Authors: Kate Jacoby
‘Ah, there you are!’
John started at the Bishop’s voice coming from behind the door. There was a fireplace against that wall; McCauly had obviously been reading while warming himself. He was watching John with a smile. ‘I’m glad to see you up at last. Did you sleep well? Do you feel better for your rest? We were wondering if you’d even wake today.’
‘I feel well, Your Grace. Thank you.’
‘Did you have something to eat?’
‘Yes, I did.’
McCauly took one more look at the paper he was holding, then moved to the long table, placed it on a particular pile and turned his attention on John. ‘So. You’ve decided to become a rebel.’
John didn’t need to answer.
‘You know,’ McCauly continued, ‘the others have questions regarding the wisdom of embracing you into our circle. I’m sure you understand that what we are doing here is very…’
‘Sensitive?’
‘Exactly.’
John swallowed hard. ‘Do you wish me to leave?’
‘No – and besides, that wouldn’t make them feel any better.’
John took a fortifying breath. ‘Then the only other alternative you have is to imprison me here.’ He folded his hands together. It was not what he had wished for, nor what he had hoped, but if this was the only way he could serve, then so be it. ‘I can act as scribe for you as easily from a cell as anywhere else. I am also proficient in a number of ancient languages and although I have not practised as well as I might, I am a fair Seeker and can scan on an hourly basis to warn if there are Malachi in the near vicinity. I also have some skills in treating minor wounds, though I hope that won’t be necessary.’
When McCauly said nothing, John went on, ‘I assure you I have no abilities to bend metal bars or burrow through stone. If I am to be imprisoned – which I think is your only option – then the sooner I am secured away from sensitive material—’
‘That won’t be necessary.’ McCauly picked up a log from the rack and placed it on those burning in the fireplace. ‘The others have questions – I do not and, for what it’s worth, my word carries some weight in this place.’ He turned back, his serious expression softened by a smile. ‘Now, suppose I show you around Bleakstone and introduce you to your fellow rebels? There are not that many of us here as yet, but there are reasons for that.’
‘And Robert? He is not here?’
‘No – and please don’t ask me where he is. I understand he is in Lusara, but I have no idea where. More than that I think should wait until you’ve got your bearings. Come, this way.’
*
Aiden couldn’t help watching the younger priest as he showed him through the castle. He was so very earnest, so serious, Aiden was tempted to deliberately say something to make him smile at least, if not laugh. There was an innocence to Father John Aiden hadn’t seen outside St Julian’s, the kind of innocence usually found only in children and cloistered monks.
But he had seen things, this priest. He’d been Jenn’s Chaplain at Ayr during her marriage, giving what support he could when the Duke had beaten her. He’d helped Robert get Jenn and the boy out of there and safely to Maitland. He’d stuck faithfully to Andrew ever since; Robert had often said how glad he was that John had chosen to stay at Maitland, that they had somebody they could always trust inside the house.
Of course, the others at Bleakstone weren’t actually suspicious of John; they were just naturally wary of any newcomer at a time like this.
Aiden took him through the rooms in the main keep, mostly accommodations currently empty. He did show John the tower room Robert normally used when he came here, but following a brief walk across the courtyard, and an even briefer wander through the barren castle gardens, Aiden finally took him to the council chamber.
This room was not the biggest in Bleakstone, but it was probably his favourite. The walls were covered in rich wood panels, the carvings depicting hunting scenes and dances with the gods. The floors were tiled in roan and white marble, cool in the summer, icy in winter but for the thick Alusian carpets thrown down, their colours adding to the warmth. The painted ceiling panels were decorated with key moments from the lives
of previous dukes of Flan’har and, together with the rich furnishings, the deliberate light from north- and south-facing windows, there was not a day when this room was not welcoming.
Aiden spent a lot of time here, working with men who now looked up as he entered, John a step behind him. Aiden didn’t tarry with the introductions. ‘Father John Ballan, you remember Payne, Earl of Cannockburke?’
‘Of course.’ John bowed as Payne got to his feet and approached.
The Earl was taller than John, young and handsome; his eyes appraised the man. ‘It’s good to see you again, Father. You are well after your … er, trip?’
John blushed a little, but matched Payne’s smile with a hesitant one of his own. ‘Yes, thank you, my lord.’
Aiden turned to the oldest man in their group. ‘This is Sir Owen Fitzallan.’ Owen had a patch over one eye, lost fighting at Robert’s side at the Battle of Shan Moss. He’d been a servant of the House of Douglas since a boy; now an old man, he lent his wisdom, along with his ability to read the weather.
‘And this is your rescuer, Sir Alexander Deverin.’ As John bowed to the big man, Deverin clapped the priest on the shoulder. Like Owen, Deverin had been with Robert’s family since a boy. Now with a new family of his own, Robert’s Master at Arms was anxious to be able to return home to Lusara, to settle down and enjoy the peace they all craved.
‘There is one more of us,’ Aiden continued as John finished thanking Deverin for pulling him from the snow. ‘Lord Daniel Courtenay, but he is away visiting family and isn’t due to return until the end of the week. Everyone who works at Bleakstone is a refugee from Lusara, and we stay here thanks to the beneficence of Grant, Duke of Flan’har.’
‘He is a good man,’ John offered.
‘He’s a brave man.’ Payne added dryly, turning back to his seat at the table. ‘I’m not yet convinced Kenrick won’t one day bring an army over the border, though I suppose the cost might be enough to make him pause. So, Bishop, have you told him yet?’
The others looked equally enquiringly at Aiden, who said, ‘I wanted to ensure I had your agreement before I said anything. Do I?’
Payne looked once at John, then nodded. ‘Aye, you do.’ With that, he sat down again and drew the book he’d been reading towards him. The others took that as a signal. Owen returned to his window seat where he picked up a tally sheet and a marking board. Deverin sat at the table opposite Payne and resumed sorting through a pile of papers.
Recognising that their behaviour was anything but a dismissal, Aiden
ushered John to the opposite end of the room and explained, his voice low enough not to disturb them, ‘This is where we do most of our work.’
‘What about your study upstairs?’
‘That’s my own work – this is … I suppose you could say Robert’s work, the work of Lusara’s rebellion.’ Aiden pulled out a chair and gestured for John to sit. ‘The last time he was here, he charged us with these responsibilities. He’d been years planning this and he left us with the paperwork and detailed instructions of what we are to do for the rebellion. He will come when he is ready for the men gathered here, and for all our other plans to be put in motion. If another comes in his place, then we will know he is dead and we must go on without him. Our role will tie in closely with his – though he has insisted we not cross the border until he gives the word.’
John frowned a little, and looked at the others. ‘Why not? Surely he would need his strongest allies to help—’
‘His plan,’ Aiden continued carefully, ‘is not to wage a war, but to fight a battle – with Samdon Nash.’
‘But what about Kenrick? He has powers and he supports Nash completely. How does Robert plan to …’
Aiden could see the questions flash across the priest’s face, along with concern, worry, ideas and, he was pleased to note, only a little fear. Already this newest recruit was thinking of solutions. Aiden answered as many of those unspoken questions as he could at once, summing them all up with one sentence. ‘Robert’s ultimate goal is to remove Nash and Kenrick and place another on the throne.’
For a moment, John didn’t move, though his eyes widened in surprise. Moments later, his face drained of colour as his agile mind got to work. He rose slowly to his feet, and whispered, ‘Andrew? He’s going to put Andrew on the throne, isn’t he?’
‘Yes.’ Aiden stood too, John’s deep shock setting off alarms in his own mind. This was more than mere surprise. ‘Why? Is there something we don’t know?’
‘But he can’t! He doesn’t—’ Abruptly, John’s mouth shut and his eyes snapped to the others, who were now staring at him openly. He blushed and dropped his gaze. ‘Forgive me, I …’
Aiden moved quickly, taking hold of John’s elbow and ushering him from the room, not pausing until they were outside in the brown and lifeless garden. ‘Tell me, Father. Whatever it is, you must say. Thousands of lives depend on your honesty.’
‘Forgive me, Your Grace.’ John held up his hands, then clasped them together, gathering himself. ‘I was just surprised. I thought he knew … but obviously— By the gods, what am I to do? What am I to say?’
Steeling himself, Aiden took a few steps away from the distressed priest, keeping his hands joined behind his back. ‘Is it something held under the seal of the confessional?’
‘No, no, that’s not the problem. I’m not supposed to know this, but it never occurred to me it could be a problem, though of course, I was blinding myself really.’
‘Father?’ Aiden insisted gently.
John shook his head. ‘You must understand, Robert can’t put Andrew on the throne.’
‘Why not?
‘Because …’ John paused, steadying himself. Then he looked up, his eyes dark with worry. ‘Because, Your Grace, Andrew is Robert’s son.’
*
There was a bench in the furthest corner of the walled garden where a trellis framed the area with a barren arch. In spring, this place would be moderately pretty, but now, with that season still a week or so away, there was nothing but bleakness in this place, the only colour coming from the red stone walls of the castle and the patchy blue of the sky above.
John followed the Bishop, sitting on the bench in silence while the older man paced for a while. Then came the questions. ‘You know this for sure?’
‘I was with the boy’s mother from the weeks after Andrew was born until she killed Eachern, almost six years later. I never asked, no. Nor could I, not even as her priest. I think she wanted me to know, but didn’t dare tell me.’
‘But I need to know for certain! The entire rebellion rests on Robert putting this boy on the throne, on the people accepting him as a legitimate heir, both through Jenn’s House and through Eachern’s kinship to Kenrick. Have you no proof?’
‘How can there be proof? Do you think Jenn would leave something like that around? And if there were, Jenn would ensure it was destroyed.’
‘Would she do such a thing?’
John could only sigh. ‘Your Grace, you should know – Jenn will do anything she deems necessary to protect her son and her country, to survive and fight another day. That is perhaps her greatest gift.’
McCauly shook his head again, ‘You must explain how you know, why you are so positive.’
John ordered his thoughts. ‘I cannot give you evidence, Your Grace – all I have is fourteen years of knowing the boy, of watching him grow up, of seeing his relationship with Jenn and with the man he thought was his father, Teige Eachern. I don’t know Robert that well, but I do know him enough to see him in so much of what Andrew does. It’s there in his voice, in the way he thinks. His choice of words and his … deep sense of right and wrong. I
believe his Aunt Bella is aware as well. I know she has no love for Robert, and there are moments when she looks at Andrew and despairs.’
John paused and found McCauly’s hard gaze on him. ‘You would have to see them together, Father. You would have to see Andrew. His looks are his mother’s. His hair is dark, almost black. His eyes are a vibrant blue, the shape of his face oval, but strong. He is already tall, and will grow more, his build tempered both for speed and strength. In his eyes, you see his mother. In every other aspect, you see his father – and you know it must be Robert. Eachern never looked like that.’
‘Are you,’ McCauly whispered harshly, ‘absolutely sure, without any doubt whatsoever, that Andrew Ross Eachern is the son of Robert Douglas?’
John said, ‘Yes. I am.’
McCauly raised his hands in frustration, ‘Then how is it that everybody doesn’t know? If it’s so obvious to everybody who looks at him.’
‘But it isn’t. Since his mother is not around to compare him with, and Eachern dead almost ten years, nobody would guess. Only those who know either Robert or Jenn well would be able to tell, and even then, if they didn’t expect it, they wouldn’t see it.’
‘Oh, by Mineah’s teeth, I can’t tell anyone about this! Robert doesn’t know, does he?’
‘Apparently not – and nor does Andrew.’
‘But why—’
John held up his own hands. ‘I can’t say. So much of what happens between them is directed by the Prophecy. There is a point past which I never dared go, with any of them. I don’t know Robert all that well, but I do know Jenn. She was afraid to tell him, afraid of what he would do. Perhaps she was also afraid of what Andrew would say – though she should have known better. Andrew worships Robert as a hero. It would not be so great a step to love him as a father.’
McCauly put his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. ‘By all that is holy, Robert will put that boy on the throne.’
‘Surely Jenn will stop him.’
‘You think so? I don’t know her that well – and I’ve never met Andrew.’ The Bishop got to his feet and continued, ‘There’s nothing we can do about this at the moment. I can’t contact Robert, and I don’t know what I’d say if I could. And as to the others? I don’t think it’s prudent we say anything for the moment. Not until I have a chance to think on this more. Do I have your word, Father?’
‘Of course, Your Grace.’ John stood. ‘I’m sorry to—’
‘Bishop?’ They both turned at the call from the gallery door to see Payne
coming towards them, Deverin, Owen and somebody else holding back. ‘Daniel’s just come back early. He checked the drop points and picked up a letter. It’s from Godfrey.’