If Leonora is dead, put the matter to the Council of the Order, abide their judgment—and don't visit my side the mountains any year soon. Or after."
"I will consider your words. But you stay my guest until I decide you are well enough to travel. When you go home, it is with an escort of my men. I will not have it said that I sent you out alone to be killed by bandits between here and the pass."
"Your Majesty has odd ideas of hospitality."
The King made no answer, turned, walked out of the room.
Harald considered the matter for a long hour before he rose, found his cloak, set out for the kitchen and storerooms behind and then, somewhat burdened, to the stable. Having apologized suitably for neglecting the two horses he returned to his room carrying a smaller bundle. An hour's rest preceded a visit to the barracks to chat with friends. Not surprisingly, two planned to ride over to the city later that day. Harald entrusted one with a list of gifts for various of the castle ladies—his one-handed state making the ride imprudent—money to pay for them, a message for a friend. He left, ignoring diverse comments centering on good fortune, a busy convalescence and things a broken arm did not bar. Back in his room he rested for another hour before making his preparations.
His bundle included a dagger blade, a mail coif, two short lengths of ash, a long strip of woolen cloth, another of linen. He resplinted the arm, taking the opportunity to feel out the break, only partly healed. The wool wrapped over the bandage. Over that the dagger blade lying flat along the back of his forearm, the wooden pieces at either side. He wrapped the whole forearm in the mail coif, over that the linen. The arm being now bulkier as well as heavier, he retied his sling, taking care with the knot.
After another hour's rest a servant arrived with food for his dinner. Harald thanked the man, sent him off with a message for the King. The answer came as he finished eating.
Half an hour later he gave a last look around the room, pulled on his cloak, went out into the fading light. Up the steps to the ramparts, along them to the door of the north tower. Men had been working on repairing a worn part of the wall. With his left hand he clumsily lifted a block of stone, heaved it up to the top of the wall, steadied it.
The guard at the door opened it for him; Harald went in. The King was waiting.
"You said you required speech with me here. On what matter?"
"Whether I am your guest or your prisoner. I purpose to leave. Will you let me?"
"I cannot."
"I am not your man to command. Would you be at war with both your father's allies together?"
"It is just that I do not wish. If you leave and do not reach home, I will be blamed. If you leave and reach home angry as you now are, you may come back with an army. You have spoken bluntly; I do so now. I grant that holding you is poor hospitality, but I have no choice. You do not have my leave to go, and I have given orders to the guards at the gate. You will not have my leave until your arm is healed and our dispute settled—peace with the Order or war, as I choose. It may be I will take your counsel, it may be not."
"If you hold me here, do you think that gets you peace? I am not the only man in the Vales. When my kin come in force to fetch me home, what then?"
"Why should they? They do not know why you remain here or for how long."
Harald looked at him in frank astonishment.
"Your Majesty's castle is an hour ride from a town full of busy tongues. What happens here is told there, and much that does not as well."
"Rumor. Your friends are two weeks ride west of here. Will they come over the mountain and across the plain, sift out the truth, ride home, collect an army, return? By then the matter is settled between us. They know you came here, that is all they know. If need be I can close the pass westbound—the traders will be mostly through by now. I do not think it will come to
"I will consider your words. But you stay my guest until I decide you are well enough to travel. When you go home, it is with an escort of my men. I will not have it said that I sent you out alone to be killed by bandits between here and the pass."
"Your Majesty has odd ideas of hospitality."
The King made no answer, turned, walked out of the room.
Harald considered the matter for a long hour before he rose, found his cloak, set out for the kitchen and storerooms behind and then, somewhat burdened, to the stable. Having apologized suitably for neglecting the two horses he returned to his room carrying a smaller bundle. An hour's rest preceded a visit to the barracks to chat with friends. Not surprisingly, two planned to ride over to the city later that day. Harald entrusted one with a list of gifts for various of the castle ladies—his one-handed state making the ride imprudent—money to pay for them, a message for a friend. He left, ignoring diverse comments centering on good fortune, a busy convalescence and things a broken arm did not bar. Back in his room he rested for another hour before making his preparations.
His bundle included a dagger blade, a mail coif, two short lengths of ash, a long strip of woolen cloth, another of linen. He resplinted the arm, taking the opportunity to feel out the break, only partly healed. The wool wrapped over the bandage. Over that the dagger blade lying flat along the back of his forearm, the wooden pieces at either side. He wrapped the whole forearm in the mail coif, over that the linen. The arm being now bulkier as well as heavier, he retied his sling, taking care with the knot.
After another hour's rest a servant arrived with food for his dinner. Harald thanked the man, sent him off with a message for the King. The answer came as he finished eating.
Half an hour later he gave a last look around the room, pulled on his cloak, went out into the fading light. Up the steps to the ramparts, along them to the door of the north tower. Men had been working on repairing a worn part of the wall. With his left hand he clumsily lifted a block of stone, heaved it up to the top of the wall, steadied it.
The guard at the door opened it for him; Harald went in. The King was waiting.
"You said you required speech with me here. On what matter?"
"Whether I am your guest or your prisoner. I purpose to leave. Will you let me?"
"I cannot."
"I am not your man to command. Would you be at war with both your father's allies together?"
"It is just that I do not wish. If you leave and do not reach home, I will be blamed. If you leave and reach home angry as you now are, you may come back with an army. You have spoken bluntly; I do so now. I grant that holding you is poor hospitality, but I have no choice. You do not have my leave to go, and I have given orders to the guards at the gate. You will not have my leave until your arm is healed and our dispute settled—peace with the Order or war, as I choose. It may be I will take your counsel, it may be not."
"If you hold me here, do you think that gets you peace? I am not the only man in the Vales. When my kin come in force to fetch me home, what then?"
"Why should they? They do not know why you remain here or for how long."
Harald looked at him in frank astonishment.
"Your Majesty's castle is an hour ride from a town full of busy tongues. What happens here is told there, and much that does not as well."
"Rumor. Your friends are two weeks ride west of here. Will they come over the mountain and across the plain, sift out the truth, ride home, collect an army, return? By then the matter is settled between us. They know you came here, that is all they know. If need be I can close the pass westbound—the traders will be mostly through by now. I do not think it will come to
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