The Blood Knight - J. Gregory Keyes [145]
“We didn’t ask those questions. We didn’t have to. This thing looked like a wolf, but it didn’t behave like one. It couldn’t be frightened away, or appeased, or reasoned with. The only way to make the world a better place was to take that beast out of it, and that we did.”
“One might argue that you did not make the world a better place for the wolf.”
“One might reply that to ask the world to accommodate itself to the needs of a single mad wolf can never make it a better place for anyone. And the wolf that would ask such a thing of the world—well, that’s my black tree in a field of heather, you see?”
“Why not a green tree in a field of black heather?” Robert mused.
“Why not?” Neil agreed. “It’s not the color that matters, really.”
“Here’s my question, then,” Robert said, quaffing the rest of the wine and reaching for the bottle. He stopped in midgrasp.
“May I?”
“If you wish.”
Robert poured himself more wine, took a sip, then returned his regard to Neil.
“My question. Suppose you felt someone was this black tree of yours, this truly evil person. A mad wolf that needed killing. Why ever would you entrust the safety of, say, a young woman to his promise?”
“Because he serves only himself,” Neil replied. “Never something higher. So I can be sure he would never sacrifice himself.”
“Really? Not even out of spite or revenge? I mean, we all must die. I see no escape from that, do you? Let us suppose this man of yours had ambitions, and seeing them thwarted was just, well, impossible for him. If a man cannot inherit a house he covets, might he not burn it down? Wouldn’t that be in keeping with the sort of person you’ve been describing?”
“I’m tired of this,” Neil said. “If anything happens to Anne, you will not die quickly.”
“What is her signal? I wonder. How will you know she is well?”
“There is a signal,” Neil assured him. “Something we can see from here. If we do not see it before sundown, I will cut off one of your fingers and send it to your men. That will continue until she is either free or proved dead.”
“You’re going to feel so foolish when this is all over and Anne and I are fast friends. What do you suppose will happen to a knight who threatened his liege?”
“At the moment,” Neil said, “that isn’t my concern. When it is, I will of course accept whatever fate the queen thinks I deserve.”
“Of course you will.” Robert sneered.
Robert glanced up at the sky and twitched a smile. “You haven’t asked about your last queen, Muriele. Aren’t you curious about her?”
“I’m more than curious,” Neil replied. “I haven’t asked about her because I’ve no reason to trust anything you say. Whatever you tell me about her will leave me in doubt. I will find out how she is in good time.”
“And suppose she complains about my treatment of her? Suppose everything else goes well here—I step aside, Anne takes the throne—and yet Muriele still has some protest concerning her treatment?”
“Then you and I will have another discussion about mad wolves.”
Robert drained his cup and reached for the bottle again. When he tried to pour, however, he found it empty.
“Surely there is more of this around,” he said in a loud voice.
At Neil’s nod, one of Artwair’s squires hurried to fetch another bottle.
“This isn’t about Fastia, is it?” Robert asked. “These feelings of yours? That’s not what this is really about, I hope.”
Neil had managed to feel mostly contempt for Robert until that point. That was good, because it kept his murderous inclinations toward the man in check. But now rage came howling up, and it was only with great effort that he forced it back into his marrow.
“Such a tragedy,” Robert said. “And poor Elseny, just about to be wed. If only William had had more sense.”
“How can you blame the king?” Neil asked.
“He forced the Comven to legitimize his daughters. How could he imagine that they would not become targets?”
“Targets for whom, Prince Robert?” Neil asked. “An usurper?”
Robert sighed