Lynn Wood - Norman Brides 03 (15 page)

A deeper silence hung over their audience, laced now with the expectation of seeing Raulf succumb to his wounds, and a new admiration for the young prince who appeared on the brink of claiming the throne out from under Raulf’s long reach.  Still the two men engaged each other.  Michel did not lessen his focus, even when victory appeared assured.  He’d been trained too well to lower his sword or slow his attack until his opponent had dropped his sword and was completely defenseless.  So he continued to press his advantage, the silence between the two men broken only by the clash of metal upon metal and Raulf’s crude insults thrown in his direction and the painful gasps he was unable to completely suppress when Michel’s quicker blade pierced his flesh. For his part, after inflicting the wound to the baron’s chest, Michel allowed his challenger to exhaust himself chasing his quicker feet around the circle and allowed the loss of blood and his enemy’s fierce rage to do its own damage.  Finally Raulf stood, breathing heavily and lowered his sword, eyeing Michel with an intense hatred that dared him to take advantage of the opportunity he was affording him. 

Michel would not allow himself to be drawn in by the other’s ploy. Raulf was wounded yes and likely mortally so, if the wound to his chest was not soon tended to, but Michel was quite certain he retained enough strength to deal him a killing blow if he followed the other’s example and allowed his emotions to take precedence over his warrior’s training.

“Afraid, boy?”  Raulf taunted and then held his arms out to his sides. “Finish it if you dare.”

Michel stood a safe distance away, enjoying the show and wondering if the man was truly the fool he appeared to be, or if he really believed Michel would allow himself to be goaded into closing the distance between them.  “I do not need to finish it. If your wounds are not soon tended you will bleed to death, baron.  If you wish to live, I suggest you concede your challenge and kneel before me and offer your pledge of loyalty to the true king.”

Michel’s amused comment wiped the mocking smile from the baron’s lips, as Michel knew it would.  Holding his sword in both hands Raulf charged again, like a bull, swinging his blade wildly, and with such fierce intent, the spectators to the contest backed away several steps to avoid becoming collateral damage of the struggle they observed.  Michel stood his ground until the last possible moment, and then stepped left while at the same time slipping his sword beneath the baron’s upraised arms and burying it deeply in the baron’s chest.  The heavy broadsword dropped to the tiled floor and Raulf crumbled to his knees, his eyes still spewing hatred and his lips still cursing Michel and his ancestry.

Michel pushed the fallen man onto his back with his boot and held his sword to the baron’s throat. “Do you concede?”

An evil curse passed through Raulf’s grimacing lips.  Michel applied pressure to the point of the blade and drew blood.

“You poisoned your king.  You kidnapped Lady Elena.”

Bleeding in his arms and legs, his blood soaking the tile from the mortal wound in his chest, his enemy still swore up at him.  He swiped at Michel’s arm holding the sword to his throat, his booted foot on his chest, and earned only more cuts on his hands for his trouble.

He cursed again and Michel pushed harder on the point of the blade.  “Why?”

The dying man spit at him.  “I don’t answer to you, boy.   Nor will I ever bend my knee to you.”

Michel arched an imperious brow over his stunning blue gaze. “That is hardly necessary as you are flat on your back with my boot on your chest.  You could hardly be in a more submissive posture than you are now.”

Raulf further diminished his waning strength in an attempt to buck Michel’s boot from his chest.  Michel remained firmly planted.

“He denied my petition for the girl and refused to name me his heir.  I who kept the peace.  I, who kept the mountain passes open so trade could resume in Calei.  He said it was his hope that the true king’s heirs would one day return.  The true king? Barnabas ruled this land for twenty years.  What did your grandfather last?  A few insignificant years?   Who even remembers now?  His rule was irrelevant.  It’s ridiculous any true Caleinian would kneel before you.”

Astonished gasps echoed around the room at his confession and Raulf recognized whatever chance he had of gaining the loyalty of the other noblemen was lost to him now.  “A curse on all of you.  Enjoy your time as king, boy. Do you plan to live as a monk under your own roof the way your predecessor did?  My death does not abolish the curse awaiting you and your sons.  Enjoy your whore for the time granted you. We will meet again in hell.”

His outrage was cut short when Michel increased the pressure on the sword in his hand effectively silencing the baron’s dying curse.  He withdrew his blade and wiped the other man’s blood from it with Raulf’s own cloak. 

“Well done, my young protégé’.  I believe your sister underestimates you.” 

The voice was back.  Michel wished there was time to engage the strange apparition in conversation, but there were more pressing matters demanding his attention at the moment.

“Does anyone else wish to challenge my right to rule?”  He demanded as he stepped away from the dead man and allowed his gaze to sweep the room.

“No, Your Highness.”

“No, Your Highness.”

Michel’s inquiry was met with quick denials from the other barons and then a shout was heard from the back of the room.  “Long live, King Michel!” 

“Hear! Hear!”

“Hear! Hear!  Long live King Michel!”

Michel’s eyes met Amele’s admiring glance across the distance separating them. His lips curved at the glimmer of tears in his friend’s eyes, tears belied by the sound of his deep voice echoing his loud agreement with the proclamation.

As the noise diminished one after another of the assembled noblemen approached Michel to both introduce themselves and offer their services to ease in the transition of power.  Gabriel ordered two of his men to remove Raulf’s bloodied corpse from the room, and turned to cross the room and throw open the wide double doors at the end of the hall.  A loud cheer greeted his action and Michel found himself half led and half carried by the celebratory crowd in the direction of the room revealed behind them. They paused on the threshold to give Michel a chance to take in the significance of the room he was being led into. 

If the great hall was the gathering place for ordinary assemblages the throne room was the one used for state occasions. Michel immediately understood its purpose was to impress and awe anyone who approached the magnificent throne to plead for favor in front of it.  The very magnitude of the spacious room diminished any supplicant who presented himself before it. Seeing it, Michel was both humbled and somewhat amused by his ancestors’ obvious ploy to terrorize those who would seek their favor. 

With some reluctance Michel allowed himself to be led to the base of the inlaid throne, liberally decorated with gold, and then stood, still hesitating to ascend the wide platform as he came face to face confronting his seeming inevitable destiny.  His boisterous escort, sensing his hesitancy, and as if only just becoming sensitive to the enormity of the occasion in the young prince’s life, stepped back and allowed the new king his moment.  An expectant silence hung over the room and Michel sensed it wasn’t only from his audience.  It was as if the room itself had curious eyes and was waiting to see the quality of the man who would ascend the platform and fill the empty seat there.  The longer he waited the heavier the silence lay across the room.

Michel felt as if his feet were weighted to the ground.  He instructed his legs to move to gain the platform and take his place in the throne of his forefathers, but they remained rooted to the floor.  He suddenly recalled the curse he dismissed so casually, his grandfather’s murder by his close friend, and his immediate predecessor’s mysterious illness.  Was it the curse that led the king’s friends and confidants to madness, urging them to abandon their honor to gain the throne, or was it ordinary human greed?  Would Amele begin plotting his death the moment he sat in the imposing seat?  The absurdity of his musing was enough to bring a chuckle to his lips and free his weighted feet.  He stepped up onto the platform, his motion instantly relieving the growing tension in the room.  Then with a theatrical bow, Michel seated himself in the royal throne, bringing a rousing cheer of approval from the gathering.

Thus began Michel’s informal coronation. The boisterous celebration went on long into the evening hours with both ale and food flowing freely. Word was sent to their men waiting in the mountain for the signal to attack the city that the transfer of power had been accomplished peacefully.  After their initial disappointment at being deprived of the excuse to exercise their soldier’s skills, the men of war joined with the ordinary populace, the shop keepers, the traders, the guides, the bankers, young and old.  All gathered for an impromptu celebration in the streets to rejoice in the return of the true king.

As night fell one of the barons stood on a bench and loudly called for the gathering’s attention.  “All hail, King Michel!” He yelled and the revelers gladly responded with loud cheers.  The man repeated his call over the din of hundreds of voices, and the assemblage yelled even louder in response.  Then into the competing shouts, one of the attendees suggested they send for the witch to give the new king his clue in overcoming the curse on the royal family.

After Michel nodded his somewhat confused assent to the latter suggestion to find the witch and bring her before him, he signaled for Amele to join him, and beneath the expectant curiosity awaiting the witch’s arrival, the two men separated themselves to indulge in a moment’s private conversation.

“The witch?”  Michel inquired mildly.

Amele’s lips twitched and one shoulder rose in a resigned shrug.  “Yes, well, there may have been a few details I omitted when I explained about the curse on the royal family.”

“How many such omissions constitute a few, I wonder?”

At Amele’s somewhat guilty expression, Michel asked with a resigned sigh.  “What’s this about a clue?”

Amele shrugged.  “I have never witnessed the actual occasion, but I am told when a new king is crowned, the current head of the…coven, for lack of a better word, is summoned to provide the new monarch with his clue to unravelling the ancient curse.”

“You’re being uncharacteristically evasive, my friend.”

“Not intentionally.  The truth is the entire process has always been cloaked in mystery.  Those present upon such occasions are often reluctant to speak of what they have seen or heard.”

Michel eyed the boisterous gathering and remarked wryly, “Well at least that is one tradition that appears as though it will come to an end tonight.  We certainly do not lack for witnesses to assist me in unravelling the clue that I presume is about to be bestowed upon me.”

“That is true,” Amele commented with an optimistic nod.

Michel wasn’t certain what he expected the local witch to look like, but he supposed in the back of his mind he carried a picture from the fairy tales of his youth of an old hag with a crooked nose, covered in a dark cloak and with a fierce expression meant to frighten foolish children away before they fell victim to her spell.  Therefore he was surprised, pleasantly he supposed, when the steward of his clue to assist him in unravelling the ancient curse that beset his blood turned out to be a young maid of about Elena’s age and with the same hesitancy in her gaze when she regarded him he often observed in his ward’s eyes.

The maid looked about her curiously as Gabriel led her toward where Michel awaited her approach near the throne.  The rest of the witnesses of the occasion quickly gathered around to see the spectacle few, if any, had ever been privileged to observe for themselves. 

“The maid, Rowena,” Gabriel announced and the girl hurriedly knelt before Michel, bowing her head.

“Your Highness,” her voice was an awed whisper, but Michel noted both the surprise and curiosity in her glance when she regarded him.  He thought perhaps she expected to be brought before Raulf this evening and Michel couldn’t be certain if she was pleasantly surprised or disappointed by the change in the order of things, or if she held no opinion on the matter at all.

“You may rise, Rowena.” As the maid did so, he added courteously, “Forgive us for interrupting your evening, but I am told you have a task to perform for the benefit of your new king.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the girl replied blushing at his address, but made no move to get on with the imparting of the rumored clue.

“You may proceed,” Michel added in a slightly amused voice causing the maid’s face to flood with embarrassed color.  Feeling guilty at his gentle mockery, Michel added in a soft voice, “You are among friends, Rowena.  There is no need for the anxiety I can see in your eyes.”

Michel’s reassurance went a long way to dispelling the fear he’d witnessed in the girl’s expression, but it was still with more than a hint of worry that she lifted her clear green gaze to his.  “Thank you, Your Highness. Forgive me. ‘Tis the truth I am a little nervous. I have never been called upon to perform this task.  My grandmother tended to the duty for the former king, but she is ill and bade me come in her stead.”

“I see.  I must conclude then that your grandmother knew what she was about in sending you to us.  It may comfort you to know this is my first time as well to be present at these proceedings, so we may learn together what is expected of us.”

The girl released an audible sigh and her lips settled into a relieved smile.  Despite his reassurance to Rowena, he was not all that certain her grandmother knew what she was about to send this child in her stead.  Since he was quite certain there would be no shortage of Caleinians who doubted his fitness to rule given his youth, he was willing to give the girl a chance to prove herself up to the weighty task before her.

He watched while she took a step back and removed a crystal ball from the folds of her cloak.  From the way she clutched it carefully in both of her hands he assumed it was heavier than it appeared.  After taking a moment to compose herself she raised her arms above her hand and proclaimed into the sudden silence suspended over the previously boisterous crowd of witnesses, “A new king has ascended to the ancient throne of Calei.  He seeks the clue to overcoming the curse that holds sway over the royal family.”

Despite himself, Michel was fascinated by the subtle changes in the girl’s voice and mannerisms as she petitioned some invisible force to respond to her request.  A rustling passed through the crowd when the young girl’s features coalesced into a more masculine appearance and her voice dropped several octaves when she next spoke.

“Ah, so you are Nathaniel’s grandson.  Michel is it not?  The promised one.  We have followed your progress for some time with great interest. You have the look of him, but the eyes are your grandmother’s.  I imagine she will not be pleased when you confess you have managed to misplace the treasure of her house your sister entrusted to you
.”  The voice speaking through the maid’s lips laughed as if amused by Michel’s carelessness, then regaining control of himself, he added, “Do not be concerned my young monarch, the stone is in trustworthy hands.”

Michel’s interest was caught despite his intention to remain objective in the face of what he considered just one more little odd tradition surrounding his grandfather’s kingdom.  He had yet to confide in Amele or anyone else that he had managed to lose the Salusian stone, so he was stunned whoever spoke through the girl knew of its loss.  He took comfort from his assurance that his sister’s inheritance was safe and in good hands. 

“We had great hope when King Nathaniel returned with his young bride that he would be the one to break the curse, but unfortunately he never fully comprehended what he held within his grasp.  Ah, forgive me, I spoke hastily.  That was unfair I think. Your grandfather’s life was cut short by the designs of evil men.  Perhaps had he lived longer this burden would not now fall upon you, my young king.”

When the maid fell quiet, Michel asked into the silence, “Who are you?”

Amusement lit the girl’s unseeing eyes and a light chuckle escaped through her stiff lips. 
“The answer to your query is beyond your ability to comprehend in your current, and quite limited, physical state.
” He paused as if in anticipation of Michel’s affronted response, and then when none was forthcoming, added in a voice of near respect,
“You are not quick to take offense.  That is good.  In answer to your question, I will only say we are the arbiters of such matters and it is for us to ensure justice is served and the terms met before your family is freed from this burden.”

“Justice?  You name it justice to murder the sons of my sires?”

A haughty brow lifted above one of the girl’s young, but cannily knowing eyes, “
You speak of what you do not know, my young king.  Are you aware of why this curse was laid upon this house?  Do you have knowledge of the atrocities that were committed by your ancestors who shed innocent blood that must be atoned for before the curse can be broken?”

Michel was stunned and dully chastised by the mention of the atrocities his unusual companion referred to.  “Your words are true.  I stand corrected.  I do not know of what you speak, and would gladly offer recompense for the evils of my ancestors’ past deeds, but how am I to do so if I do not know of the sins committed by this house or against whom, so that I might repay my family’s debt?”

“You give me hope, my young king.  You are more than your predecessors, even your grandfather.  I think you have your grandmother’s blood to thank for that. You are not quick to dismiss that which you cannot see with your eyes and do battle against with your sword.”

“Can you not speak more plainly?  How am I to undo this spell on the basis of insinuations and misty references to the past?”

“A clue I am permitted to offer you, as I have each of your long line of unsuccessful predecessors.”

“Then I gladly accept what assistance you are allowed to proffer.”

“The clue remains unchanged in the long march of time across the bloody past of your fair kingdom. When the daughter of the moon captures the heart of the sun the curse will be lifted.  So it is written, so it will be.  You must begin your search in the past, but you will find your answers in the present.  Do not be too quick to dismiss what I have already revealed to you.  I must leave you now, my young king.  I have stayed too long already and this vessel is immature and untried. To remain any longer might cause irreparable damage to my courteous host.  Good eve, young Michel and good fortune.”

With that the girl’s features returned to their previous innocence and she collapsed to the tiled floor in a dead faint. Michel rushed to attend to the fallen maid.  He knelt beside her still form and lifted her head, signaling a servant for a glass of water.  Her eyes fluttered open, but remained confused and unseeing until they locked on his. “Your Highness,” she whispered blushing, and then struggled into a seated position.

“Take a moment,” Michel instructed her and removed the cool water from the tray the curious servant held and offered it to Rowena.

She blushed profusely as their fingertips brushed against each other when she accepted the cup from his hands.  Michel pretended not to notice her discomfort.  She took a dainty sip then asked anxiously, her eyes clinging to his over the rim of the cup, “Were you pleased with my service, Your Highness?  ‘Tis the truth I cannot remember anything I told you, but my grandmother warned me it would be such.”

“Quite pleased, maid Rowena.  You may inform your grandmother you executed your office with both grace and poise.  When you have recovered sufficiently the captain will see to it that one of his own men escorts you back to the care and supervision of your grandmother.  I trust you will convey my wishes to her for a speedy recovery.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.  You are exceedingly kind.”

“Not at all,” Michel replied smoothly, “It is I who stand in your debt for the service you rendered my house this evening.”

Michel left the maid in Gabriel’s competent care, then stood and joined Amele where he was engaged in quiet conversation with Timothy. “I suppose it is too much to expect that either you or Gabriel know the meaning behind our, ah…visitor’s reference to either the heart of the sun or the daughter of the moon.”

Amele shook his head. “Regrettably not, but I must tell you I found the entire performance quite entertaining and somewhat disturbing if the truth be told.  I was not present the night King Nathaniel received his clue from the girl’s grandmother as my father was still alive, but we discussed it at length over the years.”

Michel recognized Amele pointedly refrained from mentioning the voice’s reference to the loss of the Salusian stone.  Sighing, Michel, admitted reluctantly, “The chain broke while I was bathing in the river one morning. I chased it nearly a mile through the current but finally abandoned my search.  Whoever it was speaking through the girl did not learn of its loss from me.”

Amele nodded, as if Michel’s admission came as no great surprise to him.  Michel concluded his good friend had already learned of the stone’s loss likely because there was very little he missed, and the two men were constantly in each other’s company.  He no doubt noticed Michel no longer constantly tugged on the restraint of the too-close fit of the chain around his neck as had been his habit since the evening he took possession of the Salusian stone at Melissa’s insistence. 

Michel released a deep sigh and remarked, “At least he indicated the stone was not completely lost and now resides in trustworthy hands.  It’s odd he would remark upon the stone.  It is not a keepsake of my grandfather’s house, but was only introduced to Calei when he brought my grandmother here as his bride. Why should the stone’s loss have any bearing on the resolution of the curse that besets my blood?”

“I wish I possessed the answers to your questions, my king, but despite my long years in your grandmother’s company, I remain but a simple soldier in the service of my king.  I fear I will be of little use to you in unravelling this mystery of the curse.”

“So you can think of nothing that might point me to the daughter of the moon or the heart of the sun?  Are there any ancient writings that might mention one or the other?  Surely there must be a record somewhere about my predecessors’ attempts to solve this riddle.  At the very least, it would be nice not to be condemned to simply repeating the failures of my ancestors.”

“You raise an interesting point.  I will speak to Gabriel about where the kings kept the papers and records that were passed to them from their predecessors.  As the captain of the guard, he must surely know of such matters.  I think it might be worth a discussion with Bishop Maren as well.  He is young, yes, and this too would have been his first experience with the events we all witnessed this evening, but the church is often called upon to act as the guardian of ancient truths.  It would not be unreasonable to assume the church has its own records in regards to the history of Calei.”

“That is a very perceptive comment, my friend.  You discover what Gabriel knows, and I will seek out the bishop and find out if there are any records in the church’s possession that go back beyond where the memories of the living can reach.”