If she went on this way, she would soon be considered to have lost her rank. She would no longer have a chance for an honorable marriage. Instead, she'd be getting one proposition after another, none of them honorable. If she accepted, she'd be hardly better than a common prostitute. If she refused, she'd need Rick's protection from the angry man, and Tylara might not let him give it.
I could retreat. Be something like an abbess of the University.
The thought almost made her laugh. She wasn't likely to take any vows of celibacy, or even pretend to have. And without that, the University might be wrecked and her own life would certainly be miserable.
So would Caradoc, the man who loved her.
Well, ducks, said the voice in her mind. It's like this. You can't be your own woman here.
Tell me something I don't know.
All right, but if you can't be your own woman, what about being the woman of the best man around?
Can I get him?
There was a knock on her door.
Maybe you've got him, she thought. She knew what she'd say if that were him- Caradoc came in, kicked the door shut, and promptly knelt. Everything she'd planned to say went right out of her mind. For a man to kneel to a woman was to place himself totally at her mercy. He would listen to any insult from her, carry out any command, abandon kin or honor or life itself at her word. He was giving her absolute power over him, trusting that she would not abuse it.
He started to talk when she wound her fingers into his hair. She didn't remember most of what he said, because she was trying too hard not to cry. All she remembered was a phrase about "my kin are beginning to wonder where my wits have gone."
"Caradoc," she said, and repeated it until he looked up.
"Yes, my lady."
"No lady. Just Gwen." She took a deep breath. "Caradoc, you know they never found my husband's body, after the battle where he was killed."
"Yes."
"That is why I have not felt free to take another husband. I have not been sure that he was dead."
"But-more than a year?"
"Caradoc, he was-so full of life. Like you. If you died but no one found your body, how long would your kin go on wondering about you?"
He smiled for the first time. "Quite a while, I think. Particularly my aunt, who is sure I am doomed for hanging."
"It is the same for my husband. I have not until now been ready to think of another man."
The smile faded. "But-now?"
"I am ready."
Then she did cry. Fortunately Caradoc was there, with his arms around her and a shoulder for her to cry on, even if it was clothed in muddy sweat-fouled wool. Being in his arms felt so comfortable that before long she knew that if he led her to the bed she would go happily.
"No."
"No what?"
"No, I shall not ask for my betrothal rights tonight, or until I return from the war."
"But-you might not return."
"All the more reason for us to sleep apart until we know my fate. You are the mother of one child who will never see his father. Do you want to be the mother of a second?"
He was right, of course. But-"The priests of Yatar are said to know-"
"I will let no priest tell me when I may bed my wife!" He kissed her. "It will be enough to ride against Flaminius as your betrothed husband. My kin will swear to guard you if I do not return, or I will know why!"
Ah. This alliance made sense, more than any other. There was no man on Tran to whom Tylara owed more. While Gwen was unmarried Tylara could object to Rick working at the University; but Tylara do Tamaerthon wouldn't risk offending the man who'd rescued her from Sarakos.
Even if Caradoc were killed-no. I won't think of that.
And Les? Your baby's father?
But Les was a long way off, and Caradoc was here; and Gwen had been lonely a long time. Too long. She drew in a deep breath. "Very well. I accept it as you wish."
"Good. Now you can help me take a bath. Either that, or put me in the cellar so that my stink will kill the rats!"
11
Dughuilas dropped a handful of coins on the table without counting them, drew his cloak over his shoulders, and stepped out into the second-floor hallway. He did not look back. The girl was hardly worth it, and certainly not worth more than a fraction of the price the mistress of the house asked.
There must be something to be said for her, of course. Otherwise she wouldn't have been whoring long enough to have a maid of her own. The maid was a little blonde who would have been lovely but for her broken nose. Probably a war orphan, and Dughuilas suspected she'd have been more interesting than her mistress. However, old Echenia wouldn't let such things go on in her house, and that was an end to it.
Dughuilas tasted sour bile. The war would begin in less than a ten-day, and it was wrong. Far wiser to let the Romans tear each other like hungry stoats in a cage. Why couldn't Drumold understand that? Fascinated by that warlock son-in-law, the upstart.
And I must follow him! A coward, who has never proved himself in battle. Even in the Roman battle- yes, yes a great victory for the Lord Rick-even there he avoided combat. He raced for the pikemen rather than falling upon the Romans like a man!
Dughuilas shuddered at that memory. The Lord Rick shamed him before a whole army, firing his star weapon to startle Dughuilas and nearly bringing him off his horse. He'd felt fear-real fear-and of Rick, a man whose blood would turn to water if he ever got within sword's reach of a proper battle. He ruled from Tylara's bed, not from the saddle, and what sort of chief was that for a man to follow?
At least they'd had a scare at the University over the sky-machine! Whatever Corgarff might have said under torture, it shouldn't be enough to allow a trial of Dughuilas before the other clan chiefs. At worst, he could demand right of trial by combat against his accuser, and since that would be Lord Rick or perhaps Drumold, neither of them his match- Something struck Dughuilas hard in the side of the neck. It hurt like a rat bite, and when he put his hand up to the pain he felt blood trickling and the tip of a dart. Some child's prank with a crossbow. Curse Madam Echenia, she couldn't keep order in her own house! She'd get no more custom from him or his clansmen.
He took another downward step, but unaccountably his foot came down on empty air. He fell forward, swallowing a shout and throwing his arms out to break his fall. He didn't want anyone to see his clumsiness.
Pain shot up his arms and he didn't quite protect his head. He tasted blood where a broken tooth had gashed his tongue, but somehow it didn't hurt as much as he'd expected. In fact, nothing felt quite normal any more. His tongue seemed thick and swollen, filling his mouth. Now he tried to shout, but only a croak came out.
Poison.
Poison on the dart.
The High Rexja's men, a plot to ruin Tamaerthon! He had to live, to warn Drumold before it was too late-or could it be- He couldn't finish the thought. He rolled over to draw his dagger, but fell heavily on his back, his arms unwilling to obey. Above him the light from the candle on the stair landing shone on blonde hair. Another shape bent over him, and hands fumbled at his purse and sword. Dimly, as if from the bottom of a well, he heard leather tear and thongs snap.
Then a small hand in a glove clamped down over his mouth. He tried to bite, got a mouthful of leather, felt his stomach heave. Something cold struck him in the eye and he floated away on the pain until it and everything else ended.
"The dagger in the eye went straight into Dughuilas's brain," said Tylara. "Instant death. His killers took his purse, sword, and boots. They must have been well away before anyone found the body."
"Is it known who did it?" asked Rick, as his head popped out from the fur chamber robe. The messenger with the news of Dughuilas's death had arrived as he and Tylara were getting ready for bed.
"The maid to one of the women of the house has disappeared," said Tylara. "She may have been working with the killers, or she may have been slain as well. She was only a half-grown girl, so she could h
ardly have done the work herself.
"Beyond that, who knows? We know that both the High Rexja and Flaminius have spies among us. Dughuilas was a champion and clan leader, a bannerman. But more like, it was some enemy. He had enough, and all knew how he spent his nights before going to war."
She says the right words, but she does not seem upset, Rick thought. One of our officers dead… a man I never liked. "He was an important leader, and his clan will demand blood," Rick said. "A proven captain in war-"
Tylara stared. "A proven captain in the kind of war we used to fight! The kind of war which would have destroyed us a year ago. For the kind of war you have taught us, the fewer like Dughuilas we have, the better."
"Perhaps, up to a point. But I cannot be everywhere at once-"
"The more reason for not having Dughuilas in any of the places where you are not."
"Are you then glad that he is dead?" Rick demanded.
"I am not as unhappy as you seem to be. Why, I cannot understand. He was no friend to you or your cause."
Ah, but you do understand, my love. Don't you? "He was yet a brave man. A proven leader, a man of courage… and if we seem to care little for finding the killers, people may wonder why. You say Dughuilas had enemies. This is true. He also had fellow clansmen, who will be at my back on campaign."
"The Guardsmen can keep watch."
"How many of Clan Calder can we afford to kill?"
"None. But I doubt we must kill any. Dughuilas's killers will be found."
"And if they are not?" Rick asked.
She shrugged. "It is in the hands of Yatar." She wriggled into the bed and pulled the covers about her. The bed was large, so that there remained a little distance between her and Rick. "Vothan One-eye has done us no ill turn by this."
"Exactly what everyone will be saying. He was our enemy, and he is dead. It is not much of a secret that Dughuilas is suspected of planning the balloon accident."
"It is also not much of a secret that Dughuilas has been the leader in half of what the knights and bheromen have done against you. Do you care so little for your plans that you will fret over the death of one of their worst enemies?"
"I do not. But there are honorable and dishonorable ways-"
She looked ready to spit on the floor, or even in his face. "You are not the only judge of honor here. I also have to judge what honor demands, for us and for our plans and for our children. Have you forgotten that? Or was Andrй Parsons perhaps right? Are you too soft toward enemies to live long among us?"
"Enough!" Rick leaped from the bed. "I will go to my rooms. I have never laid hands on you, but by Christ-" He stalked toward the door, then stopped and turned. "I've lived longer here than Parsons," he said. "But then perhaps this is because I'm a coward. Go on, you can say that. Everyone else has."
He fumbled with the bolts of the heavy door. Can't even make a decent exit, he thought. Crap.
"My love." She stood next to him, and her face held grief. "My love. Forgive me." He gently gathered her into his arms and held her while she cried into the fur of his robe. Her hair had its old silky springiness back, now that she'd completely recovered from Isobel's birth.
"Forgive me, my love," she said finally. "Nor I, nor anyone doubts your courage or your honor. Only you. You have doubts enough for all of us, foolish doubts, for you are the bravest man I have ever known."
"Not likely-"
"Enough for me, then. Now come to bed. How can we let a man like Dughuilas ruin our last nights together? Come to bed, my love…"
Later, after they had made love, he woke and lay sleepless. In a few days he would lead an army to war. Vothan One-eye would be loose in the land again. And how many soldiers have told themselves that what they do is right? All of them?
Now I've got to fight, and if I'm killed, will any of my plans be carried out? I think I'm indispensable. Necessary. Have to stay alive or no one will. Easy thing to talk yourself into. Easiest thing in the world.
Reasonable. Makes sense. Hah! The man who wondered if he was a coward because he'd gone out for track instead of football in college still lurked inside the Eqeta of Chelm. Not very far inside, at times like these.
I can change what they think. I can prove myself. If I don't- Dundee. John Graham of Claverhouse, Viscount
Dundee, the only man since the Bruce to unite the Highlanders; the man who might have kept Scotland independent of England and the Stuarts on its throne.
He'd known he was indispensable. So had the chiefs. But at Killiecrankie, Dundee personally led the army. "Once," he promised his allies. "Once only. But until they know I am worthy to lead them, I cannot lead them where we must go."
And he'd fallen at Killiecrankie, ending the Highlander cause…
I have to win their respect. How, I don't know. But I have to do something…with Dughuilas dead by assassins it's even more necessary. Reasons of state. And I have to live with myself as well.
She stirred slightly, and he covered her bare arm, resisting an impulse to waken her and lose himself in her. Then he stared at the ceiling again.
PART THREE
Angels and Ministers of Grace
12
"Pass in review!"
Drums thundered and pipes skirled as the massed forces of Rick's army marched across the parade ground.
"Eyes-RIGHT!"
The First Pike Regiment marched past, their pikes held aslant, the regimental banner dipped in homage to Rick and the others on the reviewing stand. The banner held three battle streamers; one, Sentinius, might be an embarrassment under the circumstances, but most of Rick's units had been there and were proud of it.
He glanced to his right where Publius stood at attention, but gained no clue as to what the Roman was thinking. Publius was an enigma; his manners were perfect when in public with Rick, but spies said he was given to cursing the barbarians whenever there was the slightest reason. He was also interested in women, and his success as a Don Juan impressed even the lustiest of Tamaerthan lords.
And what, Rick wondered, must Bishop Arrhenius think of his Emperor-to-be? The Roman Christian Church seemed considerably less preoccupied with chastity than did its counterpart on Earth, but even so there was the Sixth Commandment… More to the point, though, what did His Lordship think of all these pagan allies? Whatever he thought, he said nothing. He stood next to Publius, splendid in his cope and mitre; and if he longed to go make converts among Rick's army, he showed no signs of it.
Second Pikes marched past, then Third and Fourth. They kept their lines straight enough, although they were not expert at parade ground formations. Rick wondered again what impression he was making on the Roman officers. His army was hardly uniform; it seemed that no two men wore the same equipment. Some had breastplates, some mail byrnies. Some had Roman helmets, others had modified captured Roman equipment until it was hardly recognizable; some men wore leather jerkins and no armor at all. None had a lot; the pikes were supposed to be lightly armed, able to march hard and fast, then fight for a long time. Rich knew their value; but would these haughty Roman officers understand?
"Present-Arms! Eyes-RIGHT!" Battalion guide-on banners rose high, then snapped downward to the salute. There was another thunder of drums, then fifty pipers; and finally the archers.
Rick saw Publius nod sagely as they went by. They were impressive enough even to look at, their long bows held at high port, and over their backs quivers filled with grey gullfeathered arrows a clothyard long, tipped with a deadly bodkin point that would penetrate armor at short ranges, and kill a horse at two hundred paces and more. There were never enough archers; it took years to train them, years spent at the archery butts when you might be doing something more lucrative. Many wealthy enough to become archers would not; they considered themselves part of the chivalry of Tamaerthon, and learned to ride and fight with lance, usually neglecting the art of the bow. Most of the archers were sons of yeomen and freeholders, the closest thing to a middle class Tamaerthon had.
; The archers wore kilts of bright colors, and colored shirts, and many had jewelry, particularly bracelets. They'd fared well in Rick's previous battles, and being lightly armed and mobile they'd been able to get extra loot despite Rick's orders about sharing the booty.
Even the Romans appreciated their value; although Rick suspected that Publius did not understand the value of combined arms, cavalry, pikes, and archers fighting together as a unit, each covering the others' weaknesses.
Behind the archers came Tamaerthon's knights. They were impressive enough in their haughty ways, but they were not as well mounted as Drantos knights and bheromen-certainly not as well as the Roman heavy cavalry, the splendid cataphracti who'd once dominated most of this continent. Their armor wasn't as good,' either; the chivalry of Tamaerthon couldn't really take its place in the main battle line. With training they could make good scouts. He'd organized about three hundred of them into a Hussar Regiment. The rest had too much pride for that.
"You have brought mostly Tamaerthan troops," Publius said. "I see few enough of the chivalry of Drantos."
"True, my lord," Rick said. "I saw little need for more heavy cavalry. Your legions should suffice for that. Instead, the Lord Protector chose to send auxiliary troops. Light infantry and cavalry. And foragers, and wagons, and siege engineers. We will have trouble enough feeding this army as it is; why add to that trouble?"
Publius frowned. "It is the cataphracti who decide battles," he said. "Others can be useful, but the art of war consists of having heavy cavalry in the right place and using them well."
So far it does, Rick thought. I hope to change that… "Aye, my lord. But the chivalry of Drantos can hardly match your legionaries. It would seem a worthless exercise to bring them when we have more need of wagons and transport."
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