Childe Morgan Read online

  “So, Lucien,” Donal said with a smile, rising with the Haldane sword cradled in his arm. “How many sons of yours have I knighted now, including young Arthen here? Three? Or is it four?”

  “Arthen is the fourth, Sire,” Lucien replied, bowing. “You knighted Caspar last Twelfth Night, and Julian the year before. And Joris was first, of course.”

  “Ah, of course. Well, they all look incredibly like you. I can’t keep them straight. The others are not with you today?”

  “Alas, no, Sire, but they send loyal greetings and apologies for their absence. I fear that all of them had duties in Meara that precluded their attendance. But they look forward to having their brother join them in service.”

  “I’m sure they do,” the king replied, “though I imagine that the Mearans will hardly be glad to have another Talbot enforcing the king’s peace. Sir Alun,” he said to the just-knighted Alun Melandry, “perhaps you would be so good as to invest your young comrade-in-arms with his spurs. Lucien, I am also disappointed to see that your lady is not with you this year,” the king went on, as the grinning Alun knelt to perform his office.

  “As am I, Sire,” the Mearan governor replied, “but the reason is a happy one. Our eldest daughter is soon to present us with our first grandchild, so her mother has gone to Laas to be with her for the lying in. When Your Majesty’s children are of an age to present you with your own grandchildren, I know you will understand.”

  “Indeed, indeed,” Donal said, chuckling. “When you return home, then, I trust that you will give your goodwife a full accounting of today’s honors. And send me word when the child is born.” He glanced aside at Sir Jiri Redfearn, standing duty behind the throne. “Jiri, remind me to send an appropriate christening gift.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  As Sir Alun rose, his spurring duties fulfilled, Donal’s gaze flicked back to the still-kneeling Arthen.

  “So, young Master Talbot. Are you certain you would not prefer to receive the accolade from your father?”

  “With all due respect, Sire,” Lucien said, before the candidate could answer, “we could have stayed in Ratharkin if my hand were sufficient.”

  “Arthen?” the king insisted. “Your father is a very honored and puissant knight, else he would not be my governor in Meara.”

  “Aye, Sire, but you are my king,” young Talbot replied. “I have always dreamed of receiving the accolade from your own hand. And I would lief swear you my fealty in person—for the bond between vassal and liege is as hallowed as that of blood.”

  “Well, I cannot dispute that,” the king replied, smiling as he shifted the hilt of the great Haldane sword of state into his right hand and lifted the blade before him. “Arthen Talbot, son of Lucien.” The blade flashed downward to lightly touch flat on the young man’s right shoulder.

  “In the name of the Father, and of the Son,” the blade shifted to the left shoulder, “and of the Holy Spirit,” the blade lifted to rest on the crown of the young man’s bowed head, “be thou a good and faithful knight.” Donal lifted the blade to kiss the holy relic enclosed in the pommel, then reversed it to rest the tip on the floor and offered his right hand to the new knight. “Arise, Sir Arthen, and be invested with the other symbols of your new rank.”

  Only just controlling a grin, Sir Arthen got to his feet, bowing as the queen came to gird him with the white belt of his knighthood, faintly blushing as she buckled it at his waist. Donal handed off the Haldane sword to Kenneth to hold. When the queen was done, Arthen’s father presented him with a sword, which he slipped into the hangers at his waist before kneeling again to set his joined hands between those of the king.

  “I, Arthen Talbot, Knight, do become your liege man of life and limb and earthly worship; and faith and truth will I bear unto you, to live and to die, against all manner of folk, so help me God.”

  The king then returned the oath, pledging justice and protection for the new knight’s loyalty, after which the other Mearan knights in the hall gave a whoop of affirmation and surged forward to congratulate their new brother. The brief commotion served to bring young Alaric’s attention back to the head of the hall, for he had begun to grow restive at his mother’s side as the ceremonies stretched on.

  “Pay attention now, darling,” she whispered in his ear, as the space before the thrones again cleared and the chamberlain rapped with his staff for attention.

  Jovett was lining up the Lendour candidates and bidding their two sponsors to fall into place behind them, each bearing a sheathed sword with spurs looped over the quillons. The newly squired Jamyl Arilan had been drafted to carry the Lendour banner when their turn should come around, and came smartly to attention as the chamberlain cleared his throat.

  “Let the candidates from Lendour approach.”

  At Jovett’s nod, Jamyl started forward with the Lendour banner, Jovett following with the two candidates, their sponsors, and several more Lendour retainers. Young Alaric stood on his tiptoes to see them better, only restrained from following by his mother’s hands on his shoulders.

  “Your Majesty,” Jovett said, making a graceful obeisance as his charges did the same and Jamyl dipped the banner, “on behalf of the regency council of Lendour, I beg leave to present two candidates for knighthood: the squires Yves de Tremelan and Xander of Torrylin.”

  “And I am well pleased to receive them,” the king responded, settling back slightly on his throne. “I have heard excellent reports regarding the accomplishments of both Lendour’s candidates. However, a striking irregularity makes me loath to confer that honor.”

  Chapter 4

  “He made him lord of his house, and ruler of all his substance.”

  —PSALM 105:21

  FOLLOWING on an instant of shocked silence, a murmur of question and consternation rippled through the hall. Jovett stood stunned, as did Xander; young Yves bore an expression of blank bewilderment, as did both sponsors. Alaric caught the tumult of the various reactions and looked up at his mother for reassurance. Alyce felt the sharp glance of question from her heart-sister, but only slipped her free hand around Zoë’s shoulders and slightly shook her head, sending a close-focused thought into her mind, as Deryni sometimes could do with humans.

  Don’t worry.

  Don’t worry? Zoë returned, carefully shaping the words in her mind. Do you know what this is about? Is this why the king summoned you before court?

  Somewhat, Alyce replied. Just wait and see.

  “Sire, I don’t understand,” Jovett said uncertainly, as he exchanged glances with his two candidates and their sponsors.

  “Allow me to rephrase,” the king said. “And please reassure your candidates. This has nothing to do with their suitability for knighthood.” He swept his gaze across the waiting courtiers and their ladies, then nodded toward Kenneth.

  “Sir Kenneth, my sword, if you please—and Lady Alyce, please attend, and bring the boy.”

  Bracing herself, head held high, Alyce kept her son’s hand in hers and led him before the throne, pausing before the first step of the dais to make her reverence. Young Alaric followed his mother’s example with a grave, courtly bow that brought a smile to the king’s lips. At their approach, Jovett had moved his knighting party to one side, where all of them watched anxiously.

  “I see that your young son flourishes, Sir Kenneth,” Donal said, settling the Haldane sword in the crook of his arm, its hilt in his left hand. “You have performed your duty well, in providing an heir for Corwyn and Lendour—though methinks it can have been no onerous duty, with so fair a lady at your side.” At his nod toward Alyce, a faint snigger rippled through the watching court, but she only inclined her head gracefully at the compliment.

  “I am also much pleased with the counsel that you have given with regard to the regency of your wife’s lands,” the king went on, “which, someday, will be your son’s lands. Given his tender age, however, it seems to me that those lands deserve a more tangible symbol of lordship, and sooner rather than l
ater. In addition, as I much desire to continue employing your talents on my own behalf, as I advance in years and my own heir approaches his majority, it seems to me fitting that you possess a more appropriate rank by which you may speak in my name and his, in matters diplomatic.”

  “Sire, I am yours to command,” Kenneth murmured with a taut bow.

  “Then I trust you will not object when I tell you that I have this day determined to create you Earl of Lendour for life, by right of your wife.” A collective gasp whispered through the hall, but the king only flicked a steely glance out over the assembled court to silence it, and went on.

  “Will you, then, accept this honor from my hand, and be my man for Lendour, and continue serving as principal regent of Corwyn?” He smiled and shrugged. “It means that someday, your son will be your feudal superior, when he takes up his ducal coronet—but by then, perhaps you will be ready to retire to some quiet spot with your lovely wife, to enjoy the delights of grandchildren. It is a pleasure I have not yet tasted for myself, but I am assured by my governor in Meara and others who have them that the experience is altogether agreeable.”

  His droll smile and wink at Sir Lucien and several of his senior council lords who did have grandchildren was answered by gentle chuckles of honest amusement from most in the hall, and defused what might have been an awkward moment regarding Kenneth’s good fortune.

  “But, enough of this,” Donal said, rising. “Kenneth, I’ll thank you to kneel.” As Kenneth hastily did so, the king shifted the Haldane sword into his right hand and briskly touched it to Kenneth’s right shoulder, left shoulder. “I create you Earl of Lendour for life, with all the rights, privileges, and responsibilities that entails. Will you now do homage for your lands?”

  “I will, Sire, most gladly,” Kenneth replied, lifting his joined hands in an attitude of prayer.

  Smiling faintly, the king handed the sword off to Prince Brion and took Kenneth’s hands between his own, nodding for him to speak.

  “I, Kenneth Kai Morgan, do enter your homage and become your liege man for Lendour, reaffirming the vows I made when your father knighted me. Faith and truth will I bear to you, and to your sons, and to your house, in all things, so help me God.”

  “And I receive your homage most gladly, Kenneth Morgan Earl of Lendour, and pledge you my loyalty and protection for so long as you keep faith with me.”

  So saying, the king released Kenneth’s hands and dipped into a pocket within his sleeve, producing a gold signet, which he slid onto Kenneth’s left forefinger.

  “Wear this ring as a seal of fidelity to the oaths you have sworn, and a symbol of your authority,” the king said, also receiving from the queen a hammered silver circlet the width of two fingers, set with flat cabochon garnets all around. “And receive this coronet as a mark of my esteem and trust.”

  He set the coronet on Kenneth’s brow, then kissed him on both cheeks and nodded for him to rise.

  “That’s done, then. You may stand, Earl of Lendour. And for your first official act, if it is your pleasure and that of these young men, I give you leave to bestow the accolade on these, your knights of Lendour.”

  Kenneth rose uncertainly at the king’s gesture, looking both pleased and somewhat taken aback by this further demonstration of royal favor.

  “Sire, it is an honor I am right willing to confer in your name, but surely they would prefer to receive it from the hand of their king.”

  “I should think that, given a choice, they would prefer to receive it from the hand of a loyal and noble knight who has many times saved the life of that king,” Donal countered, with a measuring glance at the two kneeling candidates. “And this is fitting, since it is you they should emulate, rather than a warrior no longer in his prime. Sir Jovett, is this acceptable to Lendour’s candidates?”

  Jovett glanced at the Lendour sponsors, who clearly approved, then made a graceful bow, taking his cue from Alyce’s unperturbed expression and the lightning thought she sent his way.

  “Sire, it has long been the honor of Lendour’s knights to receive the accolade from Lendour’s earl, when that has been possible. When young Alaric attains his majority and is himself a knight, such will be his happy duty. But until that day arrives, I can think of few finer exemplars for our young knights than the noble father of their future earl.”

  “Then, let it be done,” the king replied, extending the hilt of the Haldane sword across his forearm to Kenneth. “You may use this.”

  Kenneth knelt briefly to receive it, reverently touching his lips to the holy relic enclosed in the hilt, then moved beside the throne and turned to face the candidates and assembled court, indicating that Alyce and Alaric should stand to his other side. He occasionally had knighted men in the field before, but the hilt of the Haldane sword in his fist made concrete just how different this was, and would be henceforth. As the first candidate, Yves de Tremelan, came to kneel before him, his older brother following with sword and spurs, Kenneth leaned down to whisper to his son in a sudden flash of inspiration.

  “Son, would you like to help Sir Jovett with the spurs?”

  The boy grinned delightedly, scurrying to Jovett’s side to receive one of the spurs. He watched with grave attentiveness as Jovett affixed the first spur, then knelt to do the same with the second. The straps and buckles were a little stiff, the spurs being new and never worn, but the boy very nearly managed on his own, so that Jovett only had to help him with the final adjustment.

  Their whispered consultation brought a smile to the candidate’s lips, but he did not speak or turn to look. When the two had finished, the pair of them stood to either side of the candidate and Alaric shyly slipped his hand into Yves’s large one as he gazed up expectantly at his father, obviously aware of the solemnity of what was about to occur. Alyce, watching from Kenneth’s side, could only barely contain her smile and her pride. Tears were glistening in the candidate’s eyes.

  “Yves de Tremelan,” Kenneth declared, lowering the Haldane blade to touch the young man’s right shoulder, “in the name of the Father, and of the Son,” the blade arched to the left shoulder, “and of the Holy Spirit,” the flat of the blade rested briefly on the bowed head, “be thou a good knight and true.” He brought the blade to his lips in salute. “Arise, Sir Yves.”

  He offered the new knight his hand and raised him up.

  “And now, since I am Earl of Lendour by the grace of my lady wife as well as the king’s favor, perhaps it would be fitting that you be invested with the further symbols of your rank by the Lady of Lendour—if Her Majesty will allow,” he added, with a glance at the queen.

  “Most certainly,” Richeldis replied, extending the strip of white leather to Alyce, who nodded thanks and moved closer to Yves. Young Alaric stayed beside Jovett, now under Jovett’s hands, watching as his mother girded the new-made knight with the white belt.

  “Sir Yves, I gird you with this symbol of your unstained honor,” Alyce murmured, as she leaned close to pass the belt around his waist. “And I am very happy that you should have received this honor from my own dear husband’s hand.”

  “So am I, my lady,” he whispered, hastily knuckling at a tear as she fastened the buckle.

  When she had finished, he bowed over her hand and kissed it, then waited as his elder brother brought forth the goodly sword to be presented, laying it into Alyce’s hands with a bow. At the king’s nod, she gave it into the keeping of Sir Yves, who slipped it into its hangers and then sank to his knees uncertainly between Kenneth and the king, glancing at both of them as he lifted joined hands.

  “Sire,” he said steadily, “I am now prepared to offer my fealty.”

  “He is your knight, Lord Kenneth,” the king said quietly. “It is you who should receive his oath.”

  “It would be my honor and privilege, Sire,” Kenneth murmured. “But is this acceptable to you, Sir Yves? I know that you were expecting to give your oath to the king.”

  “You are Earl of Lendour, my lord, and
I am your knight,” Yves said steadily. “I am pleased to give it to you.”

  With an inclination of his head, Kenneth reversed the Haldane sword under the quillons and returned it into the king’s keeping, then took Sir Yves’s joined hands between his own. The young man met his gaze steadily, his chin lifting as he spoke the ritual words.

  “I, Yves de Tremelan, do become your liege man of life and limb and earthly worship. Faith and truth will I bear unto you, to live and to die, against all manner of folk, so help me God.”

  “And I, for my part, will be a faithful liege to you, Sir Yves de Tremelan,” Kenneth answered, “giving justice and protection so long as you keep faith with me. So help me God.”

  Murmurs of approval surrounded the pair as Kenneth raised up the new knight, accompanied by young Alaric’s joyful jumping up and down, quickly curbed by a look from his father. The boy stood with his mother as the knighting process was repeated with Xander in its focus, Alaric again helping with the spurs. He followed happily with his mother when all the Lendour contingent, save Kenneth, retired to the rear of the hall for the next candidates to approach.

  “Did I do it right, Mummy?” the boy whispered, when they had gained the relative privacy of the rear door.

  “You did it very well, indeed, darling,” Alyce replied, with an affectionate ruffling of the silver-blond hair. “I was very, very proud of you.”

  Chapter 5

  “There be spirits that are created for vengeance.”

  —ECCLESIASTICUS 39:28

  SIR Kenneth Morgan’s ennobling as Earl of Lendour became the topic of many a conversation in the hours following that year’s Twelfth Night Court. Not all of the discussion was favorable.

  “My lord, are you ill?” Father Rodder asked in a low voice.