Chapter Eighteen

"That Was Yesterday"

Time moves like a river

You can either sink or swim

And a wise man learns to forgive her

For all she's done to him

And no one's getting younger

And a few aren't getting old

It's all in what you feel

And not in what you're told

Bright sunlight filtered through the large window in Grissom's bedchamber that had been cracked open to allow a crisp, frosty breeze to circulate and remove the taint of illness from the room; the cloying odor of fear, perspiration and sorrow. Fresh herbs and dried flowers had been liberally scattered on the stone floor to further aid in freshening the small room. A fire blazed cheerfully, and a small pot of bubbling porridge hung suspended on a blackened iron arm over the flames.

Grissom lay abed reclining comfortably against a large stack of pillows as Sara sat next to him feeding him porridge from a small earthenware bowl. A faint blush dusted his cheekbones; he was unaccustomed to such attention when recovering from illness or injury and embarrassed that anyone, especially Sara, bore witness to his weakened state. Gris had given up trying to wrest the spoon from her grasp in an attempt to feed himself and allowed his head to rest gently on her shoulder, indulging her and relaxing beneath her tender care.

"It smells like a lady's salon in here," James announced as he strode through the open door and scrunched his nose at the almost overpowering floral aroma rising from the herbs strewn across the floor.

Grissom rolled his eyes and shifted slightly to lean against the pillows instead of Sara. "Yes, well, Myria and Sara thought my chamber reeked too much of illness and unwashed men for their liking. I had no choice in the matter." He had barely finished speaking before Sara shoved another spoonful of porridge into his mouth. Gris cast an uneasy glance towards the King as Sara scraped the wooden utensil along the bottom of the bowl and raised the last bite to his lips.

The King's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he watched the interaction between his daughter and his knight. There seemed to be a newfound intimacy about them, a closeness that had not existed before Sara was taken. They behaved like a couple, communicating silently with gesture and expression while exchanging and accepting small touches almost casually, as if it were a common occurrence and something they had been doing for years.

"Heather and I are leaving today," James began, clearing his throat to gain their attention. "There are matters requiring my attention and I have neglected overlong." He regarded his daughter with a small smirk, knowing well that his next words would not be taken well. "Sara, will you leave us please?"

Biting her tongue to choke back a mutinous response, Sara shot her father an evil glare. She took an inordinate amount of time seeing to her knight's comfort, smoothing his tousled hair from his forehead and pressing a warm kiss atop the scar marring his brow. Handing Grissom another cup of tea and gathering the breakfast tray with a noisy clatter of dishes, spoons and mugs, the Princess paused to send her father with one last angry stare before flouncing angrily from the room, slamming the door behind her.

James watched her go, the amused glint in his eye recognizing all too well that if looks could kill the dark, dangerous glower in his daughter's eyes would have skewered him as fatally as any well-honed sword. A grin still played upon his lips as he lowered himself into the chair by the head of Grissom's bed and turned his attention to the wounded knight. "Tell me what happened."

"I'm sure you already know," Grissom replied in a bland voice while blowing on his tea.

"Humor me." James leaned back in the uncomfortable wooden chair and stretched his legs out before him. "I have talked to both Sara and your young boy, Sandre, but I want to hear the whole story from you before confronting Nikolai, Varrick and anyone else who might be involved in all of this."

Grissom inclined his head towards the hearth where a kettle spewed a steady fragrant steam of chamomile and an empty mug sat waiting. He arched an eyebrow in silent question, reclining once more upon his pillows when James refused with a quick dismissive wave of his hand.

James steepled his fingers beneath his chin and drew a deep breath, bracing himself for the difficult conversation. "You killed Tarek."

"I did," the knight nodded.

"Sandre assured me that the deed was done in just and honorable combat and that you had no choice in the matter."

Grissom heaved a heavy sigh. "Honorable it might have been, but I did have a choice in that I could have easily disarmed Tarek at the onset of the duel but did not." James eyebrows rose in question but he remained silent and motioned for Grissom to continue. "For the first time in my long career as a warrior, I allowed emotion to overpower my judgment."

"That's … not like you," James commented softly, scooting his chair closer to the bed. "You've never before permitted feelings to dictate your actions."

Ducking his head in an attempt to avoid James' scrutinizing gaze, worried that his old companion might discern the true reason that had compelled him to finally take on his brother, Grissom cleared his throat and plucked at the edge of his heavy wool blanket. "Towards the end, when he his strength was waning, I could see through the madness in his eyes a single moment of clarity, that he finally understood that he could not defeat me and that no one was willing to give him aid. He charged me at that point," Gil continued in a flat monotone, running a hand over the thick wadding of bandages tied securely about his thigh, "and impaled himself on my sword either before or as we tumbled together down a flight of stairs."

"You think it was a conscious decision on his part?"

"That he chose a coward's end?" Grissom closed his eyes and leaned back, resting against the headboard as he considered the question. "Yes," he finally said, opening his eyes to meet the King's gaze. "He rushed me only when it became clear to him that he had no hope of besting me." He thought back for a moment, recalling the look on Tarek's face when Nik refused to fight. "He feared death at that moment much less than he feared your wrath. He saw me as the lesser of two evils and, as usual," he shrugged, "chose the easy way out."

"And it was Tarek who took my daughter? It was he who tried to defile her?"

Grissom cocked his head to the side, choosing his words carefully in an attempt to spare Nik and Varrick as much as possible. "Tarek did not physically remove her from your keep," he said slowly, "but it was ultimately upon his orders that the deed was done."

Jim motioned that Grissom should go on. "He then tried to take her much against her will, in all ways and manner of speak. I was able to reach him and pull him off of her before he fully completed the act...before he took her maidenhood."

James stood abruptly and paced about the chamber. "I like to think that I am a fair man, Gil, but I can honestly say that I do not know how I would have reacted had he been alive when he reached my door. Had he chosen to harm me, that is one thing, but to harm my daughter? That is an entirely different matter. Ultimately you were far more gentle with him than I would have been."

"Perhaps," the knight replied thoughtfully, toying with the cross pendant hanging around his neck, frowning inwardly as he recognized it as Sara's. His mind raced, recalling fragments of … something. His eyes closed and his face tightened in concentration as he churned the disjointed memories over and over in his mind, finally releasing a small hiss of frustration when he failed to remember precisely how he came to be in possession of her pendant. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and returned his attention the King.

"Bah," huffed James, slashing a hand through the air. "Don't waste your time stewing about him," he said, thinking Grissom's dark turn of mood had to do with Tarek. "The bastard deserved to die and should have been killed long ago. 'Twas only the fact that he was your brother that kept his petty, arrogant head off my chopping block all these many years. I'll waste no time mourning his passing," the King stated bluntly, no emotion in his tone. "He'll be denied a funeral Mass and proper burial. His corpse will be burned and his ashes scattered deep in a forest as far away from all of us as my borders shall allow."

Oh you can't go back to Kansas

I was there just yesterday

Oh you can't go back to Kansas

It just up and blew away

Oh, but I will go on loving you

It's easier that way

But you can't go back to Kansas

'Cause that was yesterday

"What of Nikolai and Varrick? I noticed your young squire strutting like a proud cock while brandishing Varrick's blade about for all to see. He was the envy of the courtyard."

Grissom chuffed a quiet laugh, eyes crinkling with delight at the thought of Sandre preening before the other squires. "The lad managed to disarm the good knight quite fairly so the blade is his to keep." His face grew somber again as he addressed the King's question. "Sandre should have told you where to find Nik and Varrick. Both knights swore an oath to remain at the inn until you sent for them. They willingly laid down their weapons and refused to fight against me or take up arms in defense of Tarek."

"Then what part did they actually play in all of this?" James tone carried a hint of exasperation. "You implied that they were merely carrying out orders as opposed to being in league with the villain."

"They were nothing more than convenient pawns," Grissom confirmed with a firm nod of his head. "The kidnapping of your daughter was presented to them as a training exercise, a game for the squires to hone their skills. Sara was not to have been harmed in any way and the squires were to have used their cunning and training to try to rescue her."

"And they believed that?" the King asked, his voice incredulous as he threw his hands in the air. "Nik knows how protective I am of Sara. How could he possibly believe I would think up such a game and put her daughter at risk?" James stopped pacing and whirled to face Grissom, nailing the knight to the bed with a steely glare. "The only other person who could issue such an order on my behalf is you as my knight-champion."

Grissom reared back as if struck beneath the weight of the King's thinly veiled accusation. James blinked at the knight's horrified expression, unaccustomed to seeing such an emotional response from the normally stoic Black Monk. The King knew full well that Grissom would never, could never be involved in a plot against him or one that would ultimately cause Sara harm, but he had to be absolutely certain before going any further.

His gaze softened, an apology surfacing in his dark eyes as he made his way back to the bed. "Gil, I know that you would never commit such an act. Your loyalty and honor are and have always been above reproach and you would never put Sara at risk." He reclaimed his seat and ran a hand through his thinning hair as he thought aloud. "But if neither you nor I issued such an order, who then would have had the stones and the authority to willfully commit such a treasonous act?"

Grissom sighed heavily. "Sofia."

James' eyes widened. "So it IS true? You know this for a fact?"

Grissom nodded glumly, his eyes cast down so he would not have to see the pain his King could not hide. "Nikolai said it she who gave the order. Nik would not have given the command any credence had it come from Tarek for he would have seen it for the lie that it was."

"Does my own wife revile me so much that she would murder my daughter rather than seek vengeance upon my own frame? I know I have flaunted Heather in front of her at every turn, but I have not mistreated her. I have seen to Nikolai's upbringing as if he were my own and have given him every advantage befitting a King's son. Sofia has free rein to do as she pleases. I am kind to her, give her anything and everything that she asks for."

"Except yourself?"

"Yes," he sighed, "except myself."

"She and Tarek were lovers. For how long, I don't know. If such details are important, then perhaps Nikolai or even Berenger can provide you with an answer. They saw an opportunity to join forces and hatch a plot to enact revenge upon both you and me at the same time."

King's head resting on his chest, deep in thought.

"When did Nikolai and Varrick discover that they had been deceived?"

"When Sandre and I were the only ones who arrived to rescue Sara. They were expecting a host of fumbling squires."

"And got the Black Monk," James replied with a satisfied nod. He paused for a long moment, watching Grissom carefully. "You believe them." It was a statement rather than a question.

"Nikolai cannot lie," Gris said simply. "His face gives him away."

"What should be done with them?"

"Punish them unjustly and you will foster their hatred. Treat them fairly, and with forgiveness, and you will again own their loyalty and trust."

"And where, exactly, does Nik's loyalty lie?"

"You'll have to ask Nik but since he lay down his arms and named his mother as the one responsible, I would say that his loyalties lie with what is right and honorable and not necessarily with blood."

"Or he may have been simply trying to save his own skin."

"Perhaps," Grissom replied with a touch of asperity, "but I tend to think that he is more honorable than self-serving."

The King raised his hands in surrender, accepting Grissom's assessment of Nik's involvement and character. "What do I do about Sofia?

"'Tis neither my right nor my desire to judge the actions of others," the knight said softly.

"Gil, you're not blind, nor are you deaf. You and Sofia have remained close friends these many years. I'm sure you have a fairly good idea of what might have compelled her to seek an alliance with Tarek."

"I'll not speculate on such matters," Gil stated firmly, shaking his head, refusing to hurl his boyhood friend's shortcomings back in his face. James knew well enough Sofia's motives and the cause of her unhappiness without having salt rubbed into an open, bleeding wound. "This plot against you," he began, skirting the subject, "while treacherous and well planned, was successfully thwarted and no one, save Tarek, is worse for the wear. Sara is strong; in time she will heal and make her peace with what was done to her."

"You're right," James murmured, his tone distant as he looked beyond Grissom to the open window. "Sara is strong, and willful, just like her mother. As the bruises fade, so will her nightmares and her memories. She'll not allow this to haunt her overlong."

"Sire," Gil said, smirking at James' startled expression as the older man pulled his gaze from the window. Titles and formalities between the two ceased to exist many years ago and the King returned Grissom's grin with a small smile of his own, knowing Gil used the honorific to bring him back from painful memories of his beloved Rivka. Nodding his thanks, James refocused his attention on the knight and indicated that he should continue.

"I would not presume to tell you what to do, especially where your own wife is concerned, but I pray you be gentle. Show her now what you have been unable to these past fifteen years. Her pain runs deep and she is deserving of compassion.

James bowed his head, chin resting on his chest as he mulled over Grissom's words. Gil watched him over the rim of his mug as he finished his tea, wondering what his old companion was thinking. The knight knew better than anyone the harsh path his King's vengeance could travel and he questioned James' ability to simply accept what had been done and allow Sofia some measure of dignity in his quest for revenge.

I see the sun rise and fall

I can feel the earth beneath my shoes

There's no need in you believing

That you were born and cursed to lose

So why not go on dreaming then

Yeah, take anyone you choose

There's nothing to be down about

'Cause you either win or lose

James slapped his hands against his thighs and stood abruptly. "Now, what should I do with you?" He fought a grin as Grissom arched a curious eyebrow. "You have earned a hefty reward, my friend."

Grissom scowled and James chuckled. "Somehow I didn't think more gold would interest you, although Tarek's lands have been added to your considerable holdings."

"Give them to Sandre," the knight grumbled in a low growl. "I've no use for them."

Eyes twinkling, James laughed lightly, his enjoyment evident in his teasing tone. "At the rate you are amassing property, Gil, you're holdings will soon exceed mine."

"Beati pusperes spiritu:" Grissom intoned softly. "Quoniam ipsorum est regnum caelorum."

"In English, Gil," the king protested lightly. "You know full well that despite the noble efforts of old Father Matthias, I worked very hard at ignoring my Latin studies."

Grissom flashed an innocent smirk. "I but quoted the Gospel of Saint Matthew, chapter five, verse three."

"And you also know that the scriptures were the only lessons I avoided more than Latin."

"Very well" came the aggrieved sigh. "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."

James shook his head. "I should have known. But, the fact remains that you are now the rightful owner of all of Tarek's holdings and wealth. He forfeited the rights of his sons by committing treason against me and you have won them fairly by besting the treacherous cur in battle on my behalf."

"I know you'll not approve, but I'll be sending the family away. I'll allow them to live as I know they had no part in Tarek's plans, but I need to take some sort of action, to set an example."

Grissom pursed his lips and stared into the fireplace, watching the flames flicker as he recalled his own banishment. "In many ways, exile is far worse than a date with the executioner." His voice was soft and distant, colored with memories best forgotten and lost to time. "Not a day goes by when you do not pray to return home or hope that you might die to be released from the terrible loneliness." He shook his head as if to banish the painful recollections and returned his attention to his King.

"Tarek's oldest son, Berenger," he began, clearing his throat to relieve the unwelcome tightness brought about by thoughts of his long ago punishment, "is the one who told me Sara was in danger. He took a great risk in seeking me out." Grissom paused, watching James' reaction carefully. "Berenger wishes to stay here and train as a squire. His deeds have earned him that right."

"Very well," James nodded, agreeing immediately. "I am indebted to him and, as you said, he has earned the right. However, for now I have to take him with me and place him under guard until such a time as I decide how best to handle this situation." Grissom frowning. "Gil, I give you my word as King and friend that Berenger will be well-cared for and not mistreated. He'll be housed in the barracks with Nik and Varrick."

Grissom nodded and stared expectantly at the King. James calmly returned his gaze and had to fight a grin when the knight frowned. The stand off continued for a few more moments until James gave in with a small smile. "As for the boy, Sandre, fear not. I give you my word that he shall be handsomely rewarded as well."

The King settled gently on the edge of the bed and clasped his hands together to conceal a sudden nervous tremor. "Gil," James said, his eyes downcast and voice shaking, "we've one more matter to settle; one that is many years overdue a conversation, a confession and a resolution."

Oh, I can't go back to Kansas

I was there just yesterday

Oh, I can't go back to Kansas

It just up and blew away

So I will go on loving you

It's easier that way

But you can't go back to Kansas

'Cause that was yesterday

Long hours passed before King James finally emerged from Grissom's chamber. Sara's heart leapt into her throat at the sight of her father for his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. Grabbed her father's arm, alarm written all over her face. Feared that Grissom had somehow taken another turn for the worse. She and Father Ralph were fresh out of miracles.

"Easy daughter," he rasped, his voice strained, the lines around his mouth and eyes tight and more pronounced. Gazing upon his familiar features, Sara was startled by a newly found awareness, a stark realization that her father was not a young man anymore. For the first time she could remember, he looked weary and worn, as if the responsibilities of the entire world rested heavily upon his shoulders and threatened to crush him beneath their staggering weight. "All is well," he sighed. "Gil is very much alive and fever-free; he's sleeping now."

Sara blinked, her moment of clarity fading as she concentrated on her father's words. "If everything is fine, then why do you look as if you've lost your best friend?"

"'Tis not what I've lost but rather what I've found again." James grasped her smaller hand in his own and squeezed lightly, his gesture and pained-filled eyes beseeching her not to press the issue overmuch. "Not now, child." He patted her hand gently as he had when she was a young girl frightened by a terrible storm or strange noises in the night. "I am too raw to retell the tale right now. Ask me again in a few days."

Sara nodded her acceptance, and followed her father down the hall, throwing a longing look at Grissom's door as she passed.

"Heather and I are leaving now," her father threw back over his shoulder as he started down the stairs. You may come with us or you may stay. I leave the choice and the decision to you."

"I am staying with Grissom," she replied calmly.

James nodded and turned to present an elbow to Heather who stood waiting for him by the door. "Take care, daughter, and have Gil bring you back to me when he is able to travel."

Sara hugged James and Heather goodbye and watched their departure from the open door of the Great Hall. When the carriage was out of sight, she swung the door closed, scurried up the stairs and slipped into Grissom's chambers. Despite her father's assurance, she had to see him for herself, feel his cool brow beneath her own fingertips.

He was asleep, a dark frown marring his exhausted features. Sara soothed her fingertips across the deep furrows cutting his brow. Grissom released a sigh of contentment and relaxed further, sinking deeper into the down pillows as she continued her loving ministrations. Once satisfied he was sleeping peacefully, the Princess pulled the blankets more snuggly about his shoulders and dropped a small kiss on his furry chin.

Sara snatched a blanket from the foot of the bed and curled up in the wooden chair near Grissom's head. Worry and the physical labor involved in caring for Gil had taken a toll on her and she soon drifted off in her uncomfortable make-shift bed.

But you can't go back to Kansas

'Cause that was yesterdayi

i John Stewart, "You Can't Go Back to Kansas," The Phoenix Concerts, by John Stewart, RCA, 1974.