Lynn Wood - Norman Brides 03 (14 page)

“You spoke the truth, Baron, when you stated there had been no word from Queen Alyssa in the intervening years.  She feared for her daughter’s safety and refused to even consider returning to Calei, knowing that evil men sought not only her own death, but the death of her child.  She urged me to return to my homeland because she knew my heart and my thoughts were ever on its gilded streets, but I could not return while my queen lived if she refused to do so.  Seeing my grief at the loss of my home, she made me a promise.  She vowed that one day blood of her husband’s blood would return to Calei and restore the blood of the rightful king to the throne of Calei.  I was forced to content myself with her promise as I could see she would not return herself, nor would she allow her daughter to do so. In the intervening years we pushed ever west over the mountains and into Europe, never calling a single place home, but living a wanderer’s life, capturing and training wild horses and selling them off at need to provide for the little luxuries and supplies we required from time to time.”

“Over time our forces grew as those loyal to King Nathaniel’s memory heard word of us and sent us men, sometimes boys, from their households to join our purpose to protect the bloodline of the true king.  Throughout the many years we remained exiled from our homes we trained and we remembered our homeland, and we passed on the stories of its heritage to those who followed us and to those who joined us, so that we would never be distracted from our true purpose.  When the princess married a Saxon duke, our queen wept joyful tears, not only at the sight of her daughter’s happiness, but because she knew the princess was safe at last from the designs of evil men who would use her for their own ends.  When the princess gave birth to her first son, it was my joyful task to deliver the news to my brother Gabriel, and those who remained loyal to our cause here in Calei that a new heir had been born and the king’s blood lived on in his grandson.”

“It was unfortunately also my duty to caution him that the princess’ first son would inherit the rich estates of his Saxon father and would likely not return to Calei, where he would be a stranger, to ascend to his grandfather’s throne.  Three times more I traversed the mountain passes in the depths of winter to deliver the news of additional sons the princess bore her husband, but I refrained from spoiling my brother’s joy by sharing the queen’s vision.  With the births of each of the older sons, Queen Alyssa tempered my happiness by sharing with me that none of her daughter’s older sons would be the one to return to Calei and keep the queen’s promise to her humble servant to restore the blood of the true king to the throne. But when the princess gave her husband twins, a boy and a girl, and our queen shared the joyous news with me, she revealed her vision to me.  I will never forget that morning or her words when she proclaimed, ‘He is the one, Amele.  He is the one who will return to Calei and restore the blood of the true king to the throne.’  From the first time I held him in my arms as a babe, he has been my king.  While he lives, I will kneel before no other, nor call another man king.”

When he finished speaking Amele turned away from the awed, astonished crowd and removed his sword from the belt at his side.  Kneeling before Michel, he offered the blade hilt first.  “Your Highness, my sword and my life are yours to command.”

Before Michel could bend to assist his closest friend to his feet, Gabriel stepped forward and knelt at his brother’s side. “My sword and my life are yours to command, my king.”

The rest of the king’s guard followed their captain’s lead and as one knelt and bowed their heads in Michel’s direction, offering their pledge of loyalty to defend his life at the sacrifice of their own.

The gathering followed suit.  All knelt before the new king and offered Michel their pledge of loyalty.  All but one.  Baron Raulf screamed his outrage, as he grabbed at the kneeling barons, urging them to rise. “Get up.  Get up.  You kneel before this stranger?  These outsiders?  What do they know of Calei? What do they have to do with it?  Get up.  I tell you.  It is blasphemy!”

Raulf was panting with exertion and his face was flushed with furious outrage.  With a gesture, Michel signaled for his new subjects to rise and observed in a calm voice.  “Surely it is the bishop’s place to instruct the church’s faithful followers as to what constitutes an act of blasphemy.”

Raulf turned an accusing eye in the bishop’s direction as did the entire assemblage.  It was a calculated risk Michel took, but one he felt confident in.  The young bishop turned and nodded in Michel’s direction.  “It is not blasphemy for the loyal subjects of a king to give him the respect he is due.  Did not our lord himself instruct his faithful followers to render unto to Caesar what is Caesar’s and unto God what is God’s?”

“This man is neither Caesar nor God, but an imposter who seeks to steal the throne from a true Caleinian.”  Raulf was so incensed, he drew his sword.  Gabriel immediately stepped in front of Michel and drew his own as did Amele and the entire member of the king’s guard represented in the hall. 

“Stand down my friends,” Michel commanded them softly.  “Let us put an end to this dissension here and now.”  Reluctantly the guard lowered their swords.  Michel stepped through their protective line. “You challenge my right to ascend to the throne of my grandfather?”

“Yes.  I challenge you in the name of all loyal to the honor of Calei.  You are a usurper, a stranger among us who seeks to rob us of our rich treasury and return to the land of your birth with the wealth purchased on the backs of ordinary Caleinians.”

Michel’s lips curved in a derisive smile.  He doubted Raulf had ever given a moment’s thought to the burdens of true Caleinians. “How do you propose we settle your challenge?”

Raulf met his mild gaze with an almost rabid one of his own.  “The way such things have been settled from the beginning of time.  I will fight you here and now.”

“Here and now?”  Michel echoed mildly.  “You and me?”

“Yes, unless you are afraid to face me.  It is better for the people to learn now that their new king is a coward.”

His insult had Gabriel stepping forward to stand next to Michel, his sword ready to retaliate on his king’s behalf.  Michel placed a restraining hand on his arm and turned back to Raulf.  “And if you lose?”

“I will not lose, boy,” His disdain evident, Raulf nearly spat his answer into the space separating the two men.

Satisfaction surged through Michel at Raulf’s words.  So he was to fight for his birthright after all. “Well then, let us not waste any more time debating the matter.” He turned and passed his cloak to Amele, who cautioned him with a single glance. Ignoring it, Michel nodded his impatient acknowledgment.  He was restless for a fight.  It did not sit well with him his long years of training would be for naught.  Though Raulf was not the man who murdered his grandfather, Michel had no issue with making do with the obnoxious baron as a substitute.

  “
Be careful my young prince.  His mouth and temper may lead you to conclude otherwise, but he is skilled with a blade and thinks to take in a moment of violence what he was unable to win by treachery.” 

“
Who are you?” Michel silently wondered of the warning voice in his head, even as the rest of him continued preparing for the coming confrontation.

An answering chuckle whispered through his thoughts,
“Let us just say that I am a friend of the family.”

Shaking off the strange, imaginary encounter, Michel turned his attention to his challenger. The incensed baron was a large man, and there was strength in his broad shoulders and in the hand that gripped his heavy broadsword.  Michel preferred a lighter blade, but he comprehended that if Raulf was able to connect with even a sweeping blow from the thick, finely honed sword, the wound it inflicted would likely prove fatal. A large circle formed around the two contenders and Michel stepped boldly into it.  Raulf brandished his heavy weapon while eyeing Michel’s own with derisive laughter. 

“A boy’s blade for a boy challenger.   Let us put an end to this idiocy now.”

Michel sidestepped the older man’s first reckless charge, and used his blade to nick his opponent’s sword arm as Raulf brought his blade down in a broad sweep to where Michel no longer stood.  “First blood to me, I think,” he remarked in a coolly amused voice.

In fresh rage Raulf swung around, “When you lay dying, your blood staining the floor of the hall you will never rule over, may your last thoughts be of me sitting on the throne you thought to steal, presiding over the citizens that will never call you king and with the woman you desire serving my pleasure.”

Michel was too canny a fighter to be drawn in by the other man’s insults, but he could be grateful to his opponent for reminding him what was at stake.  At the other man’s reference to Elena, Michel’s blood froze and his expression took on a new seriousness as he responded in kind to the challenge the other issued, “When you lay dying with your blood staining
my
floor, still dreaming of the throne you sought to steal and the woman who preferred death rather than subject herself to your vile lust, may your last memory be of the rightful king standing over you with his sword at your throat and his curse sending you to hell.”

Raulf charged again at Michel’s dark promise and Michel skillfully deflected the killing blow to his chest before deftly spinning around and sliding his blade down the other’s sword arm. The wound was not deep but it bled profusely, and Michel knew it would make it more difficult for his opponent to keep a firm grip on his blade.  Again Raulf used a wide-sweeping motion in attempt to inflict a single fatal wound that would demonstrate his superiority in combat and impress their observers with the ease with which he dismissed the insignificant challenge Michel presented, to both the throne of Calei, and to his fighting skills. 

When that failed, Raulf seemed to gain control over his rage and the two combatants settled into the serious matter of a battle to the death.  For both men understood only one of them would survive the deadly contest being waged between them.  There would be no compromise, no reconciliation. Before the end of this day one of them would stand before their maker giving an account of his life and the gifts He bestowed upon him.  The other would still have his remaining days or years on earth to prepare himself for such an eventuality.

For long minutes the only sounds that could be heard in the hall were grunts of exertion from both combatants, gasps of pain when a blow landed, and their heavy breathing as the contest took its toll on their reserves.  To those watching, the two seemed surprisingly evenly matched.  Raulf’s advantage of greater bulk and years of experience were equalized by the young prince’s speed and agility.  For all his youth it was obvious to those watching the young contender to the throne was no stranger to hand-to-hand engagement, and as the fight drew longer than anyone expected, it became clear that Raulf’s greater bulk and his luxurious life-style were proving to be a disadvantage.

Michel had spent his entire life training for this chance, recognizing only now how much harder Amele had pushed him than he had his older brothers, how many more trials he faced and the great odds his mentor deliberately stacked against him time after time.  In his youth, Michel had cursed the unfairness of it all and supposed Amele favored his older brothers over him.  Only now did he understand his friend’s true gift.  Today was the first time he had heard of his grandmother’s prophecy that he would be the one to return to challenge for his grandfather’s throne.  There was no need for Michel to continue to be burdened by the guilt of being the sole surviving male member of his family.  Seemingly it had been his fate to face this challenge and to rise above it. 

He understood the contest with Raulf was only the initial challenge he would face to take his place as his grandfather’s successor, and it was proving more difficult than he expected, but he called now on the reserves of strength and endurance he’d built over the years of a warrior’s singular focus to train and to better his skills.  He comprehended Raulf had not been awarded a similar gift.  He’d had estates to see to, alliances to make, a young and popular king to dispense with and his lovely young niece to kidnap in order to force himself upon. The ice in Michel’s veins melted quickly beneath his outrage at the sins of this man.  Maybe God was the only rightful judge of a man’s offenses against His holy will, but Michel had been given the opportunity this day to stand in His place and execute His wrathful judgment in the name of the innocent.  He wasn’t about to waste it.

Michel was aware of the slowing of the other man’s steps and the way his sword slipped in his bloody hand.  He sensed the lessening of his opponent’s focus as his assumption of the quick triumph he expected over his youthful and presumably inexperienced adversary began to slip away beneath the fierceness of the struggle he was engaged in. Michel risked his chance before Raulf could regroup and re-focus his concentration.  He parried a half-hearted thrust of his opponent, and then drove in swiftly before Raulf could recover. Michel buried his sword up to the hilt through the other man’s broad chest. While blood blossomed on his opponent’s tunic and stunned shock, followed quickly by hideous pain bloomed across his harsh features, Michel notched his blade upward widening and deepening the damage before Raulf could lower his sword and dispatch his blade, or worse, sever his arm.  Michel managed to free his sword only moments before Raulf attempted to fulfill his bloody expectation and Michel couldn’t help but be impressed by the ease with which the man dismissed an injury that would have brought a lesser opponent to his knees.