“I ran,” he added, then stopped, feeling it was less than honorable to tell her this. He shook his own head. “Come, and we will face King Hadros together.”

But she stepped away from him as he went into the great hall. King Hadros sat with his warriors and housecarls around him, finishing his morning porridge and beer. Roric spotted the red hair of Valmar, the royal heir. The king was bent over his flagon, his elbows out as though to keep the others away. He gave a great start as Roric walked toward the table, and his brows rose sharply. Although he managed to put the flagon down without spilling any more beer his eyes stayed round. A strange expression went across his face-was it relief?

Roric changed all at once what he had planned to say. “I finished my business at the manor more quickly than I expected,” he said loudly. His heart was beating hard though he strove to keep his tone casual. Exhaustion was gone.

“So I left last evening,” he continued, “and rode all night to be here today. Oh, I happened to spot three of our warriors arriving when I was leaving. One was old Gizor One-hand. I hope they’ll think to bring Goldmane’s saddle home with them; I must have left it at the manor. I expect they had come on some special errand or other, but I knew it could have nothing to do with me, so I didn’t wait to speak with them.”

He let it hang in a profound silence, wondering how many of them knew, letting them wonder how much he had guessed. As long as he did not say openly that he had been attacked where he slept, he should be able to resume a normal life here at the castle. King Hadros would not want his other sworn men to know he had plotted the death of one of them, and certainly not that his plot had failed utterly. Not only had he escaped Hadros’s thugs alive, he had put the king in his debt by not accusing him here.