Marion Zimmer Bradley's Darkover

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  Hilary shook her head; “I dare say my mother would be afraid of this kind of consultation.”

  “Well, perhaps it will not come to that.”

  Although Hilary did not share the exaggerated fear of the Terrans that some of the less educated men and woman in the Domains had, she hoped fervently it would not, indeed, come to that. Allier packed up some of her medicines in a bag that fitted to her saddle and added a few candies flavored with sweetroot. “I promised your little sister some of these,” she said.

  As they came out into the courtyard, they found a young man waiting. Allier bowed to him.

  “Vai dom?”

  The young man made a deep bow to Hilary. She recognized him as one of the youngsters who had been at Arilinn for half a year while she was there. “Forgive me for disturbing you, Lady Hilary. I have brought Mestra Allier one of my mother’s favorite dogs. I think she has a bone in her throat, and it is beyond my skill or that of the beast-leech on our estate. If I might trouble you, mestra . . . .”

  “Let me see her,” said Allier, getting down from her horse. “Ah, poor creature,” she crooned. The little dog, small and silky, whined and whimpered and drooled in distress.

  “Do what you can for her, and my mother will be suitably grateful.”

  “Master Colin, I would do as much for any stray mongrel; but you must hold her head for me.” She signaled and Colin climbed off his pony and took the little dog’s head. “So. There. There, poor girl—” she patted the dog’s head, and bent over her with her long, sharpened forceps. “Hold her, so—good dog, good girl—”

  A moment later, having extracted the bone, she patted the little dog’s head and set her down; the dog licked her hands and whimpered with relief.

  Young Colin smiled. “I am very grateful to you, mestra. She is my mother’s pet, and Mother would not have lost her for any amount of gold. How can I repay you?”

  “Feed her no more bones of birds; dogs can chew many bones, but not those. For myself I need nothing, vai dom; only tell your mother that when anyone speaks ill of the Renunciates in her hearing, to speak no evil of us herself, even if she cannot in conscience come to our defense.”

  Colin sighed. “I fear that will not be easy to ask of my mother, for she does not know any of you personally, but I will bear her the word. And no one shall speak ill of your Order in my hearing; that I vow to you.” He fumbled in a purse. Allier shook her head, but he said, “For anyone in the village who cannot pay for your aid, then,” and the woman tucked the gold coin into her purse. “I thank you, dom; some of these old women cannot pay for bandages or linen even for a shroud.”

  Colin bowed and rode away, and Allier said to Hilary, “Do you then know Dom Colin of Syrtis?”

  “I know him; he was for some months at Arilinn.”

  “Perhaps he did not speak to you because he was anxious for the little dog. Or perhaps, not expecting to see you here, he did not recognize you.”

  “Oh, but he called me by name,” Hilary protested. It troubled her a little to think that Colin might not have wanted to speak with her. Or did he think her still sacrosanct, Keeper, not even to be spoken to as a friend? Or even—oathbreaker? Had he not heard that she had been sent away from the Tower? Did he, perhaps, despise her for that?

  ~o0o~

  A few days later, Hilary and her family rode to Armida for the naming-feast of Callista’s daughter. She did not at first see Ellemir, but as she bent over the cradle in which the younger Hilary lay, Damon came into the room. He admired the baby’s gift from Hilary, a golden locket with a lovely green stone, not precious, but both tasteful and pretty, at its center. Then he turned to Hilary and said, “Ellemir is still abed. She bore me a son two days ago, and I would like to show him to you.”

  “I should like nothing better, Damon, though I do not know Lady Ellemir nearly so well as Callista. I am sorry I have nothing but goodwill to bring as a gift; I did not know the boy had been born. Yes, Damon, I would be happy to see your son.”

  Damon smiled and led her up the stairs to a room where Callista was attending Ellemir. As she approached, a familiar form straightened up from where she was bent over the cradle.

  “Greetings vai domna; I am glad to see you so well,” Allier said, cheerfully. “How do you like this fine boy?”

  “He is beautiful. Damon, I am very happy for you.” Now, whatever should happen to Ellemir, Damon might remain at Armida by right; and she had never seen him look so content.

  “Do you like my son, vai domna?” asked Ellemir.

  Hilary bent and kissed the tiny face; the baby wrinkled up his red features and began to scream. Allier put him into Ellemir’s arms.

  Hilary said, “He is beautiful, Ellemir, though he does not seem to like me as much as I like him! And not vai domna, but Hilary. Damon is my oldest friend from Arilinn.”

  Ellemir smiled, even though she did not look perfectly happy. Hilary knew that she was somewhat jealous of the hold his old friends from Arilinn had on Damon. Still, sooner or later Ellemir must know she was no threat where Damon was concerned—no more than Hilary’s brother Despard or her own little sister. At that moment the door swung wide, and young Colin Syrtis came into the room.

  “I have a gift for your son, Damon,” he said, and then broke off, staring at Hilary.

  “I am glad to see you looking so well, vai domna. So Damon has been showing you our new little Guardsman?”

  “Oh—I knew not that this boy was destined for the Guards—is it so, Damon?”

  Damon grinned and said, “That destiny no Comyn son can escape if he has two sound legs and his eyesight.”

  Hilary said, looking at the child’s clear blue eyes, “That he has, at least, and I am glad of it. But it is possible he may, like his father, be destined for the Tower.”

  “He will not,” said Damon, “Others have more of foresight than I; but he will not enter a Tower, that I know.”

  “I trust, then, that he may at least be a good Guardsman,” said Hilary, and Colin grinned.

  “No question of that; not with Damon for his father! May I ride home with you, damisela? There is something I would say to your mother and father.”

  “I should welcome it,” Hilary said demurely.

  She was pleased with Colin’s company, which made the long road less tiresome. As they neared Castamir, he said abruptly, “Are you not even curious about what I would say to your parents, Hilary?”

  She sighed, forced to take note of it again.

  She said slowly, “I wish it had not come up. I suppose you are going to ask my mother and father for permission to request my hand in marriage; but my mother will be so disappointed when your family makes it clear that you must have a healthy wife, capable of giving you children. I will, I confess, feel very sorry when that happens. I would rather have a friend than a suitor.”

  She went on doggedly, “We have been friends; and at this moment I would rather have you as a friend than marry any man the Gods ever made. I do not have so many friends as that.”

  Colin looked at her and sighed. He asked, “Why should you believe that it must inevitably come to nothing, Hilary? Or that we cannot remain friends, whether we marry or not?”

  She sighed, too, then said warily, “Because you are kin to Comyn and must have a wife who can give you healthy sons. I am sure you have heard that I have been three times handfasted, and each time, the man or his parents have broken the contract; it is not likely that your parents would allow you to marry me.”

  “As for that,” Colin said, “I am a third son; and I know what havoc arises in a family with too many sons. Like Damon’s, my family had five sons, all but one of whom lived and thrived. I cannot offer you a Domain, but the best of it is that at least I may marry to please myself, and not the Head of my family. And so, Hilary, I do not intend to consult them.”

  “But your mother and father would wish you to marry someone of a more powerful family.”

  “If they do—and I do not think they d
o—they may wish for whatever they like, but I am not obliged to pay heed. Believe me, Hilary, I do not intend to marry at their or anyone else’s bidding.”

  Hilary could not keep a tinge of bitterness out of her voice. “Well, you may ask—for all the good I think it will do you.”

  Colin said gently, “I wish only to ask if such a request would displease you, Hilary.”

  Hilary laughed a little. “Oh, no,” she said, “I thought I had made that clear; I only did not wish to face disappointment when the marriage plans come to nothing—as I am sure they will.”

  “That is all I ask,” Colin said gently.

  Later that day Hilary’s father called her into the room. “An offer has been made for you, sweetheart; would it please you to be married into the Syrtis family?”

  “It would please me greatly,” said Hilary truthfully. “Colin spoke of this to me—no, do not be cross with him, Papa, he only asked me if such a request would be distasteful to me.”

  “And what answer did you give to him?”

  “I told him I should like it very much,” she answered. “I confess I hope these arrangements do not fall through.” Had it really come to pass that she was being married for herself, and not for the sake of a dynastic alliance? The Syrtis folk had been Hastur allies for many years, and she still feared when they knew of Hilary’s poor health, his family would not like it.

  But as the months went by and she met Domna Camilla, she began to believe in her good fortune to be married to a man she actually knew and thought well of, and she liked Colin’s parents. Actually, she found herself wishing they had been her own parents. She felt a little guilty about that. The folk of Syrtis were richer than her own people, and she felt guilty about that, too. Maybe, she thought, that was why they cared less about the trappings of the wedding. Or perhaps, with so many sons, they were simply getting used to weddings by now.

  ~o0o~

  Meanwhile, the Renunciate had been trying various of her medicines and potions on Hilary; so far, none of them had had much effect on her, although some seemed to make matters worse. One afternoon Hilary felt quite tired and had stayed in bed. She was listlessly playing a game of castles with Maellen when Domna Yllana brought her up word that Colin’s mother had called and wished to see her.

  “Of course she must not see you like this!” Domna Yllana’s voice was filled with distress. “What would she think?”

  Hilary found it too much trouble to think. Whatever Allier had given her had made her much drowsier than golden-flower, but as far as she could tell, had had no other effect.

  “Perhaps she will think I am really sick, and that I am not pretending illness to escape marrying her son?” she inquired.

  “Hilary, what a dreadful thing to say!”

  “Well, it’s what you think, isn’t it?”

  “Of course not, darling, but couldn’t you make just a little effort? To get up and come downstairs?”

  Hilary said dizzily, “No, I couldn’t. I thought you learned that from my first night here; do you really want me to throw up in the noble lady’s lap?”

  Hilary did not really care about much of anything. Allier’s potion had made her feel drowsy; it was simply too much trouble to put her mind to anything at all. Of course, her mother could not let it go at that; she fussed over Hilary interminably, insisting that the girl comb her hair and put on a fresh and pretty bed jacket. When at last Lady Syrtis came into the room, Hilary was groggy and exhausted.

  Maellen had successfully resisted her mother’s admonitions to go and get into a fresh pinafore. “It’s not me the noble lady’s coming to see,” she had announced and settled down where she was on Hilary’s bed.

  Lady Syrtis greeted Maellen, then looked anxiously at Hilary’s pale face. Hilary’s mother left the room to prepare refreshments.

  “I did not mean for you to put yourself to any trouble, my girl,” she said. “I can see that you are not well. I beg of you,” she added, “don’t trouble yourself to sit up. I wished only to know if you had any preferences about the wedding.”

  “None whatever,” Hilary said faintly. “If I had my preferences, it would be as small and private a ceremony as might be.”

  Lady Syrtis said almost regretfully, “I wish I had known that earlier; I have already invited many of our kin, and I cannot now ask them not to come, or they may feel that some of us have something to conceal. I am sorry; if I had known you felt that way I would have asked only the family. But your mother gave me to understand you wanted full ceremony, and we were anxious to honor you.”

  Hilary sighed. There was no reason to create enmity between her mother and her new relatives, so she said, “I believe my mother must have misunderstood something I said when I was a child too young to understand how much trouble such a wedding could be. Believe me, I am not eager for ceremony. I had enough of that in Arilinn to last me a lifetime.”

  “I can well believe it, my dear,” said Lady Syrtis. “I do wish I had known; but for now, rest well and try to grow strong.” She bent and kissed Hilary, patted the cheek of the silent Maellen, and withdrew.

  Hilary had almost fallen asleep again when her mother came into the room; one glance told Hilary she was angry.

  “What is this you have been telling Lady Syrtis? That you do not want a big ceremony?”

  “She did say that,” Maellen, still at the foot of the bed, pointed out. “I heard her.”

  “Silence, girl,” commanded Lady Yllana. “Well, Hilary, have you made fools out of all of us here?”

  No, Hilary thought, you have done that admirably for yourself. But she did not say so. “Mother, I said only that if it had been left to me, I would have been content with repeating my vows before our two families; but you and Papa would not have it so.”

  “Don’t be foolish, my girl. If you sequester yourself on your wedding day, they will all think you have something to hide.”

  “I know. Mother,” Hilary said placatingly. “I know it has gone too far for that; but I beg you, speak no more of ceremony for this wedding! It is already as if you were planning the marriage of King Stefan.”

  “It is only for our daughter and our close relatives,” said her mother with a definite sense of injury. “And it is all for your sake, my love.” She went out and soon returned, saying that Colin was below and would speak with his bride. “Now, don’t for heaven’s sake say anything of this to him,” she demanded. Hilary, already feeling like a captive of some great Terran earth-moving machine, promised.

  ~o0o~

  A few days later, Hilary, feeling much better, rode out with Colin to Allier’s cottage. The woman was in her courtyard readying herself for a trip to the village as Colin rode into the yard.

  “A word with you, mestra.”

  “We must speak here; we have no Stranger’s Room as we do in a proper Guild House. If we allowed men to come within, what sort of house do you think the villagers would take it for?”

  “I had never thought of that,” Colin said. “But there is a proverb, ‘Surely there is nothing so evil as the mind of a virtuous woman.’”

  “Unless,” said Allier, “it is the mind of a virtuous man. Still, those minds and tongues do exist; and I must live with them.”

  “My promised wife is with me,” Colin said, as Hilary rode into the yard. “I truly think she is chaperon enough against those evil tongues.”

  “Oh, to be sure,” Allier said. “Come in, Lady Hilary, while Dom Colin puts up the horses.”

  “With pleasure,” Hilary said. She entered the woman’s little cottage, sat down, and told her everything.

  “I feel so guilty because I have let things go this far,” Hilary confessed. “I don’t know how I can stop it now.”

  “Nothing is easier, but it does need some courage,” Allier commented. “Just say to your mother that you do not want a grand festival.”

  “But that makes it sound—oh, dear—ungrateful for all the trouble she has taken,” Hilary said. “I do not want to alien
ate her.”

  “Then I do not see that you have any choice,” Allier said. “You are, in fact, ungrateful, but you do not want to anger her by saying so.”

  “How well you know me,” Hilary answered, a little ruefully. “I don’t have the courage of—of my father’s wake-hounds. They, at least, will bark to wake up the night watchman.”

  “No, you are not very good at barking, Hilary,” Allier said. “Could you speak of this to Colin?”

  “Oh, yes,” Hilary said. “I think I could speak of anything to Colin.”

  “Well, I am relieved at that,” Allier said, “For if there was anything of which you could not speak to Colin, I would certainly say you should not marry him.”

  Hilary asked, “Is that Renunciate wisdom?” One of the first things she had learned from her mother as a small child was that, as a matter of course, there were many things which could not be said to Papa.

  “No, it is only plain common sense,” Allier replied. “I would not marry except as a freemate—my oath prevents it; but even if I were free, I would not marry a man from whom I felt I must conceal anything. You have already made a good start on this by insisting on telling Colin of your health problems. I dare say your mother felt it best to say nothing of that.”

  “Why, you’re right,” Hilary confessed. “And she made it clear that one of a wife’s duties was to say as little as possible about the state of her health, even after they were married.” While it was true that Hilary knew such conversation could be boring, she had become accustomed at Arilinn to hearing the state of her health discussed at great length by everyone there.

  “I suggest, then, that you tell Colin exactly how you feel,” Allier said. “And if he feels you must carry it through in spite of everything, I suggest that you wind up your courage and do so. Otherwise, I bid you remember that a marriage in essence consists of only ‘a meal, a bed, and a fireside.’”

  ~o0o~

  As they rode homeward, Hilary told Colin everything, as Allier had suggested. He looked so full of solicitude that Hilary felt like breaking down; but she only said, “Tell me the truth, Colin, how much of this ceremony do you really want?”