" 'Tis even as Thy Majesty doth say." Sir Maris bowed his head. "Yet I pause to tell thee of the matter in his tale that doth alarm me. I prithee, attend to his words, thatthou mayest judge for thyselves."
"Why, then, bring him in." Tuan exchanged a commiserating glance with Catharine and went back to his chair. She stepped around to stand at his right, one hand on his shoulder.
Sir Maris stepped back from the doorway, beckoning, and a frightened peasant came in, shoulders hunched, twisting his hat in his hands.
"Be not afeared," Sir Maris commanded. "Thou art in the presence of thy sovereigns, whose only concern is thy protection and welfare."
If the peasant had reservations about that statement, he didn't let them show, but only bowed as low as he could, possibly to hide the look on his face.
"Come, come, man, ere thou dost topple!" Tuan beckoned impatiently. "What is thy name and place?"
"Piers, Majesties." The peasant straightened up. "I am an hostler at the Inn of the Red Cask."
"Well enough, then, Piers," Tuan said. "Say to us what hath frighted thee."
Piers swallowed, twisting the hat tighter. " 'Twas an hour agone, Majesty, as I did wend my way home."
"So late?" Catharine asked. "Where wast thou at such an hour?"
The peasant blushed. "I… some comrades of mine… we…"
Tuan realized he had run out of words. "Thou and thy friends did seek sport?"
"Of a manner. We did drink ale and tell tales. Majesty."
Tuan glanced at Catharine, then back at the peasant. "Art thou wed?"
Piers swallowed again and nodded, eyes downcast.
"Then where didst thou drink?" Catharine demanded.
"In a clearing in the wood…"
Catharine turned away and rolled her eyes up, but Tuan kept a straight face. "And what did befall thee on thy ways home?"
Piers took a deep breath, then told them, faltering, ashamed. Once, when he fell silent too long, the King muttered, "Nay, it surely must have been of Hell! I, too, would have feared," and Piers took heart enough to tell them the rest of it.
Finally his voice dwindled and he stood twisting his hat, eyes still downcast, finished.
The audience chamber was quiet. The King looked down at his folded hands; the Queen gazed at Piers with pity. He glanced at her quickly, swallowed heavily, and looked down at his mangled hat.
The King looked up. "Then these watchmen brought you to Sir Maris?"
Piers nodded. "Aye, Majesty. And I would have followed wheresoe'er they did lead."
"Be sure thou wouldst have," Tuan said, then lapsed into brooding again.
Catharine broke the silence this time. "Thou hadst drunk much ale? And told stories of ghosts and spirits?"
Piers hesitated.
"Be truthful," she commanded.
"Aye to the drinking," he said, as though it were pulled out of him, "but nay to the tales."
"Then what didst thou speak of?"
Piers swallowed.
"Was't women?" Tuan demanded.
Piers nodded.
"Still, thou hadst been drinking, and deeply." Tuan looked up at Sir Maris. "But the watchmen saw the spirit?"
"They did, Majesty."
"As did all the folk who lived along those alleys and streets, belike." Tuan's mouth tightened. "Nay, the word will be all over the town, even now. Is there any question of the watch's truthfulness?"
"Nay, Majesty. All are good men; all were sober. All four picture the spirit in the same way, as they tell the tale."
" 'Twas real, then, as much as any spirit may be." Tuan nodded. "I thank thee, Piers." He slid a gold piece from his purse and tossed it.
Piers caught it, saw its color, and stared.
"Thank thy name saint for thy life," Catharine said with some asperity, "and stay with thy wife o' nights henceforth."
"I will. Majesty," Piers murmured, nodding and bowing, "I will."
"See that thou dost. Now go directly to thy home."
The peasant bowed again and hurried out, away from their dread presence.
The chamber was quiet, the King staring into the flames, the Queen staring at the King, and the seneschal gazing at them both.
Finally Tuan looked up at Sir Maris. "Thou didst well to bring us the man hard on the event."
Sir Maris bowed.
"How many others," Tuan asked, "hadst thou not told us of?"
Sir Maris froze with his head down, then slowly raised it. "Three, Majesty. One was a spinster who swore the ghost of a farmer had sought to seduce her, and only her rosary had warded her; another was a cooper who did so well imitate his own casks that he was quite filled up with ale. The third was a poor, simple lad, who swore a pouka, a glowing horse, had pounced upon him, and given chase till he came within sight of the lights of the town."
"And all three had been the only ones who had seen the spirits?"
"Aye, and…" The seneschal hesitated.
"Thou hadst reason, with each, to doubt that the sights he or she had seen were truly there." Catharine gave him a brittle smile.
"I had. Majesty," he admitted.
"Thou must never fear to be honest with us, Sir Maris," Tuan said, though he had to admit the delicate pause had prepared Catharine just enough to prevent her rebuking the old knight—and incidentally rejecting what he had reported. "Yet in this instance, others had seen it."
"Aye, Majesty, many others—and heard it, too."
Tuan nodded. "Henceforth thou must needs tell us all such occurrences, even if they be naught but the self-conjured dreams of brain-sick fools. Our thanks, Sir Maris, and good night."
The old knight bowed and retreated out the door.
Tuan sat still for some minutes, holding Catharine's hand on his shoulder. Finally, he murmured, "Runnymede hath ne'er before been haunted, sweet wife."
"Never," she agreed, so softly he could scarcely hear. "What manner of evil is set loose upon us, my lord?"
"What manner indeed?" he replied. "And wherefore?"
Chapter Eleven
"Oh, nay, my lord," Baroness Reddering protested. "We were quite… startled, when Old Adam told us the word that did run through the parish."
"Old Adam?" The Archbishop frowned. "Was it not Brother Felix who spoke of it to thee?"
" 'Twas not." The Baroness looked up in surprise. " 'Twas Old Adam."
"I' truth?" The Archbishop looked up at old Adam. "And whence gained thou this intelligence, Adam?"
"From Brother Felix, milord, when he came to the gate," Old Adam said with grim satisfaction. "He would have withheld it from me; yet I kept at him and at him, till he became so out of sorts that he did give it me."
"Well, I cannot truly blame him." The Archbiship sighed. He well remembered Old Adam's badgering. Yet the irritation remained. "I could swear that only another so ill-tempered as thou could withhold a secret from thee. Yet how is't he did not then come to bear my word to Her Ladyship?"
"Oh, for that I sent him packing." The corners of Old Adam's lips quirked in a very small smile. "There was no need for him, certes, now that I might bear the word myself."
"Adam!" Lady May rose gasped, shocked, but the Archbishop only sighed. "And my order to him was of no consequence to thee? Nay, I see not; wherefore did I ask?"
Old Adam started to answer, and the Baroness interrupted quickly. "Enough, Old Adam; thou art dismissed." She waved, shooing him away. "My granddaughter will suffice to company me in Milord Ab— Archbishop's presence." She blushed slightly, inclining her head toward the Archbishop.
"As Thy Ladyship will have it," Old Adam grumbled, and turned to go.
The Archbishop returned the bow, and the smile. "I thank thee, Lady, for bearing my new title in mind."
Lady Mayrose turned to her grandmother. "Thou shouldst pension Old Adam, Grandmother, and send him to dwell in some small cot far removed from us. I' truth, he doth grow so bothersome in his dotage that I scarce can contain myself from shouting at him!"