The people of Marenji had protested. When had the people, he wondered, ever known what was good for them? Did they want to stand unarmed between Serrais and Asturias, being ridden over by armies every few years? If they did not want soldiers there from Astunias, they should have had their own armies to keep them out.
He spent one night in his old home, but no one was there except the old coridom; Erlend had been sent to join his mother at court. Soon, Bard thought, he would have to take thought about suitable fosterage for his son in some nobleman’s house. Even if Erlend was destined to be a laranzu, he should know something of war and arms. Bard remembered that Geremy, who knew he would never carry arms in battle, had been nothing behind his foster brothers in swordplay. . . . he cut that thought off, clean, setting his jaw, refusing to think about it.
Erlend should be a laranzu, if his gifts lay that way; he was only a nedestro son. When he had found the right way to reclaim Carlina, she could give him lawful sons enough. But Erlend must be fostered as befitted his rank, and be supposed Melisendra would make some sort of scene over that. Damn the woman, all the disadvantages of having a wife, and none of the advantages! If she were not his father’s most valued leronis he would send her away at once. Perhaps one of Dom Rafael’s men would be willing to marry her, surely his father would give her some kind of dowry.
He rode in to Castle Asturias at dusk, finding the courtyard filled with strange horses, Hastur banners, embassies from all over the Hundred Kingdoms. What had happened? Had King Carolin sent at last to ransom Geremy?
That, he learned, was only a part of it. Forty days before, the Lady Ginevra Harryl had borne a son to Geremy Hastur; Geremy had chosen, first, to legitimatize the boy, and at the same time had chosen to marry the woman di catenas. As a way of proving that Geremy Hastur was no prisoner but an honored guest (the legal fiction, Bard thought wryly, about all hostages), Dom Rafael had chosen to perform the marriage himself, and to hold the wedding with great ceremony, with Hasturs coming from far and wide to attend the wedding. And while Dom Carolin would not venture, himself, into Asturias, he had sent one of his ministers, the laranzu Varzil of Neskaya, to solemnize the ceremony.
Bard cared little for this kind of merry-making, and the preparations reminded him, painfully, of the fact that he had hoped to hold this kind of wedding for himself some time this summer, before his defeat at the Lake of Silence. Nevertheless, the commander of the king’s armies must be present; brooding, he got into his embroidered tunic and ceremonial cloak of blue, richly trimmed with copper threads and fine embroidery. Melisendra, too, looked noble and proud, her hair done high in looped braids, in a gown of green and a cape of marl-fur. Before they left the suite little Erlend came in, stopping wide-eyed to admire his parents.
“Oh, Mother, you are beautiful! And you too, Father, you are beautiful too!”
Bard chuckled and bent to lift up his son. Erlend said wistfully, “I wish I might go down and see the wedding and all the fine clothes and noblemen and ladies. . . .”
“There is no place for children—” Bard began, but Melisendra said, “Your nurse may take you into the gallery for a peep at them, Erlend, and if you are a good boy she will fetch you some cakes from the kitchen for your suppers.” Bard put him down, and Melisendra knelt to kiss him.
Bard, jealous of the way the boy clung to his mother, said, “And you shall ride with me tomorrow.” Erlend trotted away with his nurse, quite dazzled at the thought of the promised treats.
But Bard frowned as he went, at Melisendra’s side, down the great stairway.
“Why in the name of all the gods did Father choose to hold Geremy’s wedding in such state?”
“I think he has a plan, but I do not know what it is; I am sure it was not because of any good will he holds toward Geremy. Nor, I suppose, toward Ginevra; although Dom Regis Harryl is one of the oldest nobility of Asturias, and of the Hastur kin a few generations back.”
Bard thought about this. Of course, Dom Rafael sought to hold the throne for Alaric, and must do it in part by keeping the goodwill of all the nobles who owed allegiance to the di Asturiens. A court wedding for the daughter of a valued supporter was a simple diplomatic move, well worth what it cost. Although personally Bard would have hesitated at showing such favor at one of his own allies marrying into the Hasturs when the Hasturs could, all too soon, be enemies.
“Do you really think we shall have to go to war with the Hasturs, Bard?”
Bard scowled, annoyed at Melisendra’s habit of reading his mind, but said, “I see no way that it can be avoided.”
Melisendra shivered a little. “Why, you are pleased. . . .”
“I am a soldier, Melisendra. War is my business, and the business of every loyal man of Asturias, so that we have to keep this realm by force of arms.”
“I should think it would be easy to make peace with the Hasturs. They don’t want war any more than we do.”
Bard shrugged. “Well, let them surrender to us, then.” He wished Melisendra would stop talking about things that did not really concern her.
“But it does concern me, Bard. I am a leronis, and no stranger to battle. And even if I were not, if I were such a woman as had nothing better to do than bide at home and keep my house, I should still have to deal with wounds and pillage and bearing of sons to ride into war . . . war is a concern of women, not only of men!”
Her face was flushed with indignation, but Bard only said, roughly, “Nonsense. And if you read my thoughts again, Melisendra, without leave, you will be sorry for it!”
She shrugged and said with composure, “I am sorry for anything I have to do with you, my lord. And if you wish me not to read your thoughts, you should refrain from sending them forth so that no one can help but hear them; I am seldom sure whether you have spoken aloud, or no.”
Bard wondered about that. He had never thought he had any measurable laran. Why did Melisendra find him so easy to read?
The Great Hall was crowded with men and women. There was also the howling of two or three young infants; there had recently been a silly fad among noblewomen for suckling their babes themselves, instead of giving them properly to wet nurses, and Ginevra was recently a mother so that many other young matrons had seen fit to bring their unweaned babes into the hall. He hoped they would be carried out before the ceremonies began! He decided that when Carlina came to court he would insist that she should behave in a more dignified fashion; with all these squalling weanlings about, the place was like the pasture of mares in foal!
But Lady Jerana had evidently insisted that all the babies be taken away before the ceremony. The marriage bracelets were locked, with great solemnity, on the wrists of Geremy and Ginevra, as the Regent of Asturias said, “May you be forever one.” Well, Geremy had a wife, and at least she was of proven fertility. He shrugged and went to congratulate his kinsman.
Ginevra and Melisendra were hugging one another and squealing inanities as young women always did at weddings. Bard bowed.
“I congratulate you, cousin,” he said courteously. If Geremy were halfway intelligent, he thought, he would chalk their differences up to the fortunes of war, and have done with it. He bore Geremy no special ill will; he supposed that in Geremy’s shoes he would have done much the same.
“I see your kinsmen have come far and wide to do honor to you, foster brother.”
“Mostly, I think, to my lady,” Geremy returned, and presented Ginevra to Bard. She was a small, swarthy woman, who looked almost as if she might have been born to the mountain forge-folk; even though Geremy did not stand straight, she came only up to his shoulder. She was flat-chested too, and had followed the stupid fashion of having her gown made with lacings so that she could nurse her infant in public; how undignified!
But he spoke politely, bowing.
“I hope your son is strong and hearty as a man-child should be.”
She said a courteous word or two; and Geremy evidently shared Bard’s feeling that it was prudent for them t
o be seen in civil chit-chat for a moment or two.
“Oh, yes, the women say he is a fine boy. I am no judge of such things. To me he looks like any other newborn babe, soggy at both ends, and howling early and late; but Ginevra thinks he is pretty, even after all the trouble he gave her.”
“I was fortunate,” Bard said, “for I made the acquaintance of my son only after he could walk and talk like a reasonable person, not an untrained puppy.”
“I have seen young Erlend,” Geremy said, “and he is handsome and clever. And his mother, I have heard, is a leronis; is the boy laran-gifted as well?”
“His mother tells me so.”
“I should expect it, with the red hair of the Hastur kin,” Geremy said. “Have you given thought to having the boy fostered at one of the Towers, Hali or Neskaya? I am sure they would be glad to have him. My kinsman Varzil of Neskaya is here, and he could arrange for it.”
“I doubt it not. But it seems to me that Erlend is over young to be sent out of this realm in time of war, and I have no wish to see him held hostage.”
Geremy looked shocked. “You misunderstand me, kinsman. The Towers are sworn to neutrality, which is how a Ridenow came to be Keeper at Hali. And after the burning of Neskaya, when the Tower was rebuilt, Varzil came there with a circle, and swore they would observe the Compact of the Hasturs, and fight no more wars with laran weapons.”
“Except in the cause of the Hasturs, you mean,” Bard said with a cynical grin. “Clever of Carolin, to insure their loyalty like that!”
“No, cousin, not even that. They are sworn not to fight even for the Hasturs, but to use their starstones only in the cause of peace.”
“And Carolin lets their Tower stand unburned within his realm?”
“My father wishes it so,” said Geremy. “This land is torn yearly with foolish and fratricidal wars, so that the peasants cannot even get in their crops. Clingfire is bad enough, but worse weapons are made now by sorcery. The Lady of Valeron used air-cars to spread bonewater dust north of Thendara, and I think perhaps no crops will ever grow there again, and any man who travels through that country dies, afterward, with blood turned to water and bones gone brittle . . . and worse things, such things as I would not speak of at a festival. And so we have all sworn that we will use no laran against any foe from these Towers, and all the lands near the Hastur realms have pledged themselves to observe the Compact.”
“I know not of this Compact,” Bard said. “What means it?”
“Why, where the Compact is in force no man may attack another with any weapon save one that brings the wielder within arm’s reach of death. . . .”
“I had not heard of it,” Bard said, “and I too would rather fight with honest sword and pike than with sorcery. I have no love for using leroni in battle, nor, I think, has any soldier. But I would not have leroni within my realm at all, unless they were sworn to fight with me, and protect my armies against the attack of wizardry. Tell me more.”
“Why, I have not been within my father’s realm since I was a boy, and I do not know much of it, except what my kinsman Varzil has told me.”
“You own a Ridenow of Serrais as kin?”
“We are all Hastur kin,” said Geremy, “and bear alike the blood of Hastur and Cassilda. Why should we be at strife?”
This sobered Bard and shocked him. If the Hastur and the Serrais were to make common cause, what would then become of the realm of Asturias? He wanted to rush off to his father with this new intelligence, but the minstrels had begun to play for dancing, and dancers were crowding onto the floor.
“Would you like to dance, Ginevra? You need not stay at my side because I am crippled; I am sure one of my kinsmen would lead you out.”
She smiled, briefly pressing his hand. “At my wedding, I shall dance with no man, since my husband cannot join me. I will wait for a woman’s ring dance and dance with my ladies.”
“You have a loyal wife,” Bard said, and Geremy shrugged. “Oh, Ginevra has always known that I should never win acclaim in the field of war, nor on the dancing floor.”
One of the Hastur kinsmen in his blue and silver came up to request a dance with the bride. Watching Ginevra’s gracious refusal, Bard began to realize why his kinsman had chosen this scrawny, dark, plain little thing. She had the charm and graciousness of a queen; she would, in spite of her unremarkable features, grace any court.
“But you must not do that,” protested the man. “Why, dancing with a bride is a powerful charm for any man who wishes to marry within the year! How can you have the heart to deprive us so, domna?”
Ginevra bantered gaily, “Why, I shall dance only with my unmarried ladies; that will help them to husbands, and since they must find some men to share the weddings, and so it will help the bachelors to find brides, too!” She signaled to the musicians, who began to play a ring dance. Taking Melisendra’s hands, Ginevra drew her away on to the dancing floor, and many women and young girls, too young for dancing with strangers, or women whose husbands or brothers were committed elsewhere, came crowding out behind them. Bard watched Melisendra’s green-clad form, weaving in and out of the patterns of the ring dance. Where, he wondered, was Melora now? Why did that memory haunt him so? The thought crossed his mind, and he knew it was insanity, that if he were tied to Melora like this, they would talk together, they could be friendly, close, in the way Geremy and Ginevra were. He remembered how Ginevra had pressed Geremy’s hand against her cheek. No woman had ever behaved so with him, and yet he could imagine Melora doing such a thing.
Nonsense; he could not marry Melora, she was not wellborn, and in any case she was committed to a Tower. That was not the way marriages were made. He had criticized Geremy in his mind for marrying Ginevra, who was, despite the old family and her gracious manners, considerably below him in rank. Only a fool would marry a woman who could not bring him some powerful alliance or rich dowry. He could not, for instance, resign himself to marrying Melisendra; she was the daughter of a humble laranzu . . . though what was it Geremy had said about Hastur kin and red hair? Melisendra could not be so low-born after all. . . .
“I had believed,” said Geremy, “that we were soon to have the honor of dancing at your wedding, Bard. Could you not persuade Carlina to leave the hospitality of the Sisterhood of Avarra?”
“I had no opportunity to speak with her. The shores of the Island of Silence are guarded with sorcery. It will take a regiment of leroni to break those spells! But mark my words, it shall be done!”
Geremy made a gesture which mimicked pious horror.
“And you do not fear the wrath of Avarra?”
“I do not fear any group of foolish women who pretend that their will is the will of some goddess or other!” Bard growled.
“But can it be that your bride prefers chastity and good works to the pleasures that await her when she is wedded to you? Why, how can she be so foolish!” Geremy’s gray eyes flickered with malicious amusement, and Bard turned on his heel and walked away. He did not want to embarrass his father by quarreling at a great entertainment like this. Not even to himself did he admit that he had no wish to quarrel further with Geremy.
Later, while all the young people were dancing, he talked a little to his father about what he had done on the northern borders.
“It is not likely we shall be attacked from Serrais while we have Dom Eiric hostage,” he said, “but seeing us beset by the Hasturs, they may come down on us too. I have heard of a truce between Aldaran and Scathfell; if they come at us together we would be hard put to it to hold them off, with so many of our armies holding off any threat from Serrais. And there are some who would be glad to ally with the Hasturs. If Varzil of Serrais has made an alliance with Hastur, I think we must try to win over the MacAran, at El Haleine, to guard our southern borders, as Marenji stands between us on the north.”
“I do not think either the MacAran, or the people at Syrtis, would be willing to anger the Hasturs,” Dom Rafael said. “They say of Lord Colryn of Sy
rtis that he can stand atop his keep and look out over all of his small country, and while the mouse in the walls may look from afar at a cat, he does well not to go squeaking about it; and Dom Colryn has no wish to be mouse to King Carolin’s meowing! Carolin could gobble him up without blooding his whiskers!” He scowled. “And unless we return Dom Eiric to Serrais, all those who are allied with Serrais will come down on us before winter. Perhaps we must swear Dom Eiric to a truce and gain time. It is time we need!” He struck his knee with his open hand. “We may be forced to swear truce with the Hastur too!”
Bard said scornfully, “I will take the field against the Hasturs. I am not afraid of them! I held Scaravel with a handful of men, and I can do as much for Asturias!”
“But you are only one man,” Dom Rafael said, “and can lead only one army. With Serrais to the east, and the Hasturs to the west, and perhaps all those across the Kadarin ready to come down on us from the north, Asturias cannot stand!”
“We have some protection in Marenji,” Bard said, “for anyone who comes at us that way must fight, now, across their land; and I think perhaps we could raise mercenaries in the north, and in the Dry towns—they know my reputation and will fight under my command. And perhaps we can bind Dom Eiric to a truce; his sons are young and must keep from war for a time. If we bind him to truce for half a year—and a released hostage must expect that, at least—he cannot put an army against us in the field until spring thaw. And by spring perhaps we could have mercenaries, and even allies, enough that we could move against Serrais and reduce them to vassalage. Think of it, Father! To have all those lands to the east peaceful, without continual fighting! It seems we have been at war against Serrais since I was a babe in arms!”
“We have,” Dom Rafael said, “and longer. But even if we conquer Serrais we will still have to face the Hasturs, for King Carolin claims that all these lands were once Hastur lands—”
Darkover: First Contact Page 39
