The King, page 13
part #4 of The Jester King Series
When he was feeling better, he rolled back on the bed and saw the silhouette of a woman sitting next to him. In the dim light, his sleepy eyes could not make out her face. Above her head, ripples rolled across a large tent as they stirred in a gentle breeze.
“William, are you feeling any better?”
“Lady Myrredith. What happened? Where’s Sir Hugh? Did we get away from the prince?”
“Not quite,” Hereweald said.
Billy blinked and looked past Myrredith to the man sitting in a chair at the far corner of the tent. He sat next to a small table set with cups and plates for two, and a pair of stubby candles. The meal opposite the prince hadn’t been touched. The flickering candlelight painted half his face, leaving the rest to swim in shadow. Even so, his resemblance to Prince Gaelyn left little doubt of his identity.
Billy woke fully.
“Summon the bowman.”
The prince got up and crossed the fur rugs covering the floor to stand beside Lady Myrredith. Even in the dim light, Billy saw her tense. He also observed the prince reach to touch her, but then draw back.
“Lady Myrredith, would you leave us alone? We two princes have business to discuss.”
Myrredith bowed her head. She then rose and turned to leave.
Billy noticed her fine dress—something that had been missing since their escape from Cyndyn Hall. “You look very nice, Lady Myrredith.”
She looked down at her garments and smiled. “Thank you, Prince William. Prince Hereweald was kind enough to bring some of my things.” She then bowed to Billy and left through a large flap in the tent.
The Prince of Gwythia picked up an object from the floor near Billy’s bed. He wiped it off with a bloody rag and sat in the chair Myrredith had vacated.
A moment later, a voice came from outside. “Your Highness: Carius, the bowman.”
The prince turned his face. “Come in, Carius.”
The man entered, bowed to the prince, then stood very erect and still.
“This is the man who shot you.”
“How do you know that?”
“There were quite a few who shot their bows in the meadow, but he was the only one to use a black arrow.” The prince held up the broken arrow he had been fiddling with in his lap.
“Black arrow?”
“Poisoned.”
“What?”
“My physician removed the arrow easily enough, but the poison is another matter. Carius, do you have any antidote for the poison?”
“I beg Your Highness—”
“Do you have any antidote?”
“No, sire. I haven’t a dram.” The man bowed his head but otherwise remained at attention.
“I see. I don’t know whether to promote you or execute you. What say you, Highness?”
The archer shot Billy a fearful look.
Billy studied him. “If those are my choices, then I say promote him.”
Both Gwythies flinched in surprise, and Carius smiled.
Hereweald leaned forward. “Why?”
“Killing him wouldn’t change anything.”
“But I have standing orders to use the black arrows only when commanded.”
“A soldier’s honest mistake.”
“Tha’s right, Your Highness. It were a—”
The Gwythian prince cut Carius short with an icy stare. He held it until the man dropped his eyes. “Well ... get out before I change my mind.”
Carius wasted no time in vanishing from the prince’s sight.
“So, as a dying man, do you wish to clear your conscience?”
Billy looked into a dark corner of the tent. “About what?”
“How about your part in my brother’s murder?”
Billy looked Hereweald straight in the eye. “I loved your brother.”
“People kill for love, do they not? Even the ones they love, on occasion.”
“Not me.”
“I wish there was some way I could believe you.”
“I’ve never killed anyone!”
“No one?”
Hereweald’s words cut across Billy’s thoughts, to the deaths of Sir Banarel and Dhwen, King William’s physician. They seemed an age ago, and yet the sting was still there.
“Well ...”
“Who was it? Did you kill my brother?”
“No. But there are two deaths I feel responsible for.”
“So, you admit you are a murderer.”
“No. But they died because of me.” Billy sighed. “Oh, wait … how could I forget?”
“What?”
“Don Miguel. Him, I killed.”
“And who was he?”
“The man who killed your brother.”
The prince sat back in his chair. He rested his face against his fist. “Is that the way you wish to die—as a liar?”
“Look.” Billy sat up with unexpected strength. “If you’re so sure I did it, then why are you asking me?”
“Why indeed? Well, it looks like the antidote is working. See, you’re already regaining your vigor.”
“Antidote?” Billy examined his raised fist.
“I ordered my physician to administer it after he removed this.” The prince waved the broken arrow.
“Then, you saved me?”
“So it would seem.”
“Why?”
The prince rubbed the stubble under his chin. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m superstitious. Maybe I don’t wish to kill a prince without first hearing his side. Maybe it’s because you travel with a satyr.”
“With Sylvys?”
“Aye. Were you aware they cannot tell a lie?”
“No. I never heard that.”
“It’s true. My people have revered them for centuries.”
Hereweald paused to pull a large, bronze medallion from his tunic. He held it before Billy’s eyes. It had the image of a woman on one side and a satyr on the opposite. As the disk spun in the dim light, the two images came together in an embrace. Billy couldn’t help but smile at this simple illusion.
The prince leaned back in his chair and spoke over his shoulder. “Bring me the satyr.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” came the disembodied voice from outside.
“Carefully!”
“Yes, my prince.”
Hereweald sat up straight. “My mother’s clansmen were priests in the old days. And though most of the nation have turned to the Christian god, the old ways live on.”
“And you?”
“I was bred for one purpose: war. My father needed a son to fight his battles. Even when my older brother sits on the throne, I will be fighting his wars.”
“What’s that got to do with—?”
“I have no time for this Christ. What matters right now is my belief in the purity of satyrs.”
“Purity?” Billy chuckled.
“Aye. Not by your Christian standards, but by virtue of their very nature.”
“Why do you say I’m a Christian?”
“You have their weakness for forgiveness.” With this, Hereweald held up the broken arrow once again.
“As I said, it would change nothing to execute Carius.”
“It is weakness. He is your enemy. He invaded your country, killed your people, and burned your towns. You must hate him. We are at war! It is weakness not to diminish us, even by one man.”
Billy sighed. “I saw what you did to Dyven. I felt all of those things and more. I assure you, it took more strength to give life than death.”
“Spoken like a Christian.”
Billy smiled. “I really don’t know much about it. My father thought us Christian because our king was, but the valley I grew up in had no church, nor priest.”
“They didn’t need one. They had you, preachin’ forgiveness and peace—weakness.”
“Maybe I just know the truth when I hear it.”
“Ah, the truth!” Hereweald sat back in his chair again. “I nearly forgot where all this was going.”
The prince very deliberately put his fingers together, forming a bridge between his hands. He stared at Billy over his fingers. “You have an uncanny knack for conversation, young prince.”
“Thank you.”
“I admire an opponent with cunning.”
The voice from outside announced, “Sire, the satyr is here.”
“Send him in.”
The prince stood as Sylvys entered the tent. He wore not a scrap of clothing or armor, and other than his graying hair and downtrodden face, he looked just as Billy remembered him on their first meeting.
“King Billy, are you well?”
“I’m feeling better, my friend. The prince has supplied me with an antidote for the poison.”
“My thanks to Your Highness.”
Prince Hereweald bowed to him. “Sylvys, is it?”
“Aye.”
“You called him ‘king’ instead of ‘prince.’ Why is that?”
“I only speak of what is to be. Or so is my hope.”
“So, you hope Billy will become king?”
“He is already my king.”
“Is it true satyrs cannot lie?”
“Lies always seem like such a waste of time, don’t they?”
“So you don’t lie?”
“Not that I recall, though on our current quest, I did attempt to deceive, not with my tongue, but by disguising myself. However, as you can see, it was ultimately a waste of time! My brothers didn’t understand why I did it.”
“I do.”
“You do?”
“I would have done the same in your position.” Hereweald turned to Billy. “You see, the very concept of lying is foreign to them.”
Sylvys shook his head. “Oh, I know of lyin’.”
“I’m sure you do, just not in your own kind.”
“Quite true. Although, if you consider Greater Faerie my kind, then I can tell ya, Malkry is the mother of lies. That elf hates the truth. And don’t get me started on Goblins ...”
“Truth.” Hereweald circled the satyr. “That’s what I want from you, Sylvys: the truth.”
“If it’s the truth you seek, then you shall have it.”
“Good. Then tell me, did Prince Billy kill my brother, Prince Gaelyn of Gwythia?”
“And Lyonesse.”
Hereweald glanced at Billy. “... And Lyonesse.”
Sylvys cleared his throat and stood up straight and tall. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I wasn’t there when the fair prince was slain.”
Hereweald frowned and crossed his arms with a grunt.
“I can tell ya that I believe Billy did not slay your brother.”
“On what basis do you believe that?”
“He told me.”
“He told you, and you believed him.”
“I still believe him. I believe him because I believe in him.”
“I was told that satyrs, when you could get them to talk, were creatures of few words. But not you.”
Sylvys looked down. “As of late, things haven’t been great for me. I’m not myself.”
The prince grunted again. “You may leave.”
Sylvys bowed to Billy, and curtly to Prince Hereweald, then turned to go. Without warning, the prince grabbed Sylvys by the tail and plucked out a hair.
“Ouch! It was bad enough when they started turning grey. Now I’ve got humans pulling them out!”
“My apologies.” Hereweald examined his prize.
Billy squinted at the hair. “Why did ya do that?”
“Because I am in need of a truth compass.”
“A truth compass?”
“Aye.” Sylvys sighed. “Though I’d hoped men had forgot that trick by now.”
“We’ve not all forgotten the old ways.”
“Your Highness is a wizard, then? I did not sense it in you.”
“No, Sylvys. But my mother comes from a line of oak-priests and bards.”
“So, what is this truth compass?” Billy asked.
The prince lifted his index finger and indicated that he should be patient. “I’ll show you.” He went to his table, picked up a large metal bowl, and dumped its contents on the floor. He then poured some wine into the bowl. With the bowl in hand, he turned around and searched the floor of the tent. “Ah! Perfect.” He bent down and picked up a sizeable rowan leaf that had blown in. He placed the leaf so that it floated on the wine, and then he placed the hair plucked from Sylvys’ tail on the leaf. He put his hand over the bowl and stood. “In vino veritas.”
Sylvys smiled. “I always liked that line.”
Hereweald came back to Billy’s bed and sat in the chair, holding the bowl with both hands. “Truth compass. Point to me.”
The leaf turned slowly, to point with its tip towards Hereweald.
“Truth compass, point to Prince Billy.”
Again, the leaf turned and pointed to Billy.
“Wow!” Billy’s eyes widened. “It’s magic.”
“Ptach!” Sylvys frowned. “A cheap trick.”
Hereweald ignored Sylvys and continued with his calibration of the truth compass. “Truth compass, point to your maker.”
After a slow turn, the leaf pointed to Hereweald.
“Now, truth compass, when the truth is spoken, you will point to your maker’s right hand. When a lie is spoken, you will point to your maker’s left hand. “I am Prince Hereweald.”
The leaf pointed to his right hand.
“I am the third Prince of Gwythia.”
The leaf pointed to his left hand.
“Good. I believe it’s ready.”
“Bah,” Sylvys said.
Prince Hereweald turned towards the satyr. “Please, leave us.”
Sylvys again made his bows and left.
Hereweald returned his focus to his captive. “Prince Billy, tell me, did you kill my brother?”
“No.”
They both watched as the leaf moved to point at Hereweald’s right hand. The prince stared at the compass for a while, and then he looked up.
“It seems you were telling the truth.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me a lie. Something I know is untrue.”
Billy thought for a moment. “Your brother, Gaelyn, hated you.”
The leaf turned to point at the prince’s left hand, and he closed his eyes. A pained expression crossed his face and then vanished. When the prince opened his eyes, Billy thought he detected a glint of friendship.
“I loved him too,” Billy said.
The leaf moved more quickly to point at its maker’s right hand.
Again, the stony face of the second Prince of Gwythia seemed to crack. A brief grin landed on his lips, but then threatened to flutter away. “He was easy to love, was he not?”
“Aye. I especially loved his laugh.”
Hereweald’s half grin expanded into a smile, and he snickered. He closed his eyes, which bled a tear. Again, pain clouded his expression. He caught the eye of the young man across from him, and an enduring moment passed between them.
The prince’s face lit up. “Do you know who killed my brother?”
“Yes.”
The leaf continued to point true.
“Who was it?”
“Don Miguel was the assassin, but he didn’t act alone.”
Hereweald fixed his eyes on the truth compass. “And this Don Miguel is dead?”
“Yes.”
“What of his conspirators?”
“Ergyfel, the usurper, now King of Lyonesse.”
“Who else? Were there any others?”
“Sygeon, Ergyfel’s half-brother, and ...” Billy hesitated.
“Yes. Who else?”
“I don’t know, but I suspect there was another.”
“Why?”
“Someone had to plant that second dagger in my room. It couldn’t have been Ergyfel, and I know Sygeon was away from Orgulous.”
“My spies tell me Sygeon died choking on his own blood.”
“He’s dead?”
“Aye. Rumor has it that King William cheated me of the pleasure.”
“Oh.”
“That still leaves me Ergyfel.”
“And the other.”
“Yes.” Hereweald’s eyes shifted. “The other ... Truth compass, I command you to point now to truth if the answer is yes and to lie if the answer is no.”
“What are you doing?”
“The truth compass will only function for a short time. I must use what time I have left to find out what I can.”
Hereweald closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Billy swallowed hard in anticipation.
“Truth compass, is the mystery conspirator living?”
The compass held on truth.
“Is he still in Orgulous?”
The leaf turned to indicate no.
“Is he still in the employ of Ergyfel?”
No.
“Is the conspirator far from Orgulous?
Yes.
“How far?” The prince grimaced. “You can’t answer that. You probably couldn’t tell me if the conspirator was in my own camp!” The prince growled and looked to the side, brooding.
Billy pointed at the compass. “Look! It’s moving.”
Hereweald looked as the leaf turned in the bowl. “It’s probably broken now.”
The leaf continued to rotate until it pointed at the prince’s left hand.
“It’s still working.”
The compass began to point to true.
“That means it moved ... because something I said ... was false.”
The compass stopped on true.
Hereweald looked at Billy. “What did I say?”
“Well … You asked it how far from Orgulous the second conspirator was.”
“Yes, but it can’t answer that kind of question!”
“No,” Billy muttered to himself. “Ah! But then you said ...”
“Yes ... ?”
“Let me think. You said ... it couldn’t tell you if the conspirator was in your own camp.”
“That’s it!” the prince exclaimed. However, his excitement quickly turned into brooding. At last, he leaned over the bowl and whispered. “Is one of the conspirators in my camp?”
The compass remained on “yes.”
Hereweald thought for a moment before asking, “Is the conspirator in this tent?”
No.
“Do I know the second conspirator?”
Yes.
Prince Hereweald stood up and addressed his truth compass. “Truth compass, point in the direction of this conspirator.”
