clasp, though it was half-hidden in the folds of his fur-lined black cloak. He brushed it with his fingertips, then looked up at Kenneth again.

  «They have something to do with my father’s Haldane powers, don’t they?» he said softly.

  Kenneth averted his gaze, for he had been forbidden to speak of the matter — in fact, was not able to speak of it.

  «I cannot answer that, Sire», he whispered. «Please do not ask me, for both our sakes».

  Brion looked questioningly at him, head cocked in consideration. When Kenneth offered nothing more, the king shrugged and leaned back in his chair.

  «Very well. I’ll accept that for now». He turned the bracelet in his hands again, then clasped it to his right wrist and sighed. «I can hardly believe that he is gone», he mused aloud, glancing at the dancing flames in the fireplace, then at Kenneth. «Somehow, I never imagined that it would really happen. You will stay by me, won’t you, Sir Kenneth?»

  «You have my word, Sire. I shall never abandon you».

  «Thank you».

  Brion drew another deep, steadying breath, then let it out explosively and
sat forward, looking uncomfortable.

  «They’ve taken him to the chapel royal to lie in state until the funeral», he said then, not meeting Kenneth’s gaze. «Will you…come with me to pay my respects — now, when there are only the guards and maybe a few family members?»

  «Of course, my prince», Kenneth replied.

  * * *

  They had known there would be a guard of honor, partly drawn from the late king’s most faithful retainers, but they had not reckoned on the monks, come up from the cathedral to pray for the king’s peaceful repose. Brion stiffened in the doorway of the chapel with Kenneth at his elbow, taking the measure of what lay at the other end of the chapel’s center aisle besides his father’s body.

  The four guards, all battle-arrayed, stood motionless at the corners of the black-draped catafalque on which King Donal lay, their eyes averted, gloved hands resting on the quillons of their naked swords. The body itself was a blur of Haldane crimson, which immediately caught the eye, but even Kenneth could sense the appraising gaze of the monks turning toward them from the shadows beyond the bier, where a dozen of them, white-robed and hooded, knelt with prayer beads dangling from their clasped hands, their prayers a soft murmur that set the chapel a-hum.

  Six tall funeral candlesticks also guarded the bier, three to each side, the only light in the chapel save for the Presence lamp above the tabernacle and the bank of blue votive candles before the statue of the Virgin. By that bluish light, the white-robed monks looked decidedly sinister, disapproving.

  «Why did they have to be here?» the young king muttered under his breath, so that only Kenneth could hear.

  «Surely you cannot have thought that they would not be here, my prince», Kenneth replied. «The archbishop will have sent them, as a mark of respect».

  Scowling, the new king lingered a moment longer just inside the west door, steeling himself. Then he pushed back the hood of his cloak and walked briskly down the center aisle, Kenneth like a shadow at his heels.

  The guards remained motionless as Brion approached the bier; the monks ducked their heads over their prayer beads. Kenneth hung back a little as the new king paused to bow to the altar and then moved closer to stand to the right of his father’s bier and bow again, this time to the dead king.

  They had laid Donal out in a crimson mantle of state and an under-robe of white damask, reminiscent of what he had worn for his coronation, more than twenty years before, with the crown of Gwynedd on his brow and the Haldane sword laid atop his body, the hands clasped over the hilt. For the first time in many years, Kenneth thought, he looked at peace.

  Much moved, he inclined his head in respect, then blessed himself and breathed a prayer for the king’s soul. After a moment, Brion bent to gently kiss his father’s cheek, then turned away, grief in his eyes as he rejoined Kenneth and they headed back up the aisle.

  * * *

  Word of the king’s death took three days to reach Alyce at Morganhall, for another early winter storm had swept in from the north the day before, burying the hills in heavy, sticky snow. The courier who brought Kenneth’s letter was exhausted and half frozen, soaked to the skin, and could barely speak at first, as he allowed himself to be led to the warmth of the great fireplace in the hall. There, while he waited to put the letter directly into Alyce’s hands, he let himself be wrapped in several dry blankets and plied with hot mulled ale while he gasped out the first grim news through chattering teeth.

  The servant who came to fetch Alyce was Master Leopold, steward of the manor. He found her in the solar, where she had been reclining by its fire beside Vera and Kenneth’s two sisters, who were mending linens. Alaric and Duncan were playing with toy knights and blocks on the hearth, and Kevin was reading in the stronger light from a neaby window. All four women looked up as he entered, instantly sobered by his expression.

  «Beg pardon, my ladies, but a courier has just arrived from Rhemuth».

  «In this weather?» Claara started to protest, looking scandalized.

  «I fear he’s brought ill news», Leopold went on, cutting across her as he locked his gaze on his master’s wife. «The king has died, my lady. Sir Jaska Collins is waiting in the hall with a letter from Lord Kenneth. He says he has orders to deliver it only into your hands».

  Alyce had gone very still at the news, and she carefully eased herself to a sitting position as Vera set aside her stitching; her sisters-in-law gasped and then began whispering urgently to one another.

  «You should have brought him straight up», Alyce said numbly. «I’ll go to him at once. Did he say when it happened, or how?»

  The steward shook his head. «Unknown, my lady. He’s half-frozen and exhausted, so I’ve left him by the fire to thaw out».

  Nodding, Alyce eased herself to her feet and pulled a shawl more closely around her shoulders. Now in the final weeks of her pregnancy, she moved ponderously toward the door, then let the steward precede her slowly down the stairs to the great hall. Sir Llion was conversing animatedly with the newcomer, who rose at once as Alyce entered, clasping his blankets around him with one hand and favoring her with a quick bow as he produced a sealed square of folded parchment.

  «Thank you for coming, Sir Jaska», she murmured, taking the letter as Sir Llion pulled another chair closer to the fire and held it while she sat. «I trust that you are thawing somewhat».

  «Aye, m’lady. I am sorry to be the bearer of such ill news».

  «When and how did it happen?» she replied, not taking her eyes from him as she broke the letter’s seal.

  «Three days past», Sir Jaska replied, sitting again at her gesture. «Apparently he took a chill about a fortnight ago, and never really managed to shake it off. They say it went to his lungs, but I think his heart was broken».

  The remark about taking a chill made her wonder whether Donal’s secret journey to Morganhall had led to his death, but it was also a reminder of the sons the king had lost, and the eldest, now become king, whom he had hoped to keep safe at whatever cost.

  «Aye, Prince Jathan’s death will not have been easy to endure», she said vaguely. As she began to skim the letter for more details, she found herself thinking of Donal’s other sons who had died untimely. She was heartened to learn that Kenneth had already ensured that Prince Brion took possession of the items she would need to seal his Haldane powers — for it was certain that, now, it would be she and not her young son who must catalyze what Donal had set in motion for his heir.

  «Do you know what arrangements have been made?» she asked, when she had finished reading.

  Sir Jaska shook his head. «Not when I left, my lady. What with the weather, I doubt they’ll try to delay the funeral until word can get out. I doubt many could get there much before Twelfth Night. But I’d guess that this means they’ll plan for a Twelfth Night coronation, since so many already plan to attend that court. That’s only six weeks away, but it’s always best to crown a young king as soon as possible — just so that no one gets ideas about taking advantage of his youth».

  She had reached much the same conclusion regarding the coronation, and for some of the same reasons, but she reckoned that few would try to take advantage of Brion Haldane once he was crowned. And cupping a hand over her pregnant belly, she thought she should be safely delivered and able to travel by then.

  «You’re probably right», she said, glancing at the letter again. «Much as I should like to offer my condolences to Prince Brion in person, that obviously isn’t possible until this baby has arrived. It will be for my husband to represent the family for now. And by Twelfth Night, I’ll be able to bring Alaric as well, to swear fealty with his father». She sighed.

  «Make certain you get a couple of good meals and a night’s sleep, Sir Jaska», she told the courier. «I’ll wish to send a reply, but it can wait until morning. For now», she glanced at the steward, «Leopold, please ask Father Swithun to attend me. We must ask him to say a Mass for the king — both our departed liege and the one who now is».

>   Chapter 22

  «And she being with child cried, travailing in birth, and pained to be delivered».[23]

  The next days stretched into a week, the week into a fortnight, and more. Daily Alyce sought the signs that might herald her lying-in, but to little avail. Ten days after Kenneth’s first letter, a second arrived, with a sketchy account of King Donal’s state funeral and confirming Twelfth Night as the date for King Brion’s coronation. A week into December, after several more rounds of letters, Kenneth himself arrived from Rhemuth, with greetings from the new king and permission — within reason — to remain at Morganhall until Alyce gave birth.

  «You must be very near to term», Kenneth observed, dismissing Xander to visit with Vera and Llion and the boys while he and Alyce settled by the fire with a jug of mulled ale. He had left Trevor in Rhemuth with the king.

  «I certainly hope so!» Alyce retorted. «How is the king?»

  «As nervous as a cat in a room full of hounds — though he has Duke Richard to look after him, and Jamyl Arilan has taken on squiring for him», Kenneth said. «For my part, I had very nearly reached the end of my tether in Rhemuth, what with crotchety crown counselors and irritable bishops. Brion will be the third Haldane king I have served, but I don’t remember this much contention when old King Malcolm died and Donal was crowned». He sipped from his cup, then lifted it slightly in concession.

  «Of course, Donal was a grown man then, in his forties, and I was a green young knight, and still learning my trade. I don’t suppose this current batch of bureaucrats is any better or any worse. At least Brion should be safe enough in Rhemuth, until we can get him crowned. I’m just weary».

  «My poor darling», Alyce murmured, coming to stand behind his chair and knead at his taut shoulders.