--Chapter 20: Brothers--
I went to see Lord Irwin the next day. He had been released after the trial the day before—having been proved innocent, for Gavin had admitted that Ther was the one who had switched goblets with mine. When I met the Lord Chancellor of Galma in his chambers, I was quite repentant and humble in bearing. I knew very well that the king who had been titled ' the just' should be more careful with his accusations, and I had been inexcusably reckless. Lord Irwin had every right to be angry—even vengeful—toward me.
"I have something I must say to you, my lord," I said, half dreading to meet his eyes when the heavy wooden door swung open before me. "Will you walk with me?"
His dark eyes stared penetratingly into mine, hard and stern; but he nodded, much to my surprise. I turned, and we walked together in silence through the halls of Cair Paravel. It wasn't until we reached the outside courtyard in which the maze garden had grown that I spoke at last.
"King Gavin and his daughter have confessed to everything. Gavin was the one with the whole plot in mind, I suppose, and it seems from his confession that you were not involved in the least. Just the scapegoat for the blame to fall upon. Gavin's Lord Ther was the one who poisoned the boy in the kitchen and then switched glasses with me while Gavin was distracting you. Iliea admits to having stolen the cordial from Lucy that night at the ball and hiding it in the orchard."
"And Ther?" Irwin asked grimly. "Is he in custody?'
I grimaced and shook my head regretfully.
"Unfortunately, no. He managed to escape. We sent out several rangers and knights to search for him…they'll chase him to Archenland and give him notice of his banishment."
Then I stopped, taking a deep breath and continuing without further hesitation.
"Lord Irwin, I have wronged you greatly."
Irwin gave me a sideways look, but I couldn't bring myself to look at him quite yet.
"I was wrong to make so hasty an accusation, based merely upon the fact that your ancestors were from Calormen. All the evidence we 'found' was false, and I happily believed in it, and your guilt, because it was what I wanted to believe."
At last I looked up at the Calormene Chancellor, and found that he was not looking at me. He was staring straight ahead, eyes cold and entire expression completely emotionless.
I had put the pieces of the false evidence together with the new, correct evidence during the few days I had been bedridden. The Adder's Blood in Irwin's saddlebag had been planted by Ther as Reth the stable boy. Gavin, Ther, and Iliea had all been in on the goblet poisoning, Gavin distracting Irwin as Ther traded my goblet for a poisoned one and then using Iliea's presence as a reason for his innocence. And as for the two voices I'd heard when returning to the world of the living, upon further consideration, I'd later recognized the first voice as Gavin's, obviously setting Irwin up for a suspicious line. It could've been about practically anything.
"I have dishonored you and your people in my swift condemnation, sir. I have no excuse other than my own stupidity and naïvety, and all I can do is lay my most contrite apologies before you and beg forgiveness."
A slight smile twisted Lord Irwin's lips. I grimaced. Apologizing was never an easy business. Never had been, as it meant laying aside my pride and dignity and humbling myself before someone else. Actually, as I reflected further on the concept, it was probably something that should be done more often. There were several Archenlandish and Narnian proverbs alike that went along the lines of "Pride and shame go hand in hand," and it had been the fault of my pride, my arrogance in believing I could not possibly be wrong, that had resulted in the shame I was feeling now.
Perhaps, I thought, tapping my fingers on my thigh thoughtfully, that should be my goal for this next year. Less pride, more humility. Listen to what others have to say and don't be afraid to be proved wrong.
"King Edmund," said Lord Irwin suddenly, "I must admit that this was not what I was expecting when you asked to speak with me. Very rarely is one asked forgiveness from a king."
Another reason this situation feels awkward.
"But," Irwin continued, eyes cold as he turned to look at me, "you are right in saying you have done me dishonor. Narnia has wronged my people once more, for though I was born and raised in Galma, I am, indeed, a Calormen in ancestry and blood." He was silent a moment. "We of the dark skin are not welcome in Narnia or Archenland. Even in the islands to the east, we are not easily accepted. My father and mother lived long days of a lonely existence in Galma before they were invited into the cities and castle. We are a lonely race—," with a sad gleam in his eyes, "—having been set apart ever since the days of old when our ancestors parted from their Narnian brothers and settled in the lands of the south.
"What you have done, you and your brother," Irwin went on, briefly touching the hilt of his sword, an action I did not miss, "is take for granted at a glance that I, because of my skin color and way of speech, was just the same as the lowest Calormene thief who murders for a bribe. I can only hope you do not continue down this path. Think how if you should sentence every foreign king to death for what my lord Gavin has done! Or every stable boy for what that scoundrel Reth had in mind."
I winced, for Irwin's words struck home. This hasty stereotyping had been my worst fault—besides my pride and being reckless, of course. At that thought, I flinched again. It is never easy to discover faults about oneself. Especially faults that have just caused about enough chaos in one or two weeks to practically give Narnia into the hands of a madman.
However, even as I berated myself inwardly for letting myself fall into such transgression, Irwin added with a wry smile, "However, in view of your humility and willingness to beg forgiveness, I will accept your apology and forget the wrongs you have done me and my people."
With those words, I let out a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding.
Forgiven. Thank Aslan.
"My thanks to you, Lord Irwin," I said, bowing and smiling gratefully. "I deserve nothing but your enmity and spite, but you are gracious to forgive me for wronging you. Also…" I paused, trying to find the right words before I spoke, "…you see, Peter and I talked it over and well…now that Gavin is no longer king and your island is a Narnian province, Galma's desperately in need of a duke…"
-----
I stood alone in the Orchard for a while after Irwin had gone back to his apartments. The fresh Narnian breeze that blew gently past my face brought the smell of oranges, honey blossoms, and summer. I smiled, breathing it in deeply and then letting it out in a long, contented sigh.
Without warning, something hard hit me in the back of my head.
"Ow."
With a groan, I stumbled forward, grabbing a tree to steady myself.
"I say! Good shot, Fio! You could hear the thump from up here!"
I winced and turned, slowly, to face the rest of the orchard. A pair of dark, mocking eyes stared down at me from one tree and some of merry blue from another. I raised my hand to the back of my head and rubbed the sore spot tenderly.
"You might have warned me," I groused, giving Fio an irritated glare.
She returned it with a cheerful, mischievous grin and faked innocence. "Why on earth? You'd think after being half-killed twice, a little apple wouldn't do you much harm."
Before I could think up a fitting retort, Corin, from his lookout position above, called out, "I say! Here comes Eric, Ed! And he's got that horrid girl-in-the-pink-dress with him!"
Lady Claudia.
Without a moment's delay I scooped up an apple and darted behind one of the broader trees.
"When they come in range, pummel the girl with apples."
Both Fio and Corin gave me a surprised look.
"What?"
"But won't it hurt her?" Fio asked, giving me a look that warned, 'Don't be hasty, Edmund'.
I shrugged.
"Don't aim for her head. And don't throw them hard. Just enough to make her leave. In fact, don't aim for her at all; just the ground around her. Aslan knows she's caused enough trouble for me to warrant a little revenge, playful or no."
They both shrugged and turned back. I didn't want to hurt Claudia, of course, but I certainly didn't want her hanging around the Orchard, possibly fawning over me as she'd done at the ball. Besides, her gaudy pink dress made my eyes ache.
"Ready…" Corin whispered from above, "…aim…"
With a loud, "FIRE!" a rain of apples fell from the tree, most of them hitting the ground around the walker's feet. Only one actually struck the poor Lady Claudia, and even then it was only just enough to cause irritation. The girl screamed in a typical damsel-in-distress fashion and let go of Eric's arm, turning and running the other way. Eric's eyes darted around the Orchard in search of the fair lady's attackers, but it was with a broad grin that he watched her run.
"Many thanks, King Edmund," he said after I stepped out from behind a tree. "I couldn't have survived another giggle."
I laughed aloud and shook his hand, pulling him further into the Orchard. Corin and Fio slipped down from their trees and greeted him as well. After a few minutes of joking around about Claudia and apples, the mood turned a bit more serious.
"Are you really going with your father into exile?" Corin blurted out—exactly the question I'd been longing to ask, but hadn't had the bluntness to just come out with it.
Eric's eyes evaded mine, and he fiddled with his tunic nervously.
"He is my father. Where else would I go? I don't belong here—or in Galma anymore."
His tone was bitter, and my heart ached in hearing it.
"You are free to go where you will. You will always be welcome here. Lord Irwin will be given charge over Galma as duke within the week, and I'm certain he would say the same. Are you so close to your father that you would follow him into exile for the better part of your life?"
Eric grimaced and shrugged.
"Not really. Father was always too busy with matters of state to bother with me or Iliea. That's part of the reason she's such a terrible flirt now, not that he really cares anyway. Our mother died just a year ago, which got Father thinking about Iliea getting married and all that rot. But Father and I have never been close."
I nodded, and all four of us were silent for a while. At last, Fio sighed and began juggling three apples, half out of habit, I was certain.
"My father was the same way. He left me and my brother and Mum when I was only seven. We got news a year later that he'd been killed by pirates. Mum didn't last much longer than that, and my brother, who was several years older than I, left me with my uncle and went to sea. I haven't seen him since."
She said this in such a factual tone of voice that I would've have known—except for the glint of sorrow in her eyes and the memory of her mournful ballad—that she cared a straw about her family. When she met my gaze, I gave her a reassuring smile.
"I haven't seen my parents in ages. They aren't dead—at least," I paused, wincing as I remembered Dad and the picture of him in his uniform that stood on my bed-stand back at the Professor's house, "I don't think they are. But it's been near eight years since we came into Narnia. Even before that, my father left for…for a war that was going on in our world. I didn't think I'd ever see him again."
It was the first time I'd told anyone in Narnia my fears concerning Dad. It was strange that I'd never spoken about it—even to Peter, Susan, or Lucy. It had remained in the back of my mind for the longest time, something that had nothing to do with Narnia or being a king. But now, all this talk of parents and fathers had brought it to mind.
Everyone was silent for a while longer until Corin spoke up at last.
"My Mum—she always used to say to be thankful for what I had. I wish I had been thankful for her, back when she was alive." He raised a pair of pensive blue eyes to meet mine. "Even though she isn't alive on this earth, she still lives in my memory. I remember her smile, and the way she laughed…" he stopped abruptly and looked down.
Seconds later he was in my arms, head buried in my shoulder and his compact form shaking with sobs that had been held in for far too long.
Peter used to hold me like this, thought a vague corner of my mind. So this is what it's like to have a younger brother.
That same, vague corner of my mind was the only part of me that registered the departure of Fio and Eric. I heard, as if through a haze, Fio say that she'd be back, and I nodded automatically. And then we were alone.
At first, I thought I should say something, perhaps try to console the prince from Archenland, but then decided against it. Corin seemed like a boy who cried once in a blue moon, and he'd jolly well better get it out of his system now. As he sobbed, holding onto me like he'd never let go, I was once more reminded of Lucy. How often had she buried her face in my shoulder and sobbed hysterically like Corin was now? I wondered if he'd cried when his mother died. I wouldn't have been a bit surprised to discover that he'd bottled up the emotion and focused instead on revenge and hatred for his mother's killer.
At last Corin's sobs grew less violent and then died away almost completely. He surreptitiously wiped his face with his sleeve, and then looked up to meet my compassionate gaze.
"Do you still think I'm a nuisance?"
My tongue ached with regret, and I longed to recall every hurtful word I'd let fly up until that point.
"I never thought you were a nuisance," I said quickly, knowing as I said it that it was the truth. "I was quite often irritated, yes, but not reluctant to be around you. You should know by now," I gave him a quick embrace to hide the tears that were gathering in my own eyes, "that brothers never mean anything they say when they're cross."
I actually had to look away from Corin's face in order to keep from losing it completely. The pain faded from his gleaming eyes of blue, and his smile was happiness in its purest form.
"Brothers," he whispered, probably not intending for me to hear him. "I…I…"
He couldn't continue. He just sat there, looking dazed with a huge, real smile on his face. Watching him, I couldn't help but smile, too, and then I had to laugh because it looked so ridiculous. The laughter, as usual, was infectious now that things were healed between us, and Corin soon joined in, his peals of happiness echoing through the Cair like joy itself.
Fio and Eric were not long in returning after that. I could tell by the look in the gypsy girl's eyes that she saw the difference in Corin's face. When Corin began telling Eric how he'd found my sister's cordial in the garden, Fio let out a great sigh and leaned back against one of the apple trees.
"You're surprisingly good at being an older brother, you know."
I raised an eyebrow, and then followed her gaze to the happily chatting Corin.
"Ah. Well, I have had a bit of practice, you know. Lucy was quite a handful herself, but Corin is another thing altogether."
"You've made him so happy," came her quiet voice, suddenly sober instead of joking, as it usually was. "Was it really so hard to be his friend, his brother?"
I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, sitting on the grass a few feet away from her.
"A week ago, I would have answered 'yes'. But now…"
"Now?" Fio prompted.
I smiled mischievously, and juggled two apples carefully in mock preoccupation.
"Now, my dear lady minstrel, I would say that your plot worked well."
"My plot?" This with a bewildered look from Fio. "Have you gone mad, King Edmund?"
"Perhaps," I replied, smiling at my juggling apples. "Probably, even. I'm guessing everything that has taken place this summer—the poison; Corin, Iliea, and your family's visit; and the stable—that whole plot was part of your plot to make me adopt Corin as my brother. Am I right?"
It was sheer rubbish, of course. I had only been a little irritated to discover that she was right and I was wrong about Corin. But even as the words had formed in my head with mischievous delight growing in my mind, I wondered what her reaction to them would be.
Almost at once Fio saw the glitter of humor in my eyes. She narrowed hers and raised an eyebrow, as if to ask, "Is that the best you can come up with?" Then, moving so quickly that I hardly knew what had happened, she snatched one of the apples I was juggling from where it hung in the air and shook her head, as if in pity.
"Really, King Edmund. Where did you learn to juggle?" This was in a loud voice, meant to be overheard by Eric and Corin, who turned and stared at us with curious smiles.
"This reminds me of a song," Fio said, tapping her finger on her chin and saying the words as if the idea had just occurred to her.
She picked up her lyre, which just happened be lying on the ground next to the tree, and began strumming a quick, carefree melody on its strings.
"I'll sing it through once, and then everybody must join in the second time," she ordered, giving me a wicked smile at which my heart sank in mock dismay.
As soon as Corin and Eric had taken their places next to us, Fio began her song in a sweet, lilting voice. Nevertheless, the actual words she was singing made me moan and put my head in my hands.
"Oh the King who could not juggle,
Was a fancy fool indeed.
For with juggling he did struggle
In his coat of crimson tweed!
Oh the King who could not juggle
Tried his best with two, then three
But oft, alas his futile struggle
Ended, sadly, futilely."
And it went on. She sang two more verses of the horrendous melody before at last the twanging of her strings played to a stop. I lifted my face and met her dark, wicked eyes, and she smiled.
"Well, King Edmund? What do you think?"
"I think," I said, rising and picking up an apple from the ground, "that it's going to be awfully quiet around here when you leave. Though I can't say I'll exactly miss it. Do you know I don't even have a coat of crimson tweed? I don't think such a thing even exists!"
Fio grinned even more widely, for she knew that my first words were full of bluster.
"It's a ballad, King Edmund," she replied to the latter part of my comment. "Anything can happen. Even crimson tweed."
And then she began strumming again, more quickly this time, and exclaimed, "Everybody!"
I could've escaped them, could've run out of the garden and found a quiet nook to read or think privately, but I didn't.
This is where I belong. With my friends. The music itself isn't so bad, I thought with a grin, turning back to join my friends. Perhaps if I try not to be offended by the lyrics…
When she saw me returning, Fio's smile became glad instead of just mischievous, and she played all the more exuberantly while Corin, Eric, and I sang along.
"Oh the King who could not juggle,
Was a fancy fool indeed!
With his juggling he did struggle
In his coat of crimson tweed!"
To be continued...(in one last chapter that should really be called an epilogue).....