“Who else is Chaukai?”
“At Urnedi? No one, as far as I can tell. I suspect that Gern is on the short list of those being considered. The Chaukai’s secrets are well kept.”
We watched the trees for a time. I gave him a jab with my elbow. “Have you found a tutor for his mornings?”
“Rot. I forgot all about that. I’ve been so busy trying not to get killed, I’d forgotten my post.”
“What about Sahin? He’s a master craftsman, isn’t he?”
He laughed.
“Why not? I would wager they have many topics to discuss.”
After a moment, he replied, “I think you would win that bet.”
“Then let us call it done. You tell the bow-maker he has been appointed, and I will tell the prince.”
With the agreement made, he started toward the stairs. The dark green patch upon the horizon drew my attention one more time before I moved to follow him. Would the ghosts let me marry into their family? I would have to go and ask them.
I returned to my prince’s apartment and found Fana peeking in.
I gave her a warm hug. “Is he awake?”
“No. Is he well?”
“He is very well and very feisty. I hope he will be up and around tomorrow. Let him know you still want to take that bath. He would like that.”
She blushed and hugged me back.
We heard a noise and moved to the window. Master and Madam Sedauer were making their way across the drawbridge.
“Are you ready to help me with your parents?” I asked her.
She nodded, and we moved down to welcome back the reeve.
23
Arilas Barok Yentif
I woke to hurts and a jumble of broken memories. Dia kissed the back of my neck and wrapped me in a hug. More kisses tingled my aching flesh, and she guided me into a hot bath. Soft hands got to work on my neck and back and my body stopped screaming.
I woke a bit more and managed to get hold of my surroundings.
I was still at Urnedi, I had been stabbed by a ghost, and I had fallen in love with my washerwoman.
She spoke, though I did not bid her to. “Master and Madam Sedauer returned yesterday. The healer at the timber camp did an adequate job, especially with her nose. I gave Urs a pair of your vases and asked his wife to help me make her and I some new clothes. They were both very happy with your gifts. I told the reeve you would like to meet with him after breakfast to discuss Enhedu and its business. Leger will need a bit of your time as well. He appointed me matron and has a new pledge for you to sign. Sahin will be waiting for you after your meeting with the reeve. He is going to be your tutor. Leger and I thought you and he would have a lot to talk about. We also think you should promote Gern and open the barracks. He is a good man and should not be sleeping in the cellar behind the chicken coop. You should also give Leger that heavy sword of yours since he is without one.”
The long slow strokes of her hands kept me from waking to the breadth of her gall until her speech had ended. I was getting ready to punch her in the mouth when a clear voice filled my head.
‘Fali was like that,’ it said and I flinched.
“Sorry, did I hit a sore spot?” Dia asked.
“Who else is here?” I searched the room in vain for the living person that had spoken.
“No one, my love.”
The bodiless voice came again. ‘Fali took care of my house, and I was happy for it each day. I would have been lost without her.’
I began to daydream about a woman tending to an account ledger above a wide stone warehouse. I kissed her and she reminded me of a meeting I’d forgotten.
Who was she?
‘Solon’s wife,’ a deeper voice replied, and I relived the nightmare of an axe striking my face—Kyoden’s face. I retreated from the brutal vision into the ready comfort of Dia’s hands. I was about to say several angry things, but instead found words no Yentif would say.
“I am sorry about your father.”
She removed the large tunica she wore, slid down into the water behind me, and wrapped me in her arms. The embrace brought me so many good memories of people and places I did not know. I relaxed into her and listened to the low crackle of the fireplace. This would be a memory that was mine.
My stomach growled up through the water like a sea monster of terrible legend. “You mentioned breakfast?”
“Come,” she said and got us out of the bath. Clothes were laid out for us, and I was elated to see so many of my things from Bessradi. An open trunk at the foot of the bed contained a trio of swords and the best-fitting hauberk from my armory.
“No more dancing. You have too many wounds,” Dia said.
I was hopping around like a child. I came to a halt but couldn’t stop looking at the swords. “How did these get here?”
“We matrons are very clever girls. I was in one of the trunks for a time.”
Her slyness reminded me of her father, though hers had a much different flavor. I’d often thought I needed more men like Towb. Perhaps instead I needed more women like Dia.
I shook off the ridiculous notion and wiped the idiot grin off my face. I took hold of my addled head and winced once from the bruise on my temple and again from the bruises on my cheek and chin.
I spotted myself in the mirror and flinched. My face was swollen and purple and my shoulder was wrapped in a bandage and covered with a strange poultice. I wanted to tear the foreign thing off and yell for a priest.
The deep voice returned. ‘Wheat grass, and well done, too. The wound does not smell. It will heal well.’
Dia stepped behind me and kissed my neck. “Is it hurting you? We were discussing whether we should send for the healer.”
I shook my head though I did not want to.
“You’re shivering. Let’s get you dressed,” she said and helped me into warm clothes and a heavy cloak. “You should get downstairs. You have an entrance to make.”
I wanted to strike her, but again lost my tongue to foreign words. “Should I wait for you?”
“I would like that.”
She hurried into simple clothes and took my arm. I led us down the stairs, announcing myself as I had learned. We found the great hall filled with happy voices.
It was a different place in the light of the morning sun. Bright rays lit the cream-colored plaster upon the walls and washed in through a score of windows. Some two-dozen men, women, and children gathered around the long table in the center of the hall and a meal of ham, bread, and apples waited.
As we entered, they fell silent and rose from their seats. A terrible guilt bloomed in my chest and clogged my lungs and my throat. I tried to set it aside. A Zoviyan Prince does not trouble himself with people so low, but the feeling only got worse. What could I say to them? I had assaulted them and made them fear for their lives. I searched for words, and when I found them, I felt shame at their humility.
“May I eat with you?”
The women waved us on and led us to the open chairs at the head of the table. We sat and everyone followed us down. Disgust and guilt set my eyes above their faces and I studied instead the arch that vaulted the open space and the alcoves that ringed the hall. I imagined an army of clerks and scribes working to keep the vellum gears of a thriving province moving. I expected another vision from the beings that plagued me, but the hall and keep did not inspire them.
“When was the keep built?” I asked.
“Well over two centuries ago,” Sahin answered.
‘We know him,’ the thought came, and I almost cried out.
I was possessed. I tried to shake off the being but lost my will as I considered the bowyer. Dia was right. Sahin and I had many matters to discuss. “You should tell me more about it later.”
“We will make it your first lesson,” he replied, and I expected to hear laughter at the insult, but saw only the nodding of heads. It took me a moment to calm. The rough flaws between my expectations and reality was jarring. I resolved to put space be
tween my thoughts and my voice.
A Yentif does not censor himself for the benefit of peasants. What are these people to me?
Edonian answers pounded through my skull and left me exhausted.
I searched for distraction and found Fana’s eyes. They shone like stars, and the soft curve of her neck reminded me of my plans for the girl. My desires surged, but were blunted by shame and self-loathing.
That was not right. Women were the simplest of entitlements of the wives of my ancestors. Each man had taken only one. Monogamy? How rural. A Zoviyan prince would never submit to such peasant shackles.
Kyoden’s voice thundered through my skull. ‘The Vesteal were no peasants, boy.’
I fled his anger to the ready distraction of bread and ham, but the hall sat waiting for me, and I could not think of what to say to start the meal. Kyoden chose not to help me.
Dia rescued me again. She thanked the cook and the reeve for the meal, filled their bowls, and invited everyone to eat. Then she filled a bowl for me and started a quiet conversation with the reeve’s wife about clothing patterns. Other conversation began around it, and the unnatural silence ended.
The first mouthful the hot ham broke through the war in my skull, and I was left alone to devour bowl after bowl.
People drifted away from the table with friendly bows as they finished. Sahin departed and then Dia went as well with a promise that I would see her at the evening meal. When I could eat no more, only Urs remained. He saw I was finished and began to set his bowl as well, but then hurried the last of it into his mouth. He thumped his stomach as if to make it all fit and leaned back into his chair.
“Dia said that you wanted to hear about Enhedu.”
I would have disagreed but the warmth of the room and the food kept me quiet. He held his fat thumb up between us.
“It looks like this. The Daavum Mountains are here, between the knuckles, Urnedi is right in the middle, and along each coast around the tip there are a number of small villages.”
I bit back a flash of annoyance. “Perhaps you have a map?”
“Hmm. Perhaps Leger brought one with him,” he said, and crossed the room to search a case beneath the writing desk. He returned with a map of surprising quality. The title irked me. The Northern Protectorate of Enhedu Under Authority of Chancellor Helet Parsatayn.
“How long has the Chancellor held sway here?”
“Since long before I was born. It’s not of much importance to us up here though.”
“Haven’t any of the previous Arilas fought to get the vote back?”
“Enhedu had never had a strong Arilas—a collection of minor nobles from the Kaaryon who never set foot in the province. The last to reside at Urnedi died well before I became the reeve, and that fellow was a madman who did nothing but collect books he never read, so it is told. Your father deeded all of Enhedu’s lands to you in addition to the title, which was a very happy surprise for everyone here.”
I owned land. I’d heard Leger say it, but the notion had not sunk in at the time. I sat up straight and a long list of questions began to organize themselves in my mind.
“How many other landowners are there?”
“None, my lord. All the lands of Enhedu belong to you now. There used to be a number of hunting lodges in the low hills along the southern edge of the forest, but they have been abandoned since I was young. The tracts were reclaimed by your father.”
“Abandoned?”
“Do you know anyone in Bessradi who would want to go on hunting trips to Enhedu?”
“Point taken. Very well, what incomes do my lands generate?”
“You have a timber contract with Trace.”
“Is the contract with the province or the royal family who rules it?”
“Yes, lord, sorry. The family, not the province. The Pormes family holds all rights to Enhedu timber for 9,000 coins per year and a promise to maintain the Enhedu Road. They have three camps along the east coast and one near the top of the road. You may recall it from your ride. Barges carry it all back down the coast to Almidi.”
“9,000 gold weights? That is good price.”
“Oh, if only it were true. I am sorry, my lord. We never see gold in Enhedu, much less full weight coins. I meant 9,000 in silver standards.”
“What? That’s only ninety weights of gold. What fool agreed to that price?”
“You are playing to the piper, my lord. I made the mistake of raising the issue a few years ago with the Arilas of Trace. He drew his sword on me.”
“Kuren Pormes?” I scoffed. “Yes, I know of him. His is the weakest royal line in Zoviya. There are a hundred noble families that eclipse them. They always get the short-end at Bessradi.”
“We get little more than the butt-end I am afraid.”
I was beginning to understand my exile, but as I brooded, I had visions of orchards and busy markets packed with craftsman of every trade.
“Fine,” I replied. “What else is there?”
“There is nothing else, my lord.”
“What about the orchards? The markets?”
Urs gave me a strange look. “There are none of those.”
“You cannot be serious. What about the local craftsmen? What taxes do we collect from them?”
The paunchy reeve gave me a soft look, and I remembered the joke he had tried to tell the day I arrived.
“Sahin is the only taxpayer in Enhedu.”
“It is not a very good joke, my lord,” Urs said.
“What of the villages? Do none of them pay to the province in coins or crops?”
“Each, in their own way, pays for the single parcel they have been allowed—mostly in chickens, pigs, or wheat. Enough to keep Urnedi provisioned. I have often expected a letter from the chancellery demanding some amount of it be delivered, but none has ever come.”
“Enhedu grain?” I scoffed. “No one would want grain from the peninsula. I would think it would cost more to transport than could be made from its sale. Do none of the farmers sell their crops?”
“Enhedu grows no cash crops, and the little trading done is all simple barter.”
“No markets? No craftsmen’s consortium? Where does everyone spend their coin then? The staff must be paid a salary.”
“Well, they spend it here and there across the villages, of course. None of the folks who sell things fit the definition of a craftsman, though. None of them take orders for what they make, nor do they maintain an inventory.”
“And my father? He takes his three of ten from the taxes you do collect?”
“He does. A chancellery tax collector visits every spring and autumn. Whenever they send a new man, he snoops around the villages for a few days looking for land that is being used without permission or for someone who is practicing a craft, but they all learn the truth.”
“Someone has made a study of the tax laws, I see.”
“It was the reason Sahin’s father hired me, my lord,” he said with evident pride and handed me a single sheet that detailed Enhedu’s tax income for the year 1195.
It was broken into two sections, inland taxes and customs and excise taxes. But the document’s similarities to an accounting of the taxes my father collected ended there. Missing was the endless list of landowners who provided levies fit for military service. Missing was the long tally of the rents paid by those who used the lands he owned. Missing was the hefty entry taxes imposed upon any enterprise that wanted access to a Kaaryon marketplace. Missing was the lucrative tariff on flax and silkworm cocoons and the export tax on Kaaryon linen, silk, salt, and indigo.
The sheet contained just three entries for the spring and two for autumn: the paltry quantity of sundry crops and livestock the villages paid to Urnedi twice a year to use my land, the trivial 140 silver Sahin paid each spring and autumn for the right to sell his goods in Enhedu, and the bizarre fixed-bid export tax of 9,000 silver that Arilas Pormes paid each spring for the timber he harvested.
I shook my head at how poor
Enhedu was. At least I had my allowance. “What of my stipend? Did Leger bring documents detailing the gold my father will send to maintain me?”
“Yes, my lord. I saw them yesterday. A very impressive sum. You were sent with the forty-one weights of gold you had on account with the Chancellery, and your father will be sending you another 200 each spring and fall.”
I stared at him with utter disbelief before putting my head in my hands.
“What is wrong, my lord?”
“It is the minimum. No one ever gets the minimum.”
“The minimum? What, can I ask, did it used to be?”
“I used to be unhappy with 1,800 weights of gold.”
Urs went red and began to flail his arms. “What? That is outrageous. What a shameful fleecing. 1,800 each spring and autumn? That is a nation’s worth of wealth. To spend it upon one son, what fool—” He slapped a hand over his mouth and lost his color. “I am sorry, my lord. Please forgive me. The sons of Vall deserve nothing less.”
My disbelief was multiplied. I had never once heard a man question the lives we were afforded, much less use words like “fleecing” or “fool.” There was a reason I had not—the speaker of such words would not survive the day.
Urs must have thought his way to the same ending for himself because he cast himself down on his knees before me. “Please, my lord, forgive my words. I beg you.”
This is it. This is my home. Zoviya has cast me out.
‘They will all burn,’ I heard, and I agreed.
“Get up, Reeve. Please. I am no longer a man of Zoviya. Let us call all even between us.”
Tears made their way down his white face, and he actually sobbed. The sight of it stung me, and after a quick throb of revulsion, I was struck by another crushing wave of guilt. Who was I to judge this weeping man? I was the murderous, lecherous, banished son of a tyrant, who could not tell if the man before me cried from relief, sadness, or gratitude. The guilt churned in my guts. I felt sick and wrong.
Ghost in the Yew: Volume One of the Vesteal Series Page 14
