A Meeting at Corvallis (57 page)

Two thrones stood before the doors of the hall, under a striped awning. To either side was a crowd brilliant with dyed and embroidered cloth, jewels on fingers and around necks and on the hilts of daggers, wrapped headdresses…most of them women in cotte-hardis, or priests in robes, and one standing beside the larger throne in a gorgeous outfit of gold and white, with a tall mitre on his head and a crook in his hands. Some noblemen were there too, in civilian garb or the mail and leather of war, but…

Yeah,
Rudi thought, taking a deep breath.
But most of the men are off fighting against us. That camp outside is just part of them.

Two figures sat on the thrones. Sandra, Mathilda's mother, in pearl and dove gray and silver. And her father, warlike in black save for the gold headband, his harsh face unreadable. He was a big man; a bit bigger than Mike Havel, a little smaller than Uncle Eric, but built like either of them—strong hands, thick wrists, broad shoulders, long legs. A swordsman's build.

Rudi lifted his chin and met the man's eyes as the party tramped forward, ignoring the murmurs from the nobles on either side. The air was still; he tossed back his hair; there was a chilly feeling in his stomach, like he'd drunk too much cold water right after exercising, and the vague sensation of needing to pee. Some of the women were cooing as he passed; more called greetings to Mathilda, who smiled and waved…though not as enthusiastically as she had outside.

They halted ten paces from the dais, at the line of knights who rested unsheathed swords on their shoulders and stood like iron statues between the ruling pair and the world. At a gesture from the man they moved aside, and Mathilda suddenly gave a squeal and dashed forward.

“Daddy! Daddy!” she caroled, and burst into tears as he rose and swept her into his arms, whirling her around and holding her high, then kissing the top of her head as she gripped him like a fireman's pole.

The crowd burst into cheers, many of them waving handkerchiefs in the air. The trumpets at the gates sounded again, and even a few of the guardian knights smiled for a moment; the noise was a deafening thunder of echoes in the great stone space. When her father put her down at last, Mathilda self-consciously drew herself together.

“I'm so glad to be home, Mom, Dad,” she said, wiping her eyes, and went to stand beside her mother.

Sandra Arminger smiled as well when she embraced her daughter, and sat holding the girl's hand, but there was an enigmatic calm in her eyes as they flickered coolly over Rudi's face.

Norman Arminger turned back, and Tiphaine went to one knee in a rustling clash of chain-mail armor, bowing her head. So did the rest of the party; Rudi knelt as well, taking off his new hat. It was only polite.

“Tiphaine Rutherton, for this rescue of my daughter and heir—”

There was a slight ripple through the crowd, a murmur like a sigh. Mathilda's eyes went a little wider.
Yeah, he hadn't said she was his heir, not out loud,
Rudi remembered.

“—there would be few rewards too great.”

For the first time Sandra spoke aloud, her voice cool and amused. “I suspect rank, gold and land would be a good start, Norman,” she said. “Don't stint.”

Arminger threw back his head and laughed. “Indeed, and I won't. Approach,” he went on, drawing his sword. “Rank first.”

Sandra Arminger rose as well as the woman in armor ascended the steps to the dais and knelt again on the last of them. The Lord Protector bowed slightly to his consort and offered her the weapon, holding it across one forearm hilt foremost—carefully. Rudi could tell it was a real sword, with an edge that would slice open your hand like a butcher knife if you pressed your flesh against it. The guard was a simple crossbar of scarred steel, the pommel a brass ball and the long hilt was wound with braided leather cord.

It wobbled ever so slightly as Sandra took the grip in one small hand. She added the other, turning and raising the blade, only a slight tightening of her mouth showing the strain. A ray of sunlight broke through cloud and made the steel shimmer; Rudi felt a prickling even then.

Something brushed the back of my neck,
he thought.
Or Someone.

It also gilded the kneeling woman's pale hair. The flat of the blade descended in a slap on Tiphaine's mail-clad right shoulder, hard enough to make the sword vibrate in a slight
nnnngggg
harmonic.

“I dub you knight,” Sandra said, her voice carrying over the hush of the crowd. Another slap on the left. “I dub you knight.” Then she handed the sword back to her husband. “Receive the
collée
.”

That was a light hand-buffet on both cheeks; Tiphaine stayed on her knee, raising her face to make it easier to strike. “I dub you knight, Lady Tiphaine,” Sandra concluded. “And bid you welcome to that worshipful company.”

Tiphaine drew her own sword and presented it across the palms of her gauntleted hands. Sandra took it, raised the blade before her, kissed the cross it made and returned it. “Take this sword, Tiphaine, knight of the Association, to draw it in defense of the realm and of Holy Church, or when your liege-lord and your own honor call.”

“I will, my lady and liege,” the new-made knight said, sliding the sword home; the guard made a slight
tinngg
sound as it went home against the metal plate round the mouth of the scabbard. Then she crossed herself. “Before God and the Virgin, I swear it.”

Norman Arminger smiled again. “The vigil before the altar and other ceremonial can follow.”

He took a gold chain from around his neck; there was a gasp from the audience as he dropped it over Tiphaine's bowed neck.

“This for a keepsake and mark of my lasting favor. With it I make you hereditary baronet. And now, since we can't eat rank—though sometimes I think we lords of the Association breathe it, like the Society in the old days—”

A gust of laughter went through the crowd.

“—I grant this newest fief-holder of the Association one thousand rose nobles, that she may meet the immediate needs of her new state and rank, starting with a pair of golden spurs. In addition to this, as head of the Portland Protective Association, I grant to her seizin of the castle, estate and domain of Ath, previously held in demesne as my own direct possession. This grant to include the manor of Montinore, and the two knight's fees attached thereunto, with mill and press, heriot and fine and forest-right, and power of the High Justice, the Middle and the Low over all below the rank of Associate. It shall be held by her as tenant-in-chief and free vavasour, on service of three knights and their menie, and mesne tithes.”

Wow,
Rudi thought; a clerk was scribbling frantically at the paper on his clipboard with a quill pen.
She's
really
getting the goods. I remember Sir Nigel saying that was the land the Protector tried to buy
him
with. Tenant-in-chief, too. And baronet—that's almost like being a baron.

Arminger turned to his wife again. “Shall you do the honors, my love?”

Sandra nodded, and took Tiphaine's hands between hers, for the oath of vassalage. The younger woman's voice rang out clearly as she promised arms, life and faith; the voice of the Protector's consort was softer, but carried as well.

“Rise, Tiphaine, Lady of Ath!”

She did, then bowed as she kissed the hands of both rulers. When she spoke, it was in the same formal, quasi-hieratic tones:

“My lord Protector, I would petition you, of your favor, that my comrades on this mission also receive the accolade; Ivo Marks, and Ruffin Velin…and Joris Stein, men-at-arms of the Lady Sandra's Household. Without their courage and skill and good sword arms I could not have accomplished what I did. Also their comrades Raoul Carranza and Herulin Smith fell in battle aiding the rescue of the princess, and I would that you grant their lemans and families aid, for they were poor men.”

“A pleasure,” Arminger said. “And a hundred rose nobles each to the living; clerk, see to the pensions for those left bereft. You three, approach the Presence!”

The men-at-arms came forward eagerly and knelt in a row, stifling their grins into appropriate solemnity as they laid their swords at the Lord Protector's feet; this was the big step that made them eligible for all further promotion and, most importantly, for a fief. A hundred rose nobles was better than three years' pay for a man-at-arms, as well, or one for a household knight. The Protector drew his blade again and performed the ceremony; he handled the heavy weapon with casual authority, flipping it from the wrist to make a hard smack on each shoulder with blurring speed. None of the men blinked as the knife-edged steel skimmed over their bare heads. The
collée
was more than a gesture from his calloused hand as well, but they didn't seem to mind the ear-ringing buffet.

Before the men could rise, Tiphaine went on: “My lord Protector, my liege-lady Sandra, I beg leave to enfeoff part of the lands which it has pleased you to grant me to worthy knights, that I may bring a proper
menie
when the muster is called and the banner of the Lidless Eye unfurled.”

Norman Arminger's eyebrows went up. “You're a tenant-in-chief now,” he said. “You don't need permission to assemble your
menie,
your fighting tail, as long as they're capable. I think we're all agreed that
you
are, so that leaves you two knights to find, or experienced men-at-arms would do at a pinch.”

“My lord Protector, I do need permission if they are vassals of another. My lady, I beg that you release from their oaths Sir Ruffin Velin and Sir Ivo Marks, landless knights of your Household, that they may swear themselves to me.”

Even then, Rudi smiled slightly at the way Joris Stein stiffened and glared, pressing his lips together against an outburst that would ruin him.
I never liked him. Ruffin and Ivo are sort of rough, but they were OK to me. I think Joris would have hurt me if he could have gotten away with it. He's nasty.
Being left out like this was a public slap in the face. Juniper's son knew how much it meant to a northern knight to get a manor of his own; they couldn't really marry or anything until they did, although being in the Lady Sandra's Household meant they must be good fighters.

Sandra Arminger caught the eye of the knight with the pointed yellow beard and shook her head very slightly, warning and promising at the same time. Then she smiled at Tiphaine. “Certainly. They will serve me just as well by serving you, my loyal vassal.”

Tiphaine bowed again and backed down the stairs, then jerked her head at the three knights. They followed her into the crowd; Tiphaine received a good many discreet smiles and nods, as someone suddenly necessary to take into account rather than just the bizarre hatchet-woman that the consort's whim had raised up.

The smile on Norman Arminger's face went glacial as he turned to look at Rudi, now standing alone before the dais. Now it looked like the expression a deer beheld on the very last cougar it ever saw. The boy crossed his arms across his chest and smiled defiantly.

I can be afraid of dying,
he thought.
We're
supposed
to be. But I can't let anyone see. Liath and Aoife died for me. I've got to do this right. If I have to go to the Summerlands now, Dread Lord, Dark Lady, let my mom not be too sad until we meet again. Let me be brave, please, so the Clan will be proud of me, and Lord Bear too. But I wish I could have grown up, and ridden Epona more…can I tell Matti it's not her fault?

The man's voice had a deadly purr in it now. “There remains the matter of the prisoner,” he said, and paused.

His wife's voice fell into it with smooth naturalness, as she set an affectionate hand on his shoulder.

“Yes, there does. Come here, young lord.”

Rudi started slightly, shocked out of his concentration. He looked at her doubtfully, then strode up the steps and knelt before her, taking the hat off again as he bowed his head. Her fingers brushed through the red-gold curls of his mane.

“We have heard of how you stood as friend to our daughter while she was held prisoner,” Sandra said. “The Lord Protector and I can in honor do no less. Let all at this court know that Rudi Mackenzie is to be treated with the respect due a sovereign's child, until his fate is settled, on pain of Our most severe displeasure.”

“Oh,
thank
you, Daddy!” Mathilda said, and clutched his hand in both of hers. “I knew it, I knew it! Thanks, Mom!”

There was only the slightest instant when it looked as if Norman Arminger would shake her off and draw his sword; Rudi didn't think anyone else would see it, except maybe Mathilda's mother. His smile even looked genuine, if saturnine.

“Such is our will,” he said, and the strong voice boomed out over the courtyard. There were more cheers, and he raised a hand for silence. “My lords, my ladies, noble knights, faithful retainers—you are all bidden to our feast of celebration tonight. My daughter is returned! Let meat and wine be given to the commoners in bailey and village that they may celebrate as well, and to all the soldiers and men-at-arms in the camp. Only the fact that we are at war makes me hesitate to declare holiday across the Association's territories. When victory is won, we will mark both triumphs with banquets, tournaments and of course masses of thanksgiving.”