by K. M. Grant
Raimon answers shortly. He is still thinking of Yolanda. “He’s waiting for me.” Then he pays more attention. “Or perhaps he’s gone back to Castelneuf. So much time has passed. He may have given up hope.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Laila says. “If you told him to wait, he’ll still be waiting somewhere around here. He’s like a faithful dog, that boy.”
She gets up, wanting to be busy because as sometimes happens, the echo of Aimery’s final howl has begun to throb again in her ears. She rattles her curls, hating Aimery even more now that he is dead than she did when he was alive. She thought she would be rid of him. Instead, he haunts her. “I’m going scavenging,” she says. “We need food, and I should collect more garlic for your bandage. You’re still too hot, and you need to sleep better.”
Relieved to be alone, Raimon lies down. Yolanda is at Castelneuf. She has come there for him, and surely she will wait for him. If only his neck would stop throbbing. He pulls at his clothes as his temperature rises. Why are the leaves golden when surely it is still high summer? His mind begins to drift, and this time when he sleeps, he dreams of nothing at all.
Laila is good at hiding but scarcely needs to do so, for the terrain, being so uneven and bulgy with rocks, is entirely on her side. Only somebody with a real familiarity with the look and shape of the land would easily detect anything moving, and the russet abundance of the autumnal colors absorbs and complements her red hair. Laila still curses every time she slips and her bare feet tear, but she enjoys moving quickly, leaping and bounding, wriggling and looping, after the enforced inactivity with Raimon. On impulse, she winds back and ventures nearer to Montségur pog than usual, partly because she needs medicines she knows a French knight may have in his possession and partly to see if she can find Cador. If he is still here, which she is certain he will be, he will have the horses.
She is systematic in her search. Cador will need water and shelter and would probably choose somewhere where he can see the main highway leading from this valley and back to Castelneuf. If Raimon were to appear, Cador would want to be familiar with the routine movements on their easiest and quickest route out. Now, where would she choose? Here? Or here?
Two hours later, directly below her, crammed against the crag, she can just make out the stone chimney of a shepherd’s thick-walled shelter. Hidden away from anybody who was not as determined as she is, this would be perfect. And then she laughs. On the far side is one shape she does not recognize and two she does, all three cropping grass.
“Hey! Galahad! Bors!” She hitches up her skirts and begins to negotiate a way down.
Cador is waiting when Laila finally approaches and does not seem nearly as surprised to see her as she thinks he ought to be. In fact, his demeanor is a peculiar mixture of relief and anxious caution. “Is Sir Raimon with you?”
His first question is as predictable as Laila’s tart and evasive reply. “Can you see him?”
He flushes. “Have you come from the fortress?”
“I might have.”
“Is he still inside?”
She ignores the question. Something about Cador’s stance makes her wary as a hare. “What’s going on here?” she says, and advances on him menacingly. “Is this some kind of trap?” She reverses at speed toward the horses, ready to vault onto Bors and gallop off.
Cador glances back at the hut. Another figure emerges through the wooden door, holding tight onto a huge shaggy dog. “Cador? Who are you—”
Laila leaps as though stung. “Yolanda!”
Yolanda gives an inarticulate shout, lets go of Brees, and runs straight, her arms wide. “Laila! Laila! Oh, at last! Thank God!” She throws herself at the girl.
Laila is amazed and not a little disturbed. “Steady!” she says, hardly knowing how to respond. Tentatively, she proffers a hug. “You’re wearing my clothes!” She pats her. “I didn’t expect to see you.”
“No,” Yolanda says when the first tempest has died down, “and I didn’t know if you would really be here. When you disappeared, I thought Hugh—I thought—I don’t know.” She takes a deep breath. “I thought something terrible might have happened to you. Then I needed you, Laila, so I came here just hoping and hoping and I’ve been waiting and waiting. I didn’t know what else to do or where else to go. And here you are. I knew you’d come if I thought about you hard enough.”
“So you find you can’t live without me?” Laila’s uneasiness makes her brittle. Yolanda looks different. Laila pales. She will not think why this might be.
“Come,” Yolanda takes her arm so that she cannot escape. “Please.”
Cador watches as she ushers Laila inside, Brees following, his tongue hanging out. The boy has only a hazy idea about what is wrong with Yolanda. When he saw her on the road months ago, recognizing not her but Brees, she said very little. Nor, since he led her here, has she said much more, except to ask if he knows where Laila is. To start with she was so restless that every day he expected her to mount the sorrel mare and leave. But she was also constantly sick and as the time passed, though she carried on asking about Laila, she became listless and barely moved. He wanted to go for help, fearing she might die, but how could he leave her unprotected? Now, though he neither likes nor trusts Laila, his relief outweighs his surprise at her appearance. If she can restore Yolanda to health, he will forgive her much. He runs inside himself. “I’m going for food,” he says, and Yolanda nods.
She is sitting in the back room of the two-room shelter, on one of the matching stone beds built into the walls with the fireplace between them. Brees hauls himself up beside her, taking up the post he has adopted during the long, dull stretch of time that has passed. Laila glances around. Scavenged blankets, furs, and food are set tidily about. Among the domestic clutter, she spots her box of tricks. “Oh!” She leaps up and seizes the box, stroking it and inspecting the clasp for signs of interference. “You’ve brought it with you! I’ve missed it!” She folds the box into her arms, instinct telling her to keep talking so that Yolanda cannot. “Whatever’s happened is not my fault,” she repeats endlessly to herself, feeling the necklace bump against her breast. “Now look.” She is brisk. “I’ve good news and bad. Which do you want first? I think you should have the bad because although it is bad, it’s not so bad. I mean, it would be worse if—”
“Laila!” Yolanda is rocking, Raimon’s ring and her own swinging. “Laila! Laila!”
Laila’s briskness increases. “I’m wondering if—”
Yolanda interrupts. “First of all, did Hugh hurt you?” She looks directly at Laila.
“Hugh?” Laila’s tone is quite innocent as she gathers her wits. She must discover how much Yolanda recalls, for this must tally with her own story. “Tell me, Yolanda, how much do you remember about that night?”
“I remember arriving at home and I remember us sitting in front of the fire. I remember the wine.” Yolanda grimaces.
Laila allows no more. “But it’s over, Yolanda. Here we are, and do you know something? Raimon is up the hill. Yes! Raimon! We can go and get him. In fact we must because he’s injured and needs medicines from here.” She sits down opposite Yolanda, opens the box, and buries her head inside it. “Let me see. Let me see.”
Yolanda leans over and smacks shut the top of the box, making Laila yelp. “Why are you being so stupid, Laila? You, of all people. Don’t you understand? I’m having Hugh’s baby.” Laila cannot avoid anything now. She puts down the box. “Help me!” It is a cry from the bottom of Yolanda’s heart.
Now the necklace cuts like a dagger. “I’ll kill him,” Laila says quietly. “I’ll kill him.”
Yolanda remains seated. “Oh, for goodness’ sake. That’s not the answer.” Her voice is colder than it was.
“It would make me feel better,” Laila says.
“But how exactly would it help me when it’s not Hugh who needs to vanish but what he’s left behind.” Yolanda begins to punch her stomach with ruthless mechanical fists. “You can do it,
Laila, I know you can. You can do anything.”
“You want me to …” Laila trails off.
Yolanda stands, surging with anger. Why is Laila being so obstinate? “Do you need me to spell everything out? I want you to help me get rid of the baby.” She enunciates each word very clearly. Brees whines and glares at Laila with frustrated sorrow. “Under this tunic of yours I’m about six months gone.” Laila kicks the stone bed. “Is that all you’ve got to say? You’re not normally so squeamish.”
Laila rises, her anger equal to Yolanda’s. “Have you any idea how dangerous that would be? For a start, it’s much too late.”
Yolanda will not back down. “Just give me a potion and I’ll drink it. You don’t need to do anything more.”
Laila shakes her head to and fro, to and fro. “It’s not that easy.”
“I never said it was easy!” Yolanda speaks with what she feels is extreme patience, “But it’s certainly possible. It has to be. I can’t have this baby. Surely I don’t have to explain to you why not.”
“I’ve seen it done in Paris. It’s horrible.” Laila shudders. “Horrible.”
Yolanda’s jaw sets but her voice does not waver. “Horrible things are done every day. You’ve done plenty of horrible things yourself.”
“I’ve never done that.”
“But you know how.” Laila bites her lip. “You do know. And anyway, you’ve got enough bottles and possets and sheeps’ horns full of powders in your box to kill anything.”
“You’ve rifled through my things! How dare you!”
“You left me and you didn’t come back.”
“Hugh told me to go.”
“And since when did you do what he told you to do?”
They are both quivering now.
Yolanda cracks first. She takes Laila’s hands. “Don’t you understand, Laila? Raimon mustn’t see me like this. Please. You’re my only hope. If you don’t help me, everything will be over. Everything.”
“Yolanda—” Laila takes a deep breath.
“If you don’t help me, I swear I’ll do it myself. I’ve thought about it so often while I’ve been waiting, but I just hoped—I just hoped—”
“Yolanda,” Laila repeats.
Yolanda stares at her with a dawning contempt. She drops Laila’s hands and hits her own head. “Oh, of course! How stupid of me! I know what you’re worried about. Well, don’t be worried. I’ve brought money. I can pay for your services.”
Laila looks blank.
“Well,” says Yolanda sharply. “That’s what you’re waiting for, isn’t it? You want to know that you’ll be paid?”
For the first time in her life, Laila feels something inside her crush rather than explode. “It’s not about money.”
Yolanda laughs, a wild, hard laugh. “Oh, come on! It’s always about money with you.”
“Not this time.”
“Prove it then. Do this for me.”
Laila tosses back her curls. “I don’t want to.”
“Don’t make me beg.”
Laila jerks. “No, don’t beg. Don’t ever beg.” She can hear Aimery begging. She can hear Aimery howl.
Yolanda seizes her hands again. “Then you’ll do it?”
Laila wants to say no. She wants to refuse. But how can she? “Yes, I’ll do it, I’ll do it!” she shouts suddenly, making Yolanda jump backward.
“Today?” Yolanda asks insistently.
“I’ll have to get things ready.”
“Tell me that by tomorrow morning, this thing”—Yolanda jerks her head down at her stomach—“will be gone.”
Laila can only nod. “It may take a little time to work, but soon. Certainly by tomorrow night.”
Yolanda lets go of Laila’s hands and sits down heavily. “Thank God.”
Laila pulls her box to her. “Don’t thank him yet.”
Now Yolanda is calm again. Now she can speak of Raimon, although when Laila tells of his wounds and his fever she walks quickly from the fireplace to the stone partition and back again. “Hurry back to him. There’s no need to wait. Just give me the potion, and I’ll manage perfectly well on my own.”
Laila begins to pull things from her box. She fills a mortar. “Is there water here?”
Yolanda pulls out a leather bucket. Laila talks as she works. “Raimon does love you, you know,” she says. “He never loved that girl I told you about. You were right. He did just want to get the Flame back.”
“I never really believed you.” Yolanda stands very close. “Tell me what happened, only don’t delay with what you’re doing. Don’t delay for a second.”
Laila’s hands are full of vials, and soon her fingers are stained. As she mixes and pounds, she restricts her story to what she considers its essentials and tries to make sure it tallies up with what she has said to Raimon. Soon, however, she realizes that it hardly matters what she says for Yolanda is barely listening. She takes a deep breath before giving her an even more highly edited account of Aimery’s death. This elicits a real gasp. Yolanda has to sit down. Laila works on in silence.
At last an evil-colored liquid is swirling in a globe. “I could go back and bring Raimon here.” Laila is suddenly filled with dread. “Wouldn’t you like him with you?”
Yolanda jerks, Aimery temporarily swept away. “Are you mad? Don’t you dare bring him, and don’t you dare tell him anything about this—ever.”
“You did nothing wrong. He might understand.”
Yolanda pitches her a glance of unremitting scorn and puts out her hand for the globe. “If you tell him, I’ll never see you or speak to you again. Now, is that it?”
“It should be,” says Laila, letting go with great reluctance.
“Off you go then. Go on. Hurry.”
Laila snaps the box shut, then opens it and snaps it again.
“Go on! Go!” Yolanda puts the globe behind her as though frightened that it might be snatched back.
Laila wipes her hands, tucks her box under her arm, and heads for the door. A moment later, she returns once more. “If you decide you don’t want to go through with it—”
“Why would I? Get out!”
But still Laila hangs on until, framed by the light and in a deadpan voice, she begins to recount something she swore to herself she had forgotten. Yolanda tries to push her away, but Laila clings to the doorpost. Her story does not take long. “And that’s how my mother died.”
Yolanda is aghast. “But when we were in Paris, you said your mother was a princess. You said she sold you and your sister. You said that if we passed her in the street, you would spit at her. You never said she was dead or dead like that.”
“Well, that’s the truth.” Laila thrusts her chin in the air.
“But why tell me now?” cries Yolanda, the globe rattling in her hand. “I don’t want to know that now!”
“When would you want to know then?” Laila shouts back, her face dissolving in a maelstrom of emotions, none of which she wants to feel. “Exactly when?” Then she turns on her heel and runs, sending Cador, who has just returned, flying.
Yolanda stares after her as the boy picks himself and his booty up. He has bread and more wood for the fire. Yolanda eventually takes the fuel but motions the food away and says not a word. Disappointed and confused, Cador takes refuge with the horses and with the rough comb he has fashioned from a branch, begins quite methodically to groom them.
Yolanda spends five minutes dissecting Laila’s story. Is it true or is it not? How can she know? She feels a lurch in her stomach. This is true. This is what she does know. She holds the globe to the light. Its contents are sticky. She sniffs at the neck. There is no smell. Brees also sniffs it and turns away. Yolanda goes outside.
Cador is now hunkered down, his hair fallen over his face as he polishes Galahad’s hooves with a cloth. He looks up. “I don’t want to be disturbed,” she says. “Will you keep guard?” Her voice is shaky at the edges. He nods. She turns to go in, then turns again. “Thank you.” She shu
ts the door.
Night falls and passes. Dawn breaks. The place is silent save for the munching and sighs of the horses.
It is midday when Laila reappears, her box strapped to her back. The horses are dozing now, a crisp sun glancing off flanks shiny as a set of pewter plates. Cador lies near them, exhausted, for he remained awake all night. He sleeps deeply, as children do, with Unbent underneath him, its point sticking out below his feet. But he is not unconscious. When an adder slides silently over Unbent’s tip, his eyelashes flutter. Laila is quieter than an adder. Cador sleeps on.
The girl does not know what she hopes to find in the hut but sees at once how things are. The globe is empty. Yolanda is sitting bolt upright, her face pinched and pale and her shoulders tense. For a second, she regards Laila with horror. “You haven’t brought—”
“No, of course I haven’t brought Raimon. I haven’t even told him you’re here. He thinks I’m away finding more food. I only managed to steal a tiny bit on the way back up the hill.”
Yolanda’s shoulders sink a little. “How is he?”
“He’ll live.” Laila’s tone is sarcastic.
“I’m glad you’re back. Why hasn’t it started yet?”
Laila sits beside her. “You feel nothing?”
“Nothing.”
Laila opens her box, slowly shakes out two more potions, and pours them into a wooden bowl. “Perhaps I didn’t get the mixture quite right.”
Yolanda drums her heels with frustration, but Laila takes no notice. She keeps hold of the bowl for a moment. “Are you still sure, Yolanda? Really sure?”
Yolanda gives the bowl an angry tug, almost spilling the contents. “Perhaps you forgot the spell last time.”
“I’m not a witch,” says Laila shortly.
