“Benoit!” Sir Ander turned to face him. “Is that old man still alive?” When Stephano nodded, the knight added in softer tones, “I am glad to know it.”
Stephano cast sidelong glances at his godfather as they walked together, noting with approval his military stance, his firm and muscular body, his strong jaw and forthright appearance. Stephano was disposed to like the man, but there was that one lingering doubt. He was brooding on this and only half-listening to Sir Ander saying something about being astonished to see a soldier come to his aid, riding a dragon.
“But, of course, you served in the famed Dragon Brigade. Julian wrote to me of the first time he put you on dragon back. You were three, I believe. He held you on the saddle in front of him as the dragon soared through the air. You were not the least bit afraid, he told me. He was so proud of you.”
Stephano remembered that moment, one of his earliest recollections. He remembered that he had been afraid until he felt his father’s strong arm encircle him. He remembered his father calling to the dragon that they were ready and the beast taking to the air and the wind rushing past his face and the thrill and elation of leaving the ground and flying to the skies. His heart constricted with pain as he lowered his head and made no answer.
They reached the wicket in the wall, and their conversation came to an end. Thus far, they had not seen any demons or their bats, but no one knew what might be waiting for them on the other side of the high wall. Musket held at the ready, Sir Ander entered the gate first, while Stephano remained guarding the two monks.
“Looks like they’ve gone,” Sir Ander reported, and he motioned the monks to enter. Stephano brought up the rear.
He was pleased and heartened to see the Cloud Hopper sailing bravely toward the docks which were in a small inlet located about three miles from the abbey at the bottom of a steep hill. He cast a critical eye over the houseboat and was relieved to see that it had not suffered much damage. A yardarm had been snapped and hung tangled in the rigging. He wondered worriedly how Gythe was faring.
He was eager to go to his friends, but he felt a responsibility to the two monks and Sir Ander, who had, after all, saved his life. The knight tried to brush off the effects of his head wound, but Stephano saw Sir Ander wince every so often and guessed that it pained him more than he was letting on. And there was something he desperately needed to ask him.
The two men walked on for a moment in silence, then Sir Ander said, “I know this must be awkward for you-”
“Will you answer a question for me, sir?” Stephano asked abruptly.
“Of course,” said Sir Ander.
“Why did you refuse to join my father in the rebellion? You believed in his cause. He told me you did.”
“Your father wrote to tell me not to,” said Sir Ander.
So Benoit was telling the truth, Stephano thought. He said nothing, however, but waited for the knight to continue.
Sir Ander gave a deep sigh. “I knew King Alaric had goaded the Duke of Bourlet into rebelling. The duke did not want to go to war. He suffered insult after insult in silence. But when his outposts were attacked, his property illegally seized, his friends and supporters threatened, he could take no more. But you know all this. You were fifteen, old enough to understand.”
“Old enough to fight at my father’s side,” said Stephano proudly. He would have added, “unlike you, sir,” but he swallowed the words. He might as well have said them, for they hung in the air.
“You fought while I sat at home,” Sir Ander said. “Or rather, I sat in prison.”
“I was told you refused to take up arms and that you were imprisoned for your refusal. I credit you with that much, sir. But you were set free, while my father…”
Stephano could not go on. He stared moodily out into the Breath.
“Yes, I was set free,” said Sir Ander. “I was a Knight Protector and subject to the laws of the Church, not the Crown. The Knighthood saw to it that I was freed, but I was still punished. I was suspended for a time and then assigned to Father Jacob Northrup, a duty no one else wanted. Two Knight Protectors had threatened to resign rather than undertake to risk their lives guarding a Freyan priest-a man most believed to be a traitor. As one of my Order was overheard to say about me, ‘They set a traitor to guard a traitor.’ ”
“Admit it, sir,” Stephano said, his voice burning with anger and resentment, “you were set free because of my mother!”
“No, Stephano,” said Sir Ander quietly. “At the time, the Countess de Marjolaine was herself walking on a precipice. Her enemies had arrayed themselves against her, all striving to bring about her downfall. She had all she could do to save herself and her son…”
Seeing Stephano glower darkly, the knight did not finish his sentence. “But you don’t want to hear her trials, do you?”
“No, sir, I do not,” said Stephano coldly.
Sir Ander was silent a moment, then he said quietly, “The Duke de Bourlet was your family’s patron. Not only that, the duke was a good friend to your father. Your father fought and died for his friend, Stephano. Julian de Guichen did not die for the duke’s cause.”
Stephano set his jaw and kept grimly silent.
Sir Ander gave a sad smile. “When I wrote to tell Julian I was considering siding with the rebels, he wrote back to urge me to remain loyal. Not loyal to a cruel and avaricious king. Loyal to Rosia, the country he loved.”
How many times Stephano had heard his father say almost those exact words! Julian de Guichen had said them to his own son when he had tried to deter Stephano from joining in the fighting. The hot-headed fifteen-year- old had refused to understand his father. Or rather, Stephano had refused to want to understand. Julian had said the same during his trial for treason. Facing a cruel and painful death, Julian de Guichen had yet proudly and steadfastly proclaimed his love and loyalty for his country. Stephano had never forgotten. His father’s loyalty to Rosia was his son’s loyalty, the reason he had accepted the commission into the Dragon Brigade.
Stephano had wept then and he felt the bitter tears sting his eyes now. He blinked rapidly and walked on.
“I am glad to see the dragon pistol has proven useful to you,” said Sir Ander, glad to change the subject.
“The pistol has never failed me, sir,” said Stephano. He added grudgingly, “I fear I never thanked you properly for it. And for the letters and the advice you have given me over the years.”
“As to the pistol, you used it to save my life back there,” said Sir Ander. “I guess that is thanks enough.” He paused, then said, “I am glad to finally meet you at last, Stephano. Julian would have been very proud of you.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Stephano. “I am glad to meet you, as well.”
Politeness dictated he say that. He wondered if he meant it. He could not forgive, but perhaps he could now begin to understand.
They reached the yacht without incident to find Master Albert still manning the swivel gun.
“How is Father Jacob?” Sir Ander called.
“I just checked on him, sir,” Albert called back. “He is much improved.” He cupped his hand around his mouth, and added quietly, “And, just between us, sirs, in a foul mood.”
Brother Barnaby stared in shocked and horrified amazement at the damage to the yacht. He helped the exhausted Brother Paul through the wreckage and hastened inside to tend to Father Jacob, who could be heard demanding loudly to know where the monk had been all this time.
“I must remain with my friends,” said Sir Ander, halting in front of the Retribution.
“And I must go to my friends,” said Stephano.
The Cloud Hopper was now sailing into the docks, along with the ravaged cutter, so badly damaged the ship was barely able to remain afloat.
The two men saluted each other. Stephano walked down the hill toward the docks, emotions churning.
Sir Ander watched his godson walk, taking those long, impatient strides that were exactly like his father’s. Not waiting for life to come to him, but striding forth eagerly to seek it. Sir Ander touched Cecile’s letters, secreted in his pocket, and renewed to her a sacred promise. Then, bracing himself for the worst, he hurried to the yacht to deal with Father Jacob.
The priest was up and moving about, much to the consternation of Brother Barnaby, who was trying to persuade Father Jacob to lie down and rest. Instead he was bent over a washbowl filled with water, cleansing the
