King Javan’s Year (55 page)

As Javan grimaced, Guiscard added, “I don't think you really want to ride with that head. And you certainly don't want anyone bashing you on a practice helmet or clanging swords in your vicinity.”

“Archery,” Javan agreed, heading for the garderobe. “Guiscard,” he called from inside, “was I dreaming earlier, or did a
Custodes
monk really come to visit me during the night?”

“Oh, you had a lot of nightmares last night, Sire,” came the cheery reply, “but I don't think he was one of them. Actually, he said you did very well.”

As Javan came out, he gave Guiscard a doubtful shake of his head. “If that was well done, I'd hate to be at the bottom of the class.” He sighed. “Well, one more thing to worry about. But where's this bath you promised?”

Javan survived his stint at the archery butts, though he shot rather more poorly than he had in months. A few of the younger knights inquired about his headache of the previous evening, and he admitted having had a restless night despite a court physician's ministrations, but he assured them he was feeling better now.

He retired early that night, allowing Guiscard to assist him into sleep, and woke largely recovered the next morning. A brisk ride along the river did much to restore him further, and only a vague feeling of malaise lingered through the Council meeting that afternoon. After another good night's sleep, this time without Guiscard's help, he counted the incident past, though he found himself wondering when and whether he ought to warn his brother of what he had discovered.

In the weeks that followed, regular letters from Jason continued to reassure the king that he been right to send his brother into the field. A report from the usually sober Lord Ainslie, of the prince presiding over his first local Court, was almost effusive in its praise.

The prince was gracious but single-minded, giving careful consideration to all evidence presented, no matter the witness be highborn or low
, Ainslie wrote.
He has a good ear for nuances of testimony. I think your Highness would be proud of him
.

Auguries closer to home were not so favorable. Javan had expected a relatively quiet autumn, once Rhys Michael left, and other than his bout with
merasha
, it was. But when days stretched into weeks without the return of Paulin, Javan began to worry that it might be all too quiet.

Not that he particularly wanted Paulin back in Rhemuth, but he wondered what plots the
Custodes
Vicar General might be hatching with his Deryni agent at
Arx Fidei
, especially with the time fast approaching for another of Father Faelan's debriefings. When he inquired of Lord Albertus about the delay in Paulin's return, the Earl Marshal indicated vaguely that he thought it had to do with the lingering illness of one Brother Georgius, a boyhood friend, whose passing was expected at any time. His phrasing left Javan uncertain whether Brother Georgius even existed, but it was nothing he dared pursue, lest he arouse unwanted suspicion.

Whatever the true motivations behind Paulin's continued absence, it was seen with increasing dread by Father Faelan. As the month wore on, he made it increasingly clear to Javan that he really did not want to go back to
Arx Fidei
again.

The priest's reluctance was certainly understandable, if inconvenient. Since he had survived the first return engagement, Javan was confident that Faelan probably was not in danger of being forced to divulge anything damaging to either Javan or himself, even if deeply probed by Paulin's Deryni agent. Javan also had been careful not to expose the priest to anything else in the ensuing month that he did not want Paulin to know about. If possible, he wanted to let Faelan slip solely into the role of royal confessor, with no further involvement in intrigues of the sort necessitated just after his arrival. After a few months of totally innocuous reporting, Javan hoped that the
Custodes
would lose interest in Faelan and let him get on with being the ordinary priest he longed to be.

That mattered not a bit to Faelan, who had no conscious knowledge of how Javan was trying to protect him. His dread of being put through a repeat of his first interrogation at the abbey only increased as the appointed time for his departure drew near. Given the real possibility that
Custodes
whim might cost Faelan his life on any given return, it did not seem appropriate that Javan should force his compliance, even though he could have done it without him being any the wiser. As Faelan had told Javan when he first arrived at Court, it was one thing to die for
something …

Javan did insist that Faelan consider the possible consequences if he did not go. He could grant Faelan physical protection and even try to persuade Paulin that Faelan's failure to return came of Javan's own refusal to let him go; but at best, it would raise new questions about what he or the king might have to hide. And if perceived as willful disobedience on Faelan's part, it could bring suspension as a priest, expulsion from the Order, and even excommunication.

Michaelmas came and went—Rhys Michael's birthday, celebrated with a modest feast at which king and Court drank the prince's health in absentia—and the following Monday, the appointed day for Faelan's departure. That afternoon, Father Ascelin came up from Saint Hilary's, for he was Faelan's designated replacement when the priest was scheduled to be away; but Faelan did not leave. Two days later, just after midday, Paulin himself arrived back at the capital with only a pair of
Custodes
knights for escort, all of them on well-lathered horses. Very shortly, Javan was summoned for an immediate and urgent audience on behalf of the
Custodes
Vicar General.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-ONE

For their heart studieth destruction, and their lips talk of mischief
.

—Proverbs 24:2

“Sire, I wish to inquire why Father Faelan has not yet presented himself at
Arx Fidei
,” Paulin began, coming right to the point. He had not even taken the time to change from his dusty riding clothes. “He is expected on the first Monday of every month, as you well know. When he did not appear after two days, I began to be concerned. Am I to understand that Father Faelan has not yet departed Rhemuth?”

“That is correct, my lord,” Javan replied. He had received Paulin informally in the little withdrawing room behind the dais of the great hall, attended only by Charlan and Robear. He was wearing the Haldane sword and the coronet of running lions with a red Haldane tunic. Lord Albertus accompanied the
Custodes
Vicar General, looking altogether too menacing in his black leathers and the mantle of the Order. Like everyone except Paulin, he, too, wore a sword at his side, close by the red-fringed white sash of his
Custodes
knighthood.

“Father Faelan has
not
departed Rhemuth,” Paulin repeated incredulously.

“That is my understanding.”

“Might one ask why? I thought I had made it clear that his monthly retreats were one of the conditions of his appointment to the royal household.”

Javan leaned back carefully in his chair of state, measuring Paulin with his eyes.

“My lord, it is barely three weeks since Father Faelan's return from
last
month's retreat,” he said boldly, neglecting to mention that his own delay of Faelan's first trip had added to Paulin's delay letting him return. “Already I begin to find such absences intrusive. I should think quarterly would be sufficient. It certainly was not convenient that he be away from Court again so quickly at this time.”

“With all respect, Sire, the convenience of this Court—”

“The convenience of the king's Court is essential to the king's peace of mind,” Javan went on. “To maintain that peace of mind, a king needs the regular services of his confessor. Or would you dispute that, Vicar General?”

“No one would dispute the need for regular confession, Sire,” Paulin muttered. “But a confessor who himself needs confessing can be of little use to your Highness.”

“Perhaps Father Faelan has availed himself of other confessors in the city, if he felt the need,” Javan observed. “Not that such a man can have much to confess. His attention to his duties has been exemplary—which comes as no surprise to me, having known him at
Arx Fidei
. His gentle piety continues to be an inspiration to all with whom he comes in contact. I can think of no higher praise for any priest.”

“You suggest he has confessed himself to priests outside his Order?” Paulin said sharply, ignoring the praise. “That is a blatant breach of the Rule, as you well know, Sire. No doubt the temptations to relax proper discipline are far greater at Court than in a monastic setting—which is precisely the reason I stipulated monthly retreats as a condition of his assignment.”

Javan allowed himself an almost indolent shrug, wishing he had not mentioned other confessors. “I do not know that he has transgressed thus, my lord. Nor is it my place to comment, no longer being of your Order.”

The oblique reminder of Javan's defection did nothing to mollify Paulin's growing anger.

“Whether or not he has availed himself of a foreign confessor,” he said coldly, “Father Faelan's failure to present himself for the required retreat is a breach of his vow of obedience. If you had forbidden him to go, he would have been obliged to inform Father Ascelin, which he did not do.

“Therefore I must conclude that this is Faelan's decision, at least in part—though I find it appalling that so exemplary a priest should suddenly throw away everything he has achieved in his years with our Order. If he is truly set upon defying the instructions of his superiors, I shall be obliged to recall him to his community for discipline.”

“I have not forbidden him to go,” Javan said coolly. “Nor shall I command him to do so. I
have
made it clear that I shall support him in whatever decision he makes in this matter.”

“I see,” Paulin said. “You have encouraged him in this—”

“Here, now!” Robear rumbled, no longer able to keep silence.

“I wish to hear this folly from Faelan's own lips,” Paulin said, ignoring Robear. “I fear that his exalted status as the king's confessor may have gone to his head. In part, I must blame myself for that. He was far too young to be burdened with such a weighty responsibility. Spiritual direction is all the more urgent, to assist him in recognizing the error of his ways. I shall go to him immediately.”

“You shall go nowhere unless I give you leave,” Javan said sharply. “If you wish to see my confessor, you may do so in my presence, unless he himself requests otherwise.”

“Sire, this violates numerous points of canon law,” Paulin muttered.

“Nonetheless, it is my decision. Sir Robear, please ask Father Faelan to attend me, if he wishes to do so. Inform him of the identity of our guests, and say that I do not command his presence. However, if he intends to address Father Paulin's inquiries at all, as I think he must do eventually, I suggest it might be best done here.”

“You take entirely too much upon yourself, Sire,” Paulin muttered through clenched teeth, as Robear made a brisk bow and went out. “How dare you presume to dictate how I shall deal with
my
priest? Faelan will do as I command. He comes and goes at
my
bidding. If I say that he
dies
, then he dies!”

“You have not that authority,” Javan stated flatly. “You are
my
subject, and I will not brook defiance from you or any other subject. Now, mind your tongue, if you wish me to oblige you by allowing this interview with Father Faelan.”

He knew, as soon as Faelan came into the room, that both he and the priest had made a mistake. As was his usual wont, Faelan was immaculately turned out, his black habit neatly brushed, his cowled scapular falling in precise folds, his tonsure gleaming newly shaven on his bowed head.

But gone was the gentle diffidence that had marked his first few weeks at Court, as he came out from under the shadow of his arrival, and before his first return to
Arx Fidei
. Cowed apprehension was in his every movement, in the very set of his shoulders, as he first bowed to the king, then came to bend his knee before his religious superior. Paulin permitted him to touch his lips to the abbot's ring on his hand, but stayed him from rising when Faelan would have gotten to his feet.

“I am surprised to see you here, Father,” he said coolly. “It was my understanding that you should have reported to
Arx Fidei
some days ago, for your monthly retreat.”

“It—was not convenient that I leave Court at this time, your Grace,” Faelan murmured, eyes miserably downcast.

“And is the Court's convenience any reason to shirk your religious duty?” Paulin replied. “Did the king forbid you to go?”

“N-no, your Grace. It was my decision.”

“It was your decision to be willfully disobedient to your superiors,” Paulin said. “That is a grave sin, Father.”

Closing his eyes, Faelan drew a deep breath. “I—could not face the prospect of—what transpired before, your Grace.”

“Why, whatever can you mean, Father?” Paulin purred, warning in his voice. “Were you ever used other than for the good of your immortal soul?”

“I—am certain that was the intent, your Grace,” Faelan said lamely.

“But you presume to judge otherwise?” Paulin asked. “That is the sin of pride, Father. I fear you have fallen far short of the mark. Disobedience and pride are grievous sins. For the good of your immortal soul, I order you to return to
Arx Fidei
for a period of fasting and reflection, that you may come to see the error of your ways and find contrition in your heart. Personally, I have always held that obedience presents even more of a challenge to most young priests than chastity. Fortunately, both these virtues can be reinforced through appropriate discipline and—”