by Jo Walton
In the third year of the Peace Alswith Haraldsdottar came to me early one morning in tears. She had her flame-colored hair pulled back hard away from her face. She looked so pale she was almost green, except for the shadows under her eyes, which were almost purple. Jarns are an unlovely color even when they are healthy, but Alswith was clearly ill. I had made her signifer after Foreth. She deserved it, and she was unarguably good enough. Then about a year later in a spate of rearrangements I made her decurio of Second Pennon. That had worked well, and I was pleased with her.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. I was sitting on the wall around the paddock watching Starlight’s new colt, Brighteyes. He looked as if he would be fast. I wanted him to get used to people being present without being threatening, so I was just sitting for the time being, enjoying the sunshine. Alswith swung herself up beside me.
“I feel awful,” she said. “It’s horrible. I wake up every morning with my stomach heaving and I have to run to the latrines. I can’t stand the sight of food. I throw up half the morning. Worst of all, I’m sleepy all the time. I thought I’d poisoned myself with some bad mushrooms, because I had eaten a lot of them, and now I can’t stand the sight of them. But it’s been a month and it’s not wearing off. Then I thought I’d got so I couldn’t eat bread anymore, like Talog the cook, you know? So I haven’t eaten any bread for five days, and I’m still as bad as ever.”
“When did the Moon Maiden last strike you?” I asked, with a sinking heart.
Alswith shook her head. “That’s another thing, I didn’t bleed at all last month, and now I’m nearly due again. I know you know about magic. Do you know what it is? Can you do a charm for it?”
I stared at her for a moment, trying to remind myself that I had once been just that naive. “Is there any chance you could be pregnant?” I asked, gently.
“No, of course not,” she said, laughing. “I’m not married, you know that.”
“I do know that,” I said, carefully, “But even though it’s rare, it does happen occasionally that women who aren’t married can still catch a baby. It happened to me. I have a son growing up at Thansethan.” A son I couldn’t see, though Elenn had visited him and assured me he was well. She had taken a letter and some tack for Keturah and brought me a letter back, all about how Keturah was growing and what ap Cathvan had said and how Arvlid sometimes let him ride out with her when she went to the hamlets with medicines. The letter began and ended with stilted phrases but came alive when he talked about horses. It had been the same when we talked at Thansethan. She had brought a letter from Arvlid too, saying Darien was growing well and strong.
“But really, I’ve never—” She lowered her voice and used a Jarnish word which I had often heard used thrown around as a curse but never known the meaning of. “—fucked. I don’t even let people touch my belly button when we share blankets.”
Alfwin was going to be furious with me. I wondered if he would settle for unarmed combat or if he would demand blood. “I don’t speak Jarnish very well,” I said, gently, “but belly buttons don’t have anything to do with making babies. Haven’t you ever watched the stallions with the mares? It’s the same for people, you know? If you’ve been doing that then it seems very likely to me that you’re pregnant. Who have you been sharing blankets with?”
“Nobody, not for ages, and then it was only ap Erbin because we were so pleased to see each other when he came back from Demedia!” she said, defensively. There were tears in her eyes.
I sighed with relief, I’d half expected her to say she’d been sharing blankets with half the pennon. Ap Erbin was someone it was at least possible she could marry. “How do you feel about ap Erbin?” I asked.
She blushed bright red. “I’m very fond of him,” she muttered, looking at her feet.
“And is he very fond of you?” I asked. She said nothing, but blushed harder, so that her face was almost as red as her hair. “Look, Alswith, it isn’t normal for women to start having babies until they’ve had a womb blessing when they get married. If they do, it’s usually because the gods really want them to have that child.”
“I really didn’t know that was”—again she lowered her voice—“fucking. I promised Alfwin and my mother I wouldn’t do that. I thought it was something terribly bad, not just sharing blankets like almost everyone does. And I was absolutely sure nobody ever got pregnant unless they were married. Nobody in the ala ever has.”
“That’s not the problem anymore,” I said. “The problem is if you want to keep your baby.” I hadn’t even touched her, I couldn’t say for sure there was a baby. But I knew.
She folded her hands protectively over her stomach. “Yes,” she said.
“Right. Then the next thing is to talk to ap Erbin and see if he wants to marry you. The next thing after that is to persuade Alfwin and your mother that it’s a wonderful idea, not to mention ap Erbin’s parents.” His father was that awful lech Erbin, and relations with Custennin had been slightly strained ever since the break with Thansethan. “I think the best thing is if I talk to Urdo, and then if he’s agreeable you take your pennon down to Caer Segant and talk to ap Erbin. Then you can go to Tevin and talk to Alfwin.”
She was still blushing. “What if ap Erbin doesn’t want to?” she asked. “It’s an awful thing to ask. People’s parents are supposed to arrange marriages.”
“People arrange their own sometimes,” I said, as reassuringly as I could. “And if the idiot doesn’t want to, then you can go to Thansethan and have the baby and leave it there to grow up. That’s what I did, and it hasn’t stopped me being an armiger.” I airily elided the problem of Alfwin.
“Oh thank you, Sulien,” Alswith said, fervently. Then she slid down off the wall and was horribly sick in the long grass. Little Brighteyes came charging over to see what was making the awful noises. He didn’t have any fear of people at all, just a great deal of curiosity. All his get were the same and still are; they probably will be until the end of time.
I sent Alswith off to drink hot water with mint and went to see Urdo. He was in his room, sitting on the chair by the table working on his laws. Elenn was sitting on a stool beside him, counting something out on a slate. As I came in she must have finished adding a column because, without looking, she reached her hand up and took Urdo’s hand and pressed it to her cheek. Neither of them looked up. I felt hot and prickly with embarrassment, and would have turned and gone away, but just then Urdo looked up and saw me. He lifted his hand up quite naturally and greeted me. Elenn stood smoothly and when she had greeted me left, saying she needed to speak to Glyn before she could get on. I was sorry to have interrupted but glad to have Urdo on his own to explain Alswith’s problem.
“Oh Lord, what’s Alfwin going to say!” was his first comment. When I had explained the whole situation he laughed shortly. “Well, at least ap Erbin is presentable. If I make the two of them a present of some land, I expect everyone can be reconciled to it. There’s empty land up near the border of Tevin for that matter, north of Thansethan, and half the people around there are Jarnish. Yes. We can tell Custennin, but we will have to ask Alfwin, that’s the important thing. Send her off to Caer Segant, and get her to bring ap Erbin back if he’s willing, I want a word with him. Then, I think, you’d better take two or three pennons up to Caer Lind and talk to Alfwin. Don’t take Alswith with you; that way he can’t get angry with her. Take ap Erbin, though. Three pennons ought to be enough to keep him alive until you’ve finished explaining.” He grinned.
“But I’m no good at that sort of thing!” I protested.
“Alfwin likes you,” Urdo said. “You don’t have to be diplomatic. Tell him the gods have found him a son-in-law, which is the truth if he can see it.”
“But what if he can’t see it?”
“He won’t be that angry with you, it’s not your fault. And ap Erbin can ask him for Alswith. I think among the Jarns it wouldn’t happen like that, she’d be disgraced as I understand their customs, so he might be glad t
o have her safely married. Probably not many noble Jarnsmen would want her after she’s been riding round bare-faced in the ala even after her father was avenged.”
“I told her if ap Erbin doesn’t want to marry her she can go to Thansethan the way I did,” I said. “She’s not limited to Jarnish options. She’s one of us.”
“Of course she is,” Urdo said, almost absently. “Did you tell her about Darien then?”
“Only that I have a son growing up in Thansethan. That isn’t a secret in the ala—they were there, some of them saw him. It isn’t a secret anyway. I gave him my name.”
“I know,” Urdo hesitated, uncharacteristically, and picked up his brown-and-green stylus. “You didn’t tell her who his father is?”
“No. I—” My mouth was dry. “I never talk about that.”
“Is that why you gave him your name?” He turned the stylus in his fingers as if he had never touched it before.
“Yes. No. Well, yes, and Father Gerthmol was pushing me, and he made me angry.” I looked down at the table, pots of colored ink, good parchment, Vincan books, a letter with Ohtar’s seal, an untidy stack of accounts.
“He’s good at that,” Urdo said, wryly, still fiddling with the stylus. “Ulf doesn’t know then?”
“I don’t think so. I certainly haven’t told him.”
“You know a lot of people assume he’s my son?” Urdo said.
I looked up at him; he was looking at me patiently. I hadn’t thought about it, and I felt like a fool. I knew people said we had shared blankets in Caer Gloran, and even that we had secretly been lovers later. I always dismissed it as gossip, the desire of people to talk about other people and giggle. I had never made the connection to Darien. I was still as naive as poor Alswith, with much less excuse. I could feel my cheeks heating, though fortunately it was less visible than for her. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“No need,” Urdo said, sounding a little shy. “I haven’t discouraged people from thinking that. Indeed, in some ways it’s useful for me that they do think that. I have no heir. Morwen told me a long time ago, before I even knew who I was, that I would have no heir. She may have been wrong, her oracles were not always right, nor did she mean me well. But I have always acted as if that was the case, because if I do have an heir I can change my plans, but I am not counting on having one.”
“Have you told Elenn?” I asked. Morwen’s motivations were a tangled net I did not want to touch.
“Yes,” he said, and smiled painfully. “She said I should take the pebble and we should make pilgrimages. I have no brother to go to her bed in my place, nor any other close relative, even if she would allow it.”
“You could make pilgrimages,” I said, awkwardly. I could not imagine her allowing it. It was a very old custom, but it was something that definitely had to be agreed.
“We could. We probably shall. We are presently undecided as to the shrines of what faith we should journey to. But if I have no heir, then sooner or later the kings will ask who will follow me. Some are saying it already. If they believe Darien is my son then it helps them think I may well beget an heir. I am young still, and there is peace.” He hesitated, and set the stylus down on the table. “If I asked you to give me an heir, Sulien, would you?”
“I would endure any wounding in your service,” I said.
He laughed, one brief note, cut off, a very terrible sound. “I am not laughing at you,” he said, immediately. “Only there was so much pain there. My dear, I am not asking that. You have a son, and I do not. If you do not speak to anyone of his parentage it is as good as if he were my own blood, if need be. There may yet be no need.”
“I will not tell anyone,” I said. Even though this was no more than what I had been doing for years, I heard a raven cry outside, and a great sound of wings sweeping past, as if I had done some momentous thing.
“Thank you,” Urdo said.
“But what will you do for an heir?” I asked. “You won’t live forever. This Peace would crumble without you.”
“Maybe,” he said, “though if it is a good enough Peace it would not; the rest of you could hold it. But do you remember what the Vincan emperors did? When the gods sent them no children they chose the best man to be the heir and adopted him as a son. That is what I would do, get to know the young men who are sons or grandsons of kings but not heir to land, men like ap Erbin, or ap Mardol. Then, when I am growing old and the Peace is an established thing, I would call a council of all the kings and offer them my choice for their election. If they choose him, too, then I would adopt him, and he could start doing some of the work of ruling while I am still there to help.”
Urdo sounded really enthusiastic about this. “It could work, but it would need to be undisputed,” I said.
“Yes,” Urdo said. “But the same goes for a child of mine. There’s nothing magical about blood.”
“The land—” I said, hesitating. “The land does know king’s blood.”
“That’s why any heir would be of king’s blood,” Urdo said. “The land would have to accept him, too, but I think I could manage that. If the gods spare me.”
“It’s a bit like what the Isarnagans do?” I ventured.
Urdo grinned. “Yes. For the time being do not talk about this to anyone.
“Are you really thinking of ap Erbin?” I asked.
“No. He was just an example. He’s what, five, ten years younger than me? Just somebody like that.”
An idea struck me. “Morthu of Angas,” I said, slowly. “Is that why he acts like that?”
“No!” Urdo said, sounding shocked. “Acts like what?”
“As if he’s much more important than he is. I just thought, he’s the right blood, and the right age. I don’t like him, though.”
“I don’t like him either,” Urdo said, quietly. He straightened the parchment in front of him. “He reminds me too much of his mother. Angas does not, and Penarwen does not, and the other sister, the one who we saw at the wedding, the one who wants to go to Teilo’s monastery, Hivlian, she does not either, although she has some of her mother’s oracle talent. But I do not like Morthu; he does not seem trustworthy.”
“Good,” I said. “I will say nothing about Darien’s parentage, not that I would have anyway. And I will stop denying that we shared blankets that night in Caer Gloran on the rare occasions when anyone mentions it in a way in which I am required to do anything but groan.”
Urdo laughed. “Thank you,” he said. “And I have never denied it, not even when Thurrig congratulated me on my courage.”
I laughed with him, and then stopped as I thought of something. “Is that why Elenn doesn’t seem to be so friendly now?” I asked.
“Maybe,” Urdo said. “I think someone mentioned it to her at Ayl’s wedding, or not long after, because she asked me about it. I told her, which is the truth, that I have not lain with mortal woman else since our wedding, and that is all that is her concern.” The question of goddesses, which we both knew about, hung in the air. I could still remember her voice, addressing him as husband. Elenn should be able to understand and forgive that strange consummation.
“She really doesn’t like ap Rhun,” I said.
“I know.” Urdo sighed.
“I won’t say anything in any case,” I said.
“If she has a child, it won’t matter anymore, and you can tell anyone anything you like,” Urdo said.
“My good wishes for it,” I said. “In the meantime, I suppose I’d better get on and help Alswith sort out getting married before she has a baby in about seven months’ time.”
34
Now I will sing of Brichan
whose hall lies empty
the roof fallen, open to the sky.
Brichan, your ears cannot hear me now
you who ceased from care to delight
in feasting and sweet music.
Your sons are slain, your daughters scattered
your kingdom is being forgotten,
you
r bard is lonely.
Brichan, you were not wise to heed
the words of the Jarnsmen
trusting all of your, allies.
You walked tall and proud
strong-armed, learned,
decorated with weapons.
Death comes to everyone, shabby or glorious.
Men who were generous while they lived
have their eyes pecked by crows.
-Non ap Cunir, “Lament for Brichan, Lord of Bricinia”
“There’s something about Tevin,” ap Erbin said, thumping his mare hard in the stomach and tightening the girth another handspan. We were on our way back to Caer Tanaga, two days south of Caer Lind on the highroad, and it had just started to rain again. The others were breaking camp and mounting up around us.
I just grinned at him, swinging up onto Glimmer’s back. “What’s so awful about Tevin? I thought you told Urdo you were happy to live up here?”
“In the north means well away from my relatives.” He thumped the horse again on the last word, and she whickered reproachfully as he tightened the girth again. He looked over at me. “Telling them was bad enough. You’ve met them, you can picture it; Uncle Custennin whining about marrying a heathen, Aunt Linwen genuinely shocked, Bishop Devin talking about trying to convert her, Aunt Tegwen asking if with that pale skin she wouldn’t burn terribly in the sunshine, Great-uncle Cador muttering about sleeping with the enemy and getting my throat cut, and my father making crude jokes about trying her out for size before the wedding.”
