“Abruptly, Templeman Knarll stood from his chair. With great care, he set aside his quill, stopped his inkpot, then gathered up his sheets of parchment and tucked them away within the sleeve of his surplice. As he did so, he said, ‘Dom Sen Peralt, you are an impious wretch, care less of your soul, and a hazard to all who love salvation. Praise God, the Temple is stronger. And we who serve the will of Heaven will never permit such as you to disorder our good work. If you think to defy me, you are a fool. I will return to question you when thirst has lessened your haughtiness somewhat.
“‘Understand me well,’ he continued as he moved to the door. ‘By the word of the Temple, you are bound— and by the word of the Temple, your bones will burn in molten iron if you refuse to answer me. Tell me how you came into the company of this witch—how she wove her wiles upon you—and how we may find her again, recapture her so that her evil can be destroyed—and you will be spared from agony if not from death. Hear you? The Temple is stronger than you. You have no escape. Your soul is in our care, whether you are determined for Heaven or Hell, and we will wrest you from evil at any cost. You are bound to us as all are bound, from the meanest slave to King Traktus himself, and we will rule our own. Think upon it and recant.’
“A stirring speech,” Ser Visal commented after a fresh draught of that vile malmsey. “You would do well to heed it. But I regret to say that Dom Peralt was not swayed by such chaff. Perverse man, he faced Templeman Knarll as he had earlier faced Growt the slaver and was not abashed.
“‘I think not,’ he said. ‘For the most part, the folk under your rule are cattle, and so you misjudge all others. But to condemn me you must try me before the judica— and the judica is composed of men like myself; men of my own station. Do you believe they will pass judgment upon me? They will not dare. For the safety of their own skins, they will not dare. You have no case against me,’ he said for the third time. ‘And if any Dom or Ser may be sent to the cauldron on such a pretext, then none of their lives are secure. They will not permit it.’
“‘They will not be asked to permit it,’ replied Templeman Knarll almost mildly. ‘Before the judica sits, I will obtain your confession. Thirst and pain, Dom Peralt. I will obtain all the answers I require. In simple mercy for a confessed consort of witches, the judica will condemn you—and all your insolence will avail you nothing.’
“This Dom Peralt chose to ignore. His thirst was already severe, and he did not wish to consider its consequences. ‘Further,’ he continued as if Templeman Knarll had not spoken, ‘my friends will support me. Serson Na-son Lew and Domson Beau Frane will testify that I have no knowledge of witches. Especially they will testify that I had never beheld the woman Thamala until I purchased her—and that I purchased her while drunk—and that I did so only under Growt’s bullying, so that he would not break my skull. It is plain that I will be freed. You will know how you are feared if no one of the judica laughs in your face.’
“But Templeman Knarll was no longer to be baited. He gestured the guards to retrieve his writing desk and chair. As they obeyed, he said, ‘Your friends have already spoken.’ Now he did not trouble to meet Dom Peralt’s gaze. ‘They understand the error of their ways and are prepared to be truthful. They will testify that frequently you left them at night, to go they knew not where. But always when you returned you bore the marks of blood and debauch upon your person. And always when you returned you proposed some new revel, prank, or crime, each more degrading and vile than the one before. They will testify that they have long suspected your involvement with witchcraft—and that only their fear of you impelled them to hold their tongues until now.
“‘Dom Peralt, I advise confession.’ Brusquely, Templeman Knarll waved the guards from the cell. He stood aside in the passage as the door was locked. Then through the bars he concluded, ‘You will earn a kinder death.’
“Without further word, he strode away. The boots of his escort knelled upon the hard earth as they departed.
“‘Whoresons!’ Dom Peralt shouted after them—and had the satisfaction of hearing his anger echo from the walls. But the echoes faded rapidly, and he was left alone.
“Doubtless,” said Ser Visal abruptly, disdaining transition, “you are all agog with curiosity concerning the witch Thamala.” There he misjudged us—or judged us better than we knew. For the moment, we were not concerned with Thamala at all. Our first thought was a righteous indignation that Dom Peralt had been betrayed by his trusted friends. What manner of men were they, to be so spineless? We would have been braver. But then we thought again. At one time or another, all of us had tasted the severity of the Temple in small ways, and from our cradles we had learned an abiding fear of Templemen. Their authority ruled our lives. Would any of us truly have defied them to champion a friend who had fallen under their disfavor? If we were honest, we admitted that we had doubt of ourselves.
Therefore we felt Dom Peralt’s plight the more poignantly. Imprisoned by Templemen, intended for torture and death—and betrayed by his friends! How had he borne it? Alone and without hope, how had he borne it?
But Ser Visal told his tales in his own way, and he chose to misinterpret our avid attention. Bracing his hands upon the table, he shifted his weight to settle his hams more comfortably. Then he leaned again into the warmth of the hearth. “Well,” he continued, “there is little I can profitably relate to you. All witches conceal their homes, parentage, and skill, striving in that way to preserve themselves from the cauldron of the judica. I may say of her only that her mother was also a witch—and unlucky, unable to elude the grasp of the Templemen. In bitter flight because she could not aid her mother—for were not her mother’s wrists bound in iron, proof against witchery?—Thamala turned to the gypsies for sanctuary. And there she indeed found safety for a time. But at last some trifling display of witchcraft concerning a young man and a girl incurred the hostility of the crone who ruled the band. Jealous of her authority, that old beldame made occasion to drug Thamala’s food and sell her, helpless, to Growt.
“As for her escape when Dom Peralt had freed her— an ordinary woman might have crept away to safety, avoiding the notice of the townspeople. Their attention was elsewhere—upon Dom Peralt’s fall into the mire. But the Templemen are more vigilant. Suspicious of him for his carousing, his refusal of slaves, his scorn toward the Temple, they would not have failed to watch the woman he freed, hoping that she would provide them opportunity against him. Thamala would not have escaped them without employing the evil of her wiles.
“Yet she was safe. That was the thought with which Dom Peralt consoled his thirst and his fear. I do not credit him with any selfless concern for her person. He had freed her only on a whim, to spite Growt the slaver, not for love or conviction. But in this matter, he reflected, her safety was his. Though it was an uncertain hope at best, it enabled him to master the anger of his betrayal. After his first outrage, a number of regrettably sacrilegious oaths, and a time of tense pacing, he found some comfort in the knowledge that the case against him was composed entirely of inference and malice. Lacking Thamala, the Templemen lacked the sure evidence which would compel the judica to enact judgment. And if it were not compelled, the judica might think better of the precedent it was asked to establish—a precedent potentially dangerous to all its members.
“With that hope, Dom Peralt urged himself to conserve his strength. An undertaste of vinegar lurked in the wine of his reasoning. If a confession were wrung from him, by whatever coercions the Templemen chose, then no evidence would be required to consign him to the cauldron. It was utterly necessary that he keep his courage, husband his resources.
“I assure you—though I doubt you fully understand me—that this was not easily done. To remain calm alone in a hard and rat-infested cell is certainly difficult. To remain calm in the face of unjust accusation and betrayal would test the patience of a saint. But thirst is a terrible thing, destructive to the self-possession of its victims.” Ser Visal snatched up his flagon and drank
deeply as though to ward away the mere thought of true thirst. “Before midnight, Dom Peralt began to doubt that his resolve would hold.
“In due time, it occurred to him to wonder whether the blood of rats were fit for human drink.”
His eyes squeezed and glittering in the flesh of his face, Ser Visal cast a glance around the public room, then said with unexpected sanctimony, “Perhaps it would have been well for his immortal soul if he had been driven to that extremity. But what is done may not be undone. It is the will of Heaven—not to be questioned. Midnight was well gone by Dom Peralt’s reckoning when he was startled to hear a key labor once again in the lock of the door. And he was more than startled when the door opened, admitting the witch Thamala to his cell.”
Though our astonishment was plain, Ser Visal appeared to take no pleasure in it. For the moment, his story held him as it did us, and he did not note our reaction.
“The witch Thamala,” he repeated softly. “She had made shift to bathe herself and obtain clean clothing, so that she little resembled the begrimed wretch he had freed Her bruises and swellings had already begun to heal, allowing the beauty of her face to show itself. Her hair was a soft and generous brown, a color which invites the touch of a man’s hand, in simple justice, she should have been unrecognizable. But Dom Peralt stared and stared at her and could not be mistaken.
“She entered the cell as if it were free of access to all. No hue arose behind her—no guard came to watch what she did. As she had once vanished, so she now reappeared.
“In her hands, she bore the iron ring, as large around as a fist, from which jangled the keys of the Jailer. But when she had ascertained that it was indeed Dom Peralt who sat, dumbfounded, before her, she cast the ring from her, spurning that metal as though its touch burned her. Then she knelt before him, so that her gaze met and studied his.
“What she saw satisfied her. Placing her hands on his arms where they folded across his knees, she said, ‘Come. We must flee this dire place.’ A smile touched her lips. ‘Even with my aid, the guards will not sleep forever. Come.’
“Dom Peralt stared at her and did not respond. He felt that he had somehow fallen into drunkenness again—his wits refused to function. That she had come here, he thought stupidly. A witch. Had come here. It required understanding, but he had none to give. Her gaze called him down the road to his soul’s ruin, and he could not understand.
“Some of his plight she was able to see for herself. After a moment, she released one hand from his arm and raised it to his temple. Her fingertips stroked the tight skin there, where the pulse of his life beat—and— “Faugh!” Ser Visal muttered. “A murrain upon you all. Words will not convey it. Such things defy utterance. She touched her fingers to his temple, and his thirst was gone. Impossible! Yet it was true. In an instant, all that pain left him. And the relief was sweet! Surely even such louts as you are may grasp that the relief was sweet.
“But its sweetness came to Dom Peralt commingled with flavors of horror. Some wit returned to him at last. He grabbed at Thamala’s wrist, pulled her hand from his temple. ‘Why are you here?’ he demanded in his dismay.
“His grip hurt her iron-scored skin, and she did not like the look of his consternation. But she answered him bravely. ‘To free you, as you freed me. For all its faults, life remains desirable. Come.’ Gently, she attempted to tug him out of his amazement.
“She was unprepared for violence. He flung her from him, so that she sprawled among the rats. Heaving himself up from the pallet, he crouched on his feet, ready to spring after her. As she regained her legs—more lithe and strong of movement than Growt’s treatment of her would have augured—he panted at her, ‘Witch! Why are you here?’
“‘Witch, is it?’ she replied. ‘I know that tone. I had expected better of you, Dom Sen Peralt.’ Straightening her hair with her fingers, she faced him angrily. ‘Well, be answered. I am indebted to you for my freedom—and I pay my debts. I have come to give you that which you gave me.’
“Too horrified to realize that now it was she who did not understand, he raged at her—but softly, softly, so that the guards would not be roused. ‘You damn me,’ he hissed. ‘There is no debt. Your freedom was only a matter of a few coins. A paltry sum. Trivial. I could make a hundred such purchases and not feel the price. Your freedom cost me nothing. And you damn me for it.’
“‘No,’ she retorted. She had been much abused in recent days, and her temper was somewhat short. ‘This I will not endure.’ Power curled in her fingers as she raised her hands against him. ‘Murder and treachery have become the constant lot of my kind, and I accept those things as well as I am able. At the least, I have turned my back on revenge. But insult I do not accept—not while I am still able to defend myself. If there are evil and damnation here, they are your doing, not mine.
“‘We whom you call witches commit no crimes. We desire only to live in peace among the less and woodlands that we love—and to expand our knowledge of the weaving of true dreams—and to barter our help for the simple necessities we lack. And for that we are slaughtered. You and your precious Templemen abhor us because we are free in spirit—and because we possess knowledge which you are too cowardly to share.’
“Dom Peralt sought to interrupt her indignation, but she did not permit him. ‘Do you believe,’ she continued, ‘that I need only wave my hands to steal clothes and cleansing and access to your cell from anyone I choose? No! The first I obtained honestly, healing the walleye of a child and the abscessed teeth of a goodwoman in trade. And for my appearance here—by good fortune, the outer street was deserted. But two guards hold the door of this building. Scribes labor at desks everywhere, lettering indictments. Four more guards dice with the jailer, thinking themselves secret. Three Templemen confer together nearby. And between that chamber and this, six guards more. For all of them, all, I spin the dreams which enable them to believe they have not seen me. No harm to them— but women like myself have gone mad under such strains.
“‘Heed me well, you who despise the aid of witches. I pay my debts. But you will accompany me without insult, or I will cramp the tongue in your mouth until it chokes you.’
“Here at last Dom Peralt’s wit caught up with him. By a great effort, he reined his growing frenzy. Under careful control, he rose from his crouch, straightened his back. ‘Your pardon,’ he said, his voice at once hard-edged and quiet. ‘I meant no insult. When I bought your freedom, I cared not what you were. I care not now. And I believe that you have come here honestly, intending to help me.’ Then his urgency returned, too strong to be stifled. ‘But you know not what you do. Whatever is done now, you have damned me. The escape you offer must be seen as the work of witchcraft. No other explanation will occur to the minds of the Templemen. Therefore they will hound us until I falter, lacking your powers—and my life will be forfeit upon the spot. Or we will be taken in the attempt, and your involvement will give proof of my guilt, dooming me without defense to the cauldron.’
“Now she saw the import of his fear. Her anger fell away. Dismay softened her face. But he was not done. The vision of his plight drove him. ‘While you remained free, there was hope for me. The Templemen might harm and harass me, but they could not procure the judgment of the judica without evidence—without you, without proof of your witchery, without demonstration of complicity between us.’ For the moment, he believed that Templeman Knarll would never wrest a confession from him. My friends who speak against me would alter what they say, when they were given time to see that they would imperil their own fathers by witnessing falsely. I had hope.
“‘It is gone. You give the Templemen the demonstration they desire. Your freedom truly cost me nothing more than discomfort and inconvenience. Your help costs me my life.’
“There he stopped. I have said that he was not blind. How could he close his eyes to the bitter grief which welled up in her at his words? As grim as talons, her hands covered her face. Her shoulders stretched the fabric of her blouse, knotti
ng to restrain sobs. She had been much abused—too much to be endured. Helpless and alone, her mother had been taken to the cauldron, and Thamala had fled for her life. The gypsies had betrayed her to Growt. And Growt’s record of rapes and beatings,” commented Ser Visal mordantly, “would daunt a lesser man. Her sufferings transcend your imaginations, whelps. And now the one act of kindness she had received she repaid with ill. You are taught, all of you, I do not doubt, that women weep easily and often, for any reason. But I tell you, it is no small matter when such a woman as Thamala weeps. She was at once fierce and pitiable to behold, and the sight would have touched a harder heart than Dom Peralt’s.
“But while he stood there like a lout, shuffling his feet in shame and groping desperately to conceive some new hope for them both, she returned to herself. The pity went out of her—the fierceness remained. Meeting his gaze, not as a woman who wished for counsel, but as one who desired to know his mind, she asked, ‘What would you have me do?’
“Dom Peralt was a young man—a youth and a fool, as I have said. But he was growing older swiftly. The thought of what he might expect from the tender mercies of Templeman Knarll came to him with some force, but he put it aside. Swallowing his fear, he replied, ‘Escape. Relock the door, return the keys. Preserve your freedom. Ignorant that you have come here, the Templemen will remain without evidence. Eventually, I will be released.’
“Perhaps she was unaccustomed to such answers. For a long moment, her clear eyes searched him. Then she asked softly, ‘Do you believe that?’
“In response, he made shift to appear certain and resolute. ‘Yes.’
“She shook her head. ‘No. You think it. You reason it. But you do not believe it.’ Briefly, a shadow of her own fear showed in her face—a face not formed for fear.
Daughter of Regals Page 35
