From the small knot of official witnesses, an almost inaudible sigh carried clearly to the two men on the throne platform. Duncan glanced up, looking for the source. It could have been Baron Arald, lord of Castle Redmont, and ruler of the fief Halt was commissioned to serve. Or possibly Crowley, Commandant of the Ranger Corps. The two men were Halt's oldest friends.
"Your Majesty," Anthony continued tentatively, "I remind you that, as a serving officer of the King, such comments are in direct contravention of the prisoner's oath of loyalty and so constitute a charge of treasonous behavior."
Duncan looked to the Chamberlain with a pained expression. The law was very clear on the matter of treasonous behavior. There were only two possible punishments.
"Oh, surely, Lord Anthony," he said. "A few angry words?"
Anthony's gaze was troubled now. He had hoped that the King wouldn't try to influence him in this matter.
"Your Majesty, it's a contravention of the oath. It's not the words themselves that are the issue, but the fact that the prisoner broke his oath by saying them in public. The law is clear on the matter." He looked at Halt and spread his hands in a helpless gesture.
A slight smile touched the Ranger's battered features. "And you'd be breaking yours, Lord Anthony, by not informing the King so," Halt said. This time, Anthony didn't order him to remain silent. Unhappily, he nodded his agreement. Halt was right. He had created an intolerable situation for everyone with his ridiculous drunken behavior.
Duncan went to speak, hesitated, then started again.
"Halt, surely there must be some misunderstanding here?" he suggested, hoping that the Ranger could somehow find a way out of the charge. Halt shrugged.
"I can't deny the charges, Your Majesty," he said evenly. "I was heard to say some:unpleasant things about you."
And there was the other horn of the dilemma: Halt had made his appalling comments in public, in front of at least half a dozen witnesses. As a man and a friend, Duncan could-and certainly would-be willing to forgive him. But as king, he must uphold the dignity of his office.
"But:why, Halt? Why do this to us all?"
It was the Ranger's turn to shrug now. His eyes dropped from the King's. He muttered something in a low voice that Duncan couldn't quite make out.
"What did you say?" he asked, wishing for some way out of the corner he found himself in. Halt's eyes came up to meet his again.
"Too much brandy-spirit, Your Majesty," he said in a louder tone.
Then, forcing a humorless grin, he added, "I never had much of a head for liquor. Perhaps you could add a charge of drunkenness as well, Lord Anthony?"
For once, Anthony's composure and sense of protocol was rattled.
"Please, Halt:," he began, about to plead with the Ranger not to make light of the proceedings. Then he recovered himself and turned to the King.
"Those are the charges, Your Majesty. Admitted to by the prisoner."
For a long moment, Duncan sat, unspeaking. He stared at the small figure in front of him, trying to see through the defiant expression in those eyes to find the reason behind Halt's actions. He knew the Ranger was angry because he had been refused permission to try to rescue his apprentice. But Duncan truly believed that it was vital that Halt remain in Araluen until the situation with Foldar was resolved. With each day that passed, Morgarath's former lieutenant was becoming a greater danger, and Duncan wanted his best advisers around him to deal with the matter.
And Halt was one of the very best.
Duncan drummed his fingers on the wooden arm of the throne in frustration. It was unlike Halt not to be able to see the bigger picture. In all the years they had known each other, Halt had never put his own interests before those of the kingdom. Now, seemingly out of spite and anger, he had allowed alcohol to cloud his thinking and his judgment. He had publicly insulted the King, in front of witnesses-an action that could not be ignored, or passed off as a few angry words between friends. Duncan looked at his old friend and adviser. Halt's eyes were cast down now. Perhaps if he would plead for mercy, claim some leniency for his past services to the crown:anything.
"Halt?" Duncan began before he realized it. The Ranger's eyes came up to meet his and Duncan made a helpless little interrogatory gesture with his hands. But Halt's eyes hardened even as they met the King's and Duncan could tell that there would be no plea for mercy there. The graying head shook slightly in refusal and Duncan's heart sank even further. He tried one more time to bridge the gap that had grown between him and Halt. He forced a small, conciliatory smile to his face.
"After all, Halt," he added in a reasonable tone, "it's not as if I don't understand exactly how you feel. My own daughter is with your apprentice. Do you think I wouldn't like to simply leave the kingdom to its own devices to go and rescue her?"
"There is a fairly major difference, Your Majesty. A king's daughter can expect to be treated a little better than a mere apprentice Ranger. She's a valuable hostage, after all."
Duncan sat back a little in his chair. The bitterness in Halt's tone was like a slap in the face. Worse, the King realized, Halt was right. Once the Skandians knew Cassandra's identity, she would be well treated while she waited to be ransomed. Sadly, he realized that his attempt at reconciliation had only widened the rift between them.
Anthony broke the growing silence in the room.
"Unless the prisoner has anything to say in his own defense, he is adjudged guilty," he warned Halt.
Halt's eyes remained on the King's, however, and once again there came that tiny negative movement of the head. Anthony hesitated, looking around the room at the other noblemen and officers gathered there, hoping that someone, anyone, might find something to say in Halt's defense. But of course, there was nothing. The Chamberlain saw Baron Arald's heavyset shoulders slump in despair, saw the pain on Crowley's face as the Ranger Commandant looked away from the scene unfolding before them all.
"The prisoner is guilty, Your Majesty," said Anthony. "It remains for you to pass sentence."
And this, Duncan knew, was the part of being king that they never prepared you for. There was the loyalty, the adulation, the power and the ceremony. There was luxury and fine foods and wines and the best clothes and horses and weapons.
And then there were the moments when one paid for all of those things. Moments like this, when the law must be upheld. When tradition must be preserved. When the dignity and power of the office must be protected even if, by so doing, he would destroy one of his most valued friends.
"The law sets down only two possible punishments for treason, Your Majesty," Anthony was prompting again, knowing how Duncan was hating every minute of this.
"Yes. Yes. I know," Duncan muttered angrily, but not soon enough to stop Anthony in his next statement.
"Death or banishment. Nothing less," the Chamberlain intoned solemnly. And, as he said the words, Duncan felt a small thrill of hope in his chest.
"Those are the choices, Lord Anthony?" he asked mildly, wishing to be sure. Anthony nodded gravely.
"There are no others. Death or banishment only, Your Majesty."
Slowly, Duncan stood, taking the sword in his right hand. He held it out in front of him, grasping the scabbard in his right hand below the intricately carved and inlaid crosspiece. He felt a warm glow of satisfaction. He had asked Anthony twice, to make sure. To make sure that the Chamberlain's exact words were heard by the witnesses in the throne room.