There was deafening silence in the chamber.
Helen said, “That is not possible. Your brother sleeps deeply. He will never awaken.”
Garron said, “Tell us, madam, how do you know this?”
“Jason of Brennan told me your brother never woke up.”
Garron continued, his eyes never leaving her face. “Jason has told me that my brother woke up and told him where he’d hidden the silver.”
Helen smiled, a beautiful full smile, showing white teeth. “Then I do not know what to believe.”
Garron looked from her to Jason. “What is the truth here? Is Arthur alive or not?”
54
Jason said, “He’s alive. I already told you that. I had to keep him alive since he might have lied to me about where he’d hidden the silver. I had no reason to kill him.”
“Until you’d made sure you got the silver coins,” Garron said, and his palms itched to strangle this man who had wreaked so much havoc.
“We will know shortly,” Robert Burnell said.
The king said, “I have decided Garron has the right of it. The heiress of Valcourt will wed Lord Ranulf on the morrow. He will have his silver returned, minus the amount justly due to his king and to the Earl of Wareham for reparations, and he will have Valcourt.”
There were low mutterings, but the king paid no heed. He smiled faintly toward Lord Ranulf, who still looked utterly stunned.
“No!” Jason yelled. “No! Not my father! He is too old. The heiress should wed with me. The witch promised me. It was all arranged! The witch planned all of it!”
Sir Halric laughed. “This, at least, is the truth, sire. After this puling bastard told the witch of the silver coins, she chose Jason because she knew she could control him.” He turned to Jason, who was straining toward him, death in his eyes. “You never were anything but a tool to gain what she wished. And you thought to cheat her, to keep the silver for yourself? She would have cut out your heart, and taken all the silver for herself. Since I have suffered you for five long years, I know that if the king were to make a misjudgment and let you keep Valcourt, it would fall into ruin under your hand, for you are a fool.”
Before anyone could speak, the doors opened and one of the king’s soldiers entered. It was obvious he’d ridden hard. He was panting, sweat and dirt covered his clothes. He strode to the king, went down on one knee, his head bowed.
The king asked him, “Did you bring Lord Arthur back with you, Anselm?”
“Lord Arthur of Kersey, the Earl of Wareham, is dead, sire. We were told by a woman who had attended him that he fell back into the dream sleep after Jason of Brennan had tortured him. The next day, she said he simply stopped breathing. She showed us where he was buried.”
The king showed no particular surprise. He looked over at Jason of Brennan. “The woman lied for you, didn’t she? You were the one to bury him, were you not?”
“No, I tell you, sire, I swear to you, I left him alive. I did not know he died, I did not know. He was merely asleep again. We hardly did anything to him before he told me where to find the silver coins, and then he closed his eyes again. It is true, I told you I could not kill him, not until I knew he had not lied.”
Anselm cleared his throat. The king nodded to him. “The woman told us Jason of Brennan left before Arthur died, sire.”
Sir Ranulf could but stare at his son. “It matters not. You doubtless put him to such torture he had no chance to survive.”
“It is not my fault he died! We didn’t hurt him, only a bit, to give him encouragement. He was nearly well when I left him to fetch the silver from Wareham. It was not my fault! I did it for you, Father, for you!”
His father said, all expression gone from his voice, “All the killing, all the needless slaughter—I pray to God to show me what sins I have committed to deserve you.”
The king turned to Garron. “I grant you leave to challenge Jason of Brennan, it is your right.” He turned to Helen. “Now I can set things aright, madam. I will give your daughter in marriage to Lord Garron of Kersey, the Earl of Wareham. Half the silver is his, with a share to me and to Lord Ranulf. Ranulf, I believe this is fair since reparations are in order.”
Helen called out in her beautiful voice, “No, it is not right, sire. It is not just. A portion of the silver should come to me, the heiress’s mother.”
The king paused, then nodded to Garron.
Garron said calmly, “Are you a witch, Abbess Helen?”
She laughed. “I, a witch? Naturally not, there is no such thing. I am learned, naught more than that.”
“Is it true what Sir Halric said? You would have kept the silver had Jason managed to find it? You truly controlled him that easily?”
“The silver was destined for Valcourt, so that it would remain an important holding.”
“Do you spend time in a tower in the middle of a forest?”
She shook her head. “I do not know what you are talking about.”
“Did you drug your daughter and kidnap her?”
“Aye, I did. I feared for her. I wished to save her.”
“Save her from what, madam?”
“From you, sir, from you. I believed she should have a choice. Ask if she wishes to wed with you.”
“Merry, do you wish to wed with me?”
“I will wed whomever the king commands I wed.”
“Then tell me why you came to my chamber at night at Wareham.”
Her face went utterly blank. Then, “I never went to your chamber! That is an unconscionable lie, sir, unworthy of any man with honor.”
“I went to your chamber because I wanted to force you to wed with me.”
Everyone turned to the door to see Merry standing there, disheveled, wearing an old, cast-off gown, her hair tangled and coming out of its plaits, hanging down her back. She looked like a madwoman, her face scarlet with rage.
The king raised his hand for quiet. “What is this? You look like another Marianna de Luce de Mornay. How is this possible?” And he looked at them back and forth. “By all the saints’ mottled noses, you are twins. Twins. It is amazing.”
Merry threw back her head. “I am Marianna de Luce de Mornay, the heiress of Valcourt. I did not even know about this one pretending to be me until your guard outside the door nearly fainted when he saw me and demanded how I’d come out of this room without his seeing me.” She turned to her mother. “So this is the secret you told me my father kept, indeed the secret that many people at Valcourt know. You birthed twin girls and you took her and left me with my father.”
“No, the bitch lies! My twin? I have no twin, I have no sister. I am Marianna de Luce de Mornay, not this girl! Mother, tell them!”
Merry turned to face the furious girl. It was like looking in a mirror. “I did not even know about you. Did you know about me? Did our mother tell you why she kept you and left me at Valcourt?”
“She took you away, not me! I am the heiress of Valcourt, not you, you dirty little harlot!”
Garron said, “Sire, I believe I can solve this very quickly.” He looked from one to the other. “Which one of you can tell me how you escaped from Sir Halric.”
Merry stared at her sister, who stood frozen, her eyes darting to their mother.
Garron waited for his Merry to speak, for indeed, he knew to his soul it was her, but then he saw her dirty face change, grow slack, lose all expression. He saw she was looking at her mother, and that her mother was staring at her, her ice gray eyes intense, saw her lips moving. Merry began to sway where she stood.
“Merry, shut your eyes, now!”
But she couldn’t close her eyes, she couldn’t move, she simply couldn’t, and did she really want to? She stared and stared, and felt herself begin to fall, but it didn’t feel frightening, this falling.
“Merry! Stop it!”
Why was Garron yelling at her? Wait. This was wrong. Somehow, she had to turn her face away from her mother, she had to—
Garron ran to He
len and struck his fist into the side of her head. The blow lifted her off her feet and sent her flying backward to crash against a wall.
“Merry!”
He caught her up against him, buried his face in her hair.
She slowly felt herself coming together again, but where had she gone? What had her mother done to her? She looked up at Garron, at his beloved face, then down at her mother, who lay on her back, her beautiful white skirts billowing out around her, unconscious.
She said, “You wondered which of us could tell you how she escaped from Sir Halric. I will tell you, my lord. It was you who saved me from Sir Halric, Garron. You.”
The king said, “How did you get here?”
“She kept me in her forest tower but I escaped. She caught me again and imprisoned me at Meizerling. I escaped when your soldiers came to get her.”
Merry turned to her twin. “Now there is no more pretense. Tell me why you have pretended to be me.”
Her twin drew herself up. “Very well, I will tell you. I listened to you and my mother speaking. I listened to you talk about this Garron of Kersey as if he were a god.” She shrugged. “I wanted to see what Garron of Kersey was all about.” She looked at him holding Merry’s hand. “I must say, I was disappointed. I daresay I would have preferred to wed Jason of Brennan with his one ear.”
Merry nearly flung herself on her sister, but Garron held her back. “I do not see how you fooled anyone since we look nothing alike.” She whirled around and shook her fist under Garron’s nose. “How could you believe she was me, Garron, even for an instant? How could you?”
He cupped her dirty face between his palms. “Deep down, something in me knew, but the fact was how could she not be you?” He breathed her in. “You smell like horse and sweat.” He breathed in the sweet smell of her hair. “Roses, I believe your hair smells of wild roses.”
“You whoreson, you’ve killed my mother!”
Merry’s twin leapt at him, fists flailing. Garron set Merry aside, and grabbed her twin’s wrists.
“Please let her go, Garron.”
He released her. Merry smiled at her twin, raised her own fist, and struck her twin in the jaw.
Both mother and daughter lay unconscious, side by side, on the king’s chamber floor.
Garron raised her fist to his mouth and kissed her skinned fingers. “Will you wed with me right now?”
“Right now, Garron?” The king cocked a thick golden Plantagenet eyebrow.
“Aye, sire, if you will. I am afraid that something else will happen to her. I do not wish to let her out of my sight.”
Merry threw back her head and laughed. “Aye, please, sire.”
The queen rose to her feet. She looked from the unconscious girl on the floor to Merry. “This is all passing strange, but we will do what we must. Merry, you will come with me and I will see that you are readied. Garron, I will keep close guard on her, fear not.”
But Garron said, “Please, madam, let us wed now. I want all in this chamber to witness our joining, her mother especially, if she awakens.”
The queen smiled. “Very well.” She herself took a glass of ale from the marble table beside the king’s throne and carried it to where Abbess Helen of Meizerling lay against the wall. She poured the ale on the woman’s face.
Helen blinked, opened her eyes to see the Queen of England standing over her. “My lady?”
“Merry wishes you and your daughter to witness her wedding with Lord Garron of Kersey, the Earl of Wareham.”
Lord Ranulf asked his son, “Did you know of this twin?”
Jason was looking at both of them, shaking his head. “But I would prefer to wed this one. This other, she is no lady. You saw her use her fist. And she is dirty, she is ungoverned.”
His only son, Lord Ranulf thought, what was a father to do? He walked up to his son and clouted him. He caught him before he could sprawl on the floor, whispered close to his one remaining ear, “You will shut your mouth. It is over. When you fight Lord Garron, be a man, not a puling coward.”
Robert Burnell took charge. He ordered everyone about, and in the end, all surrounded Merry and Garron, save, of course, the king and queen, who remained seated, the king looking ironic, the queen, pleased.
Merry, wind-blown, dirty, stray hairs tucked into her plaits as best she could, stood beside her betrothed.
Burnell began speaking, his beautiful voice low and melodious, speaking Latin which few understood, but it sounded important and grave, and occasionally the king nodded, as if he understood, and mayhap he did, Garron didn’t know.
The moment after Burnell blessed their union, Garron looked over at Jason of Brennan and said, “I challenge you. We will fight until one of us no longer breathes.”
55
At your instruction, sire, I, Robert Burnell, Chancellor of England, am recording the happenings of the thirtieth day of June in the year of our Lord 1278 to be sent under your royal seal to His Holiness, Pope Nicholas III, for his deliberation.
I attest that the following account is accurate, without flourishes or embellishment. On this day Lord Garron, the Earl of Wareham, challenged Jason of Brennan, son of Lord Ranulf, the Earl of Carronwick, to mortal combat, this challenge made because of the unwarranted attack by Jason of Brennan upon Wareham and the butchery of most of its people and his murder of the earl’s brother.
Both men were well trained, equally matched, both were armed equally, with swords.
When the men stepped into the enclosure, encircled by nearly fifty soldiers, the sky, only a moment before filled with warmth and sunlight, turned black and rain poured down so hard the ground quickly became a quagmire. All witnesses attest that the men fought hard, but footing was difficult, causing many falls. Their swords clashed again and again, but the sounds were muted by the deluge. Lord Garron gained the advantage. He was on the point of delivering the coup de grace when he slipped and landed heavily on his back. Jason of Brennan, although bleeding copiously from a gash in his arm and his side, was still strong through his rage, and ran to stand over him, and all feared he would kill Lord Garron. All attest to how Jason of Brennan lifted his sword to send it into Lord Garron’s chest when Lord Garron managed to jerk his own sword upward to block the blow. The two swordpoints touched and seemed to meld together, to become one. All witnessed that both men were held immobile, their swordpoints locked together. At that instant, a fiery bolt of lightning exploded from the very center of the black clouds overhead and hurled earthward, sharp and clear it was, like a white sword wielded by God. The lightning struck the tip of Jason of Brennan’s sword and ripped it from his hand. Jason of Brennan flew back and fell onto the ground, and he was dead. All wondered why the lightning bolt did not strike Lord Garron’s sword.
But it did not. Lord Garron rose to stand over his dead enemy. He was unharmed.
All believe it a miracle.
Robert Burnell studied what he had written. Had it really happened thusly? For perhaps the hundredth time now since this amazing occurrence had come to pass nearly a week before, he saw that wild white bolt of lightning explode Jason of Brennan’s sword tip, melded, it had seemed, to Garron’s sword, yet Garron had walked away unscathed, save for a single cut delivered by Jason of Brennan to his arm. Had it truly been a miracle? he wondered. Had God truly directed lightning itself, hurled it at Jason of Brennan?
It was not for him to judge such matters, merely present them to His Holiness, ordained by God himself to rule upon its merits. He rose from his high-backed chair, wiped the excess ink from his fingers, and carried the letter to the king.
His step lagged a bit, for he also had unfortunate news for his majesty. Helen, Abbess of Meizerling, and her daughter, whose name no one knew, had escaped from the tower dungeons early that morning, and no one had wanted to be the messenger to the king. No one could understand how she did it, since no one, absolutely no one, could have escaped the tower dungeons without bribing more than a dozen guards. How had the witch managed to
do this? The guards all swore they were loyal, and, Burnell had to admit, their shock and fear of the witch’s escape appeared quite genuine. And there was the question—had the witch somehow managed to cast a spell on all the guards? At the same time?
She and her daughter were gone, simply gone, and none had seen them, either within the massive walls or outside. Burnell knew to his soul they wouldn’t be found. And who, pray tell, would want to find the witch anyway, and risk being bespelled?
At least, he thought, Sir Lyle of Clive was back at the king’s side after his completed task, a special task given to him by the king himself, who had not confided in him, his secretary and his Chancellor of England, and that did indeed rankle. The king had ordered him to guard Garron, to ensure that he did not come to an untimely death as had his brother Arthur. Burnell remembered how the Valcourt heiress, then only a priest’s byblow, had disliked and suspected Sir Lyle of treachery. He wondered what she thought when she’d learned the truth.
Burnell thought of the king’s share of the silver coins, how that unexpected influx of wealth would undoubtedly buy him at least five hundred soldiers willing to desert their masters and come to him.
And there was another miracle, at least Burnell believed it to be, a miracle no one could have foreseen. Lord Ranulf had told Garron that he did not blame him for the death of his only son, indeed, after what Burnell now thought of as the “divine intervention,” Lord Ranulf had embraced him.
Life, Burnell thought, was such an unexpected mixture of the holy and the profane, a man could only wonder.
EPILOGUE
WAREHAM CASTLE
FOUR MONTHS LATER
Garron and Merry stood side by side on the ramparts of Wareham Castle. It was a fine day in late October, the sun shone bright overhead, the cows grazed in the pasture, now fenced in to the edge of the moat. From the inner bailey, they could hear the muffled sounds of dogs barking mixed with the laughter and shouts of children.