by L. M. Roth
Cort looked in amazement at his intended. Why had he not seen it thus for himself? She was right: why should he be the one to run away? After all, it was he, Cort, whom Dag depended on in the work of the farm, not Brenus! Always he had reacted emotionally and acted hastily! But Siv’s cool head saw clearly the truth of the situation. Was it possible that Dominio knew that he needed Siv and sent him to Trekur Lende to find her?
They had not lingered in his village long; just long enough for Cort to contact his mother. He learned that his father had died one winter when the snow was deep and had stayed long, died of a cough that refused to depart from him, racking him until he had no longer any strength to fight it. It was with mixed feelings that he received this news. He had never felt the bond with his real father that he had with Dag, but in his heart he had secretly cherished a hope that one day they would meet and there would be a meeting of hearts as well. Now that hope was gone.
It was Lis who contacted his mother, Brit. As he was still under the sentence of death, the meeting was arranged secretly. Brit was to come one day and visit her good friend Lis, who had failed to tell her that she had a visitor.
Cort would never forget the look on his mother’s face when he entered the main room where the two women sat talking together. It must be true then, that he resembled Brit’s brother Bent, for she had known him at once. Brit was facing the doorway and when a shadow fell across it she glanced up and saw the face of her son whom she had not seen since he was nine years old. She sat stunned for a moment, and then clapped a hand to her mouth and burst into tears. She leapt to her feet and ran to Cort, pulling him into her arms and smothering his face with kisses. He wept also, and held her close and soothed her with words of comfort.
“Oh, my son, my son! I never thought to see your dear face again in this world!” she exclaimed, then began kissing his face all over again.
At last Cort laughed and drew back from her. For a moment his mother just devoured his face with her eyes as if to memorize every feature. Then he took her gently by the arm and led her back to her chair.
“Mother, you know I can not stay here. I am under sentence of death still, and Trekur Lende can not be my home. But I longed to see you once more. How have the years treated you, Mother? Have they been hard?”
Brit wiped her eyes and patted Cort’s cheek. She smiled through her tears and placed the back of his hand against her cheek while continuing to stroke his cheek with her other hand.
“It was never my idea,” she began, “to sell you to the Hoffingi. That was your father’s notion, and it was only because he was desperate. I would never have been willing to sell my boy; you must believe that.”
Cort did. It was always his mother who had shown tender feeling to him. His father had always been too tired, too worn down from his cares to do more than give him perfunctory attention. But his mother had cherished his random gifts of wildflowers, had told him stories of their people, always had time to listen to his dreams and ideas. And it was she that he favored, having inherited her blond hair and blue eyes. How good it was to see her again!
Brit came daily to visit Cort in secret. Nothing strange was thought of it in the village as Brit and Lis had always been friends, and in the dead of winter the women frequently gathered to pass the time. But the presence of the stranger was kept hidden and none were the wiser.
The day came when Cort decided it was time for him and Siv to leave. But a dilemma presented itself. They were not yet wed, there being no one of the Alexandrian faith in Trekur Lende to marry them, and he could not travel with her alone for fear of ruining her reputation. It was Brit who provided the solution to their problem.
“May I come with you?” she asked almost shyly. “I would love to spend some more time with you, my son. And it would still the gossiping tongues who would speak ill of Siv.”
Cort was delighted, and Siv thought it an excellent plan. Cort discussed it with his intended, and they decided together that Brit would be welcome to not just travel with them, but make her home with them if she chose. Cort’s only sister had married and moved further south in Trekur Lende, and Brit rarely saw her or her family. She had become a lonely woman, and Cort and Siv felt that it would be a benefit for all of them to make her part of their family.
So it was decided, and they made haste to bid good-bye to Stig and Lis, although it was with tears and gratitude that they did so. Cort made them promise to meet them in the borders of Valerium sometime, which was halfway between Trekur Lende and Eirinia. The promise was made and Cort and his family set off one day in the middle of January when a thaw had come and the air was milder. He did not take them back by the route he came, which would still see the harsh bitterness of winter, but took them south to the trading post, where they stayed only a few days before boarding a ship that would take them to Gaudereaux where they would pass the remainder of February.
Cort felt that in the milder climate of Gaudereaux they could rest and refresh their weary bodies before finishing the journey to Eirinia. They would book passage on another ship that would take them by the sea route to Eirinia. But a strange thing happened while they stayed in Gaudereaux.
For it was there that Cort realized why Melisande seemed so familiar to him, and her voice invoked memories of another.
“Of course!” he rebuked himself. “Why did I not see it? That is why she never would reveal anything about herself or her people. How could I have been so blind!”
And even as he realized who Melisande was, he knew also that Dag was in terrible danger.
Chapter XXIII
A Secret Revealed
There was no longer any time for relaxing, for Cort knew he must make for home with all haste. That the woman Brenus had taken to wife was evil was clearly evident to him now. And whatever her purpose was in coming to Eirinia must be thwarted at all costs to himself.
They arrived in Eirinia in the second week of March, just when the birds were returning and the first tender blades of grass were thrusting their emerald shoots up through the ground. Cort breathed in the salty sea air. He did not realize how he had missed it! His mother reveled in the mild climate and marveled at the glowing green hills and the clear blue waters that surrounded them. She had never pictured such a scene of pastoral perfection, having seen only a vista of trees in Trekur Lende, where the vast forest stretched for miles in every direction.
The look on Dag’s face when he saw Cort served to prove Siv right in her insistence that he return. Dag had just come in from the field where he had begun the spring plowing: Judoc was setting the table for the evening meal with the help of Maelys and Nolwenn. Cort did not knock, but entered boldly into the house, and was immediately the center of an ambush of hugs and kisses that left him winded with the intensity of the attack. Just at that moment, Dag entered the hut and stared at Cort with the expression of a man who has just awakened and wonders if he is still dreaming. Then he rushed to him and embraced him long and deeply, suppressed whimpers the only display of emotion that the great man permitted to escape his usually impassive façade.
Neither of them said a word, just simply held each other for a long moment, as Cort stroked Dag’s hair comfortingly. Finally, Dag released him and Cort turned to Siv and Brit.
“My intended,” he said proudly as he drew Siv forth toward Dag and Judoc. “And my mother.”
Brit came forward shyly, and Cort saw too late that Judoc suddenly had the look of one stabbed unexpectedly through the heart. For had not she raised him from the time he was eleven years old? Now she looked at him with disbelief through tear-filled eyes. He tried to make amends.
“Mother,” he addressed Brit, “this is my other mother, Judoc. I know you both will love each other, so come, be friends.”
Judoc then smiled and held out her hand to Brit, who warmly clasped it.
“Thank you,” she said, raising Judoc’s hand to her own cheek, “thank you for taking care of my boy.”
Tears coursed down her face and Judoc
suddenly pulled her into her arms and kissed her cheek.
“Let us be friends, you and I,” she whispered. “We shall share him, for it is true that he is as one of my own sons. And proud I am of him, for bringing back such a fine maid to wed. Happy I am also, to see him reunited with his own mother.”
Brit shed a look of gratitude on Judoc that warmed Cort’s heart. Yes, they would be friends, and perhaps it would be easier to prevail upon Brit to make her home with him and Siv. For he would return to his own hut and there would be room for her to stay with them. It was decided that Siv would stay with Dag and Judoc until she and Cort were married, while Cort and Brit shared his hut until that time.
The family set down to dinner with much joy and excitement animating the meal. His brothers Brand and Dirk kept talking over each other in their eagerness to share with Cort all that happened since last they saw him, and his sisters cast curious but friendly glances at Siv. Cort was relieved to see that Maelys shed warmer beams on Siv than she had ever bestowed on Melisande, a good omen for the future. Judoc kept the conversation going while Dag sat at the head of the table and beamed on all present. Now that his eldest son had returned, he was entirely content with life, and certain that all would work out for the good.
The following day Brenus came to call on the family. Cort braced himself for the encounter, but the intervening months appeared to have tempered his brother’s anger. He smiled sheepishly at Cort, and offered his hand. Cort took it, but his own anger still burned hot against Melisande. He noted that she had not come to greet him, and he now was impatient to speak to her at the earliest opportunity. He did not have long to wait.
Two days after their return, Brenus went to the forest to hunt. Cort had come in for lunch from helping Dag and his brothers in the field and finished before the others. He decided to take a few moments to check on Brit before returning to the field. His hut was closer to the woods than the others and he stepped out the back door to savor a few moments among the trees, breathing deeply of the aromatic fragrance that never failed to calm his spirit.
Just as he was about to leave and head back to the field, a shadow came between him and the sunlight. He looked up and saw Melisande blocking his path. The smile on her face was false, her green eyes as hard and cold as a blade of grass encased in a January frost. She inclined her head toward him and spoke.
“Hello, brother,” she snarled. “I am astonished that you had the gall to return and face me after our last encounter. And you bring a bride! Is that to steel yourself against temptation from me?”
“Do not flatter yourself,” Cort sneered in disgust. “I am blessed to be wedding a childhood friend whom I love deeply. But that is not your business, sister. What about you; do you have any childhood friends? And what of your homeland? You have never told any of us where that might be. Perhaps you would care to enlighten me now?”
Melisande tightened her lips and glared at him. He would not have been surprised if smoke had escaped her nostrils like some dragon of legend. He decided it was time to move in for the kill.
“But then, perhaps I can tell you where your homeland is, Melisande. And I can enlighten my father on your origins.”
Melisande now paled and looked distinctly startled. Her anger dropped from her, to be replaced with something that looked strangely like panic…
“What do you mean, Cort? How could you know anything about me? You and I never met until last autumn when I wed your brother, Brenus. You speak in riddles but do not say what you mean. I believe you are making up tales to cause trouble for me. For you are angry that you can not have me; that I know!”
Melisande tossed her head and would have stomped away from Cort, but he grabbed her arm and dragged her back, wrenching her around to face him. She attempted to pull away, but he held her fast.
“On the contrary, Melisande! I know all about your family: for I knew your mother quite well. Indeed she was nearly my stepmother, a fate for which I thank Dominio that I escaped from, I can assure you!”
Melisande now appeared alarmed and made one last attempt to escape Cort. He would have none of it and blurted out his disclosure.
“Your mother’s name is Fanchon, is it not? And she sent you here to make trouble for Dag, the man who rejected her when she could not rule his life!”
Melisande burst into tears and shook her head pleadingly at Cort. For a moment he almost felt sorry for her. But he remembered what had happened between them in these very woods just last autumn, and his heart hardened against her.
“No, that is not how it happened,” Melisande whimpered. “She is dead. She died when I was three years old. And it was all Dag’s fault.”
Chapter XXIV
The Confrontation
Cort looked at her in disbelief. What could Dag possibly have to do with Fanchon’s death? He had not seen her since they left her in Gaudereaux more than twenty years ago!
“You lie!”
The words burst out of him with all of the outrage that he felt at the thought of this woman accusing the best man he ever knew of such a deed.
“No, I tell you the truth! May I explain?”
Melisande looked at him almost pleadingly, and Cort had to admit that she seemed sincere in her anguish. Whatever had happened to Fanchon, it was clear that it had affected her daughter deeply.
He nodded briefly and Melisande proceeded.
“I was three years old,” she began. “Just at that age when the world held a new adventure for me every day, and there was no one better to share it with than my mother. It was she who came to my room each morning and we played before we had even broken our fast. She was so lovely, and loved to laugh and frolic about. She taught me how to walk, and then how to dance. Yet at times she seemed touched by sadness, and I would put my hands on her cheeks and ask, ‘Mama, what is wrong?’ And she would say, ‘It is nothing, my little one.’ But I did not believe her…
“And then one morning it was my father who came to my room with eyes so red that I knew he had been weeping for a long time. I was afraid to ask what was wrong, and wondered why Mama did not come…
“He picked me up and held me close and whimpered. It frightened me all the more and I begged him to put me down. I ran to Mama’s room, but she was not there. He followed me and sat down on a chair, where he took me up on his lap, and stroking my hair, told me the worst thing I had ever been told in my life.
“She was gone, gone into the sea: she would not be coming back. I did not understand. We had bathed in the sea many times, why was she not coming back? The day went on and she did not come. She never came, and was gone from my life forever.
“I did not know the whole truth until I was thirteen years old. I was visiting my grandmother Gaelle, and I asked her what had happened to Mama. By now I knew she was dead, but I didn’t know why she had died, or what had happened. And she told me a strange tale…
“Many years ago, my mother met a man from the wild north country. He had come to Gaudereaux with a small band of companions, and he and my mother fell in love. They quickly became inseparable, and when it was time for the man and his companions to leave, she went with them as his betrothed. They were gone for many months, and when they returned there was a strain between them. It was not long before the betrothal was broken and the man left. Do I need to tell you who that man was?”
Cort shook his head. He knew all too well, remembered all too well. And wondered why, as they took their leave of her on the dock, he had thought he had heard the last of Fanchon. What bitter irony that was now.
“His name was Dag, and he traveled with a small boy whom he later adopted. You were that boy, Cort. I thought it was Brenus; he is dark like Dag and you are fair, but it was you. Gaelle told me that they broke their betrothal because he had been exiled from his own people over the God whom he served. He had been rejected by his tribe, and was under sentence of death if he ever returned to his homeland. My mother was under that sentence as well.
“They disagreed
on how they would live, but that was nothing, Gaelle said. Many young people do that and manage to work things out and come to an understanding. And that would have happened in time with Dag and my mother, she felt. But it was the choice that Dag laid before my mother that doomed their relationship, she said.
“For Fanchon asked Dag to renounce his God, Dominio, and live with her in Gaudereaux. And he refused and left her there. And that was the last she ever saw of him.
“My mother married my father, a decent man from a good family, and for a time they were happy. But as the years went on my mother increasingly fell prey to strange moods. There were times when she was sunk in melancholy, and none could break it, not even with the songs and dance that she loved so much. What caused the moods none could say, but at last one day my mother told Gaelle.
“It was Dag, she said. There was never a man like him in her life, and never would be again. She did not love my father: she had never loved my father. She simply married him after Dag left her because it was what was expected of her. But she was not happy with him and regretted her choice.
“My grandmother tried to soothe her, told her that she and Dag may not have found happiness either, but my mother would not be comforted. There was also the matter of Dominio, she admitted. She had turned her back on Dominio after pledging her life to him because she loved frivolity and good times, and she feared she would never be forgiven for breaking her vow. And she could not ever return to Dominio; of that she was certain.
“Gaelle told me that Mama had shared all of this with her just the day before she died. And when Father brought news of her death, she knew that she had walked into the sea on purpose, because she could no longer bear life in this world.
“And for that I blame Dag. And this God of his that he chose over my mother, Dominio. I blame Dominio.”
