Meanwhile, the flurry of exchanges between Corwyn and Torenth was yielding interesting results. In noting the protestations of outrage on the part of Corwyn, the chancery of Nimur of Torenth, in turn, had acknowledged (in view of the numerous affidavits of witness from Kiltuin) that yes, it appeared that subjects of Torenth might possibly have strayed across the border area adjoining Kiltuin, and perhaps had been guilty of over-exuberance regarding insults offered by the inhabitants of said town.
But it was flatly denied that King Nimur's sons might have been among the culprits; and certainly, no reparations would be forthcoming. The correspondence on this matter was already voluminous.
«It appears that King Nimur means to smother the matter in paperwork», Donal remarked, when he had gone over the exchanges with Ahern and his council. «I don't suppose it's possible that the witnesses might have been mistaken — that it wasn't the Torenthi princes after all?»
«Not unless someone was impersonating them», Lord Hambert said with a snort. «The local priest in Kiltuin is something of an armorist; he knows what he saw. Most of the men wore Torenthi livery — they made no attempt to conceal who they were. But he was quite clear that two of them wore variations on the Torenthi royal arms. He's convinced they were two of Nimur's sons».
«And you trust his judgment?» Donal asked.
«I do, Sire. Furthermore, one of the ravaged women drew out the device worn by the man who defiled her. She got rather a better look at it than she would have wished. The drawing is there on the bottom of the stack».
Nodding, Donal leafed through the sheaf of parchment depositions and cast an eye over the last one in the stack, noting the somewhat shaky sketch of the Furstán hart on a roundel, differenced with a bordure. In a somewhat more confident hand, someone had tricked in the colors: the tawny field, the leaping black hart against a white roundel, the white border denoting cadency, though the king could not recall which particular Furstán owned the bordure charged with five black crowns.
«Well, he certainly appears to have been presenting himself as a Furstán», Donal observed. «That alone should get him dealt with by his own folk — unless, of course, that's exactly what he was».
«He was a Furstán, Sire», Ahern said confidently. «Believe me, I know this». The look he gave the king as Donal glanced up at this very positive declaration made it quite clear that the boy had confirmed the information by Deryni means.
«Indeed», the king said softly.
Ahern merely inclined his head slightly, his eyes never leaving Donal's.
«Well, then», Donal said. «We shall have to ensure that King Nimur is not allowed to argue this point. Reparations are required». He pushed back from the table and rose, and the others likewise came to their feet. «Perhaps Lord Hambert would be so good as to assemble a suitable foray party, to ride with my own troops. I am minded to make an incursion of my own into Torenth — to discover more facts, of course. And if my men should find opportunity to seize goods in recompense for what happened at Kiltuin — so much the better. I will, however, require that they conduct themselves in a more seemly fashion than our Torenthi raiders. Is that clear?»
As Lord Hambert made a bow, Ahern merely smiled and said, «Abundantly, Sire. And might I request that I may be permitted to ride at your side?» He tapped his stiff leg with his stick and cocked his head at the king. «I think you will discover that this has not slowed me down».
«That has already been my observation», the king replied. «And I am proud to have you in my service».
* * *
Ahern's service proved itself more than once in the days that followed. His daring strategies, worked out with the king, enabled Gwyneddan raiding parties to harry Torenthi border towns with sufficient regularity that, by early September, King Nimur's ministers were seriously discussing the payment of reparations. Donal had hoped to call Nimur's sons to account, at least tendering an acknowledgement of their offenses and an offer of official apology, but it gradually became clear that, on this point, Nimur remained unbending.
But in all, the course of this late campaign — far different from any prospect in Meara — was going satisfactorily. Periodically Donal sent progress reports back to Rhemuth, both to his queen and council and to Ahern's sisters. Whenever these official missives were dispatched, additional letters went along under Ahern's seal. Though, officially, these came from Ahern, Donal was well aware that the courier's pouch always included at least one letter from Sir Sé Trelawney to Marie de Corwyn. In the course of the sea voyage to Coroth, Donal had become well aware of Sé's affection, from childhood, for the Corwyn sisters, and for Marie in particular, and wondered how long it would take Sé to approach him about asking for her hand.
Which permission he was inclined to grant, since he liked young Sé Trelawney, and suspected that the young man might even be Deryni — though he had never been able to confirm this, for Sé religiously avoided any circumstance in which it might be possible for the king to determine this by casual means.
Donal knew of Sé's longstanding friendship with Ahern, and trusted Sé's loyalty because he trusted Ahern's; but actually calling the question might put Sé into danger that was not necessary. Donal, unlike his bishops and clergy, was disinclined to enforce the rigorous exclusion of Deryni that had been the official policy of Gwyneddan law for more than a century — perhaps because he suspected that his own odd powers might be somehow related to those wielded by the Deryni. He had once asked Jessamy about it, but she did not know. She did know of his suspicions about Sé, and saw no harm if it were true.
* * *
But the letters themselves were gradually building on a resentment that very much generated harm, though none could have predicted it save for one affronted damsel of the royal court, increasingly bitter as the summer waned and letters continued to arrive for the Corwyn sisters. The Lady Muriella saw how the face of Marie de Corwyn lit with excitement whenever letters arrived from Corwyn, and how she always drew aside for a private moment in the garden to read the ones addressed to her, and how she then added each new missive to the growing stack secreted under her pillow, tied with a grass-green ribbon.
One day, when the sisters were safely away for the afternoon, riding with the young princes in the castle's lower ward, Muriella even dared to slip into the pair's room and lift the pillow, carefully sliding out the most recent of the letters to quickly scan its content. To her surprise, there was nothing overt, but that did not lessen her resentment of the attention Sé was lavishing on the pair, and on Marie in particular.
Her resentment grew and festered as the summer wore on, only intensified by her awareness that her rivals were Deryni. And in the daydreams of many a long, sultry summer afternoon, she found herself idly envisioning all manner of dire fates for the pair.
In truth, she could scarcely imagine that the dashing Sir Sé would truly prefer the pallid good looks of the sisters de Corwyn over her own, more voluptuous dark-haired beauty. She wondered whether they might be using their accursed Deryni magic to ensnare his affection — a scandalous offense, since the church held all use of the dread powers of the Deryni to be anathema.
She didn't know whether a Deryni could be burned for using his or her powers to secure another's affections, but it was immensely satisfying to imagine the pair dragged to stakes in the city square below, shorn of their bright locks and trembling with terror as the executioners bound them with chains amid the piles of faggots stacked high, and brought the fiery brands, thrusting the fire deep into the kindling so that the hungry flames soon rose to devour them.
She had laughed aloud at that very satisfying image, though she had soon dismissed it as highly unlikely to happen, given the queen's affection for the pair. Besides that, it would be most difficult to prove any misconduct on their part without Muriella herself becoming involved — and that might well put Sé off her for good, thereby totally defeating the purpose of the exercise. No, getting rid of the sisters was definitely desirable, but
there must be some more subtle way to do it.
It was on a showery afternoon early in September that the idea came to her, as she puttered in the stillroom with a decoction of fragrances derived from roses, lavender, and honeysuckle. Muriella had amassed considerable knowledge of herb lore during her several years at court, not only aromatic and culinary herbs but medicinal ones. Sometimes she assisted Father Denit, the queen's chaplain, in the preparation of simples for use by the royal physician; and on that day, as she and the priest checked the stocks of medicinal herbs, she found her fingers lingering over those substances whose use required extreme caution: substances that could kill.
Shocked at her own audacity, she tried to put such thoughts from her mind, forcing herself not to react, but the notion would not leave her. The next day found her in the royal library, poring over a particular herbal. And gradually, a plan began to take shape, involving a confection of ground almonds, honey, and certain other substances that might be added to the almond paste.
It could be done, she decided. It would be dangerous, if she were found out, but was Sir Sé not worth a little risk? Her disdain for her rivals was well known, so she would need to recruit an unwitting accomplice to her plan, but that, too, could be done. The more she considered, the more possible the prospect seemed. For with Marie out of the way, and perhaps Alyce as well, Muriella was certain that she could win the affection of the dashing Sé Trelawney…
* * *
Muriella seized her opportunity on a sultry day late in September, when a series of seemingly unrelated events chanced to spiral into disaster. It began as Lord Seisyll Arilan strolled into the castle gardens, having spent the morning in council with the queen and the Archbishop of Rhemuth — always a less than pleasant prospect, because Archbishop William made no secret of his dislike of Deryni.
Accordingly, Seisyll was always extremely careful never to put a foot wrong, in his dealings with the man. He understood that William MacCartney was likely to be the next Archbishop of Valoret, when Michael of Kheldour died; and while he had no particular quarrel with Gwynedd's Primate, he knew he would be greatly relieved to have William MacCartney as far away as possible.
That afternoon, however, Seisyll had aspirations in another direction altogether. For with both the king and Duke Richard away from court for the past several months, Seisyll had been watching for an opportunity to have his own look at Master Krispin MacAthan — or Krispin Haldane, as Seisyll increasingly believed the boy to be. Not since Michon's encounter with the boy in the cloister garden at Arc-en-Ciel had anyone from the Camberian Council been able to conduct even a cursory examination. But on such a lazy, hazy summer afternoon, with formal training sessions suspended and most of the children of the royal household at leisure, who knew what might be possible?
He had chosen his time with care, at an hour when many of the adults and not a few of the children were apt to be drowsing, even napping — and who would suspect otherwise? As Seisyll strolled, he took himself to the vicinity of the castle's apple orchard rather than the more formal gardens that lay adjacent to the royal apartments, for he had heard mention that some of the younger boys, Krispin included, had lately conceived a passion for toy boats, which they were wont to try out in the fishpond that served the castle kitchens.
He pulled an apple from one of the trees and began to eat it as he passed through the orchard, peering beyond to where he believed the pond to be. He saw the squire first: a reliable young man in Haldane scarlet, reclining in the shade of another tree and also partaking of the orchard's fruit as he watched the three younger boys crouched at the water's edge.
The tallest of the boys was definitely a Haldane prince, as the second sable-headed lad might also be, all of them dressed in a motley assortment of well-worn and nearly outgrown summer tunics, sleeves rolled above the elbows and tunic-tails ruched up between bare legs as they waded ankle-deep in the shallows and shepherded the boats. The creamy sail of the red boat was painted with a Haldane lion, proclaiming it to be the property of Prince Brion. Another boy with brown hair was fiddling with the saffron sail of a blue-painted boat — the lad's name was Isan Fitzmartin, Seisyll recalled.
Krispin MacAthan's boat was green, and sported a sail of the dull red-ochre hue common to the Southern Sea. All three boys straightened attentively as Seisyll approached, and the squire sat forward and started to get to his feet, but Seisyll waved him back as he nodded to the boys and came to crouch down companionably at the water's edge.
«Good afternoon, your Highness — and Master Krispin, Isan», Seisyll said amiably. «Those are very fine boats you have there, but do you think Cook will mind that you're frightening his fish?»
«Good afternoon, Lord Arilan», Prince Brion replied, speaking for the three of them. «They are fine boats, aren't they? Master Edward, the carpenter, made them for us, and some of the queen's ladies sewed the sails».
His sunny smile clearly was meant to distract Seisyll's interest in the frightened fish, and the impish grins of Krispin and Isan were likewise endearing. As the young prince turned to prod at his craft with a stick, and Isan set his boat back adrift, Seisyll reached out with his mind to gently nudge the red and blue boats out of reach of their owners, as if wafted by a wayward breath of breeze. Krispin's, by contrast, drifted a little closer.
«And very fine work it is, too», Seisyll agreed. «Krispin, may I see that one?»
Nodding solemnly, Krispin plucked his boat out of the water and waded closer to Seisyll to extend it for inspection.
«Ah, yes, indeed», Seisyll said, laying hands on the craft but also overlapping the hands of its owner, holding it, turning it to other angles, but not actually taking it — for by doing so, he was able to make and keep contact, at the same time extending a probe.
«Yes, that's very fine», he said, tilting the boat this way and that. «When I was a boy, I had a boat very like this one. My father made it for me — and one for my brother. We used to race them across a millpond in the village green near Tre-Arilan.
«I believe that was the summer I dreamed of becoming a great sea-farer, for my father had taken us to Orsalia earlier that summer, on one of the great galleys of the Duke of Corwyn's caralighter fleet. As I recall, he made the boats for us while we were on that journey. At the time, I didn't realize that sea voyages can actually be quite tedious. To me, it was sheer excitement».
All three boys had been listening with rapt attention as Seisyll shared this boyhood reminiscence — which was time enough for the master Deryni to note several startling similarities between Krispin's psychic resonances and those of the king.
«Was it very fast, my lord?» Krispin asked eagerly.
«Not very», Seisyll said lightly. «I expect your boat is far faster. In fact, mine was appallingly slow. And it hadn't nearly as nice a sail as yours».
He used the boy's pleasure at this compliment as cover for deftly disengaging his probe, also setting a gentle blur over any memory of the contact. It would not hold up to close scrutiny, but no such scrutiny was likely if no suspicion was raised.
«No, yours is far finer than the one I remember», Seisyll went on. «The sail is particularly fine. May I ask who made it for you?»
«Lady Marie did the stitching, my lord», Krispin replied, beaming as he stood a little straighter. «She's ever so nice. But Mother gave her handkerchief, and Lady Muriella helped me gather the right herbs to dye it. And Lady Zoë painted the lion on Brion's one». He cocked his dark head wistfully. «It must be an awful lot of work to be a girl, my lord».
Chuckling, Seisyll gestured toward the other two boats, now beginning to catch the breeze and move back toward their respective owners. Glancing back in that direction, Krispin smiled sunnily and turned to set his own boat back in the water, giving it a gentle push to send it on its way. As its sail caught a breeze and continued to move, the boy straightened to watch it go. Beyond, a duty squire entered the garden with a travel-stained knight in tow — apparently a messenger carrying d
ispatches, for he was rummaging in a leather satchel slung over one shoulder.
«Look, a messenger!» Prince Brion cried, pointing.
«Where do you think he's come from?» Krispin said.
«Let's go see!» said Isan.
Instantly the three boys bolted in that direction, leaving the boats abandoned in the fishpond. Smiling, Seisyll bent and willed the boats close enough to retrieve, then set them in a row at the edge before following after. Unless he was greatly mistaken, the just-arrived messenger was one of the knights who served Ahern de Corwyn — which meant that there would be news possibly requiring the attention of the crown council.
* * *
Deeper in the main garden, not far from the royal apartments, the arrival of the messenger was also noted by Marie de Corwyn, as his attending squire led him in the direction of the queen's solar. She had washed her hair earlier that morning, and was combing it dry in the dappled sunshine underneath a rose arbor. She rose expectantly as the messenger drew near, about to pass not far away, and he saw her and raised one gloved hand in greeting.
«Jovett!» she called. «Have you anything for me?»
«That I do», the young man replied, grinning as he held up a folded and sealed square of parchment. «And your brother also sends you his duty and respect».
She blushed prettily and ran to take it from him, standing on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, then ran her fingertips over the seal as he continued on. It was a scenario enacted half a dozen times in the course of the summer, as the king's expedition in Corwyn stretched on, and no one thought it odd.
One discreet observer, in fact, welcomed it, for it provided the opportunity she had been waiting for. A little while later, when the queen had received the messages and assembled the crown council to deal with them, one of her ladies pressed a small package into the hands of a junior maid of honor, with instructions to bring it immediately to the Lady Marie.
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