Clara

by Suzanna J. Linton

  “None, my lord,” she said breathlessly. “Lady Maria has been occupying herself with getting the castle ready for winter. She also has been occupying herself with her lover.”

  “Have you learned who it is?”

  “Sir Roland, your weapons master.”

  “She always did favor the dangerous. It's how I won her.” They kissed again. “And the Seer?” He began unbraiding her hair.

  “She is learning quickly how to read and write. Lily stays with her all afternoon in the sitting room, pouring over books and scraps of paper.”

  “Any visions?”

  “None that I know of.”

  “And the bard?”

  “Hasn't come near the rooms. It seems he isn't part of a plot.”

  “As far as we know.” He fanned her hair out over her shoulders, running his fingers through the long, silken tresses. “Keep an eye on him, my sweet.” His hands went down and began untying her belt.

  “Aye, my lord.”

  Lady Maria sat in her sitting room, her hands busy over a bit of embroidery. Her back straight, hair intricately braided with ribbons, and her clothing expensive and lush–she knew she looked beautiful and powerful. Roland certainly made her feel that way. A soft smile flitted over face at the thought of her lover.

  A knock on the door brought her eyes to the candle clock. A full half-mark before she expected her maids back from gathering roots in the woods.

  “Enter,” she said briskly, setting aside her work. Gavin came in. If he seemed surprised at finding her alone, he did not show it.

  He bowed. “My lady. How can I help you?”

  “Come. Sit.” He started toward one of the armchairs. “No, next to me.” She patted the space beside her.

  “My lady, his lordship–”

  “Minds his own damn business. Come. Sit.”

  He sat next to her, carefully keeping space between them.

  “Tell me. What do you think of Castle Dwervin?”

  “It is a very fine castle, my lady.”

  “How do you compare it with other castles you've seen?”

  “It is quite formidable.”

  “I suppose you've noticed Lord Dwervin has begun reinforcing the fortifications and making improvements.”

  “'Tis hard not to notice, my lady.”

  “Do you know why these measures are necessary?”

  “Rumor has it that the Rebel General is on his way.”

  “Aye. Very good. Do they speak of him, in Bertrand?”

  “It has been some time since I was last in the capital, my lady. I have no fresh news in that regard.”

  “Aye, but the Lord of the Eastlands often goes, so it can't be that long ago.”

  “No. But things change quickly in the Court.”

  “Of course. But when you were there?”

  “There was talk of him. I was not allowed in the more private conversations, my lady.”

  “I see.”

  They sat in silence for a long moment. Finally, Gavin said, “Is her ladyship concerned about possible war?”

  “Concerned?” Snatching at the dagger she kept at her belt, she lunged forward and pinned the bard to the arm of the sofa, holding the blade to his throat. “Aye. Her ladyship is concerned. I find it awfully convenient that not long after Brellin tried to assassinate my husband, you came along.”

  “I mean you and your husband no harm, my lady. I swear to that.”

  “And what of reports that rumors and songs are floating about, leading men and women to abandon farms and seek out the Rebel?”

  “I have nothing to do with that, my lady.”

  “I sent to the Lord Hunchton for confirmation of your recommendation but he is quite conveniently gone away to Court and it will be spring before we receive word from him. Snow has already begun to cover the passes.”

  “I can assure her ladyship–”

  “I care for none of your assurances. I am watching you, bard. You had best be mindful. My husband is an arrogant dolt who thinks these walls will protect him from every danger, but I know better. And I will protect him with everything I have.”

  “Your ladyship must love the lord greatly.”

  “I don't give a farthing for the man. What I care for is my position and I am not in a place to take command on my own. So I protect him and therefore my place as Lady of Castle Dwervin and its lands. By any means necessary.”

  “You make yourself perfectly clear, my lady.”

  “Good.” She sat up and put away the dagger. “You may go.”

  Gavin stood and bowed, leaving Maria to calmly return to her embroidery.

  Late that night, while most everyone slept, Gavin related the confrontation to Mouse, who listened with wide eyes.

  “They are mad,” he said in a low voice. “Most noble couples have at least a meager respect for each other. Very few actually love each other but at least there is a level of trust.” He shook his head. “I will have to be very careful about sending messages to the general.” He sighed. “And you? How go your studies?”

  She happily showed him a manuscript. On it was a copy from the Sacred Writ.

  “Nicely done,” he said. “So you know your alphabet fairly well?”

  She nodded. Jumping off the bed where they were sitting together, she went over to her bed and dug out a small scrap of paper. She brought it to him.

  Taking it from her, he read, “'Clara.' Who is that?”

  She smacked him on the arm and jerked a thumb toward herself.

  “That's you. That's your real name?”

  Clara nodded and smiled.

  “That's a very lovely name. How'd you come up with it?”

  She snatched the paper from him, returned to the desk and scratched something out on it before bringing it back to him.

  He read, “'My mother gave it to me, you dolt.' Oh. Oh, Clara, I'm sorry.”

  She shook her head and turned away to go stand by the fireplace, in which glowed banked embers. But he caught the tears in her eyes. Gavin got up and went to stand behind her. Reaching out, he put his hands on her shoulders. She jerked away and turned to him, her eyes wide and frightened.

  “I'm not going to hurt you. I only want to say I'm sorry. I thought you were born a slave and slaves have no names.”

  The tears were falling in abundance and this time she let him enfold her in his arms.

  “Hush,” he said. “Do you want to tell me how–?”

  She shook her head and he tightened his arms around her. “All right. You don't have to.”

  And he held Clara as she silently cried while he cursed himself for his stupidity.

  Chapter Nine

  Soon, winter settled onto Dwervinton in white flakes. Gavin fell easily into the role of bard, pretending to show no interest in the slave girl Clara and trying to always be around when important news reached the lord, which decreased as the snow mounded. He sent regular reports to his general (always taking care not to be followed) via Portent, who took up happy residence in the belfry of the local temple.

  It wasn't long before Lord Dwervin began to receive reports that more of his tenant farmers left to find places with food. He angrily sent out patrols to bring them back but half the time, the families were never found. After a time, the building projects to prepare the castle for attack ground to a halt. Despair began to cling to the air.

  The Nativity approached and as parties became more frequent at the castle, the mood there lifted. Gavin dreaded to go into the village because of the conditions. The bodies were being kept in a special charnel house until the ground thawed enough for graves.

  “Mouse! Where are you!”

  Clara rushed into Emerald's room, ducking automatically as the woman took a swipe at her.

  “I need to leave moments from now. And you're too busy reading a stupid book! Hurry, girl.”

  Clara brushed out Emerald's hair and rapidly began weaving ribbons into the long red tresses. Through a mix of tutoring and trial and error, she had ma
stered the style she now hated.

  After the last tie, she stepped back as Emerald stood. Taking a cloth belt, she tied it tightly around the woman's waist and adjusted her gown around it.

  “Very good.” Emerald turned to her. “The little Mouse is good for something. Tell me, though, still no visions?” And she laughed, reaching out to give Clara's hair a hard yank.

  She swept out of the room with Clara following behind.

  Lily approached her guiltily. “I'm sorry, Mouse. Come.”

  Taking her by the hand, she led her into her bedroom and with practiced ease, chained her to the wall.

  “It's just a silly party,” Lily said. “You really aren't missing anything.” She handed her the book and with a smile, left the room, closing the door securely behind her.

  She looked down at the book. Tears obscured her vision and anger welled up in her. Savagely, she threw it away from her, bouncing it off the wall. It fell open to the floor, crushing the precious papers. Lying on the bed, she cried, wishing with all her might she had left the lord to die.

  A se’ennight later, Clara began carrying a bit of slate around her neck on a string. She wore at her waist a small bag containing chalk and cloths.

  Three days before the Nativity, Lord Dwervin summoned her to his audience chamber. Lily took her.

  As they reached the door, a messenger hurried through it, his tunic wrinkled and dirty. He clutched a roll of parchment. The two women entered the room, curtsied low and waited with bowed heads while Lord Dwervin and the Shire-reeve whispered to each other. After a few minutes, the Shire-reeve bowed and left. Except for the guards, they were alone with him.

  “Lily,” Martin said, “wait in the hall until I call for you.”

  A look crossed her face but she unclipped the chain and left them. Anxiety knotted Clara's stomach. For a time, the lord only looked at her, as if appraising a commissioned painting.

  Finally, he said, “You are looking very, very well, Clara. I see that our care for you has made you blossom.”

  Taking up slate and chalk, she wrote, “Thank you, my lord.” She held it up and, with a small smile, Lord Dwervin waved his hand. She wiped it clean.

  “You're very welcome. Tell me, have you had any visions of late?”

  She shook her head.

  “None at all?” He raised his brows in surprise. Sitting forward, he braced his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together. “Tell me, how often do you have them?”

  “Once every other month or so. It depends on many things.”

  “Such as?”

  “How closely I am involved and how sure the outcome is.”

  “You mean, if the outcome of a situation is still undecided, you won't see anything?”

  “No. I will only have a vague feeling.”

  “Any 'feelings' of late?”

  She considered for a moment, flexing her sweaty hand. If she proved useless, the lord would probably kill her. Learning to read and write was not something a slave normally did and she couldn't think of a single master who would want a slave to have that ability.

  Finally, she wrote, “I have been feeling as if something important is about to happen, but I know not what.”

  “Come now, you must be able to guess.”

  She wiped the slate with a thoughtful air. Finally, she wrote, “There is a victory in the future.”

  That made him sit up straight. “Victory in battle?”

  “One that will change the course of your lordship's life forever, I believe.”

  Lord Dwervin sat back with a smile. “My, my, I like that. I'm going to give my servants and guards orders to let you by any time, day or night, so that you can tell me the moment you have a vision what this victory is and when it will happen.”

  “Aye, my lord.” She hesitated a moment and, before she could change her mind, scribbled, “My lord, what if I have a vision at a time when I'm chained?”

  “That is a good point.” He rubbed his chin. “I'll order that you no longer need to be chained during the day. Keep the slate at your bedside at night to write down what you may see, and then report in the morning.”

  Not exactly what I hoped, she thought. “Thank you, my lord,” she wrote.

  He came down from his dais and stood before her. He tenderly stroked her cheek. “You are very beautiful, Clara.”

  Her knees began to shake and a cold sweat filmed her forehead. She stared at the tips of his shoes, suddenly wishing the clothing she had donned that morning, thinking it was so perfect, had a dozen extra layers. The lord's look seemed to pierce the cloth and stroke her body in places no man had seen.

  Finally, he said, “Don't worry. I won't touch you because I can't risk those stories about a Seer's virginity being true. But if that gift should turn out to be not as profitable as I would like.” He smiled. “You may go.”

  Hastily, she bowed and left before he changed his mind.

  A roaring party in the great hall greeted New Year's Eve. Clara listened with a detached air from her seat on the cold stones at her ladyship's feet. When she had been in the kitchen, Relly and herself, along with any extra help, shared a cup of wine and said a prayer to celebrate New Year's. She suddenly wondered why Relly never seemed to go to a family's for celebrations. Not for the first time, she was saddened at how little she had known of a person she'd considered a dear friend.

  Both Lord and Lady Dwervin got very, very drunk. It took the lady's maids and Clara all their strength and resourcefulness to pull Maria away from the party to her rooms before she disgraced herself. After seeing to her, the girls retired.

  Emerald didn't seem ready to settle down, though. She slipped away after a few moments.

  “To see her beau,” Celestina said, sniggering. “One of these days, her ladyship is going to catch the two in a tryst and it's not going to end well.”

  She and Lily laughed and opened a decanter of wine. They invited Clara to join them but she was in no mood to celebrate. The two went into Lily's room to drink and gossip.

  One of the rare nights she spent unchained, but little good it did her. Only a fool would try to escape on such a cold night.

  She carefully put away her velvet finery and, after washing her face and brushing her hair, dressed in a soft nightgown. She stole into the sitting room for one of the precious volumes kept in a case. She drew out one on a favorite holy man and went back to her room.

  Clara was barely into the story when something scratched against her door. She slowly got out of bed and went to the door, easing it open.

  “Merry New Year's,” said Gavin. He held up a flagon and two wooden cups. “I thought we would toast.”

  Frowning, she pointed downward and cocked an eyebrow.

  “Lord Dwervin is frolicking with a certain maid. I don't think he'll notice me gone.”

  Smiling, she stepped back and let him in. Gavin sat at the fire, setting the drink and cups next to him. Reaching into the deep pockets of his tunic, he took out cheese and bread.

  “I noticed you barely touched your food. Will the lady join me?”

  Smiling, she fetched her slate and chalk before sitting across from him and taking a cup. Gavin poured her and himself some wine.

  Holding up his cup, he said, “To our esteemed general. May he hurry the hell up.”

  They touched cups and drank. She smiled shyly at him, setting hers on the floor. He grinned at her as he cut the bread and cheese, giving her a portion. They ate in companionable silence.

  “Nice to see you unchained,” he said. “I suppose everyone is too busy celebrating.”

  She nodded.

  “It won’t be long now, you know. If you ever hear me sing the peasant’s version of the Hymn to Light, then you know it’s time to hide in the kitchen gardens.” He took another sip of wine, studying her over the lip of the cup. “Clara, I've noticed you have seemed worried. Is everything all right?”

  Her face fell a little. Taking up her slate, she wrote, “Lord Dwervin wants a visio
n. But I have had only one and if I tell him, your general's plan is ruined.”

  “Then lie.”

  She shook her head. “Lying is a sin.” She didn't need to add that lying slaves were also executed.

  “Aye, but you're intention is to do good.”

  She shook her head and just pointed at her last sentence more emphatically.

  He sighed. “Clara, you're being naïve. If you don't prove yourself of worth to Dwervin, he will find other uses for you. And you won't like those uses. The only reason why he hasn't done that yet is because a Seer's ability goes when her virginity does. Or, at least the stories say so.”

  Clara flushed as fear stabbed through her. “What should I say?”

  “Tell him… Tell him you saw a summer battle. Tell him you saw a blue and white banner drenched in blood.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “My general's colors are blue and white. Trust me, Dwervin will know what that means.”

  “And you're certain it will work?”

  “Oh, aye. Very.”

  They sat in silence for a time. Finally, Clara picked up her slate and wrote, “Where did you grow up?”

  He shrugged, taking a sip of wine. “All over. My da was in charge of a troupe―” A sheepish smile creased his face. “I’m so used to giving the usual lie. My da was head of a band of thieves. My ma was very good at gaining the confidence of wealthy people, only to take their money. She died when I was just a boy.” He shrugged. “When I was old enough to strike out on my own, I did. That’s when I met Emmerich.”

  Her body jerked as if stung. Gavin frowned and asked, “You know that name?”

  On her slate, she wrote, “There was a boy in a caravan that came through my village before I was sold. His name was Emmerich.”

  “He did say he was raised as such.” He shrugged. “Could be the same, or not. You’ll get your chance to see soon enough. But, back to my story, Emmerich caught me stealing from a wealthy merchant in Bertrand. You see, I tried for quite some time to earn an honest trade as a bard. But it’s hard to unlearn upbringing. Emmerich was in the Guard and caught me as I was climbing down from a window.