John Flanagan: The Royal Ranger

Once they reached the suite of rooms set aside for them, Pauline declared that she would take a bath, and sent servants to fetch hot water.

“I’ll pay my respects to King Duncan while you’re bathing,” Halt said. Pauline nodded as she unpacked several gowns and hung them in the wardrobe.

“I’ll see him later, when he’s had time to prepare.”

Duncan had been bedridden now for many months, following a leg injury that wouldn’t heal. Formerly powerfully built and full of energy, he was a shadow of his former self. He had lost weight and muscle tone, and Pauline, conscious of the King’s sense of dignity, felt that he would want time to prepare himself to look his best before greeting a female visitor. Halt nodded sombrely.

“Good idea,” he said. “I’ll give him your regards.”

Prepared as he was, it was still something of a shock when Halt was ushered into the King’s bedroom. It had been some months since he had last visited the King and he was depressed to see how far Duncan had degenerated. His cheeks were hollow and waxy, his eyes overbright and feverish. And his body was gaunt, the skin seeming to hang off it. The injured leg was propped out before him, under a mound of blankets.

They chatted about inconsequential matters for a few minutes. Halt realised that, although Duncan was delighted to see him—one of his oldest friends and staunchest supporters—the King was weak and tired quickly as they talked. Halt cut short his visit and made his farewells, but Duncan beckoned him closer to the bed. The King seized Halt’s wrist in a claw-like hand and leaned forward.

“Halt, keep watch over Cassandra. It’s not easy for her—running the Kingdom with me laid up in bed.”

Halt forced a laugh. “I will, my lord, but you’ll be up and about before too long and you can take charge again.”

Before he had finished, Duncan was shaking his head. “Let’s not fool ourselves, Halt. I don’t have long. And when I’m gone, she’ll need friends.” He paused, breathing with difficulty, his eyes closed for a few seconds. Then he opened them again. “Thank god for Horace. She couldn’t have chosen a better husband.”

The old Ranger smiled fondly at the thought of the honest young knight who was so utterly devoted to the princess. “You couldn’t say a truer word,” he replied. Ironic, he thought. Horace had been an orphan, born of unremarkable peasant stock. Soon he would become the most powerful and influential man in the Kingdom, sitting at Cassandra’s right hand as she ruled.

“She’ll need him,” the King said. “It’s not easy for a woman to rule. There’ll be those who resent her and try to test her. She’ll need all the help she can get. From Horace. From you. And from Will.”

Halt nodded assurance at the King. “We’ll give it to her,” he said. Then he couldn’t help smiling. “But don’t underestimate your daughter, my lord. She knows what she wants and she knows how to get it.”

A tired smile crossed Duncan’s face. “And from what I hear, her daughter is taking after her,” he said. He released his grip on Halt’s wrist and, as if the effort had been too much for him, slumped back in the pillows, waving a weak hand in dismissal.

Halt crossed quietly to the door, deep in thought. As he laid his hand on the latch, he turned back to look at the King he had served for so many years. Duncan was already asleep, his chest rising and falling fitfully under the covers.

Sadly, Halt let himself out.

“None of us are getting younger,” he said, to no one in particular. Then he smiled. Abelard would have had a tart rejoinder to that, he thought.

It was less than ten minutes after Halt returned to their guest rooms when Kane knocked at the door. “The Commandant is free now,” he said. “He asks if you’ll join him in his office.”

Halt and Pauline followed the young Ranger as he led them down several levels to the administration section of the keep tower. The higher levels were given over to accommodation and suites.

Gilan’s office in the keep tower was light and breezy, with the shutters thrown wide open to admit the fresh air. Rangers hated to be cooped up, Pauline knew. Although sometimes their love of fresh air could be a little extreme. Fresh air was all very well. Fresh, cold air was something else. But she was aware of this trait and so she had worn a warm stole over her gown.

Gilan greeted Halt and Pauline happily, embracing them both and accepting a kiss on the cheek from Pauline. She regarded him fondly. She couldn’t help thinking of Halt’s two former apprentices as surrogate sons. She noted that his normally cheerful face carried a few more lines than it had when she had last seen him. The burden of responsibility, she thought.

Unlike Halt and Will, Gilan had remained cleanshaven. It gave him a youthful look that was at odds with his senior position in the Kingdom.

“Gilan,” she said, “you’re looking well.” And apart from those wrinkles, he was.

He smiled at her. “And you grow more beautiful every day, Pauline,” he replied.

“What about me?” Halt said, with mock severity. “Do I grow more handsome every day? More impressive, perhaps?”

Gilan eyed him critically, his head to one side. Then he announced his verdict.

“Scruffier,” he said.

Halt raised his eyebrows. “Scruffier?” he demanded.

Gilan nodded. “I’m not sure if you’re aware of recent advances in technology, Halt,” he said. “But there’s a wonderful new invention called scissors. People use them for trimming beards and hair.”

“Why?”

Gilan appealed to Pauline. “Still using his saxe knife to do his barbering, is he?”

Pauline nodded, slipping her hand inside her husband’s arm. “Unless I can catch him at it,” she admitted. Halt regarded them both with a withering look. They both refused to wither, so he abandoned the expression.

“You show a fine lack of respect for your former mentor,” he told Gilan.

The younger man shrugged. “It goes with my exalted position as your commander.”

“Not mine,” Halt said. “I’ve retired.”

“So I can expect little in the way of deference from you?” Gilan grinned.

“No. I’ll show proper deference… the day you train your horse to fly backwards around the castle’s turrets.”

Pauline knew that these good-natured insults could continue for some time. She decided to interrupt the flow.

“What did you want to see us about, Gil? Are you planning to steal my husband away?” she asked.

Gilan had been on the point of delivering another carefully composed insult to his former teacher. Her direct question caught him off balance.

“What? Oh… no. Far from it. I wanted to talk to you. Both of you.”

Pauline indicated a low table, with four comfortable chairs set around it, arranged by the fireplace. “Then shall we sit and talk?” she suggested.

But Gilan demurred. “Not here. I want to talk to you two, and to Cassandra and Horace. They’re expecting us in the royal apartments.”

As Commandant of the Rangers, Gilan could summon Halt and Pauline to Araluen. But he could hardly do the same to the Princess Regent and her consort, old friends or not. He led the way to the door, held it open for Halt and Pauline, then led the way to the stairs.

“Upstairs… downstairs… upstairs again. Do you have any pity for my creaking old bones?” Halt complained.

Gilan was walking briskly towards one of the spiralling staircases that led to the upper levels. “Not a bit,” he tossed cheerfully over his shoulder.

Horace and Cassandra were waiting in the living room of the royal suite. Gilan tapped at the door and, when he heard Cassandra’s response, he opened the door and ushered his two companions inside.