She threaded her way through the crowds, not presuming too much on deference; she was a lady, but a very young one. Early evening, just as the sun set, was her favorite time in Gervais; everybody was in a good mood and thronging the streets between the shingled brick and half-timber houses and workshops, calling greetings and laughing. Hooves clattered on brick or asphalt paving.
Then a chill. A detachment of men-at-arms in the black armor of the Protector’s Guard lounged in front of the Chinese Hand Inn, drinking beer and munching on bread and bowls of sweet-and-sour chicken. They whistled and wolf-called as she rode by, laughing at her glare and elevated nose. An under-officer came out of the inn with a wineglass in one hand and a chicken leg in the other to snarl at them: “Show some manners there, you dogs! Can’t you see that’s a lady?”
Doubtless they were the escort for some courier. Yseult arrived back at the castle with her cheeks flushed by more than good exercise.
As she dismounted in the stables, her uncle Guelf Mortimer strode in, calling for his groom. He saw her.
“Where’ve you been, brat? Your mother’s that worried about you! Go to her right now!”
Yseult ducked around him and ran. Guelf was rough spoken and known to slap people who displeased him. Her other uncle, Jason, many years dead, had been rough mannered, too. Yseult rushed into the castle.
Why’s he so mean? I might as well stay downstairs with the cow-handed sewing maids, she thought resentfully. At least they are polite to me! Of course, they have to be.
In the great hall she hesitated, torn between conflicting desires. The chapel and prayer called; Guelf had ordered her to go to Mary, and she really needed to change.
Chapel can wait until after dinner, she decided. I’ll be calmer then and won’t hurry things. I must listen for the voice of the saint or the Immaculata with calm or I won’t hear it. So, what to do now? It’s a toss-up. Will Mama be angrier with me for coming to see her in all my dirt or if I come in later and make her wait? I’d better go see her first.
She scratched at the door and slipped in when her mother called.
“Back?” asked Mary.
Yseult eyed her warily. She stood by the fireplace stirring the coals with an iron poker. There was a sheet of paper in her hand and the grate was adrift in ashes. Ashes sullied the expensive rug from Oregon City that Mary stood on. More papers littered the large worktable by the southern windows.
“Yes, Mama.”
“Well, how do you like spending the day with the sewing maids?”
There was small sneer in Mary’s voice. What is she sneering about? Me liking the maids? Or did Uncle Guelf upset her? He’s always telling her what to do and it makes her mad.
She answered the question with a question. Father Haggerty got annoyed when she lied to her mother. “Working with five cow-handed seamstress apprentices? How do you think I like it?”
Ooops, that sounded really impertinent, and my voice sneered too.
Mary giggled, a sound Yseult had never heard her make before and tossed the paper into the fire. “Well, indulge your taste for the lower orders. I think… it’s September… October, November, December, January, February, March… Yes, my fool of a daughter can leave the company of hicks and fools on April Fool’s Day. That works out nicely. You may have your supper and lessons with Virgilia in the evening and break your fast with me in the morning, here in the solar.”
Yseult gaped and then snapped her mouth shut. What will happen on April Fool’s Day? she wondered. And why is she giggling? Usually she’s mad after Uncle is here!
She watched Mary pick up another piece of paper and suddenly wondered. Where is her rosary? I haven’t seen it dangling from her belt in months. She used to make such a point about it, about being Catholic originally not a change-Christian… but I haven’t seen it
… in forever.
Mary turned towards her, raising the very fine, fair, plucked brows. “Did you need anything before you sit down to lessons?” she asked.
“No, Mama.”
Yseult swallowed and shook her head. She edged her way to the servants’ door in the west wall, intent on getting out of her mother’s presence.
I have to think! Why am I just noticing things now? What do they mean?
The rosary was gone from her mother’s belt and so was the lovely enameled locket of the Annunciation she had always worn; a gift from her father. Mary giggled again and turned back to the fire.
The main door to the room crashed open. “I arrest you, Mary Liu, Dowager Baroness of Barony Gervais on the charge of High Treason. Do not resist your arrest or you may be put to the Question, or executed out of hand!”
Yseult froze, breathless. Her mind went blank as the Lady Regent’s men tramped into the room in full armor, swords drawn. It was as if her mind was an eye, and it had looked into the sun.
Mary reacted instantly. She whirled from the fire, her green silk cote-hardie swirling and flaring into the hot coals as she grabbed the poker like a club and ran. She managed to get two steps from the fireplace, running towards the paper-loaded table, her burning train scattering glowing embers across the carpet. The sergeant behind the captain was faster; two strides brought him within reach of Mary and he swung an armored fist to her stomach with a dull thud.
Mary’s small body rose until the tips of her satin slippers left the rug, then folded around the point of impact as if bending in. The poker fell with a muffled thud. The servants’ door slammed open into Yseult’s back, throwing her face down, left cheek skinning across the precious rug and grinding into the hot embers.
“We’ve got possession of the Castle, Sir Garrick,” said the man at arms standing by her head.
Yseult gasped and choked and sneezed on the fine paper ashes. She lay dazed, unable to move; to understand what was happening; to see anything but the man’s steel sabatons and the point of the long sword in his hand; to hear anything but the harsh voices and the creak and clatter of armor as they moved around the infinitely familiar room now made strange. She could see her mother’s small body heaving.
The sergeant beat out the flames in Mary’s silk skirts with his gauntleted hands. She fought madly as soon as she managed to whoop in a breath; struggling and screeching, clawing at the armored man as though her soft nails could rake through an Associate’s panoply. Two more men at arms, men Yseult recognized as part of the group who’d teased her earlier, trotted in with a bundle of white cloth.
Mary was yanked upright, her arms forced into sleeves much too long for her, the tunic buckled in back and then the arms crossed over, wrapped around and the sleeves brought forward to buckle in front. Yseult shuddered, gasping, almost glad she was lying on the ground in case she fainted.
Mama’s eyes! she thought. They’re black. No, they can’t be. The pupils must have gotten so big I can’t see the color… I think I’m going to be sick.
A second cloth was wrapped and strapped around her waist and legs. Mary’s headdress fell off, her graying blond braid flopping free, coming loose in wild tangles, her body still heaving and twisting in the soldiers’ hands. Yseult propped herself up with her right hand, her left cheek throbbing, her left arm a mass of throbbing pain from shoulder to wrist. Three clerks were helping the man called Captain Garrick sort through the papers on the table; he was a tallish brown-haired man with a neat pointed chin-beard and mustache, in full armor except for the gauntlets and helm. Two more were smothering the fire and carefully pulling out the charred scraps.
“How much did she burn?” asked Sir Garrick.
“Hmmm,” said one of the clerks. “I make it ten pages by the surviving edges and corners. She didn’t do the best job. What are they?”
“Probably drafts of their letters.” Sir Garrick frowned down at the bound woman struggling and screaming at his feet.
“Adolphus!” he snapped. “Quiet her down. I can’t hear myself think.”
A slender unarmed young man wearing a white tabard with a red cross on the shoulder ca
me forward. After frowning for a few minutes he pulled a small brown bottle out of his leather satchel.
“Laudanum,” he said briefly. “I hate to use drugs, but I don’t have too many options. I could try to gag her, but the danger of her choking or aspirating is very high. The danger of overdosing her on opium is lower, but still significant. Especially with a case of hysteria like this.”
Sir Garrick grumbled under his breath. “She’ll do herself an injury anyway if we don’t quiet her, and we need her alive.” Louder he said: “Drugs. I take the responsibility.”
Mary struggled and thrashed like a salmon in a net, but Adolphus was very good; he dribbled the drops in one by one. Yseult blinked, trying to sit. An ungentle hand, gauntleted and armored, pushed her back down.
“Bide where you are, girl,” said the rough voice. “Bide quiet, that’s best.”
She lay watching her mother try to spit out the drops and Adolphus pour small amounts of water in her mouth and rub her throat. Gradually her struggles eased and she lay still, breathing heavily. Sir Garrick turned towards Yseult and smiled thinly. She cowered, feeling much like a rabbit confronted by a coyote. Or a wolf.
“Vulture and her chick, all in one net. Neat. Ah, Goodwife Romarec, attend.”
Yseult’s teeth chattered; her skin wrinkled as if it were freezing cold, not a warm early evening. Romarec was frog-marched into the room and shot one quick glance at Yseult before bobbing her curtsy to the knight. With her came all the higher staff; one of the men had a bleeding bruise across his cheek and was being assisted by two of the Protector’s Guardsmen.
“Sir?” the housekeeper said; there was a slight beading of sweat on her brow, but her voice was quietly respectful.
“Attend, all of you.”
He pulled a leather tube from his belt, twisted off the cap that closed it and shook out a roll of heavy paper, the kind used for official documents. It was sealed with a blob of red wax and ribbon; he held it up, then showed it to his own second-in-command.
“Fulk, witness that this is the Lady Regent’s personal seal, and unbroken.”
“I witness it, Sir Garrick.”
The man went on in a loud official voice: “I am Sir Garrick Betancourt, belted knight and second son of the Baron of Bethany, Captain of Lancers in the Protector’s Guard under the Grand Constable of the Association, Baroness d’Ath. I will now break the seal and read this warrant.”
He flicked off the wax with a thumbnail, undid the ribbon, and opened it.
“ The bearer has done what has been done by my authority, and for the good of the State. Signed, Sandra Arminger, Lady Regent of the Portland Protective Association, holder of the Crown’s rights in ward for the Princess Mathilda Arminger.”
Yseult’s breath caught again. He could have them all killed, right now, with that backing him up. With a warrant like that you could do anything.
“Fulk, witness that this is the Lady Regent’s signature.”
“I witness it, Sir Garrick.”
“By this warrant I am empowered to take possession of Gervais and arrest the Liu family as instructed.”
He turned to Romarec. “Pack for her ladyship: two sets of underclothes, two dresses, two surcoats, a cloak. They should be old clothes, linen and wool only, shoes and warm boots, socks. Bed linen, a blanket, the silly things a woman needs to primp with and whatever sewing project she has in hand. My squire Kai will accompany you. Make sure you put nothing dangerous in the bundles.”
“Scissors, sir?”
“Bring them to me. They will be delivered to Fen House.”
Romarec bobbed again, turned and turned back. “Fen House? Where is that?”
“That is none of your concern. Mary Liu is being arrested for treason. She will be kept under wraps there until such a time as the Lady Regent believes she can move forward in this matter.”
“Is House Liu proscribed or attaindered?” she asked.
“That is none of your concern either,” answered the captain.
Romarec drew herself up. “I have served House Liu for more than twenty years, my lord. I believe it is my concern.”
He gave her a nod of grudging respect. “No. For now the demesne is going to be under my guardianship until the Lady Regent has tried the Dowager Baroness. All her children need to be present for that. At the very least you can expect her to be kept under arrest in Fen House until Lord Odard returns.”
Tears leaked down Yseult’s cheeks at the thought of her brother, stinging in the burns.
He’s so far away! He’s our lord but he can’t protect us now!
Then she remembered Huon, her other brother, waiting for battle in Pendleton. What has happened to him? she wondered. Chaka likes Huon; he should be protected, but the Lady Regent… How could Mama put us at such a risk!
Romarec left and returned after a time with three large duffel bags; the kind soldiers used to cart their kit to battle. Not the fine wooden trunks that opened into a traveling wardrobe her mother used to travel and visit in Association territories or to visit Court. Romarec picked a pair of tiny scissors-thread nippers-out of the work box and tied the basket up in a large napkin and stuffed it into the third duffel. The scissors she handed to Sir Garrick.
“Good,” said the captain. “Now, attend. Do you know Alex Vinton?”
The housekeeper bobbed a curtsy for a: “Yes, my lord Odar’s valet and manservant.”
“Have you seen him in the last month or so, or even since he left?”
The housekeeper shook her head, but Yseult gasped and burst out, “S-s-s-so tha-tha-that’s who tha-that was!”
Sir Garrick turned and swiftly knelt by her. “Who, when?” he asked urgently.
The hand was still pressing her down and her teeth were chattering as she said: “The man, I, I, I-I-”
Sir Garrick frowned and said, “Let her up, soldier. A glass of water, please, Adolphus.”
The chirurgeon brought the water as Sir Garrick helped her sit. She was trembling now, huge shudders traveling up and down her body as if powerful hands were shaking her. Her teeth chattered against the glass. Adolphus frowned and tilted her head, pulled at her eyelids and pressed her fingernails.
“Shock,” he said. “It’s hot in here, but is there a blanket?”
Romarec pulled one out of the cupboard and brought it over.
“Open the windows. I want air in here, as long as we don’t shock her further with a sudden temperature drop.”
The men silently moved aside and allowed the housekeeper to wrap up Yseult in the blanket. The windows all banged open. Yseult saw relief on the faces of many of the men crowding the stuffy room. The brisk evening air stirred bringing a medley of scents; cook fires, jasmine from the garden, the stables, and an odd thick iron smell.
She saw Sir Garrick nod to an unspoken question from Romarec. The woman settled behind Yseult and hugged her.
Adolphus put the glass to her mouth. “Sips,” he ordered. “Very, very small sips. You are in shock. If you try to gulp, you will choke.”
Yseult sipped, and sipped again. Slowly the shudders settled down. But her tears still ran, stinging her left cheek as they slid over the burns. She saw Sir Garrick’s face, annoyed, but resigned.
“Let her cry,” he said to the medic. “I’ll get nothing out of her until that’s over.”
He knelt with a clank and put his hand under Yseult’s chin, the harsh calluses on his fingers like human sandpaper. It felt like her father’s hand or Odard’s.
“I need the information, soonest, daughter of Gervais! Control yourself like a noblewoman. Quickly!”
Yseult nodded and gulped… which started hiccups. Romarec chaffed her hands and rubbed her back. More handkerchiefs appeared at her gesture and Yseult breathed deeply. Her breath kept catching on her hiccups, but they faded away as she kept breathing and sipping from the glass Romarec held.
Twice today, some distant part of her thought wryly. It’s turning out to be a real black letter day.
&
nbsp; Romarec gave her the glass, but her left hand wasn’t working and Adolphus had to catch it. “Saints Cosmas and Damien! What happened? How did you injure your wrist?” he asked probing.
“Doo… doo… door… hit me…”
“Where?”
“Back.”
Quick competent hands probed up and down her spine and shoulder blades. She twisted away as he touched where the door had hit her. He took her face again and tilted it.
“Burns, rug and embers. Ah! From your mother’s gown. You must stop crying, you’ve washed them with enough salt water to clean them, that’s for sure, but it’s getting inflamed. I think you’ll have a few scars.
He turned to Romarec: “Goodwife, get some soft cloths, soak them in water as cold as you can get it and dab at her face. Get the swelling under control. No arnica or witch hazel; this one’s too close to her eye. Just cool water.”
Adolphus wrapped her wrist in a tight bandage and pinned it to the front of her riding jacket. She concentrated on sipping, holding the glass in her right hand.
“I… I can talk, Sir, Sir Garrick,” she said.
“Good girl! Ten minutes to control a hysterical fit, all on your own. You’ve got steel somewhere, Gervais.”
She shook her head, tears still trickling down her cheeks. The left one stung and throbbed.
“I-I went riding over the east bridle path today. I left the castle about five, five thirty. Master Johannsen might know exactly when.”
“Were you just getting back when we saw you?” asked Garrick.
The Tears of the Sun tc-5 Page 28
