King Javan’s Year (14 page)

“My wise and generous patron, the Archbishop-Primate of Gwynedd, need not exercise himself to answer this allegation,” he said smoothly. “Anticipating such a change of heart, I have asked Father Marcus Concannon, our Chancellor General in charge of seminaries, to bring along the transcripts of all vows made by Brother Javan since his reception into the
Ordo Custodum Fidei
. Please refresh Brother Javan's memory, Father Marcus. I assure you, my lords, the vows
are
binding, both to celibacy and to withdrawal from the world—and crowns.”

The black-robed priest who emerged from the shadows behind Paulin looked harmless enough, tonsured head bent humbly and eyes downcast as he shuffled behind Hubert to hand several sheets of vellum to Javan. But as Javan skimmed the text, appalled to read words he had never spoken, subtle changes that most people would not even notice, Jason was snapping his fingers toward the men seated on the benches against the wall.

“Jerowen, Etienne—”

The pair he summoned were the two who were trained in the law. Jerowen, the senior of them, also had written documents in hand, and came to spread them on the table beside the ones Javan was reading.

“I believe
these
are the vows you made, Sire,” he murmured under his breath, pointing out differences. “You had friends present, who made transcripts immediately after the fact. By my honor I swear to you,
there was no possibility of error.
”

No possibility
—

“What's that?” Hubert said, straining to hear, as Javan's mind raced over the implications—for unless the witness had been Deryni, or questioned afterward by a Deryni …
Was Jerowen Deryni?

He kept his face expressionless as he tried to order his thoughts, keeping his eyes on the pages but questing out with his mind. No, Jerowen was not Deryni; or if he was, his shielding was very,
very
good.

But the very thought gave Javan an idea how to resolve this. For his Truth-Reading ability also told him that Jerowen was telling the truth and the sanctimonious Paulin of Ramos was not. He dared not reveal this himself, but there was a Deryni he could call upon who
could
expose the lie—or even simply threaten to expose it, at Javan's order—which, in this instance, was just as good.

“Sir Robear,” he said quietly, beckoning the knight closer to whisper in his ear.

The knight listened to Javan's instruction, then nodded, expressionless, and went out. Javan, feigning far more confidence than he felt, returned to his comparison of the two sets of documents.

“These are very interesting, Father Paulin,” he said, after deciding he would confront the issue directly by engaging the
Custodes
Vicar General's attention. “As Archbishop Hubert will surely confirm, I did a great deal of soul-searching and reflection before embarking upon the trial of a religious vocation. Even the decision of a trial was not lightly undertaken, far less the vows themselves. Is it conceivable that I would have taken such vows without being
precisely
aware of what I was swearing to, especially knowing that my brother was in poor health and might not live to beget an heir?”

Paulin gazed at him with haughty disdain. “You are your father's son, Brother Javan. The fire of vocation burned strong in him.”

“Yet he left his beloved priesthood when royal duty called,” Javan pointed out.

“Because there was none other to take up that duty!” Paulin retorted. “
You
have another brother.”

“Ask him, then, whether I had any intention of stepping aside for him—or he, of superseding me.”

Before Rhys Michael could reply, or Paulin could ask him to, the doors at the other end of the room parted to readmit Robear, one hand firmly on the elbow of a reluctant and frightened-looking Oriel.

“Now, see here,” Hubert began as Robear marched the Healer along the window side of the room toward the chairs where archbishop and king sat. “Master Oriel is in the employ of myself and Earl Tammaron—”

“His services are required for the common good,” Javan replied, sending his instructions to Oriel in a tightly focused burst. “In fact, I may second him to my own service. He
has
been performing the office of royal Healer for some years now. Or do you object, Archbishop? Earl Tammaron?”

Not giving them the chance to interrupt him, he went on. “In any case, for now, it's the truth I mean to get at—nothing more. Father Paulin has questioned my recollection of what vows I made. If a king cannot be trusted to remember what he has promised, and to whom, then he is not fit to be king. Master Oriel, stand here at my right, where Father Marcus and I both can see you, and tell me if he deviates from the truth.”

He picked up the sheets of vellum Father Marcus had brought and hefted them in his hand, looking directly at the now uneasy-looking priest.

“Are these accurate transcriptions of vows I made, Father?” he said. “Before you answer, bear in mind that Master Oriel will know if you are lying and will reveal that lie—for those are the terms of oaths
he
has sworn.”

Father Marcus had gone a little pale as Javan spoke, and he glanced nervously at Oriel and then at Paulin before replying.

“I—did not actually make those transcriptions, my lord,” he whispered.

Clever man
, Javan thought, as he glanced at Oriel and the Healer gave a faint nod.
He knows the limitations of Truth-Reading and how to avoid the direct lie. Let's see if we can get around that
.

“Who did make the transcriptions?” Javan asked.

The priest looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I—imagine that someone who was present must have made them, my lord.”

Javan's eyes narrowed. The statement obviously was true, but told him nothing. “Then, who gave you the transcriptions, Father?”

“I—believe they came from the Chancery Office, my lord.” Again, the priest had avoided the direct answer that might have perjured him.

“The Chancery Office of your Order?” Javan said patiently.

“Yes, my lord.”

“And do you know from
whom
in the Chancery Office? Don't give me a name at this point,” he added. “I just want to know if you know.”

Defeated, eyes downcast, the priest murmured, “Yes, my lord.”

Allowing himself a slight nod, Javan prepared to follow up the advantage.

“Very good. Now,
who
sent you the transcriptions?” he asked, though by now he was almost certain of the answer.

“I—would rather not answer that, my lord.”

“No, I'm sure you'd rather not,” Javan murmured. “Shall I ask your superior to order you to answer, then, Father?” He swung his gaze at last to Paulin, simmering in his chair near the other end of the table. “Or would that perjure both of you?”

A low gasp murmured through the room, but Javan went on. “How say you, my Lord Vicar General?
You
were present on every occasion when I made vows. Was it you who sent the transcriptions to Father Marcus and ordered him to present them as authentic?”

“You may not ask that question,” Paulin muttered.

“Ah, but I
may
,” Javan said. “And what can have been your motive? You obviously have been at great pains to keep me from my throne. Do you think my brother more biddable, that you could sway him more easily than I, especially out of gratitude for giving him a crown?”

“You may not require me to answer those questions,” Paulin said, his voice deadly low.

“And
you
have not the authority to tell me what I may or may not ask a subject!” Javan stabbed a trembling forefinger at the vellum pages. “You have prepared, or caused to be prepared, false documentation, in an attempt to render me ineligible for the crown. I swear before almighty God and this assembled company that those are not the vows I made.”

Coming to his feet, he seized the Haldane sword and drew it from its sheath, handing off the latter to Jason as he kissed the joining of blade and hilt, which contained a holy relic, then reversed it to hold the weapon before him by the blade, like a cross.

“By this sword which was my father's, and then my brother's, by all the line of Haldane kings who have gone before me, by all that I hold sacred—I swear to you that my intention is and has always been to take up my royal and sacred birthright, if my brother Alroy died without issue.

“What I have done regarding the
Ordo Custodum Fidei
, I have done to gain respite from those who would have seen me put aside while still of tender years—and so that I might acquire the learning that befits a king. Thus did I prepare myself both to rule, if called to take up the Crown, or to aid my brother, if he, in fact, survived. I freely confess that I did this under false pretenses, without any conviction that I had a genuine religious vocation—but that is a matter between me and my confessor, and not a subject for this Council. I am willing to comply with whatever administrative procedure my Lord Archbishop may deem necessary to dispense me from my clerical state, that I may eventually take up my dynastic duty to secure the succession”—he glanced pointedly at Hubert—“but I stand before you as your lawful king!”

He spiked the point of the sword hard against the tabletop for emphasis and felt it bite into the wood—and into the fingers of his right hand as it slid a little in his grasp. “Those unwilling to acknowledge that fact have my leave to depart, both from this chamber and from this realm!”

“Well said!” Rhys Michael blurted, springing to his feet as Jason raised a clenched fist and shouted, “God save King Javan!”

The cry was taken up at once by Charlan, Jerowen, and Etienne de Courcy, and then by the knights listening from the benches along the wall—Robear, Bertrand, and Tomais—who shot to their feet in fervent support.

Constable Udaut rose as well, pounding the flat of his hand against the table in acclamation—the only member of the Council Javan had known he could count on—followed reluctantly by Tammaron, Archbishop Oriss, and then even Manfred. Hubert lumbered to his feet as well, followed most reluctantly by the hitherto silent Lord Albertus, who could not have been too comfortable with so many armed and enthusiastic knights at his back. Paulin finally stood, too, but his face was a mask of cold resentment.

Javan's heart was pounding as the acclaim died away. As he unclenched his fingers from around the blade of the Haldane sword and made to lower it, he saw blood on his right hand, as he had known he would. His fingers stung as he tentatively straightened them, but fortunately the cuts did not look too bad. Already feeling light-headed from the emotion of the past minutes, he made himself lay the sword quietly back on the table, accepting the handkerchief Robear passed him quite nonchalantly. Even then, he used it to wipe off the blade before casually twisting it around his wounded hand, aware that he could ask Oriel to Heal it but knowing that the Deryni element he himself had introduced must be minimized, now that the immediate crisis seemed past.

“Please be seated, gentlemen,” he said, himself easing back into his chair.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

Righteous lips are the delight of kings; and they love him that speaketh right
.

Proverbs 16:13

The meeting that followed was an anticlimax, after its stormy beginning. While Paulin stewed, Albertus coldly reconvened the Council by the proper formula, acknowledging Javan as king, and all the members of the Council present tendered their resignations as was customary—which resignations Javan neither accepted nor declined for the moment, though he longed to dismiss Paulin and Albertus then and there, preferably into the hands of an executioner, not that he dared to do so.

As for the rest, he knew he was stuck with some of them, at least. The two archbishops held their seats by right of their ecclesiastical offices, so they could not be dismissed. Hubert, though personally despicable, might be controllable in the long term. Oriss pretty much did as he was told, by whomever was in power.

Javan also meant to retain Tammaron and even Manfred, at least for the present, for they had useful skills in governing and had shown themselves able to adapt to Javan's change of their plans with at least a little grace. Besides that, Tammaron generally had been kind to Javan and his brothers, even when Rhun and Murdoch were at their worst; and Manfred had proven himself a reasonably able Earl Marshal—though Javan would want to find out whether any other reason lay behind his replacement by Albertus, other than the clergy contingent of the Council wanting that office in the hands of one of their own.

A more promising retention was Lord Udaut, who had already demonstrated his loyalty. He was able and innocuous, rarely causing controversy, and had served as constable under Javan's father as well as under Alroy. And of course Rhys Michael would stay—automatically entitled to a seat as the heir presumptive and being now of age to sit in his own right.

That left five Council lords still to be reckoned with, who had not yet arrived in Rhemuth. Baron Hildred would present no difficulties—a bandy-legged little man far more interested in horses than in politics, a friend in the past and hopefully to continue as such in the future.

Nor was Fane Fitz-Arthur likely to cause any trouble. He was Tammaron's son and heir, but he also had made a brilliant political marriage with the heiress of Cassan and was only rarely seen at Court. Under the terms of Prince Ambert Quinnell's original settlement before the marriage, Cassan was to become a duchy under Gwynedd upon the death of its last prince, with Fane and the Princess Anne to become duke and duchess. A codicil added three years ago, after the birth of Anne's first son, had shifted the ducal succession directly to the boy they christened Tambert, for his two grandfathers. Technically, Fane and the boy's mother would become co-regents until Tambert came of age, but in fact Fane would wield a duke's power during his son's minority. It was almost as good as being regent for a king.