‘It ill becomes a man to die on a full stomach, Boran. I have seen dead men; their bowels open, you know, and they stink. I have no wish to stink.’
‘On the field today, sir, there will be two men with swords. Now swords have no brains, they go where they are directed. Sir Cairbre may be a wondrous warrior, but he might slip in the mud just as you strike. Best to be prepared. I shall fetch the honey-cakes.’
As Boran turned the door opened and Sir Cairbre entered. He was wearing his crimson armour and carrying his round, plumed helm under his arm. He approached Errin and bowed.
‘Good morning, my Lord,’ he said softly. ‘Have you reconsidered this unwise action?’
‘I have not, sir. Nor shall I!’
‘Leave us!’ ordered Cairbre, but Boran stood his ground.
‘I take no orders from you, sir,’ he said, reddening.
Errin rose. ‘Thank you, Boran. Fetch the honey-cakes if you please, and some fresh water for our guest.’
The servant departed and Errin, realizing he still held the longsword, hurled it to the bed where it clanged against his helmet.
‘I applaud your courage, Lord Errin,’ said Cairbre, ‘but it will avail you nothing. The Duke has explained to me that you are no swordsman, and I have no wish to walk on to the field for the purpose of simple butchery.’
‘But that is the law, Sir Cairbre — the King’s law. I have the right to champion my lady — is that not so?’
‘Indeed it is, sir. But even if you win — you lose. As the Lord Seer Okessa has pointed out, even if you defeat me you will only establish the Lady Dianu’s innocence of the charge of treason. She will still be a Nomad and thus required to travel to Gar-aden. And at that point you will be arrested for treason.’
‘How so? I have never spoken against the King.’
‘But, sir,’ said Cairbre, smiling softly, ‘you are about to fight the King’s champion. Therefore you are setting yourself against the King, and that makes you a traitor.’
‘That is logic of the most dubious kind, Sir Cairbre. The right of the accused to be championed has been with us for a thousand years. In one stroke you remove that right for men — or women — deemed the King’s enemies?’
‘Traitors should have no rights,’ Cairbre declared.
‘And how then are we to decide who is a traitor?’
‘The facts should judge, not the skills of swordsmen.’
‘And who decides the facts?’
‘The King, or the King’s judges.’
‘I see,’ said Errin. ‘An interesting hypothesis. Let us say that a farmer has a complaint against his liege lord. Is it fair that the liege lord decides his case?’
‘We are not talking of farmers, but of the King. His word is the law — and his wishes are above the laws of men,’ said Cairbre. ‘Despite knowing the Lady Dianu is of Nomad blood, you have decided to champion her. Thus you are championing the cause of all Nomads — regardless of their rank. Can you not see that you are defying your King?’
Boran returned with the honey-cakes and then left. Errin poured Cairbre a goblet of water. ‘Can you not see, sir Knight,’ he said persuasively, ‘that in history there have been bad kings as well as good?’
‘What point is there in such a question? Are you saying the King is bad?’
‘No, no. Do not put words in my mouth, sir. I am saying that the past shows us that a bad king, or an evil king, or a foolish king can make appalling decisions which are not good for the realm. If we say now that the King is above the law, then in a hundred years a bad king may abuse such a position.’
Cairbre smiled and sipped his water. He sat down on the edge of the bed. That will not happen in this case, Lord Errin, for we will have the same King in a hundred years. Indeed, in a thousand years. For he is now immortal… even as I am.’
Errin said nothing, scanning the Knight’s eyes for any sign of madness. Cairbre chuckled. ‘I know how this sounds, Lord Errin. Truly I do. But look at me. How old am I? Twenty-five. Thirty? I am nearly fifty.’
Errin could not believe it. He stared into the warrior’s face, seeking the tell-tale lines, but the Knight’s skin was pale and smooth, his dark eyes glowing with health.
Cairbre finished his drink and stood looking down at the silver goblet. His slender fingers contracted suddenly and the goblet crumpled in his hand. ‘Youth and strength is mine,’ said Cairbre, ‘and the King’s. Do you see now what I was trying to tell the Council? We are going to build an empire — the greatest empire of all time. Faithful friends of the King will become immortal; they will never taste death. This is what you are throwing away. We need you, Errin. Your blood is pure, your line without blemish. Give up this foolishness — and join us in our crusade.’
Errin’s eyes grew cold and he stepped back from the Knight. ‘I will meet you, sir, on the field at noon. When I am dead I ask — as one Knight to another — that you allow me to be buried alongside Dianu. I think it is inappropriate for us to talk further.’
Cairbre sighed and stood. He drew his sword and tossed it to Errin; it was wondrously light and razor-sharp.
‘The blade has magic properties,’ he said. ‘It will enhance your skill and cut through anything — ultimately even this armour I wear. Use it today and I will take your blade.’
‘It is not necessary,’ said Errin.
‘No, it is not,’ Cairbre agreed. ‘But at least your lady will see a battle for her life and not a meaningless slaughter. Until noon, then.’
The jousting field, hemmed by stakes and fenced by purple ribbons tied between them, held two thousand people. It seemed that the entire town of Mactha had emptied for the occasion and Errin was distressed to see fires burning and steaks being fried. Vendors were selling food and drink, and children were playing at knights, fighting each other with wooden swords. Errin stood alone at the centre of the field, his helm tucked under his arm. He could scarcely believe that people could turn an event of life and death into such a festive occasion. The sky was clear and blue and despite the presence of autumn it was like a summer’s day, bright and warm. His armour felt heavy and, even though Boran had greased the joints, it was difficult to move.
He remembered a day such as this in Cithaeron, when a champion had stood for the life of a noble. He himself had not bothered to watch. He had caught the eye of an attractive lady and they had repaired to her apartments for a lazy afternoon of exquisite pleasure; he had not even troubled to enquire as to the outcome of the battle.
Now he stood alone at the centre of the grass-covered field. There should have been two friends beside him, but none had come forward. Considering Cairbre’s talk of treason, he was not surprised.
Dianu was brought into the field on a wagon, and the crowd began to boo and jeer. A tremendous sense of anger engulfed Errin, but his eyes remained fixed on her. She stood with head held high, ignoring the taunts from the crowd. The wagon was followed by the Duke and the Lord Seer, and behind them came the Lords and Knights of the Council.
A herald blew a single blast on a silver bugle and the crowd fell silent.
The wagon was brought to the centre of the field and Errin approached it. Bowing to Dianu, he took her hand and kissed it. He could think of nothing to say, but answered her nervous smile with one of his own.
Sir Cairbre rode into sight and dismounted at the far end of the field. Then he walked slowly to the centre and bowed to Errin. Once more he was wearing the red helm and his eyes were hidden in shadow. He drew his sword — Errin’s sword — and pushed it into the earth.
‘Do you still wish this affair to continue?’ asked Cairbre, his voice muffled and metallic.
‘I do.’
‘Then let us begin.’ He dragged the sword clear and raised it two-handed, dropping the point until it covered half the distance between them. Errin put on his helm, drew his sword and touched the blade to Cairbre’s.