Norman Farandole: The Hearing

"Miss?"

As soon as they had climbed up the rope ladder onto the Blaidd Drwg, Rose had been taken below and locked into a small cabin, apparently belonging to one of the ship's officers. With nothing else to do, she'd settled onto the tiny bunk to wait, listening to the distant sounds of sea and sailors going about their business. Now, an hour later, the door had been unlocked again, and a soldier (not Alain, she was disappointed to see) beckoned her out.

He turned to lead her down the narrow passage, a second soldier bringing up the rear. Rose diverted herself for a moment wondering why the word "soldier" seemed to apply to them rather than "sailor", and decided it was the long swords they carried – their somewhat-matching blue tunics being the only thing close to a "uniform". Then she was shown into a large cabin at the rear of the ship, and all thoughts of terminology faded. King Harold was leaning back in a large wooden chair, arms crossed, at ease behind a large table strewn with hand-drawn charts and papers, his back to a tiny open window, his grey eyes watching her closely above a guarded, carefully blank expression. He was handsome, she decided, with curly dark blonde hair showing now his helmet was off. The soldier pointed to a spot on the floor at one side, and then stood carefully alert behind her, the second waiting outside.

The room was silent for a long moment, the sea birds squawking outside the porthole and the endless creaking of the ship the only sounds above the distant surf. Harold held her gaze, measuring, and she looked straight back, unafraid, keeping her mouth shut. Surely even at this time in history one shouldn't speak to a King until spoken to.

The silence was broken then by the door behind her opening once more, this time to admit Corvantes, also under guard. He had to duck to enter, and his head nearly brushed the ceiling as he straightened up again. He was placed on a spot two paces to Rose's right, then his guard took an identical spot behind him. Corvantes seemed to fill the room with his presence, an almost palpable flood that flung itself at the man behind the table and struggled against the other's own magnetism. Rose, glancing surreptitiously back and forth, watched the two stare at each other for several long breaths, an invisible war of wills raging, and was astonished to see Corvantes blink first. He dropped his eyes to the table and bowed his head a scant inch. "My lord," he murmured – and Rose realized it was a strategic retreat, not an admission of defeat. Corvantes, as always, would pick his own battles.

She turned her own face back to the King – only then noticing Alain in the shadows to one side. He raised an eyebrow at her, sharing her observation, then gave her a quick, friendly half-smile before he turned back to Harold, as well.

"Who are you?" demanded the King of the man before him, ignoring Rose for the moment.

"My name is Paul Corvantes, my lord."

"Where are you from?"

"From Sicily, my lord."

"And why are you here?"

"I'm a merchant, my lord, trading in valuable jewels." Corvantes had apparently had time to manufacture an alibi.

"Then where are they? Where are your things? How did you get here? You've nothing with you – no baggage, no horse, no ship. Just the two of you, all alone, out on that cliff, nothing for miles. How did you get there?"

Corvantes was thinking fast. "I was chasing her, my lord," motioning towards Rose. "She is my servant, as I told you. We had just arrived in a nearby town – I don't know the name – and she stole one of my pieces of jewelry and ran off. I had just caught her on the cliff and was trying to retrieve it."

Harold swung his eyes to Rose. "Is this true?"

She shook her head forcefully. "No, my lord, I am NOT his servant. He kidnapped me!"

He didn't seem to understand the word, but let it go. "Your name?"

"Rose. Rose Tyler."

"Let me see your hands." She hesitated, startled at the odd request, and he motioned her up to the table. When she stepped up and held them out, he looked closely at them both, turning them over to check the palms, then noticed her scraped and bruised left wrist. Looking up into her eyes for a moment, he then nodded and motioned her back again. Then he turned to Corvantes. "Those are not the hands of a servant." His eyes narrowed. "What had she stolen?"

Corvantes shrugged. "A bauble, nothing more, my lord. A pretty thing for a lady."

Harold's eyes narrowed even more. Without looking, he picked up a small cloth bundle beside the pitcher of wine at one side of the desk and placed it in front of himself, then flicked the corners off to reveal what was wrapped inside, his eyes darting back and forth between Corvantes and Rose to watch their reactions.

The Time Jumper.

Rose gave a tiny gasp, her eyes wide, but remained silent. Corvantes sucked his own breath in, looking for an instant as though he were about to launch himself at it, then visibly got himself under steely control again.

"One of my men climbed down and retrieved it. What is it?" asked the King, his voice demanding the truth.

"It... it belonged to my father, my lord," Corvantes began spinning a lie, relying on his legendary poker face. "A design of his own making – he was always creating oddities like that. I did not realize she had stolen it, as well."

Rose darted an outraged glance at Corvantes, then turned back to see Harold watching her. She shook her head again, unable to keep silent any longer. "I didn't steal it! It was mine! My lord..." Her voice trailed off, bewildered. What could she possibly say to counter Corvantes' lies? The truth? Hah! That would land her in the funny farm – or the convent, more likely, in this time and place.

She could see Harold's mind working hard, considering all he had heard. He leaned over the Jumper, inspecting it closely. "C'est une pièce magnifique, n'est-ce pas?" he asked Corvantes, admiringly.

"Oui," came the automatic reply, and Harold shot him a triumphant stare.

"As I thought. You're a Norman spy, working for William the Bastard, aren't you? And not a very good one, either."

Corvantes, outraged, drew breath to protest his innocence, but Harold roughly waved him silent, motioning to his guard, instead. "Lock him up again – and double the guard."

Corvantes really began to protest at this, but the soldier pulled his sword half out of the scabbard menacingly, and the door was pulled open to reveal his companion, likewise armed and ready. Corvantes shut his mouth with a pop, shooting a look at Rose that promised cold revenge, then turned and went silently out the door.

Rose drew a huge breath, blowing it out in relief as she turned back towards Harold. Staring silently at the door for a moment after it closed, the King then turned to his cousin. "Alain... I don't trust him. I don't want him on this ship, or anywhere near our expedition – or running around loose, either." He glanced out the window at the late afternoon sky. "It's too late to start today, but first thing in the morning, send him under guard to the nearest fortress and lock him up. I'll deal with him in a year or two."

"Aye, my lord."

Rose smothered a smile as Harold returned his gaze to her, considering, then he got to his feet and came around the table. He picked up a wooden chair – only slightly smaller than his own – from against the wall and set it at an angle close to the table, inviting her to sit down with a gracious gesture. So she smiled shyly and complied.

And then he leaned over her from behind, one hand on the chair's arm, the other along its back, his head next to her own, so close she could feel the heat on her cheek. He stared at the Time Jumper two feet away on the table for a long moment, inviting her to gaze at it, as well. Then he turned and looked directly into her eyes from inches away.

"What is it?" he asked, quietly intense.

Caught. His grey eyes bored into her, demanding a response.

"You wouldn't believe me," she whispered.

"Try me." He paused, then... "You asked me for protection, and I have given it to you. In return, Rose Tyler, you owe me the truth."