The Dragon and the Fair Maid of Kent

  Rage flared up on the Prince's face again.

  "A country knight and a common archer?" he cried.

  "Exactly that—they will command equally with me, and you will listen to those two as I, myself, will listen to them, and as I will listen to you, or to anyone else who might know better than I. Besides, you know perfectly well that Brian is no ordinary country knight. What you do not know is that Dafydd is no ordinary archer, and while I've promised never to tell anyone of this, I believe this is a time when you must be told that he actually has a rank that would cause you to address him as your equal."

  Blank silence from the Prince.

  "Is this—how can such be true?" he said at last, staring.

  "I'll say no more about it," said Jim. "The important matter right now is that your father must be preserved on any terms, and it'll take all of us working well together to make that certain. Our enemy is primitive, but massively outnumbers us—"

  They were interrupted by a scratching at the door.

  "Not now!" shouted Jim.

  "Forgive me, m'lord!" a male voice called back. "This is Theoluf. It is a matter of immediate importance!"

  "Come!" Jim called back.

  Theoluf came in, his scarred face wearing a serious expression. "Sir Verweather needs to see you as soon as may be, my lord! It seems that he is near to death. He is preparing for it and has just made confession to Lady Geronde's priest. It was the priest who brought his wish to me."

  He turned to the Prince.

  "He even more greatly also wishes to see you, Your Grace, and the Countess Joan, also Sir Brian and—after that, if may be—the King your father."

  "To see me?" said the Prince.

  "Yes, Your Grace."

  "See us separately, of course."

  "No, Your Grace. He feels his death is hard upon him and begs you will all come together. My lady Countess is already waiting to go when Your Grace and my lord are ready, as is Sir Brian."

  "Wait outside," said Jim. "We will be with you shortly."

  He turned to the Prince, after Theoluf had gone.

  "I'll go, of course," he said, "and immediately. Whether you do is up to you, of course."

  "I will go," said the Prince. "He is a knight and in my father's service at present. But why should he be dying? Can he have caught the plague sometime back and kept it secret? The blows he took from Sir Brian were a severe drubbing, but surely not enough to kill a man in a mail shirt."

  "I don't know," said Jim. "It's unusual, but not impossible, that he had a weakness inside him, and the drubbing broke something that otherwise should leave him not so badly hurt. But not even magic could answer that for me. Certainly, he could not have suffered from plague secretly, here at Malencontri—but possibly some other illness."

  He headed toward the door.

  "One moment," said the Prince, and the sudden seriousness in his voice made Jim stop and turn, even if the words would not have.

  "The Countess has at times accused me of acting as a lad when I should be thinking as a man. Remembering that and with your recent words still hot in my memory, for the first time I would wish to tell you privily that I have a great love for my father, in spite of the ear he has lent to Cumberland's ill-sayings against me—and you are right. His life comes before all. But I must also admit a justice in that, without resentment, I let myself at Poitiers be guided there by knights older and wiser than I. A man is nothing if he does not know enough when to be humble about his prowess. I see and accept I must be equally guided here by you and your two companions. But I remain Prince of Wales, my father's heir, otherwise in all else. That is understood?"

  "Absolutely!" said Jim.

  "Then let us to Verweather, as quickly as possible, and as he wishes. I would have no belted knight fail to have me beside his deathbed if he wanted me there!"

  They stepped into the corridor outside the Solar.

  "Theoluf," said Jim to his waiting squire, "refresh my memory. Which room is Sir Verweather in?"

  "Third floor down, fourth over, my lord."

  "And my Lady Countess? Sir Brian? Where are they now?"

  "Outside that door, waiting now, m'lord."

  Jim did the necessary magic to gather them all outside Verweather's room, then reached out to open the door.

  "Your Grace, my lady," said Jim to the Prince and Joan, gesturing them forward, "Sir Brian and I wait."

  Lying in the bed, Verweather indeed looked like a dying man. His face was gray and sunken, and he was much thinner than any of the four had seen him before. He did not even seem to see Jim and Brian standing behind the Prince and Joan, as they moved close to him.

  "Forgive me, Your Grace," he said in a whisper of a voice, "—if forgiveness for such sin is possible—that I lied to you and sought to use you as an unthinking ally in the death of your father. I have given my word never to reveal the name of him who was behind this plan, and would not sin further by naming him to you now. But you will have no difficulty in guessing his name. May God keep the King to a long and happy life—and equally keep you and my lady beside you, whom I know is dear to you, as you are to her."

  He closed his eyes like a man exhausted.

  "If you cannot forgive," he spoke again after a second, "I will understand. It is only right that it be so."

  "I forgive you," said the Prince. "I have made errors enough in my own life, God knows. Also, in all the ways I knew, other than this you have just told me, you were a true and valiant knight."

  "I also forgive, if that will comfort you," said Joan.

  Verweather's eyes opened.

  "I thank you, Your Grace, my lady. I am indeed comforted by these words."

  "That is well, then," said the Prince. "But you also wished to see Sir James and Sir Brian. They are here for you now."

  He and Joan stepped aside, and Jim, with Brian, moved forward to take their place. Verweather's eyes, which had closed again with the end of his last words, opened once more.

  "My Lord Sir James…" he husked, "forgive me that I brought treason into your house."

  "I forgive you," said Jim.

  "I thank you as best a dying man can who is no longer able to make amends. Sir Brian?"

  "I am here," said Brian.

  "Forgive me my sins and trespasses against you in my attempt to play you a foul trick unworthy of a knight during what was supposed to be a friendly bout, and—" He stopped, seeming to have run short of breath. Then he went on.

  "—by using a sword not only capable of being used two-handed, but unfairly sharpened as well. It was my aim not only to harm you badly but to kill you if I could. Forgive these things as well as my bitter thoughts after I had lost and my secret cursing of you in God's name, in the fashion of one who is no good knight, and if you can indeed find it in your heart to so forgive me, I beg you to pray for me, that the fire I go to may eventually redeem my soul."

  "That will I, on my word and oath," said Brian, "and as far as these you call your sins and trespasses against me, there are none. Faith, it is not the first time I have fought a man using a two-handed sword, and as for your cursing otherwise, I too have felt on some past times a resentment I should not have felt, against he who had defeated me. To my knowing you have always been a good man of your hands—and aside from this you mention, a worthy knight."

  "I thank you for those kind words," said Verweather. "And now, if I might speak another small word to His Grace."

  Brian stepped back. The Prince took his place.

  "Your Grace," said Verweather, his voice now almost inaudible. "The one I most need to confess all to is His Majesty, the King, your father, for my sin against him was heaviest. Can it be made possible now? For I feel my time growing very short."

  "I can go now, and if I may speak to him, ask if he will grant you audience."

  "I ask no more than that."

  "James," said the Prince, "it is close to the dinner hour, and His Majesty ordinarily dines alone in his rooms. Perhaps you could use you
r magick to move me directly to his presence, and go with me to bring both of us back with the same dispatch?"

  "Of course I can move us," said Jim.

  "And let me do the talking, James."

  "Certainly, Your Grace."

  Jim moved them both to one of the madeover rooms of the King's apartment. The King himself was there, alone, sitting in a chair with a tall glass flagon of red wine on a table beside him. He looked with annoyed startlement, a little owlishly, at their sudden appearance—but most annoyedly at the Prince.

  Damn! thought Jim. Can he be drunk this early?

  "Your Majesty," said the Prince in urgent tones, "forgive us of your great leniency for coming upon you by magick so swiftly and unexpectedly—"

  But the owl-like look was suddenly gone from the King's gaze. He sat up in his chair.

  "We were attacked earlier," he said. "I watched from the arrow slit here and saw them driven off. Do they assault again? Am I needed?"

  "No, Your Majesty," said the Prince. "It is only a matter of a knight taken with you when you moved from London to Castle Tiverton. He is close to death and has been shriven. But he feels he has sinned most heavily against your royal self and deeply wishes to make confession of that sin to you from his own lips while life remains."

  "Verweather?" said the King, with an acuteness Jim had not expected. The Prince nodded. "Why does he die? Can no one tell me that—Sir James?"

  His eyes shifted to Jim. Jim, standing and listening, had not expected to be called upon to speak. He straightened up and did his best to return the royal gaze.

  "There is no telling, Your Majesty," he said. "A possibility is that the hammering he took at the end of his bout with Sir Brian broke some part inside of him already weakened somehow in times past. He has lost much blood and never regained it. That is all I can tell Your Majesty, even with the help of magic."

  "Verweather…" said the King. "Edward, if he is dying, I must go to him, of course. He became as one of my own knights when I took him with me to Tiverton on Cumberland's suggestion, and to my knowledge he has always served me well. Where is he?"

  "One floor down," said the Prince. "My lady the Countess and Sir Brian are now with him, for he had minor sins to confess to them. Their presence comforts him, in this last hour, but they, James, and I can leave when you get there. He can be carried in his bed up to you here, of course, if he will last so long."

  "No. No—" The King's fingers drummed on the table beside the now-forgotten wine flagon. "If this sin of his is something of real importance, I do not want myself to be seen going to speak him privily. I must go in alone to him. But even that could be spoken off and arouse rumor, particularly if those now with him depart as I enter, so that is it noted I see him alone. Any servants must be out of his room, of course!"

  "They are already out, Your Majesty."

  "Good. But getting there unseen is still a problem—James, are there no privy passages in the walls of this castle of yours?"

  "None that would be of use now, Your Majesty. Only one secretly kept so that those too valuable to be captured or killed could escape the castle completely. But, if you would agree, I could take you to him swiftly and secretly by magic."

  "Of course. The very answer! You must come with me—and you as well, Edward. If what he has to say touches the throne, you will need to know. Nor may those there now with him leave until after I am gone again."

  He stood up with remarkable lightness.

  "Lead on, Sir James!"

  The three of them were abruptly back beside Verweather's bed. Joan, who had been smoothing the covers, stepped quickly back out of the way, and the King moved to the edge of the bed to look down at the dying man. Jim and the Prince discreetly stayed back.

  "Your King is here, Verweather," said the older Edward. "Sorry I am to see you in this sad plight. You wished to tell me something before you go to God?"

  "Would that I could go to Him!" said Verweather. "But I know that my path beyond the grave leads elsewhere, for my sins, and it is the greatest of those sins, one against your royal self, I must confess to you before I go."

  "What is it, man?"

  "The worst sin possible. High treason. I was to see that you died of plague at Tiverton—where it would seem only bad chance that it should happen. I was in league with the goblins masquerading as humans to do so, and I was to try to involve your royal son, unknowing, in the plot."

  The King's face stiffened.

  "Who put you up to this?"

  "I have vowed never to tell his name. That much of my knighthood I hope to save. But as I said to your royal son, you will have no trouble guessing his name."

  The King cast a sudden, almost furtive, glance at Joan, Jim, and Brian.

  "As you stand now before God, you must tell me! I will bend down, and you may whisper his name in my ear," he said.

  He bent down and turned his right ear to put it directly over Verweather's mouth. The others saw the knight's dry, bloodless lips move. After a second's hesitation, the King straightened up sharply. His face was pale, set and hard.

  "I do not believe it!" he exploded. "You are lying!"

  "As I stand now before God and had hoped for some small… and had hoped for some small understanding from you, my King, of how a strange and penniless knight like myself from a foreign court, but English…" Verweather's voice was now becoming very labored and weak, "… the name of the man I just gave you was the truth. Can you find no such understanding, no shred of forgiveness, in you for me?"

  But the King had calmed down.

  "If it were not for the fact all this must remain secret," he said, "you would yet be condemned—dying, dead, or not—to the punishment reserved for regicides. I am no priest to absolve you—if absolution is possible for such a crime. You have offended against the Throne—the Throne! Furthermore, you have offended not merely it and me. I rule England by God's will, and therefore you have offended Him. But I held you to be a trusty knight in my service and thought well of you until you told me this, and you died sword in hand as I would wish a knight in my service to die—of honorable wounds, though the bout was only a match for my amusement—and insofar as that goes I am responsible for your death. So go in peace, then, as far as I, myself, am concerned. More than that I cannot give you."

  "I thank Your…"

  Verweather did not finish. His eyes closed and stayed closed. All those there but Jim crossed themselves—and he belatedly imitated them.

  And that is why Angie and I can never be really like these people in their rigid rules, he thought grimly. I would have found something more of kindness than that to give the poor devil!

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Jim woke up suddenly, confusedly thinking he had only lain down for a small nap before dinner. But he was completely undressed, under the covers, and Angie was making tea as only she in this castle—probably the only one on this whole world—could make it.

  "It's ready!" she said, seeing him sit up against the cold head of the bed. "Do you feel all right? You'd better get it down and get going. You're going to have your hands full today."

  "Yes. Fine. Is it really morning?" he said. "I'm perfectly well—I think. Who would have thought I'd heal up that fast?"

  "Don't be too sure," she said, bringing the sugared and milked tea to him. It tasted sweeter than usual. "You were out like a light last night," she went on, "snoring nearly all night long, and when I'd roll you over on your side to stop the noise, you wouldn't even wake up, the next thing I knew you were back on your back, snoring again to split the walls. Yesterday was almost too much for you. Drink it while it's hot. I'll have another one for you."

  "Good," said Jim, greedily drinking the hot, sweet liquid. "I'll need another one. Did I go to dinner last night?"

  "No. We had dinner sent up. You hardly ate anything, but got your clothes off, crawled into bed and dropped off. You've slept right through till now, and I've been trying to wake you for five minutes."

  He lo
oked at the nearest window. Bright morning sunlight—late fall was being kind. He emptied his teacup.

  "Here!" said Angie, handing him another.

  "Why did you say I'd be surprised?" he asked, drinking this one more leisurely.

  "Because there're plenty of things for you to see today that'll start getting you all geared up again. Listen to me now." She sat down on the edge of the bed next to him.

  "I'm listening," he said between sips. This second cup was not the nectar of life that the first had been, but there was no lack of taste in it to appreciate.

  "I'm going to talk to you very seriously," Angie said, sitting.

  "As I said, I'm listening."

  "Physically, on your best day, you're no Brian—or no Dafydd."

  "I know that," he said, nettled. "You don't have to tell me."

  "Then don't try to act like one."

  "I don't."

  "You do. You just do it without thinking about it. Not only that, but you're just up from a sickbed. But yesterday you overdid yourself—badly. You could have knocked yourself right back into the state of shock—or whatever it was—when you got us all out of Tiverton alive."

  "I thought Carolinus brought us all back here."

  "Yes, but that was only after you'd made it possible. Anyway, Carolinus agrees with me. Another day like yesterday and you could knock yourself back into the coma you landed in before, from too much magic done too quickly."

  "Carolinus!" Jim said, putting the second empty cup down on his bedside table. "I think I know more about myself than he does!"

  "You don't know more about what magic can do than he does. Jim, I'm talking to you seriously. I watched you yesterday. You were out on your feet and didn't know it."

  Jim opened his mouth to argue, then remembered his wooziness standing in the King's quarters, standing silent while the Prince persuaded his father to see the dying Verweather, and then listening to Brian and the King speak with the knight. He closed his mouth again.