The Baron's Ring

by Mary C. Findley

  “The child is well and strong, son-in-law,” Josena said with a smile in her voice.

  “She’s in good hands with you,” Tristan sighed. “I thank God you and Vancus are here with us. Doctor, manager, mother, father, friends, we have them all in you two. Help my princess, please. Hard times are coming, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, merciful God, you speak as if you were not going to return,” Josena whispered. “If there’s danger don’t go with these men. Please consider carefully. Mayra’s life is wrapped up in yours. All our lives are. We love you, and we’d be lost without you.”

  “That’s why we have to look to God to show us the way,” said Tristan. “I don’t like my choice of paths right now, but people can make it harder for me by weeping and begging me not to do what I’m sure I have to do.”

  “You must go away with those men?” Vancus asked. “Are you sure they don’t wish to just kill you, as young Alex thought?”

  “If they’ve been watching the estate, they’ve had plenty of chances to put an arrow between my shoulderblades,” Tristan responded. “Forgive me for being blunt, but I can only assume that my brother wants to deal with me himself. You’re in charge, Vancus. God bless you.” He listened to his wife’s parents leave for their own house across the compound.

  Tristan started to rise to go into the house. “Baron, there’s a man here wishes a word with you,” one of the guards called out. “He says he knows you.”

  “If you please, Baron,” said a voice. Tristan froze. It was not a voice he recognized, raspy and strained.

  “Yes?” Tristan said.

  “Five years isn’t so long, and I’ve not changed so much,” the voice said. “Yet you don’t remember me. You’ve changed, but I hear you’ve had a very busy time. Don’t you know me at all?”

  “I’m sorry – “ Tristan faltered. Obviously it was one of Catarain’s men. This was the kind of thing he dreaded. He felt utterly vulnerable, alone with a stranger whose intentions he could not begin to guess, and in this case someone who had associations with a man he knew wished him ill. There were guards around, Tristan knew, watching, ready to defend him, but still Tristan laid his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “You do that as if you could actually make use of that sword now,” the voice said. “Yet almost the last thing I said to you was that there were two things you could never do: beat anyone at swordfighting or make your brother into a good king.”

  “Jonathan!” Tristan exclaimed. “God’s mercy, forgive me, your voice is very much changed.” He extended a hand and stepped quickly forward. A hand reached out to meet his and clasped it firmly.

  “I learned the hard way to guard my fragile parts when playing with quarterstaves,” Jonathan said. “I took a jab in the throat and nearly choked to death. Tristan, we all thought you were dead. No one ever looked to see you again.” He came closer and spoke in a lower tone. “I understand now why you didn’t know me. You can’t see. What has happened to you? What has been happening all these five years? Clearly you got away as I suggested, but I didn’t mean turn your life upside down and inside out and backwards.”

  “Sit down, Jonathan,” Tristan laughed. “This is a long story, but I’ll tell it short. I fell in the river, tumbled most of the way here, almost died in the woods, was rescued by the girl who dreamed of being my princess and eventually became my wife, and in between the rescue and the marriage I nursed a broken rib from Dunstan, did a bit of farriering, taught a school, got a vineyard, and took a brazier of coals in the face, which explains my stumbling around in the dark not recognizing my great and good friend Jonathan.”

  “You don’t stumble a bit,” Jonathan said. “How can you possibly do this? I never guessed it until I stood right in front of you and I had to come up with a reason why you didn’t know me. You are the lord of this place. Every person I’ve heard say five words says how they love and honor you, and talks about all you’ve done for them, and God’s mercy, Tristan, you can’t see. When you and I stood in the drizzle to bury your father I thought you would never do anything but live in Dunstan’s shadow and be his slave and let him beat you. I dare him to try it now. You’re twenty pound heavier, you’ve lived in the sun, you’ve calluses on your hands –”

  “Tell me what’s happened in Parangor,” Tristan said urgently. “Has my brother really gone mad, and been hunting my hide all these years?”

  “Dunstan’s mad, aye,” Jonathan growled. “But only mad to find you. What a time we had when you disappeared. We looked for him after the funeral and found him actually hacking at the trees along the river’s edge with his sword. All he would say is, ‘I’ve got to find him!’ We figured out it was you he meant, and we searched, and he would never let us leave off searching. Mischnal and some of the other lords got him to attend a little to the business of the kingdom and that’s when they found he couldn’t write a letter or do a line in his account books or any of the stuff you were going to do for him. Oh, God’s mercy, it was all going to wrack and ruin in spite of what they did to shore him up.”

  “He hated me that much?” Tristan breathed.

  “Hated you?” Jonathan echoed. “No, you don’t understand at all. He said he’d killed you, at first, drowned you in the river. But then he said he was sure you were alive, and he meant to rescue you. He wept like a baby, even prayed to God to bring you back. He tried everything to find you, and that’s how he came to find the queen.”

  “The queen?” Tristan exclaimed.

  “Aye. Catarain didn’t tell you? This woman Shneea showed up in Kenborana as a fortune-teller and herbalist. Dunstan went to her to try to find you. King Saul and the Witch of Endor came to our minds, and we tried to dissuade him when we learned what he was doing. But he went back again and again, and suddenly he brought her to the castle, along with her brother, whom you’ve met, and who became Lord Catarain, the king’s chief advisor. I’ll credit Catarain with restoring order to the kingdom’s account books. Dunstan spent every penny and threw every man into the task of clearing the forest to get to wherever you were. Catarain organized it and made it less dangerous and even profitable, getting loggers to collect good lumber and applying some engineering skills to the task. He made the king happy, and Shneea made the king very happy, apparently.

  “But Dunstan will be so glad to see you, Tristan. You’ll find him a very different fellow from the one you left. There’s been some trouble lately, between him and his wife, and he’s been ill, but I know you’ll do him good.”

  “If Dunstan isn’t after me, then what is this charge Catarain talked about?” Tristan demanded.

  “That I don’t understand, but it can’t really have anything to do with you,” Jonathan assured him. “It’s a mistake, and they’ll see it once you’re there and it’s all explained. More I can’t tell you. Here, show me what you can do with that sword. There’s a good clear area here in front of the house. Show me how you wield it, or do you just carry it for show?” He heard Jonathan spring up, leap off the terrace, and go skipping into the yard.

  “Believe me, I just carry it for show,” Tristan averred, utterly panicked. Jonathan was the best swordsman he had ever known of. Still he rose cautiously and stepped off the terrace toward the sound of Jonathan’s dancing steps. “Jonathan, I must beg you – “

  He heard Jonathan’s sword sing free of its sheath. Almost by instinct he drew his own and went on guard. “My Lord Baron,” one of the guards cried, and he could hear running feet.

  “Stand down, stand down,” Tristan laughed. “This fellow was Alex before Alex was born,” he explained. “If he hurts me it won’t be the first time, but I think the worst that will happen is I’ll have another splendid chance to make a fool of myself doing something I can’t really do but can’t stop myself from trying. You all know no one else can stop me from doing that, either.”

  Tristan concentrated, thankful that his private army knew the drill when he presumed to cross swords with anyone. The yard fell deathly quiet. Tristan rea
lized that the young men had doused the torches that lit the front of the house. He had felt a thunderstorm coming on and knew the moon had clouded over since his walk with Alex and Mayra. He relished the thought that it was almost as good as a blindfold for Jonathan. Yet his former squire made no protest.

  Jonathan, he recalled, was used to jeering and shouting his way through a fight, trying to demoralize his opponent into defeat before he even struck a blow. But when you fought the baron you kept your mouth shut. Jonathan seemed to understand the rule without being told. It gave Tristan the chance to hear every breath, every shuffle, every creak of leather, and gave the opponent at least some hope of hiding from those extraordinary ears.

  Jonathan struck at him and Tristan parried. They circled. Tristan struck and Jonathan dodged, then whirled and slipped in under Tristan’s guard. At the last second Tristan avoided the lunge and spun aside, then clashed with Jonathan a quick dozen times, broke off, harried him back and forth across the yard, got harried himself, until finally Tristan went down under a blunted strike to his chest with the flat of Jonathan’s sword. Jonathan threw his sword aside and grabbed Tristan up in a bear hug.

  “You are the greatest rotten swordsman in the world!” he cried. “Everything you do is a trick. It’s wonderful. It’s a treat just to watch these boys watch you. They love to see you play this game, don’t they? How can you? Doesn’t it scare you silly, knowing real steel is coming at your face and you can’t see it?”

  “It’s just that, Jonathan,” Tristan gasped, collapsing on the terrace with his feet hanging off and his back against the bench seat. He threw back his head and sucked in the night air. “I do know it’s coming. I hear it, I smell it, and I feel the rush of air. I think I know exactly where it is. If you’ve already nicked me so much the better: then there’s the smell of my blood on it. It’s not out there in the black somewhere. I don’t have to find it. Nobody has to lead me to it. There’s almost nothing that pushes back the darkness like a swordfight. I can’t do it well, but I can do it. God is gracious to give me people who’ll do it with me. Thank you!”

  “There is no Prince Tristan of Parangor anymore,” Jonathan rasped. “There’s Tristan the Baron of Larcondale, may he reign forever. Can I meet your wife? I’ve got to know the lady who helped make this man I never knew could exist.”

  “Without her, he never would have been born,” Tristan said. “I’m sorry, but she’s already gone to bed. She sprained her ankle – “

  “But would love to meet an old friend of my husband’s,” Mayra’s voice said softly from above him.

  “God’s mercy!” Jonathan gasped. “Tristan, she’s a baby!”

  “Am I?” Mayra said archly. “My husband, does your friend always start an acquaintance with an insult? It’s not the best way to forge a friendship, I assure you.”

  Tristan reached up a hand and pulled Mayra down into his lap. “Jonathan, this is my princess, Mayra. Jonathan was supposed to be my squire but somehow I failed to become a knight, so he went straight into the king’s guard. And no, he’s usually very polite. He’s just tired from trying not to hurt a poor blind swordsman he felt he had to properly humiliate.”

  “My husband is happy to be humiliated by anyone who can swing a sword,” Mayra said placidly. “Dearest, your feet are in my flowerbed.”

  “My apologies!” Tristan cried, drawing the offending feet up and thereby drawing Mayra closer to his chest. Mayra snuggled contentedly in against him.

  “I beg your pardon, gracious lady,” Jonathan pleaded. “There’s a story behind this living incense cloud, too, I know, Tristan. I can breathe God’s glory when I sniff the air she flavors, if you’ll pardon me for smelling your wife. There must be more to this Sweet Cecily than just the girl who rescued you and became your princess. You’ll tell it to me ‘ere long, won’t you?”

  “It’s most of the story of how there came to be a Baron of Larcondale,” Tristan smiled. “She is a tribute to God’s glory in the sense that He can work wonders through her. You see His great miracle sitting before you with his Sweet Cecily in his lap. Every day I get to embrace this, Jonathan. For this privilege I am glad to do her bidding, though she can be a merciless slavedriver.”

  “Yes, and the slavedriver says we must get to bed,” Mayra said tartly, rising and pulling Tristan up after her. “Please stay the night with us, Jonathan. You are welcome in our home.”

  “Lord Catarain would think it very strange if I did that, my lady,” Jonathan replied. “In fact, I’ve been gone from him far too long as it is. I don’t know how I’ll explain this. Tristan, I take it you prefer Catarain not guess your secret, though I can’t think how you’re going to keep it from him, as good as you are at feigning sight.”

  “I’m sure it would be better if he didn’t know that I can’t see,” Tristan replied. “I don’t know how I can keep him from knowing it, either, but God is gracious. Especially gracious to send me someone I can trust in the ranks of my enemy. God guard you, Jonathan.”

  Tristan had no reason to suppose he would sleep that night. He was afraid to toss in bed and disturb Mayra but afraid not to spend every second he could with her. When he slid into bed she instantly seized him in a desperate embrace. “You will not go to Parangor without me,” Mayra’s voice said in his ear. “This is a thing that will not happen. I was watching from the window when you spoke to that Catarain. That man is not acting for your brother. He hates you and wants to kill you for himself.” Tristan had come to the same conclusion, though he had no idea why. The man’s accent and even his voice seemed teasingly familiar, but Tristan had spoken with so many traders while trying to return to Parangor he was sure it was of no significance.

  “Mayra, my love, what makes you think I’d take you with me to a place I know to be dangerous, where there will be no one I’m sure I can trust beyond Jonathan, where I have every expectation that someone will be trying to kill me?” Tristan asked bluntly.

  “The man doesn’t know you’re blind,” Mayra said, as if she hadn’t heard him. “We must and will keep him from knowing. It’s your only advantage. I have to go with you, and help you. No one else can do that. We’ll bring Alex, too. You don’t want a guard of soldiers. They’ll find a way to separate you from them. And Jonathan will have duties about the castle. You want people who can always stay by your side.”

  “And it doesn’t bother you to be bringing our child as well?” Tristan murmured into her hair.

  “Oh, my Prince,” Mayra said, her assurance less strong, “it does, but we are one, you and I. We can’t be apart. God will guard the child, and he’ll be with us, too, no matter what happens.”

  “He?” Tristan was amused in spite of himself. “It’s a son for certain, then?”

  “I’m sure it is,” Mayra replied. “And God will keep us safe, and all will be made right. I know it. We must sleep now. “But of course they didn’t sleep right away. Tristan let tomorrow take care of itself, loved his wife and slept dreamlessly by her side.

  Tristan’s plan had been very simple. He intended to rise well before Mayra awoke, and to get on the move with Catarain and his men before she knew what had happened. But when he awoke, Mayra was already gone from their quarters. Tristan dressed hurriedly and sent word that Lord Catarain should make ready to journey, still hoping to elude Mayra while she was busy elsewhere.

  “My men and I will accompany you to Parangor, My Lord Baron,” Captain Agman said as Tristan came out on the terrace. “It is preposterous for you to go unescorted.”

  “I assure you, Prince Tristan will be shown every courtesy,” Catarain responded. “I have no intention of harming the heir to the throne of Parangor.”

  “Captain Agman, I have given you orders concerning your duty to Larcondale,” Tristan said sternly. “I will entrust myself to Lord Catarain and his men.”

  “Aye, Captain, the baron’s page and myself can see to his needs,” Alex’s voice rumbled. “Your horse is ready, my Lord.”

  “My – my pag
e?” Tristan stammered. Alex had taken charge of him and got him mounted before he knew what had happened. The young man took his hand and set it on the neck of another horse close to his own and a small hand squeezed his, just for a moment. He heard a strange, guttural noise, a bit like the honking of a goose. Tristan’s heart sank.

  “Your page is an odd creature,” Catarain’s voice said contemptuously. Mayra twittered happily, one of the birdcalls they had been teaching the schoolchildren.

  “He’s my brother, Aryam,” Alex said stiffly. “He may be a mute, but our baron couldn’t have a more faithful companion. He simply wouldn’t be left behind, so there’s no point in arguing. You promised to let me come along with you if you ever went to Parangor, so remember that I’m here too, My Lord Baron.”

  “Alex, it’s impossible,” Tristan pleaded. Obviously Mayra had somehow disguised herself and persuaded Alex to join in her mad scheme. “I can’t – I won’t go if –”

  “They will come,” Catarain said. The company was assembled now, and Catarain had a total of twenty men who had been rounded up during the night. Captain Agman had been forced to let them keep their weapons and armor, and they were, Tristan had no doubt, all around him at this moment. If Jonathan had wanted to intervene, there would have been no purpose. “You have surrendered yourself to us, and so you will go,” Catarain continued. “Obviously they mean something to you, these two who claim to be your servants, so they will be surety that you will give us no trouble along the way.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The spider taketh hold with her hands, and is in kings’ palaces.

  Proverbs 30:28

  The day on the road was torture for Tristan. He still loved horses but he had rarely been comfortable riding one since his blindness. Today the movements, sounds and smells of the horse distracted and nauseated him, and the “road” was barely passable. Alex rode at his bridle but he could scarcely tell that Mayra was there all day, except for the ridiculous noises she made from time to time. Nothing he heard or scented had any meaning to him. Men, horses, armor, sweat, dust, campfires, voices he didn’t know, weapons clanking. Now and then he heard Jonathan speak, but his friend did not come near all day.