“I do. His name’s Petyn, and I had him flogged and kicked out of my warband not long ago. He was stealing from me.”
Although everyone in the crowd gasped, Coryc turned to look at Jill, who was smiling to herself as she stood out of the way near the wall.
“All right, Silver Dagger,” the gwerbret said. “It’s time for you to spill everything you know.”
“So it is, Your Grace.” Jill came forward and made a reasonable curtsy, seeing as she was wearing a pair of brigga. “Petyn, let’s start with you. There you were, publicly shamed, turned out of the warband without a copper to your name. I’ll wager you rode south. Where did you meet the man who hired you?”
Petyn shook his head in a stubborn no.
“I know what he looks like,” Jill went on. “A stout fellow, with a high voice, and he’s a merchant pretending to be a scribe. He deals in perfumes and incenses, actually. He was a friend of Lady Mallona’s brother, and he was kind enough to bring her news every now and then, until Graelyn died last year. That’s the brother’s name, Your Grace—Graelyn. But this incense seller was a rich man, and I’ll wager he offered Petyn plenty, especially since he had him round up four other lads for the hire.”
“Here!” Lord Beryn’s voice rose to a squeak. “Are you talking about Bavydd? He used to stay in my dun with us, just every now and then.”
“So that was his name, was it? He gave a different one to the priests of Nudd here in town, but I figured it was a false one. Come on, Petyn. Are you really going to hang for a man who wouldn’t lift a finger to help you?”
“I’ll hang no matter what I do, you little bitch! Why should I say anything? You seem to know the lot already.”
“What is this?” Coryc slammed one hand down on the table. “Jill, are you saying that this merchant is behind these murder attempts?”
“Not exactly, Your Grace. I don’t think for a minute that he wanted to kill the tieryn. He wanted to push Beryn and Dwaen into open war and let them kill each other. Or maybe he was hoping you’d believe it was all Beryn’s fault, and you’d hang him for breaking your ban on the blood feud. Then he, Bavydd I mean, could marry the Lady Mallona and take her away.”
“I see.” Dwaen’s voice was more a sigh. “Beryn, I owe you both an apology and some restitution for this.”
“No doubt,” the gwerbret said. “But that will be a separate matter. Jill, I take it you’re laying a formal charge of attempted murder, as well as adultery, against this Bavydd, a merchant of Cerrmor.”
“I’m not, my lord. He was just a tool.”
Everyone was staring at Jill now, from the priests of Bel to the lowliest servant in the crowd. Rhodry had never heard such a crush of people keep such a silence.
“Well, you see, Your Grace,” Jill went on, “they could have run off together any time and been safe in Cerrmor, under another gwerbret’s jurisdiction, before her husband could track her down. Bavydd’s wealthy. He could pay Lord Beryn three times his wife’s marriage-price when the matter came to court, and I’ll bet his lordship would have taken the money, too, and not pressed the matter, because everyone tells me he didn’t much fancy her anymore. So why this elaborate plot? Your Grace, it had to be someone who hates Tieryn Dwaen, and there’s only one person under great Bel’s light that it could be.”
Involuntarily, the gwerbret glanced at Beryn, but Jill shook her head in a mournful no.
“Your Grace, you’ve all been looking for a man, haven’t you? Women hate just as bitterly and as well. Your Grace, everyone tells me that Lady Mallona doted on her son, and he wasn’t just her only son, he was her only child. She must have hated Dwaen for having him hanged and brooded on it till she went mad. And then there’s the serving lass. Who else could have got Vyna a place in Dwaen’s dun, all under the cover of kindness? And who else would have known that Vyna had a child they could hold hostage? Who else would have hated the Lady Ylaena, too? The women in your dun told me that Mallona was awfully taken with Lord Cadlew, and it’s also common knowledge that he spurned her cold. Ylaena was her rival. Mallona would have enjoyed her revenge, all right, if that pack of brigands had got Ylaena alone somewhere. But how could Mallona hire the men and give them orders? Send a messenger along the roads to announce she had a hire for murderers? Invite them into her husband’s hall? That’s where Bavydd came in.”
All at once, Rhodry remembered Lord Beryn and looked his way to find the lord kneeling on the floor. It seemed that Beryn had shrunk into himself, turned old and gray and somehow smaller. With a drunken gesture, Beryn raised his head and keened like a man over his dead.
“Your lordship has my sympathy,” Jill said. “Truly he does. But I don’t see why he should suffer for someone else’s crimes.”
“No more do I,” Coryc said. “I want the lady brought here for questioning. Indeed, with his lordship’s permission, I’ll summon an honor guard and ride to fetch her myself.”
Like a warrior stabbed on the battlefield but determined to stand until he dies, Beryn staggered to his feet. By law, he had the right to ride home and defend his lady with his life from these charges, and Rhodry stepped forward, half without thinking, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Beryn saw the gesture and began to laugh, a ghastly sobbing mirth.
“Stay your hand, Silver Dagger. Your milksop lord’s safe from me. I only ask one boon, Your Grace. Don’t make me watch her hang. I loved her once.”
“Done.”
Coryc began to speak further, but the crowd broke, first into whispers, then into an excited gabble that grew louder and louder as the people swirled about. Coryc hesitated, then yelled at the guards to clear the hall and be done with it. In the confusion, Beryn gathered his sworn men round him like a dressing for a wound and swept away; when Dwaen tried to follow to apologize further, Rhodry and Cadlew held him back. The gwerbret was so thickly surrounded by clamoring priests that he never did bother to formally adjourn the malover.
Once the chamber was reasonably clear, Rhodry looked around for Jill, but he found her gone. Blast her! he thought. What’s she up to now? Since Dwaen was quite obviously safe, he left his hire and went after her. As he was walking down the stairs, he smelled something, a familiar scent—a hint of cinnamon and musk, exactly that which had hung round the man who’d tried to hire him for murder. Rhodry threw up his head like a hunting dog and raced down the spiral at a dangerous pace. For a moment, at the foot of the stairs, he caught the scent again, but the great hall was packed with gossiping people. By the time he made his way to the door out, he could find neither scent nor sight of the man who, he could assume, had to have been Bavydd of Cerrmor.
After a short search, Jill discovered Lord Beryn and his men out by the stables. Silent and miserable, they were unsaddling their horses, and when she approached, they all stared at her in angry bewilderment, as if they couldn’t decide whether she was the cause of their lord’s trouble or his savior from it. Beryn himself, however, raised one hand and flapped it in dispirited greeting.
“My lord, I know I’ve brought you great grief, but I’ve come now to bring you a little solace. May I speak?”
“Why not, Silver Dagger? I can’t think of one wretched thing you could do to hurt me any worse.”
“You’ve lost your only son, and I know it’s a grievous thing to think your clan will die when you do. But I’ve come to tell you that your son sired a son before he died. It’s the child we spoke about in the malover, Vyna’s babe. The child’s a bastard, of course, but he could be legitimized.”
Beryn wrenched himself half round, then began to shake, like a spear stuck in the ground with a smack that then quivers itself still. At last, he turned to her again.
“I remember when the lass was sent away. Didn’t take any notice at the time. Some woman’s matter, I thought. Why didn’t my lady tell me about the child?”
“Would she have told you anything that would have pleased you?”
“Ye gods.” For a long moment he was silent. “The little bitch.
”
“Here, my lord, how could the poor lass have turned your son away?”
“Not the lass, you wretched imbecile of a silver dagger! My wife.” He began to pace round and round in a tight circle. “Is the babe healthy?”
“He is, my lord. His name’s Bellgyn.”
Round and round, and always he stared at the dirt beneath his feet. Jill made him an unnoticed bow and slipped away.
On the morrow, as soon as the dun came awake, the gwerbret summoned the two lords and their retinues to the table of honor in the great hall. Coryc rose, carefully impassive, and gave Beryn a nod of greeting.
“I have a formal announcement to make, my lord,” Coryc said quietly. “I intend to ride to your dun to question your lady on this matter of justice. If his lordship wishes to ride to her defense, then he has my guarantee of safe conduct out of my city and on my roads.”
Beryn snorted profoundly.
“When you ride, Your Grace, I want to join your hunt for this piss-poor bastard merchant.” Beryn jerked his thumb in Rhodry’s direction. “This silver dagger tells me that he’s sure Bavydd was in town last night. I’ll bet he’s fleeing south right now. A boon, Your Grace. If we catch him, let me have him.”
Coryc hesitated, looking Dwaen’s way as if the tieryn were his own conscience, there to testify about Bel’s laws.
“It’s not for me to say what his grace may or may not do,” Dwaen said. “My father’s death was more than I could bear in silence, but this time I’ll no longer push my rights before the law. Whatever you want done with the merchant, Your Grace, do.”
“Then your boon is granted, Lord Beryn,” Coryc said. “And we’d best get ready to ride.”
All that day, the warbands pushed their horses hard and arrived at Dun Ebonlyn in early afternoon, where they stopped to eat and to tell Lady Ylaena the news. As the men were filling in, Jill saw Lord Beryn turn his men out of line and stop beside the gates. When she pointed him out to Dwaen, the tieryn rode over and made Beryn a small bow from the saddle.
“His lordship is welcome in my dun,” Dwaen said, “if he can bring himself to enter it.”
Slouched in his saddle, Beryn considered the offer. In the strong afternoon light, he looked exhausted, his eyes bloodshot, his cheeks slashed with deep wrinkles from a life out in the sun and wind. Finally, Beryn sighed.
“His Grace is most generous,” Beryn said. “My men and me can eat out in your ward. I’ve no desire to distress your lady mother and sister with my presence at your table.”
“As his lordship desires, but I’ll have food from my stores brought out to you.”
“My thanks. That much I’ll accept from you.”
The two men looked at each for a moment, neither smiling nor scowling.
“I have a small matter to lay before you,” Beryn went on. “Your silver dagger here tells me that kin of mine is sheltering in your dun.”
“Vyna’s baby, Your Grace,” Jill put in. “Madryc sired the lad.”
Dwaen caught his breath in a little whistle of surprise.
“I’ll want to claim the lad,” Beryn said, “formally and legally, once we settle this other matter. He’s the only blasted kin I’ve got left.”
“Never would I stand in your way, my lord, provided the lass agrees.”
Beryn scowled, started to speak, then merely shrugged and rode on inside.
Beryn’s men found a place to sit in the curve of the inner wall. Servants hurried out, bringing bread and cold meat for the men and the best oats for their horses. Beryn sat down on the cobbles in the midst of his warband and bellowed for ale. Jill hurried to the kitchen hut, where she found Vyna piling bread into a basket. On her back, the baby slept in a cloth sling.
“Cook?” Jill called out. “Lord Beryn’s men need ale.”
“Men always need ale,” the cook said. “Pages! Where are you, lads? Run and get a small barrel.”
In the resulting confusion, Jill could draw Vyna to one side.
“I’ve got some important news. Lord Beryn knows about your baby. He wants to claim him and raise him as his heir.”
Vyna froze.
“Can you bring yourself to give him up?” Jill went on. “You know that Dwaen would never let the lord take him against your will.”
Vyna laid the basket down and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.
“He’d have everything in life this way,” Jill said. “Even a title, and you’d have a chance to find a man of your own.”
Vyna turned and walked blindly out of the kitchen hut, the baby swaying and bobbing on her back. Jill ran after her, catching up to her near the well just as Lord Beryn himself came hurrying over with a chunk of bread in his hand. Her head high, Vyna refused to curtsy; she stood her ground and let the lord look her over.
“I do remember you, truly,” Beryn said. “And that’s the baby, is he?”
“He is, my lord,” Vyna said. “My child.”
Beryn had a thoughtful bite of bread and went on considering her. He towered over her, a strong man still, gray hair or not, his narrow eyes utterly cold and not a trace of a smile on his face, but Vyna stared back at him with her mouth set like a warrior’s.
“You’ll swear the child is my son’s?” Beryn said.
“He’s mine first, my lord, but your son had somewhat to do with getting him.”
“A strong-minded lass, aren’t you?”
“I’ve had to be, my lord.”
Beryn finished most of his bread, then threw the crust away.
“Well, you’ll be better off in a dun than you’ve been in the kitchen,” he said. “After we’ve attended to this other matter, I’ll ride here and fetch you and the lad.”
“Me, my lord?”
“Well, think, woman! What am I going to do with a babe in arms? I’d only have to find him a nurse anyway. Might as well be you.”
Lord Beryn turned on his heel and walked back to his men. Vyna covered her face with her hands and sobbed aloud.
“Hush, hush,” Jill said, patting her shoulder. “There, see? No one’s even going to take him away from you. But I don’t envy you, shut up in that dun with his lordship there.”
“I’d put up with the Lord of Hell if I had to for my baby. He’s better than that, I suppose.” With one last sob, she wiped her face on her sleeve. “I’m more afraid of what everyone’s going to say about me than I am of him.”
“I doubt me if you’ve got much to worry about. Lord Beryn would take it as an insult if anyone mocked the mother of his heir, and I’ll wager no one insults his lordship lightly.”
Once the men had eaten, they changed horses, then rode out fast, determined to reach Beryn’s dun by sundown. A few miles down the road, they met a single rider, coming fast on a gray gelding. With a yell, Lord Beryn pulled out of line and galloped to meet him with the rest of his escort streaming after. A river of men and horses surrounded the rider and swept the noble lords into the eddy as well. Rhodry, of course, stayed close to Dwaen.
“It gladdens my heart to see you, my lord,” the rider said to Beryn. “I was riding to Caenmetyn with a message for you.”
“Indeed?” Beryn leaned forward in his saddle. “Then spit it out, lad.”
“Somewhat’s wrong with your lady. After you left, she was all upset, like, but well, we figured that she would be, with you gone off like that to face—well, trouble and suchlike.” He gave the gwerbret a nervous sidelong glance. “But anyway, in the middle of the night, that merchant comes to the gates on a foundered horse. Bavydd. Do you remember him, my lord?”
“Very well indeed. Go on.”
“And he says he has news from Caenmetyn, and so of course we let him in. We all thought it was good of him to ride so fast with the news for your lady. So anyway, Bavydd stays for a bit, and Lady Mallona tells us not to worry, because the malover’s gone in your favor. And so we cheered the merchant and then all went to bed. In the morning, the gatekeeper tells us that Bavydd rode out not long after we left the great hall,
on a horse your lady gave him, to make up for his, like. But now the Lady Mallona’s shut up in her chamber, and none of her women can get her to answer the door. So we thought about climbing up and going in through the window, but we couldn’t do that, not into your lady’s chamber, so we thought we’d better get you a message and ask what to do.”
Beryn looked Rhodry’s way with expressionless eyes. Rhodry merely shrugged, supposing, as the lord doubtless did, that the lady had chosen to cheat the gwerbret’s justice and die on her own terms. Beryn turned back to the rider.
“Well, here I am. Let’s ride and get back there.”
Behind its low walls, Beryn’s dun was a straggly, untidy place, a low squat broch, a dirt ward crammed with stables and storage sheds. When the warband streamed in through the gates, it filled the ward and turned it to a riot of confused servants and dismounting riders. Shouting his name, Beryn’s fort-guard mobbed their lord, then told him the same story all over again, while the chamberlain bowed to the gwerbret and apologized repeatedly for the humble lodgings. At a whispered order from Dwaen, Rhodry stuck close to Lord Beryn, who barely seemed to notice he was there.
“Should we get a couple of axes and break down the door, my lord?” a rider said. “Take a while, but we’ll get it in the end.”
“My lord?” Rhodry stepped forward. “I’m good at climbing. If you’ll give me permission to enter your lady’s chamber, I can go up the broch and come in through the window easy enough.”
“My thanks, Silver Dagger,” Beryn said. “Come round here. I’ll show you which window it is.”
As they hurried around the broch, Beryn’s narrow eyes showed no more than a flicker of distaste for the discovery that inevitably waited for them. He pointed out a window on the second floor of the rough stone broch, then ran inside to wait in front of the lady’s door. Rhodry took off his spurs and sword belt, handed them to Jill, then jumped to a windowsill and started up from there. Since little ledges and flat flints stuck out all over the wall, the rough stone was easy climbing. At the window, he found the shutters closed, but he pushed them open with one hand and clambered inside.
Days of Air and Darkness Page 7
