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Merry turned to her twin. “Now there is no more pretense. Tell me why you have pretended to be me.”
Her twin drew herself up. “Very well, I will tell you. I listened to you and my mother speaking. I listened to you talk about this Garron of Kersey as if he were a god.” She shrugged. “I wanted to see what Garron of Kersey was all about.” She looked at him holding Merry’s hand. “I must say, I was disappointed. I daresay I would have preferred to wed Jason of Brennan with his one ear.”
Merry nearly flung herself on her sister, but Garron held her back. “I do not see how you fooled anyone since we look nothing alike.” She whirled around and shook her fist under Garron’s nose. “How could you believe she was me, Garron, even for an instant? How could you?”
He cupped her dirty face between his palms. “Deep down, something in me knew, but the fact was how could she not be you?” He breathed her in. “You smell like horse and sweat.” He breathed in the sweet smell of her hair. “Roses, I believe your hair smells of wild roses.”
“You whoreson, you’ve killed my mother!”
Merry’s twin leapt at him, fists flailing. Garron set Merry aside, and grabbed her twin’s wrists.
“Please let her go, Garron.”
He released her. Merry smiled at her twin, raised her own fist, and struck her twin in the jaw.
Both mother and daughter lay unconscious, side by side, on the king’s chamber floor.
Garron raised her fist to his mouth and kissed her skinned fingers. “Will you wed with me right now?”
“Right now, Garron?” The king cocked a thick golden Plantagenet eyebrow.
“Aye, sire, if you will. I am afraid that something else will happen to her. I do not wish to let her out of my sight.”
Merry threw back her head and laughed. “Aye, please, sire.”
The queen rose to her feet. She looked from the unconscious girl on the floor to Merry. “This is all passing strange, but we will do what we must. Merry, you will come with me and I will see that you are readied. Garron, I will keep close guard on her, fear not.”
But Garron said, “Please, madam, let us wed now. I want all in this chamber to witness our joining, her mother especially, if she awakens.”
The queen smiled. “Very well.” She herself took a glass of ale from the marble table beside the king’s throne and carried it to where Abbess Helen of Meizerling lay against the wall. She poured the ale on the woman’s face.
Helen blinked, opened her eyes to see the Queen of England standing over her. “My lady?”
“Merry wishes you and your daughter to witness her wedding with Lord Garron of Kersey, the Earl of Wareham.”
Lord Ranulf asked his son, “Did you know of this twin?”
Jason was looking at both of them, shaking his head. “But I would prefer to wed this one. This other, she is no lady. You saw her use her fist. And she is dirty, she is ungoverned.”
His only son, Lord Ranulf thought, what was a father to do? He walked up to his son and clouted him. He caught him before he could sprawl on the floor, whispered close to his one remaining ear, “You will shut your mouth. It is over. When you fight Lord Garron, be a man, not a puling coward.”
Robert Burnell took charge. He ordered everyone about, and in the end, all surrounded Merry and Garron, save, of course, the king and queen, who remained seated, the king looking ironic, the queen, pleased.
Merry, wind-blown, dirty, stray hairs tucked into her plaits as best she could, stood beside her betrothed.
Burnell began speaking, his beautiful voice low and melodious, speaking Latin which few understood, but it sounded important and grave, and occasionally the king nodded, as if he understood, and mayhap he did, Garron didn’t know.
The moment after Burnell blessed their union, Garron looked over at Jason of Brennan and said, “I challenge you. We will fight until one of us no longer breathes.”
55
At your instruction, sire, I, Robert Burnell, Chancellor of England, am recording the happenings of the thirtieth day of June in the year of our Lord 1278 to be sent under your royal seal to His Holiness, Pope Nicholas III, for his deliberation.
I attest that the following account is accurate, without flourishes or embellishment. On this day Lord Garron, the Earl of Wareham, challenged Jason of Brennan, son of Lord Ranulf, the Earl of Carronwick, to mortal combat, this challenge made because of the unwarranted attack by Jason of Brennan upon Wareham and the butchery of most of its people and his murder of the earl’s brother.
Both men were well trained, equally matched, both were armed equally, with swords.
When the men stepped into the enclosure, encircled by nearly fifty soldiers, the sky, only a moment before filled with warmth and sunlight, turned black and rain poured down so hard the ground quickly became a quagmire. All witnesses attest that the men fought hard, but footing was difficult, causing many falls. Their swords clashed again and again, but the sounds were muted by the deluge. Lord Garron gained the advantage. He was on the point of delivering the coup de grace when he slipped and landed heavily on his back. Jason of Brennan, although bleeding copiously from a gash in his arm and his side, was still strong through his rage, and ran to stand over him, and all feared he would kill Lord Garron. All attest to how Jason of Brennan lifted his sword to send it into Lord Garron’s chest when Lord Garron managed to jerk his own sword upward to block the blow. The two swordpoints touched and seemed to meld together, to become one. All witnessed that both men were held immobile, their swordpoints locked together. At that instant, a fiery bolt of lightning exploded from the very center of the black clouds overhead and hurled earthward, sharp and clear it was, like a white sword wielded by God. The lightning struck the tip of Jason of Brennan’s sword and ripped it from his hand. Jason of Brennan flew back and fell onto the ground, and he was dead. All wondered why the lightning bolt did not strike Lord Garron’s sword.
