Catharine's eyes leaped up to him with a look of radiant gratitude.
"Speak truth," Tuan went on, "and you may chastise her. But when you charge her with that which she hath not done"—he shook his head slowly—"I cannot let you speak."
Rod ached to spit in his face.
Instead, he turned again to Catharine, who sat straight again, regaining her haughty look.
"Do not forget," he said, "that a queen who cannot control her own whims is a weak queen."
She paled again, and "Walk wary!" Tuan snapped.
Rage surged up in Rod, higher and higher as he stood rigid against it, till it broke some bond within him and drained away, leaving an icy calm and a great clearity, a clarity in which he saw what he must do and why… and what the consequences to himself must needs be.
Catharine was almost smiling now, smug and haughty again, seeing Rod hesitate at Tuan's threat.
"Has more to say, sirrah?" she demanded, lifting her chin.
"Yes," Rod said between his teeth. "What kind of queen is it who betrays her own people?"
His hand whipped out and slapped her.
She screamed, falling back in the chair, and Tuan was on him, fist swinging square into Rod's face.
Rod ducked under the blow and grappled Tuan to him, shouting "Fess!"
Tuan's fists slammed into his belly, trip-hammer blows; but Rod held on, seeing the other generals rushing up.
But Fess got there first.
Rod tried to forget what a nice, clean young kidTuan was and drove his knee into Tuan's groin.
He let go and leaped to the saddle as Tuan fell, doubled with pain, rattling in his throat.
Fess spun and leaped over the heads of the approaching Guardsmen.
He landed and stretched into a gallop. Rod heard Catharine screaming Tuan's name and grinned savagely.
Then his grin stretched into a silent scream as pain exploded in his wounded shoulder.
Turning, he saw the nock of a crossbow bolt sticking out of his shoulder.
And, beyond the bouncing shoulder, in the midst of the circle of Guardsmen around the throne, Catharine bending over Tuan, who knelt, still curled around his pain, with a Guardsman's crossbow dropping from his hand.
They came back to a hill overlooking the field as dusk gathered, having run a long circle through wood and field and waded a mile of stream to hide their trail.
Rod slumped out of the saddle as Fess came to the edge of a grove. He limped to a large tree and sat, leaning back against the trunk, hidden from eyes in the field below by the gathering gloom.
He looked down over the glowing fires on the field, listening to the faint sounds of the victory merrymaking .
He sighed and turned to the problem at hand, or more accurately, at shoulder. He opened his doublet and probed the shoulder gently, wincing with the pain that he felt even through the anesthetic he'd applied on the run.
The barbed bolt-head seemed buried just in front of collarbone and joint; by some miracle, it had missed both bone and artery.
There was a faint puff of air, like a miniature Shockwave, and he looked up to see Gwendylon bending toward him, tears welling from her eyes. "My lord, my lord! Art badly hurt?"
Rod smiled and reached up to pull her head down to his. He held her against him for a good, long time.
"Nay, then," she said, blushing as she drew away, "I warrant thou'rt not so sorely wounded as I had feared."
"Ah, lass, lass!" Rod leaned back, cradling her in his arm. "I was lonely, on that ride."
"I'd ha' come to you sooner, lord," she said apologetically, "but I must needs wait till you'd come to rest.
"Now to that shoulder." She took on a brisk, almost businesslike air. " 'Twill hurt some, my lord."
Rod ground his teeth as she stripped the blood-soaked tunic off his shoulder. "Bandages in the saddlebag," he gritted as she finished.
She turned toFess, brought out the small metal box, frowned. "What is this red cross here, my lord?"
"Just a symbol," Rod wheezed. "Means it's a, uh, healing kit."
She knelt by his side again, very still.
Rod frowned, wondering what she was doing.
Then pain lanced him again, and he felt the bolt-head receding, withdrawing slowly along the channel it had cut on its way in, and, seemingly, all of its own accord.
Through a pain-blurred haze, a random thought bur-rowed: these witches were the answer to the surgeon's prayer.
The bolt-head eased itself past his skin, then suddenly whirled spinning through the air to smash itself against a stone.
"Thus," she hissed, "may I serve all who would harm thee, my lord."
Rod shivered as he realized the extent of the power he'd been dallying with.
She reached for the bandages.
"No, no!" Rod touched her arm with his good hand. "The powder in the silver envelope first. It'll stop the bleeding."
"I would rather use compress of herbs," she said dubiously. "But as thou wilt have it, my lord."
Rod shuddered as the sulfa bit into him.
Then the pain numbed, and she was winding the bandage.
"It seems you're always bandaging that shoulder," Rod muttered.
"Aye, my lord. I would that thou wert more chary of it."
Someone coughed, somewhat delicately, nearby.
Rod looked up and saw a squat silhouette lurking in the shadows.
Rod's mouth tightened. "Well, if it isn't the Atrophied Ajax himself!"
Gwendylon laid a reproving finger gently on his lips.
Rod gave a short riod, irritated at himself; the fingers lifted away.
He beckoned with his good arm. "Well, come on and join the party, Brom. But be careful; the fruits of victory are sour tonight."
Brom came forward, hands locked behind him, head bowed, and sat on a nearby root.
Rod frowned. There was something sheepish, almost furtive, in the dwarf's manner. "What's eating you?" he growled.
Brom sighed and rested his hands on his knees. "Thou hast caused me much heartache this day, Rod Gallowglass."
Rod smiled, one-sided. "Sounds more like a bellyache. I take it you weren't too pleased at the way things went?"
"Oh, nay, I was most enormously pleased! And yet"—Brom rested his chin on his clenched hands, looking sheepish again—"I confess that at first I was somewhat wroth with thee."
"You don't say!"
"Aye; but that was before I realized your plan."
"Oh?" Rod raised one eyebrow. "But you did figure out what I was up to?"
"Nay. I grow old, Rod Gallowglass…"
Rod snorted.
"My thanks." Brom inclined his head. "But 'tis truth; I grow old, and must needs be shown."
"And what were you shown?"
"Oh, 'twas a most touching scene!" Brom smiled with a touch of sarcasm. "At first Catharine could but cry, 'My love, thou'rt hurt!' and call for doctors and herbs, tillTuan managed to rise, saying his hurt was but slight; and then she fell to weeping on his shoulder, the while crying him her lord and protector and the guard of her honor, and would not be comforted till he'd swore he would wed her!" Brom's smile softened, "Aye, 'twas most tender to look upon."
Rod nodded wearily, closing his eyes. "When's the wedding?"
"As soon as they shall be thrice called in a church. Catharine would have had it right then, butTuan cried no, that she was Queen and the flower of womanhood, and must be wed as befitted her estate."
"A promising beginning."
"Oh, 'twas more promising still! For Tuan then turned to the twelve lords and, quoth he, 'And how shall we deal with these?' And Catharine cried, 'Oh, as thou wilt, my lord, as thou wilt! But be done with them right quickly, and come away!' "
"Very auspicious," Rod agreed. "What did he do with them?"
"Struck off their chains, and bade them once more take up the care of their demesnes. But he required of them each a hostage, of twelve years old or less, of their blood and body and legitimate household, to dwell in the Queen's castle."
Rod frowned, nodded. "Should work. He gets a deterrent, and a chance to raise a new generation very loyal to the throne."
He leaned back against the rough bark, feeling totally drained. "Glad it worked."