The scout looked up with a start and smiled faintly, setting aside his quill.
«I have, my lord. Will it serve?»
«I'm sure it will serve very well», the king said, rising to delve into a pouch at his waist. «Here's a silver penny for your trouble, Master Josquin — and my thanks for a job well done». He pressed the coin into the scout's hand and clapped him on the shoulder. «Now, go and get a meal and some sleep. I shall need you on the morrow».
As the scout withdrew, grinning sheepishly at this tangible sign of the royal favor, Donal glanced to where Ahern was clearing the supper tray, then moved the campaign chest closer and sat again on his camp stool, picking up the new map. Morian, meanwhile, had hauled the entranced Nidian to his feet and guided him to the stool just vacated by the scout, pulling another stool near and sitting knee-to-knee with him. At his gesture, Ahern set the silver tray across both their laps and moved back to stand behind Morian.
«You will be familiar with the basic principles of scrying», Morian said to Ahern, at the same time directing Richard to stand before the tent flap. «This will be a demonstration of a military application, for gathering intelligence».
He nodded to the king, who leaned back to snare a flagon of wine from a camp table behind him. As he unstoppered it to pour some onto the tray, the reflected torchlight made of the silver tray a blood-dark mirror.
«Nidian, I want you to imagine that you're looking through the wine and the tray», Morian said very softly, setting both the other man's hands on the edge of the tray and holding them there with his own. «Imagine that you can see your feet through the tray. Don't try to focus; just relax and drift, let it happen. I give you my word that you'll come to no harm».
The Mearan's eyelids flickered, but his gaze did not waver from the shallow wash of wine. Cautiously Ahern set his hand on Morian's shoulder, trying the most tentative of contacts, so that he could better monitor what the more experienced Deryni did — and deepened the contact as Morian allowed it.
«Now recall what you've just told us, Master Nidian, and what you saw», Morian urged softly. «Don't speak. Simply allow your memories to flow, and try to focus on every detail you can remember».
A faint sigh escaped the man's lips, and his head sank a little lower as the tension eased into expectant silence. After a few seconds, as Donal and Ahern watched and Richard craned his neck to see past their subject, a faint miasma seemed to rise from the surface of the wine, clouding the flat expanse of burgundy with a silvery sheen reflected from beneath, resolving then into misty images of stone ramparts, bartizans with conical roofs, portcullises barring sturdy gates, and defenders massed along the battlements of distant Ratharkin.
The colors of old Meara fluttered above the walls of the ancient city, rather than the scarlet and gold standard of Donal's royal governor. And camped before the walls of the city were the Mearan levies — far more than anyone had thought Judhael could assemble.
At Donal's gesture, Richard came softly closer and the two brothers studied what was shown, noting the troop deployments and encampments, estimating numbers. After a silent interval, Richard withdrew to one side to make notations on the map. When it became clear that no more was to come, Donal tipped the contents of the tray onto grass at one edge of the tent while Morian adjusted Nidian's memory of what had just occurred.
«What will he remember of this?» Richard murmured, as Donal wiped off the tray with a cloth.
«Only that he was asked to report again on what he saw, and that he did so, while notes were taken. That is what happened», Donal added, cocking an eyebrow at his brother.
«As you say…» Richard murmured.
When they had given Nidian back into the custody of Sir Kenneth, still waiting outside, the king recalled his officers and spent another half hour advising them of a revised strategy for the coming day before settling down for a few hours' sleep.
Chapter 22
«The Lord hath set at nought all my mighty men in the midst of me».[23]
They rose before dawn, to prepare for a battle Donal hoped they would not have to fight. After hearing Mass with his officers in the open air before his tent, the king broke his fast while Kenneth armed him and he gave final instructions to his brother. Morian listened silently, already armed and ready, the roundels and martlet on his green surcoat gleaming in the early morning light. He did not ride with the king when the royal party mounted up to make their way to Ratharkin, departing in another direction with a squadron of Claibourne cavalry and orders of his own. Dukes Andrew and Ursic likewise had their orders.
An hour later, the king was drawing rein before the gates of Ratharkin beneath his royal standard, his brother at his side. Ahern and his Lendouri cavalry rode behind him, and a herald rode well before him under a white flag of truce, to carry his terms to the city.
The Mearan answer was an arrow through the herald's heart, defying all conventions of honorable warfare and unleashing the cold relentlessness of Haldane justice: justice which Donal Haldane had the means to deliver. That the rebels were betrayed from within the city they had thought to hold was fitting judgment of their folly as, an hour later, the king's loyal subjects in Ratharkin infiltrated the rebel-held gatehouse and threw open the city gates to their royal deliverers, as Nidian ap Pedr had promised.
The next two hours saw heavy fighting in the streets of Ratharkin, quickly focusing on the rebel-held fortress of the city's inner citadel. Casualties were heavy on the Mearan side and light among the royalist troops. Judhael of Meara soon abandoned his position, seeing the futility of continued resistance in the face of Ratharkin's betrayal. As the vanquished prince fled deeper into Meara, Duke Andrew and his Cassani cavalry in pursuit, some of the junior Mearan royals made a dash southward toward the mountains of Cloome. Donal sent Richard after them, himself remaining in Ratharkin with Duke Ursic and an occupation force to restore order. It was in the great hall of the recaptured inner citadel that they found the body of Iolo Melandry, the city's royal governor, hoisted to the full height of one of the main hammer-beams.
«Damn them all», Donal said softly, as he gazed up at the bloated body and blackened face of the saintly little man he had called friend, who had upheld Haldane rights in Meara for more than a decade. «Damn them!» Running a trembling hand over his eyes, he turned to the men at his side, trying to put the image of Iolo's face out of his memory.
«Kenneth, get him down from there», he murmured. «Gently. Dear God, that man deserved a better end than this!»
The king lingered in Ratharkin for another week, for a new royal governor must be designated, at least for the interim, and a sharp lesson must be delivered to the Mearans, even though Ratharkin, in the end, had remained mostly loyal to their king. Calling a council of the great lords who had accompanied him on the Mearan campaign, Donal heard their recommendations and assessments of the situation, told them what he would have liked to do to the Mearans, then allowed his righteous anger to be tempered by the practicalities of those who would have to keep the peace once he departed.
«Very sadly, I am now short one royal governor, gentlemen», he told them. «At least for the interim, it will have to be one of you. Do I hear any volunteers?»
The men around him exchanged glances. Such an appointment was an honor and an opportunity for advancement, a chance to prove one's worth to the Crown, but it was also a virtual exile; and all were well aware of the fate of the last royal governor of Meara, lying in his coffin in the nearby chapel.