Chapter Two
The King's Man
He lay that night in a bed of fern that for its softness might have been goose down and satin. Above him the arms of ancient oaks reached towards the star studded sky. The constellations were strange to him, bright as spears and so near that he could almost reach out and touch them. They pierced his heart and at that moment, at least, he let himself think of Gwen.
Hers was the name he had held when everything else, even her face, had been lost to him.
"I will wait for you," she had said as she clung to him on that last day.
But after so long! He could not even wish, for her sake, that she had done so. He wished her to be happy. Perhaps she had married and had the children she had always longed for.
"Aslan," he whispered, recalling the name that the king had called on in the darkness. "Aslan. If I return and she is not mine …" He drew a shuddering breath against the pain that welled up in his heart. "Let me give her up without bitterness."
It was only too likely. She may not have been the court beauty, she may have been plain in the eyes of some, but she was clever and capable, and her smile … The ache began in his heart again. Her smile. Could he bear to ever see that smile directed to another? How could he bear it?
He had set out on the voyage, high of hopes and dreaming of the glory he might gain as the first to discover new lands for Telmar. He knew the real reason he was sent away, but still the lure of adventure had tempered the knowledge and given it a romance in his mind.
He had always intended to come back. But now. He supposed nothing ever turned out the way people intended. If she was happy, it was all he wanted. He would find happiness in that knowledge, even if her joy was in another now.
He suddenly felt very old. He had caught a glimpse of his reflection in a silver platter at Aslan's Table, had seen the shock of white where the hair had once been chestnut brown. He, the youngest of all the lords, now looked their elder. Would she even recognize him now?
Self pity almost overtook him. How unjust life was! To some, undeserving, happiness was meted out in double measure. From others, all was taken away. He had never asked much; the love of his childhood sweetheart had stood in the place of great riches and fame. But all too likely he would find her as changed as she would find him. A gap greater than simply the sum of the lost years would lie between them.
He forced back the thoughts as they came at him. No, he would not pity himself.
"Help me to bear it," he whispered. "I do not wish to cause her pain. Oh Aslan, let me not cause her more pain."
Almost at once sleep overtook him, deep and dreamless.
In the morning he made his way back across the island to Aslan's Table. He saw Caspian and the star's daughter talking together, a little apart from the rest of the group. Mavramorn, Argoz, and Revilian sat together at the table. Their posture spoke of the weight that rested on them. The feast spread before them seemed not to interest them. Rhoop saw that they sat in the same order that they had always maintained: Argoz on Mavramorn's left, and an empty space between Mavramorn and Revilian. Rhoop's seat. He did not know if they sat thus through force of habit, or the hope that he would return.
He came to the table. After an entire day and night of fasting, hunger revived with the sight of food. He hesitated for a moment and then slid into his seat beside Mavramorn.
None of the three noticed him at first, deep in their own thoughts, but then they each looked at him, quick, shamed glances, shifted in their seats, and became very interested in their food.
The sailors of the Dawn Treader trickled in to join the feast and eased some of the tension. The food, good enough for a king's feast, was to Rhoop like the taste of heaven itself. Yet he did not find himself eating more than he needed; it filled him and left him satisfied. Long before everyone had finished eating, however, Mavramorn, Revilian, and Argoz, left the table one by one. It weighed on Rhoop's heart to see them so despondent, yet he could think of no words to say to them.
The king came to him as soon as the meal was over. Caspian was very young; Rhoop calculated he could be no older than seventeen. A mere boy, he held himself like a king; and yet at this moment uncertainty was written on his face.
"My Lord Rhoop," he said, shifting slightly from one foot to the other. "All is not well between you and … the others."
"Your majesty is perceptive," Rhoop said with a sigh. So the king wished him to simply forgive. It would not do to have the men he had come to rescue at odds with each other, especially not in the triumphant homecoming where they would be displayed before all his subjects.
"If you wish me to, I will speak personally to my lords Argoz, Revilian, and Mavramorn, bidding them seek your forgiveness or risk our extreme displeasure. They did you a great wrong."
"Sire," Rhoop gasped. How unjust his thoughts had been! "Sire, I …"
"I had thought that you might come back to Narnia with us," the king continued. "But if instead your wish is to remain here, Ramandu has promised you a place on this island for as long as you desire."
"Nay, sire," Rhoop said, recovering a bit. "I beg that you would not speak with them. I know that for love of me they did not ask my forgiveness; they are greatly ashamed."
"As well they should be," said the king.
"Do not judge them too harshly," said Rhoop, surprised to hear himself repeating the words Ramandu's daughter had spoken to him. "I know best how that island worked upon the mind." He paused. "As for remaining here, I will think on it."
"Very well." The king bowed. "Do not make your decision in haste. I intend to remain here some days longer."
Rhoop bowed in his turn and the king wandered away, though his wandering had something of the look of one who wished to seem nonchalant, but was making his way towards a goal. Rhoop almost smiled. If it was obvious that not all was well between him and his friends, it was almost as obvious that the king and the star's daughter were deeply in love. Again he thought of Gwen, and the days they had spent together when both were young and their lives were carefree; she had been more beautiful to him than all the women whose faces were fairer and whose forms were more shapely.
But he could not think about her at this moment. He must find his friends and speak to them. If he stayed on this island he might never find opportunity again, and he could not bear that.