By afternoon Asfala was back in the stable, resting contentedly, and everyone else was on tenterhooks, waiting for the feast. In the kitchen and great hall grand preparations were in progress, but no one was allowed to look. Hal and Alan were shooed away like the village children. Pelys and Rosemary had given them gifts, shirts of fine white linen with gold embroidery at collar and cuffs, and they had nothing to do but put them on and wait. In the early winter dusk, they joined the rest of the folk gathered outside the keep.
At last the big wooden doors swung open, and they all poured in, each person individually stopping to gape at the sight. The big oil lamps which hung from the rafters were not lit, and no smoky torches burned. Instead, the hall was lighted by hundreds of fragrant wax candles ranged along the tables and in sconces on the walls; more of the rare, expensive tapers than anyone had ever seen. In each of the several huge fireplaces a roast pig lazily turned. Instead of the usual rushes, the floor was strewn with sweet-smelling evergreen boughs.
As they had at that other feast two months before, Hal and Alan sat with the volunteers. But this time Rafe was not there. Since the incident at the practice yard, he had become almost a recluse. If he was at the feast, he was sitting elsewhere.
The food was sumptuous, but not quite as overwhelming as before, since no one planned to appease either the gods or the dead; this gathering was purely for pleasure. After the soups and breads, the roast pork and roast apples, the fruits and tarts and nuts were all consumed, the tables were cleared and everyone sat back to wait for entertainment. There were some jugglers and gymnasts, and a mime. And of course there had to be speeches by the steward, captain and other castle officials. Pelys spoke last, and drew roars of approval by stating his intention to say nothing, since it had all been amply said before. From behind a curtain he called a troupe of musicians, and with great enthusiasm the tables and benches were pushed to one side for dancing. Couples lined up for the “carrole."
Rosemary's eyes sparkled, and her foot tapped impatiently. She dearly loved to dance, but there were no guests of noble rank present, or at least no one who claimed noble rank.... It was not always easy, being the lord's daughter. So she caught her breath as Hal approached her, faced him with shining eyes as they took their places on the floor. What a marvelous day it had been; first Asfala, and then music and Hal.
Without need of much thought, Rosemary had long known that Hal was special. He was unfailingly gentle and considerate, yet beyond his courtesy she had sensed great courage. He was purposeful, yet at times she thought she discerned loneliness and doubt. He was mysterious, and masterful if need be. He was the only one who had dared to ask her to dance. And even in his dancing he could not be faulted. He was looking at her, and a strange, soft fire burned in his gray eyes. The smile faded from her face to be replaced by a gaze of rapt attention. For a moment, time stood still.
Three people noticed that long, intense meeting of eyes as the slow dance drew to an end. One was Alan. One was Pelys. And one was Rafe, who stood by himself near the door. Something snapped inside him as he watched this upstart who danced with the lord's daughter. Pushing his way through the happy crowd, he strode up behind Hal and seized him roughly by the shoulder.
“Take off your fancy shirt, whoreson churl, and fight!” he grated. “Steel against steel, and to the death, you —"
“Hold your tongue!” Hal commanded. “Have you no thought of the lady?” Alan had reached his side now, and he turned to him. “Alan, would you escort the Lady Rosemary back to her seat?"
“Take off your shirt and fight, bastard lordling!” Rafe hissed. It was the custom to strip for hand-to-hand knife fighting, so that the blade might more easily slip between the ribs. Rafe already was naked to the waist, muscles sliding under smooth, glistening skin. Knowing from many defeats in mock battle that he was no match for Hal with a sword, he carried instead a steel dagger with a ten-inch blade.
Except for a few women's cries of protest, the crowd was deathly silent as Alan led Rosemary back to her seat on the dais. Though Hal spoke softly, his voice sounded throughout the hall.
“Are you mad, Rafe? It is a festival day! Do not mar this happy gathering with bloodshed."
“Coward,” crooned Rafe.
Will came forward, followed by other volunteers. “Rafe,” he said gently, “you are not yourself. Pursue your quarrel if you must, but to do so at this time does you dishonor."
“Even you are on his side!” howled Rafe. “Look at him! Can't you see that he is a changeling; some heartless, evil spirit in human form!"
So that is what preys on him, Alan thought. The strangeness. The eyes.
No one else understood what Rafe meant, but many thought him mad. Will scowled with pity. “Come away, Rafe, or we must take you by force."
“You cannot deny me my blood-right!” Rafe cried. “He must answer the challenge!"
Will looked at Pelys, who nodded sadly. According to the custom of the times, Rafe's demand had to be met. Will and his men reluctantly joined the ring of spectators.
“Very well,” said Hal. “Then let us go outside, where the women and children need not watch."
“We will fight here where all can see, lady's man. Are you afraid of dying a coward's death?"
Hal sighed, then turned and spoke to Rosemary, his words traversing the hall. “My lady,” he requested, “pray leave."
Her face was pale, but her eyes flashed. “I am staying,” she answered, lifting her head proudly.
“Fight, coward!” taunted Rafe.
There was nothing else to do. Hal laid aside his sword and began to unlace his shirt. Will brought him a dagger.
Alan remained near Rosemary. He was not overly concerned about the outcome of the fight, for he knew Hal's ability. He also knew why Hal was so reluctant to fight, especially in front of Rosemary, and as the shirt came off he placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.
Her cry of shock was lost in the gasp that went up from all around. Pelys bit his lip, and even Rafe's jaw dropped. Back, front and sides, neck and upper arms, Hal's skin was etched and crisscrossed with the scars of a thousand wounds. But even in contrast with Rafe's smooth form, his tortured body had a grace all its own. Broad shoulders, well-developed muscles and self-possessed movement gave the onlookers an impression of power and beauty, like the well-weathered granite of a seaside cliff. Rafe felt a vague unease, a stirring of second thought. Then Hal dropped to a crouching, catlike posture, and the fight was on.
It hardly lasted long enough for Rafe to know what had happened. This was not one of those practice bouts in which he attacked and Hal waited while he wore himself out. Instead, Hal came at him in a blur of motion. Rafe struck at him hastily, but Hal eluded the knife with fluid grace, moving under Rafe's arm and grasping his wrist. The room spun around, and Rafe found himself on his back. A grip of great power crashed his hand; he cried out in pain, his fingers loosened and the dagger dropped. Then the blade touched his throat. He closed his eyes and waited for certain death.
But, unbelievably, no blow was struck. Rafe opened his eyes and saw two daggers, nearly point to point, stuck like a V in the rafter far above. The crowd was in an uproar. As he scrambled to his feet, he came face to face with his gray-eyed adversary. “Why did you not slay me?” he demanded. “From the day you first came here I have offered you nothing but enmity."
The crowd fell silent again as Hal spoke slowly, with lowered eyes. “You are a brave man, Rafe of Celydon. Even with the knife at your throat, you did not flinch or beg for mercy. It seems to me that my Lord Pelys may one day have need of you."
“So I shall,” growled Pelys tartly, “if he ever regains the sense he was born with."
“If you really want me dead, or worse than dead,” added Hal bitterly, “there is no need to fight me. Just carry news of me to the Dark Tower. You might soon see me in such torments as should satisfy even your hatred."
As he spoke, their eyes met and locked. Rafe probed those gray eyes with his own, and all his co
nfused feelings came to one focus: he had been wrong. Hal was not a cold-blooded, calculating being in human form. He bore a gentle heart; he was no stranger to human emotions. In those eyes Rafe saw loneliness, longing and hurt. Suddenly Rafe realized that Hal rather liked him. Shaking, he passed a hand across his forehead, as if waking from a bad dream.
“I have been acting like a fool,” he said brokenly. “These past three months I must have taken leave of my senses. Can you forgive me, Hal?"
Hal took his proffered hand with joyful relief. “If you will forgive my childish words. You are indeed a brave man, Rafe, and honest to your core. I want no better gift than your friendship."
They gripped hands before all present. Rafe turned next to Alan and took his hand in friendship also. Then he apologized to Pelys and Rosemary. “My lord, my lady, I beg pardon for my unseemly conduct."
“Put your shirt on, boy,” snapped Pelys happily, “and let us have some merriment. Musicians, ho!"
As the fiddlers struck up a lively tune, and as the volunteers surrounded Rafe to welcome him back to their fellowship, Hal walked slowly toward Rosemary. He was grieved to see the pallor of her face. She had been pierced by the sight of his scars and the thought of the torment he must have withstood. She had been faint with terror when he flicked his knife into the rafters and moved empty-handed against Rafe. When the dagger was at Rafe's throat, many had turned their faces away, but she had watched stonily; a moment later she chided herself for her fear. Now that the fight was over, Rosemary felt weak. And still ringing in the back of her mind, pushed there by the pressure of recent events, was the echo of that timeless moment with Hal.
He did not know what to say to her. He came to her with saddened heart, met her eyes, and suddenly the memory of that moment came back to both of them. Its warmth glowed in their faces and lifted their heads. Nothing needed to be said; they clasped hands to dance once more.
Thus it was that Hal did what he had vowed he would not do. The seed of love was planted in the young heart of the lady of Celydon.
Chapter Four
The next day Rafe came back to the barracks and the practice yard, for Pelys had let him know quite certainly that he was to do so. But he was hanging his head, though not sullenly, and all the volunteers tried so hard to welcome him that he grew more abashed by the moment. Will even offered to return his captain's badge, but he shook his head in red-faced shame. He could not face Alan or Hal.
After a few days of this, Alan grew anxious to talk to him. Many other people had the same thought, and Alan was finally forced to follow Rafe through the courtyard in order to speak to him alone. He cornered him against a buttress.
“First you were tireless in rage,” he scolded, “and now you are as persistent in sorrow. When will I know your smile, Rafe?"
But Rafe looked more likely to cry. Alan gesticulated helplessly.
“Rafe, whatever is the matter? Can you not see that everyone likes you, even when you are being bull-headed?"
“Bullheaded!” Rafe burst out. “I must have been insane, Alan! I was like a rabid dog. And what if it happens again? I—I could have killed him, and I am not worthy to clean his boots."
“He cleans his own boots, and you are as worthy of that task as he.” Alan settled back against the wall, seeing he had a long talk ahead of him. “Rafe, everything that happened is quite understandable."
“Understandablel” Rafe shouted.
Alan waved him into silence and plunged on. “Rafe, do you believe in goblins and nixies and that sort of thing?"
“Believe?” Rafe stared, not comprehending that there was an alternative. “I have lived with the unseen folk since I was born. What of it?"
“Well, think, Rafe! What was the day that Hal and I came?"
“The eve of November, when the denizens of the dark .... Ay, I thought that of him then, Alan, but no more! I —"
“Believe your senses, Rafe!” Alan interrupted. “What happened, that day?"
“You saved my life,” Rafe said miserably.
“And you were angry, frightened perhaps. Why? What happened as I dragged you away from Arundel?"
Rafe covered his face with his hands.
“Rafe!” Alan urged him.
“Hal's eyes,” he whispered. “They flashed like cold fire, like spook lights. I thought I was mad then, but perhaps I am mad now."
Alan nodded in satisfaction. “He spoke to the steed in the language of power, and you saw. No one else saw, or perhaps no one else had eyes to see, Rafe. Now let me tell you a tale."
They sat down on the cobblestones; Rafe was limp with unbelieving relief. Alan told him about his first meeting with Hal. “The horses ran away,” he explained, “and perhaps I would have run too, if I had the strength—I can't say; it is hard to know what we might do when we are put to the test. But I held no credence in any things of Other then, whether gods, demons, warlocks or whatever. So I told myself that I had seen nothing, I was faint and confused. Hal took me into the Forest, to safety, and nursed me."
“To the Forest?” Rafe asked weakly. The Forest was a dark haunt of terror to him.
“Ay, the Forest. The touch of the Lady lies on it, Rafe.” Alan told him more, something of the Gypsies, and the spirits, and Veran's flower. Rafe listened in awe. Hal himself came and sat down quietly with them as Alan finished.
“So, having seen what you saw, and believing what you believed—do you still think you were mad, Rafe?"
“But I was wrong,” Rafe protested. “He is—he is good."
“I dare say I am not entirely evil,” Hal acknowledged softly, “but I do not know all of myself, Rafe. Often I am afraid.” He was thinking, Alan knew, of his sire, King Iscovar.
“And you had been taught, Rafe, that things of Other are evil,” Alan pointed out.
“Things of Other!” Hal exclaimed wryly. “Is that what I have become now? Truly, I want only to be a man."
“You are all of that, and more!” Rafe defended him hotly.
“And I am your friend?” Hal inquired.
“And my friend.” Rafe smiled sheepishly.
“Then do me a favor, Rafe, as a friend,” Hal requested equably, “and forget pain awhile. No more gloom."
Rafe squared his shoulders and met Hal's eyes. “No more gloom,” he promised, and they touched hands on it.
They talked again in days that followed, and became better friends than they would have previously believed possible. One day Rafe showed Hal something he had kept secret from almost everyone else, hidden among the tall thickets of his grandfather's overgrown pasturage.
“What a splendid horse!” Hal exclaimed. “And big! He will make you a charger, Rafe. What do you call him?"
“Night Storm. I have had him since he was a tiny foal. The mare dropped him and died, out in the dark and the thunder and pouring rain, up yonder, near the Forest. I carried him here and nursed him on goats’ milk, day and night, all but diapered him. His mother was not one of Pelys's mares, of course; he cares for his animals better than that. I'm not sure where she came from, and I didn't try too hard to find out.” Rafe smiled guiltily. “I hid the carcass."
The colt raised his sleek head and regarded them with
a kingly, appraising glance. He was more stallion than colt by now, coal black in color, long-legged, with a thick, highcrested neck and a strong spring to his haunches. “He's a runner,” Hal murmured. “What are you going to do with him, Rafe? You can't keep him here forever."
“I know it. He's over three years old now, and never been ridden, because I don't know how to start. I love horses, Hal, always have; it was the child in me that longed to touch Arundel, that first day. And how I envy you your ease with him! But there's been little riding for me since my father died. One by one, his steeds were sold to keep us in food.” Rafe looked away from Hal; his cheeks were flushed. “Now I am afraid someone will try to take this one from me, say I stole him. All because—because he is beautiful."
“No one will sa
y that who knows you well.” Hal glanced at him fondly. “And your rearing of him has given you the labor-right, Rafe. Take your horse to the castle, and let Flann help you with him. He is bored here, restless; can you not see it in him? He is thinking of kicking his way out of that tumbledown shed."
“Really?” Rafe stared at Hal with half-superstitious alarm. Though Alan had not told him so, he sensed that Hal could communicate with animals in some way he could not understand. He chewed his lip a moment, then made his decision. “Well, my name is black enough already, I suppose it can stand a little more scandal .... Come on then, Stormy.” He reached for a rope, and the horse came gently to his hand.
“Will you help me with him, too?” Rafe asked politely as they led the jet-black steed back to Celydon.
“If you like.” Hal eyed him humorously. “But you will do well enough without me, and then you will know you have trained him yourself, with only ordinary help. No wizardry."
“I never said that,” Rafe murmured, ashamed to admit his relief.
“Small blame if you did. And anyway,” Hal added lightly, “I have enough to keep me busy.” An undertone of warmth crept into his voice, for he spent most of his time with Rosemary and Asfala, these days.
Rosemary was thrilled by the new turn in her life, and spent hours in the stables. She had everything to learn about horses, and Hal was very glad to teach her. He was touched to watch the communion that grew between the lady and the filly. Rosemary found her horse to be willful but loving, spirited and free but dependent on her for sustenance and comfort, a creature of moods and emotions like herself. In time, she grew fond of Alfie and Arundel also, and better understood the loving bonds between the beasts and their masters.
As Rosemary became a proficient rider, all three of them took long jaunts across the snow-covered meadows around Celydon, as far as the Forest rim. That encircling barrier embraced the manor as if the Lady of the Forest had given it her love; Hal and Alan felt safe from any harm in Celydon. They taught Rosemary how to jump her filly over low bushes. The icy winter air brightened her eyes and put blooms of color in her cheeks; Hal looked at her as if he could not look away. Sometimes Alan made excuses to stay behind, thinking to take himself out of the way of wooing, but Hal always insisted that he come along.
The White Hart Page 29
